Anthea cried for hours after Alastor left. She put on a brave face while waving him goodbye from Hogwarts' gates but, as soon as she heard the crack of Disapparition, she collapsed and dissolved in almost hysterical sobs in her mother's arms. Minerva was cradling her, comforting and meaningless words pouring out of her thin lips, but her daughter didn't hear any of it. Her mentor was gone and she was lost.

She spent the evening in a haze of tears and Calming Draught. Not even the prospect of seeing Charlie soon could comfort her: she had only spent an afternoon with the boy, and it was nothing compared to the countless hours with Alastor, and the many things he had taught her. Thanks to him, she could often control her emotions – not today, though – and sort through the bad ones later, when the edge of it had dissipated. She could hold light in her hands, too, change the colour of ink and make small objects move without touching them. It was nothing, parlour tricks at best, but she was proud. He had given her that. That feeling of accomplishment, that hunger for more, that power and awareness of her own potential. Having him away, unavailable for her tidal waves of questions, left her with a hole in her heart.

"I don't know how to help her, Severus," her mother's voice said, faint and hoarse. "Poppy doesn't know either. She gave her a Draught and now she's so… so withdrawn! Please, can you…"

"I'll have a look at her. I cannot promise results, though. I am no Healer."

"I know, but you have…"

Anthea didn't get to know what Professor Severus Snape had over Poppy Pomfrey, because her mum and the other Head of House stepped in her room. She didn't turn her head towards them, didn't greet them. She was too tired, too sad; even such small tasks seemed impossible to achieve. She was staring at the rows of books opposite her bed, and that was almost too much already.

Cold fingers tilted her chin towards a face she didn't know too well yet. Severus Snape had intense black eyes, a stark contrast against his pale skin. His nose was big, yes, and it had been broken at least once, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the canon had led her to believe. He had strong features, in a noble way. Anthea could see how he evoked the idea of vampires depicted in Muggle fiction. His black hair, worn long and tied back into a low ponytail, didn't look too greasy.

"Look at me, child." His voice was smooth and deep, reminiscent of silk and a quiet sea. It made her want to close her eyes, but he had asked her to look at him. His eyes had a hypnotic power, something she couldn't quite put a finger on, until he slid into her mind.

Contrary to Alastor, he didn't flinch at the sight of her city-shaped mind. Even thrown into the chaos of a Tokyo street at night, he just raised an eyebrow. Newfound interest lit his black eyes. "Your daughter is very interesting, Minerva. You never said."

"You never asked," her mother threw back. Her tone was dry, but Anthea didn't let that fool her: those words between the two Professors was playful banter. The Slytherin had a shadow of a smile on his lips, and somehow Anthea doubted that students even saw such an expression on his face.

"That I did not," he admitted with a faint nod. He turned his attention back on Anthea, slipping into her mind once more. "That's fascinating. Where are you in all this, child?"

It was hard for her to leave her hiding place, an art gallery she had created to store art pieces from her previous life. She liked looking at them in her mind when she was upset; they soothed her, in a way she couldn't quite put into words. She stood in a busy street, small and lost in her own realm, until a tall, dark silhouette walked to her. He lifted her up and took her out of the mindscape, out of the prison she had built for her own safety.

"She is a natural, Minerva. Does Alastor know?"

"He mentioned," her mum said as Anthea came back to her senses. "He's teaching her, but Occlumency is slow to get and with him being away most of the year…"

Anthea's heart ached and she let out a weak sob, unable to stifle it. Minerva wrapped her in a hug and she allowed herself to melt in her mother's arms. It hurt so much she could barely think straight, the allure of her mind's sanctuary stronger than ever.

"I will take on the child for Occlumency, then," Severus said, his voice smooth and devoid of expression as ever. "Not a word to Albus, though. Tell Alastor about it, but only him. I do not need to…"

"I know. Don't worry, this secret is safe with me, Severus. I want the best for Anthea, and the Headmaster would get in the way if he knew of our plans."

Anthea had to focus very hard to stop her approval from showing. As a child, she hardly had a say in the matter, but she didn't trust Albus Dumbledore one bit. She knew more about him than most, thanks to her previous life, and the big picture was anything but pretty. His obsession with the greater good had left a child, a child her age, to starve for food and affection for years. If she could change that, she would, but one thing was for certain: until she started Hogwarts, she had no power over that situation.

"What do you say, honey?" Minerva asked, the question clearly intended for Anthea. "Do you want to learn Occlumency with Severus? He's the Potion Master here, and the Slytherin Head of House. He… he's a friend." There was uncertainty in the woman's voice, but it didn't have anything to do with the nature of her relationship with Severus Snape, that much Anthea was certain of.

"Can you also teach me other things, sir?" she asked Severus, not quite meeting his eyes. She saw enough of him to catch the spark of approval on his face, but it was gone before she could really understand it.

"I… I'll see what I can do, Miss McGonagall. Minerva, do you need me for anything else? I have to go back to brewing."

"No, you can go. Thank you for coming, Severus, I – I didn't know what to do."

"Children retreating into their own mind in that way can scare the hell out of anyone, and you're a loving parent. I'm glad I could help." On those words, he left the room first, then their quarters. Only when she heard the main door close did Anthea shake off the last of her stupor.

"I'm sorry I worried you, Mum. It just… It was too much, with Mister Moody leaving."

"That's okay, honey. You have a right to be upset."

Anthea, no matter how much she wanted to open up, knew it was better to keep silent on the real problem. Seeing Alastor leave had reminded her of how powerless she was. She couldn't protect herself or others, couldn't change the world yet, and maybe she never would, no matter how hard she tried. She was only a child, born into a dangerous, ruthless world – she didn't consider her previous life as having happened in the same world at this point – and knowledge of the future might not be enough.

She had so much to do, so much to fix. The enormity of the task she had chosen for herself years ago was starting to weigh on her shoulders. A sense of anxiety that she had been able to overlook for years was finally catching up with her, harsh and unforgiving. For the first time, she really considered failure a possibility.

She hated it. What good was it, learning all those things, creating all those bonds with people, if she was to see them die at the end of the road? She had knowledge, she had power. The entity that had thrust her into this new life hadn't left her empty handed. It had given her a strong affinity for magic – wandless, wordless magic was a proof of that – perfect recall and a support system. It had given her a sense of purpose, duty and direction. She couldn't let it all go to waste.

That night, in her room, moonlight pouring in from her window, Anthea sat in her bed, an empty notebook open in her lap. How far was she willing to go? How much blood on her hands? A lot, she realised. Killing Death Eaters wouldn't disturb her much. Fighting her way through this world tooth and nail neither. She would have Horcruxes to track down, a wrongly imprisoned man to save, a mistreated boy to rescue… Yes, she had a lot of work ahead of her.

It all started with skills, though, the ones she already had and the ones she would need to learn. Fortunately, she wasn't afraid of working her ass off for years. In fact, the prospect excited her somewhat. It wasn't the call of knowledge for knowledge, nor knowledge for power, but a sweet, mesmerising in-between.

And it was hers.