"But I don't understand," Ariadne said, making a concerted and somewhat embarrassing effort to keep up with Professor McGonagall's clipped pace, "I thought there were already protective enchantments at the edge of the castle grounds."
"Indeed there are," McGonagall replied shortly. "But as you might imagine, a threat of this nature requires a little more than a Muggle repulsion charm."
Not for the first time, Ariadne was struck by McGonagall's resemblance to some sharp-eyed bird of prey - an eagle, or perhaps a falcon. It was still surprising that her Animagus took the form of a cat - Ariadne would have imagined something with a touch more noble grace, though she would never say it.
She followed the older woman's appraising gaze, which fell on the group of teachers and staff that had gathered in a small crowd at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Ariadne gave a small start.
Hagrid's hut had been encased entirely in vines.
They were no longer mere spindly ropes of vegetation - they were arms of thick-corded muscle, each of the thorns about the length of her forearm. The hut was practically invisible beneath its strange new second skin.
It was hard to detect over the unsettled buzz coming from the professors, but if she listened closely, it was still there - that unearthly, thrumming whisper that called to her with the same strange word, over and over.
She shoved it from her mind.
McGonagall was already calling the staff to attention, and Ariadne noted with some sense of amusement that her ability to whip unruly crowds into shape did not merely extend to children.
"I believe we all know why we are here," she said, directing a glance to the nearest vine that would have made any human student whimper. Her eye lingered on it, and her features grew yet more stern, as if she was quite unused to such flagrant disrespect.
"In his absence, the Headmaster has given me absolute authority to deal with any situations that may impact the safety of the students. This, unfortunately, is one."
Ariadne fell into place next to Pomona and Hagrid. She made a valiant effort to ignore snippets of a whispered plan to transplant a vine to the greenhouses for the sake of 'magical study.'
"Ter be hones'," Hagrid stage-whispered, "I don' really care wha' yer do with 'em, as long as yer do it away from me 'ouse."
Ariadne prodded him gently with her elbow, jerking her head toward Professor McGonagall, whose nostrils were flaring in their direction. Hagrid clamped his mouth shut immediately.
With a dignified sniff, McGonagall continued, "Given that the type of protective magic governing these vines is rather ancient - and rare - we have consulted the Ministry on the best way to deal with it."
Until that moment, Ariadne's eyes had begun to roam over the small gathering - the professors' magic was honed and controlled; so unlike the unruly, blazing signatures of her students. Her gaze fell on a familiar energy that was reminiscent of a winter squall. She watched Professor Snape murmur something to Filch, who gave a leering sort of grin at the nearest vine.
As McGonagall mentioned the Ministry, two things happened. Ariadne sucked in a startled, shallow breath - and Professor Snape's eyes snapped instantly in her direction, as if he'd known exactly where she was.
She averted her eyes, stomach clenching.
So that had been how Mockridge gained access to the campus grounds. He'd been invited to help with the gardening.
McGonagall's voice came back to her as if she was resurfacing from a wave.
"...average shield charms will be ineffective. Since the Ministry's recommended spell matches the forest's protective magic in both potency and antiquity, I doubt most of you will have heard of it. In light of this - a demonstration seems appropriate."
McGonagall advanced purposefully toward the forest.
"Periculum praesidio," she commanded, her voice clear and strong.
She held her wand high above her - higher than the average casting height, as if straining to pierce an invisible target. With her left hand, she made an odd sort of circular motion. Ariadne watched, enthralled, as ripples of crystal magic fanned out from McGonagall's wand, in ones, twos, threes. They grew larger and faster as they flew, hanging in a tapestry of diamonds that slowed and solidified in midair - and shot downward, as well, slicing clean into the ground, severing the vines that spilled over the forest's edge like ripe cucumbers.
McGonagall hadn't been exaggerating. There was something ancient and primeval about this spell that sent a shiver down Ariadne's spine.
The luminous shield seemed to stutter to a halt about 50 feet above them, leaving a great deal of the forest still exposed.
McGonagall turned back to the crowd. "Though the spell is largely invisible to the human eye, believe me, it is adequate." Here, her face tilted briefly toward Ariadne, who received the words with a furrowed brow. McGonagall continued, "It will take more than one caster to render the complete barrier, so let's not be all day about it."
The professors stepped forward, stretching out their wands, and McGonagall made a beeline for Ariadne.
"Invisible?" Ariadne repeated tentatively. "But I -"
"I did say largely invisible, if I recall," McGonagall said. "The Ministry official was keen to point out that any empaths on staff would be able to see the physical effects of the barrier in their entirety. A friend of yours, perhaps?"
Ariadne paled. It didn't escape McGonagall's notice.
"I see. Well, regardless of where the information came from, it serves a particular benefit to us. Your duty is to ensure the barrier is continuous and solid along the edge of the grounds. The slightest imperfection or missed connection, and these efforts will likely be for nothing."
Ariadne willed herself to remain serene. "I understand, Minerva. I'll keep a close eye on it."
McGonagall hung back for a moment, but thinking better of it, left her with a curt nod.
Ariadne flexed her gloved fingers. Mockridge's suggestion seemed innocent enough, but the meaning was clear. He knew things about her that she didn't even know. He knew the full range of what her abilities could do. He still owned her.
She drifted through the ranks of the professors, shoving the urge to scream beneath the drive to complete the task at hand.
Perhaps it was because she was so focused on reigning in her own emotions, on tracing the edge of the crystal barrier as it stretched out from the last professor's wand, that the voice of the forest was able to slip in - like a parasite through a chink in her armor.
Gradually, she ceased thinking about anything at all. Her mind became a white space, blissfully unoccupied save for the rhythmic beat of that strange foreign melody. It carried her feet gently over the gnarled vines, beckoning her deeper into the trees. She had no reason to resist - this numbness was welcome. Safe. It filled her lungs and swept her fears away on a stream of unintelligble promises.
She paused, a contented smile blooming as she basked in the pleasant haze. It was the happiest she'd felt in a long time.
"Shall I assume you've detected a homesick shrub in need of comforting, or have you forgotten that casting a spell actually requires one to use their wand?"
She jolted at the proximity of Professor Snape's voice, and felt a snap in her chest, as if a rubberband tethering her to something distant had suddenly - unwillingly - released its tension.
Snape was adjacent to her, his feet still on the other side of the uneven barrier of vines. Ariadne blinked a few times, and the unease came rushing back to her as she registered that she was several meters deeper in the forest than she wanted to be.
Somehow, she was afraid to move.
Snape, for his part, acted like he didn't even know she was there. He stretched his wand out in wide, smooth arcs that sent ripples of magic drifting through the air. His lips moved soundlessly in the incantation, his dark eyes focused and impassive. The long, pale fingers of his left hand splayed wide as he smoothed the air with effortless dexterity.
She composed herself, and attempted to sound aloof.
"I'll just leave this section in your capable hands, then. I'm sure I'll be of more use elsewhere."
As she made to move past him, he quipped, "Don't bother. Our colleagues made considerable progress while you were daydreaming."
Ariadne looked toward the clearing, and saw that the other professors had indeed begun to lower their wands. They stood in small, chattering groups, their individual waves of magic fused together in a great wall that shimmered opaquely in the midday sun.
The only hole seemed to be immediately next to her and Snape. It was growing smaller with each successive wave of his wand. In the distance, some kind of creature gave an ancient croon.
She stared at Snape for a long moment.
"Why are you here?"
He continued his casting, unperturbed. "I'd have thought that would be obvious."
"No," she clarified, noting the measurable distance between them and the others, "why are you here? What do you want?"
He sighed somewhat theatrically. "Back to fancies of persecution already, I see. I'll admit, you have impressive stamina."
Though their environment was unnerving, it certainly wasn't enough to dull the effect of his words. Her anger seemed to sharpen her addled senses, and she clung to it like a lifeline.
In the silence that followed, she could almost see Snape register the feeling of her eyes drilling a hole into his back.
His hands stilled. They drifted slowly downward, disappearing beneath the black of his robes. He stood motionless, still facing away from her - as if he was waiting for her to speak.
"Since you so blissfully seem to have forgotten," she said in a clipped tone, "allow me to remind you why my feeling of persecution is anything but imagined. You openly despise me for my gifts, then accuse me of the worst kind of selfishness for not using them. You take every opportunity to kick me when I'm down, and then you rail at me for not seeking help. You do everything in your power to drive me out, and then you call me a fool for wanting to leave."
She pressed her palms hard against her eye sockets, and exhaled wearily. "I'm tired, Professor Snape. I need to know what you want from me."
She stood there for either an eternity or no time at all, her palms obscuring the faint, ghostly light of the forest canopy.
In the wake of her soliloquy, it would have been easy to assume that Snape had just turned and wandered off, wearing that triumphant smirk he wore when he'd successfully caused someone distress. Unfortunately, she knew better - there was no sound of leaves crunching underfoot, or underbrush swiping against fabric in increasingly distant tones.
Her hands fell from her eyes, revealing Snape standing, disappointingly, at the edge of the clearing.
His face was unreadable - but it wasn't a sneer, or even a scowl. She couldn't begin to guess at what that kind of expression portended.
With a practiced air, the strange expression slipped into a cold smile.
His charade didn't fool her for a minute; from the intense burn of his energy, it was very clear that he was treading carefully, picking his next words with great precision, cautiously weighing the best way to proceed.
He was extremely curious about something - and he was going to use all his cunning to get an answer.
She tensed as he reached up and plucked a white blossom from the low-hanging branch above him. He twirled it pensively between his fingers, and the nonchalance of his voice sent warning bells ringing through her head.
"To answer your question, I will return another," he said. He regarded her with a quizzical brow. "Do you think you're special?"
She blanched. "What?"
"It's quite a simple question, though I understand even that might be too mystifying for you."
She swallowed her irritation - his magic was right before her, reminding her to tread cautiously.
"No. I don't think I'm special," she said stiffly.
He hummed lowly. "How curious."
She wanted to stamp her foot at the way he was drawing out the conversation, but again, restrained herself.
"What is?"
He gave the white flower one last twirl, and with a gentle flick, sent it spiralling upward on the wings of his magic, fluttering like a small white bird.
"It's merely curious," he said, "that you should take such personal offense at behavior which I bestow upon everyone equally."
She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Oh, brilliant. At least you're aware of what a knob you are to everyone. That much is a relief."
He gave a strange sort of choked sound that morphed quickly into a stifled cough. She disregarded it and pressed, "You still haven't answered my question."
"Haven't I?"
"No. We both know you reserve a special concentration of vitriol for me. I want to know why."
He stretched a pale hand forth from the sheath of his robes, rubbing a thumb over the ancient bark of an oak tree that stood three times wider than he.
"When the first years arrive, do we ask them to summon a patronus in their first charms class?" he asked conversationally, speaking more to the oak than to her.
"Of course not," she replied irritably.
He produced a small, glinting knife and shaved some of the bark into a clear vial, which he then vanished - either by magic, or by a deft sleight of hand that approached something like it.
"And when the seventh years enter their last semester, do we limit them to casting Nox and Lumos?"
She inhaled deeply through her nose. "Professor Snape. If I wanted to be spoken to in riddles and allegories, I would have paid a visit to the Headmaster, and I would have gotten a free lemon drop out of it."
He seemed to lose some of his calculated composure. There was color in his tone as he snapped, "Do not compare me to - "
He cleared his throat, taking a measured breath himself. "What I am trying to convey, is that we afford a different level of attention to those of differing levels of ability." Gesturing pointedly, he added, "To those who, by the potency of their magic, could present greater harm to themselves or other students."
She gave him a blank look, privately wondering at the fact that she'd received a sort of backhanded compliment.
"I was already quite aware that you viewed my abilities as a threat, Professor Snape," she said dryly. "If that was the only reason for your behavior, there was no need for you to continue tormenting me after I said I'd leave the school."
His aura surged, as if seizing the exact opening he'd been waiting for.
"And?" he prompted, his eyes black and glinting. "Is that what you still intend to do?"
She was tempted to wither under the intensity of his gaze, but then it dawned on her.
These children need me, and I'm not going to leave them, she had declared to Mockridge, though the effort had almost killed her.
Snape had been in the hallway the whole time - eavesdropping on her conversation with Mockridge, long before Josephine spurred him to intervene.
"Ah, I see," she said flatly. "You want to know if I meant what I said." The words forced themselves through a stiff jaw. "Let's say that I did mean it. What would I be then, I wonder? Would I be the reckless fool, or the pathetic martyr? I suppose it depends on which direction the wind is blowing - maybe today I'll be the selfish coward."
His silence only fueled her disdain.
"Oh, come now, Professor Snape, surely you have something to say. In the interest of good sportsmanship, I'll give you a moment to compose a new insult. I have faith that your superior vocabulary will not disappoint."
His reply stole quickly into the air, nimble and soft, accompanied by a frightfully direct stare.
"You are not a coward."
She couldn't help it. She laughed - a mirthless, incredulous sound.
"No? What epithet would be more apt, do you think?"
His eyes were unreadable. "No coward would be able to bear the weight that you have borne."
The air gradually went stale in her lungs.
She toyed with the idea that perhaps she'd been poisoned again - after all, it would make much more sense than the words that were coming from his mouth.
She remained very still, and made an attempt to school her features into something other than bewilderment. He stood motionless, as well - unblinking in his regard. She almost wondered if a basilisk had slithered by and petrified both of them, but after a long moment, Snape was the first to break the gaze.
Glancing briefly toward where the other teachers stood, he took a few measured steps in her direction, crossing over the vines between them, moving deeper into the forest.
As he drew to a halt, he seemed to dance on the edge of discomfort and resolve - hovering close enough that she could see the crease between his brows, but still, carefully, out of arm's reach. He scrutinized her with that strange, imperceptible expression. Despite herself, she started to feel a bit like a mouse about to be transfigured into a goblet.
"What I am going to say," he said slowly, "I say because your powers of perception would eventually render secrecy useless, at one point or another." His aura twinged with an echo of irritation. "My duties to the Headmaster include an abundance of matters I am not at liberty to disclose. Let us say that your...ability to discern one's true allegiances could one day...complicate matters."
She waited for the punchline, the part where his words would twist into something sharp and cruel, intended to draw blood. Instead, the look on his face - something almost approaching chagrined earnestness as he spoke in low, hushed tones - made the trees tilt at an odd angle. She was thankful he didn't pause long enough to give her a window for response.
His mouth puckered in discomfort as he added, "While it would certainly make things easier for you to depart from the school, I no longer believe it is necessary."
A hazy feeling - one unlike that caused by the forest - was smothering her verbal agility. She wondered if his discomfort stemmed simply from the admission, or from the implication that he had been wrong before.
"What changed your mind?" she ventured.
Waspishly, he demanded, "Is it not enough to simply know what is, without having every insipid detail as to why?"
"No," she said. "It's not."
The line between his brows deepened as he observed her.
He opened his mouth, closed it.
At last, he said quietly, "You play the part of the open book well. But you hold in silence just as many secrets as I."
His next words were forming on his lips when suddenly, he froze. The hard, bitter edge of suspicion twisted his features into something closed and apprehensive.
Ariadne braced herself for the hateful insult she'd been waiting for. With that lengthy preamble, bizarre as it had been, this one was sure to leave a sting for several days.
Suddenly, she registered a pressure in her temples that felt like static - as if an unconscious part of her was straining to hear something, but was being blocked out.
Even through the static, she could sense it. They weren't alone anymore.
Snape's mouth barely moved.
"We need to leave. Immediately." His eyes scanned the trees.
He made a strange, slow gesture - as if to reach for her - and everything happened at once.
Vines thicker than tree trunks exploded from the underbrush, rocketing upwards and sealing the small opening in the crystal barrier that Snape had yet to close with his spell. Ariadne cried out in dismay, and something whizzed by her ears, spurts of bright-colored plumes peppering the trees to their right and left. Her wand was out before she could think. It was only after she had cast a shield charm - Snape doing the same, his back to hers - that she realized the projectiles were arrows, several more ricocheting against her makeshift barrier.
She really did almost let out a scream, then - distorted, grotesque faces flashed from between the trees, too high and too fast to belong to any human on foot. Without hesitation, Snape shot a wicked-sounding curse at one of them, and miraculously, the curse landed, seeming to send one of the grotesque faces flying.
A tribal mask landed in the dirt, and Ariadne just barely caught the agonized face of a centaur as he went tumbling into a bush. Even over the static in her ears, which was growing more frantic with each passing second, the phantom fingers of someone else's pain seized her ribcage.
"What did you do?" she shouted at Snape over the next volley of arrows.
"Nothing permanent," he spat, the centaur screaming in the distance.
An arrow with a vivid purple tail sank into the ground at her feet. Almost instantly, another arrow followed - this one, bright orange. The arrows formed an X in the dirt, and sickly green smoke began gushing from where their two tails connected.
Snape noticed too. "Don't breathe!" he shouted, covering his face with his sleeve.
Ariadne did her best to mimic him, but the arrows had been closer to her - her lungs seized, and she began coughing uncontrollably, her shield flickering. "What - what is it?"
"Paralysis gas," he replied.
She wasn't sure if she was imagining it - but her feet were already starting to feel numb. Snape read the fear in her face.
He snarled, sending another curse careening into the trees. A ball of black fire burst against the nearest oak and sent several centaurs galloping for cover, their smoking tails streaming behind them.
Without another word, Snape seized Ariadne's wrist and pulled her into an all-out sprint - straight into the heart of the forest.
"You want to go in deeper?" she yelled.
"If you have any other ideas, I'd be thrilled to hear them," he snapped, flinging another hex over his shoulder.
The sound of hoofbeats was loud in Ariadne's ears before they even began; the onslaught of arrows only seemed to increase as she fought to maintain the shield that protected them both. The feeling in her feet had disappeared completely, and she stumbled violently over the vines as they ran.
A centaur burst forth from the foliage. She could see unearthly hue of his eyes beneath his mask as he raised his longbow, aiming a red-tipped arrow directly at her heart.
The gas was taking effect, and she was too slow to respond.
Snape shoved her to the ground, hard - but the ground never came. A searing pain pierced her thigh, and then she was falling, falling into an abyss, where time ceased ticking, the world turned black, and everything went quiet.