Sweat poured down his brow. He bolted upright in bed. Curse Lucius. Curse his father. Curse his entire miserable life. Azkaban had left its mark on him, but it was Lucius's insinuations about his father that had brought on these nightmares—of that much, he was sure. It had been years since he had these dreams with such frequency and intensity, years until that bastard had mentioned him. If his father was alive, he didn't want to know—he was happy to live in ignorance and forget about that hateful man.
But it wasn't as if Tobias had ever let him have any peace.
He stepped into his house shoes and reached for his pocket watch. He flipped it open. He hadn't even been asleep for three hours, but sleep didn't come easily these days, not since Azkaban. Sleeping draughts could only offer so much of a respite—they were addictive and quickly lost efficacy. Poppy would have his head if he took more than one per week.
Lying sleepless in bed was an unpalatable option, so he decided he might as well do something he enjoyed.
Once he pulled his wand from under his pillow and slipped into his nightshirt, he stalked through the corridors. He was alone with his thoughts, which was always dangerous, but knew he wouldn't be for long. There was always some wayward students to reprimand—
"Come on, Hazelnut," an only too familiar voice carried down the hall.
"Don't want to keep those house elves waiting!"
"Hot chocolate—"
"—warm milk—"
"—anything your heart desires!"
The insufferable girl yawned. "How do I get in again?"
"Tickle the pear!" the two voices said in unison.
He cast his eyes around, looking for the troublesome trio. He caught sight of three disembodied pairs of feet. How dare that foolish girl! After last year, she knew better than to be out of bounds at night. After last year, she knew the dangers that lurked for her in these halls. And of all the people for her to befriend, she had to choose the troublemakers of the most infuriating family he had ever encountered.
"Shhh," the girl said. "Someone will hear."
"Nah," one of the twins said. "There isn't anyone to hear—"
"Quite the contrary, Mr. Weasley. There is someone very interested in hearing just why the three of you are this far from your common rooms, many hours after curfew, as well as what you have been up to in the intervening time."
"Professor," Hazel said, pulling the cloak off them. "I-I—"
"Particularly when one of you have already cost her House one-hundred points this term! Fifty more, Miss Potter, and fifty each from the pair of you."
"Professor—"
"Perhaps you think being the Headmaster's ward and Girl Who Lived affords you special privileges. I assure you, it does not. Another week's detention with me."
"Yes, professor," the girl said, her eyes downcast.
"I am also taking your invisibility cloak until you can prove yourself to be worthy of it again."
"No!" she said. "Please, professor, it was my dad's!"
He supposed he ought to feel guilty, taking an heirloom from the girl when she had so little of her parents, but all he felt was vindictive glee at finally getting his hands on James Potter's accursed invisibility cloak. Albus would be disappointed, but he wouldn't be able to override him without undermining him, which he knew the old man would refuse to do.
"I do not care, Miss Potter. What I do care about is putting an end to your newfound tendency towards delinquency. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley, the pair of you have detention with Mr. Filch."
The two troublemakers groaned but knew better than to protest.
After he escorted the two boys to the Gryffindor common room, he was left alone with the girl once more. Her eyes were defiant, but carefully trained on her feet. One prod would set the girl raving, and he knew just what to say.
"How like your foolish father you are," he said, sneering. "He too thought himself special, above the rules."
"I don't think I'm special!" she protested, struggling to keep up with his long strides. "I just—"
"Think rules don't apply to you, like those insufferable friends of yours. Tell me, Miss Potter, why you take leave of your senses at the first opportunity? Do you not realize that danger still lurks in this castle, that there are those here who would have you dead without a second thought?"
"Hogwarts is safe! And I wasn't alone—I was with my friends."
"Yes, and what excellent friends they are, always leading you into trouble. Don't think I have not heard complaints from the other professors about your recent trend towards delinquency, Miss Potter. Being late for class. Disrupting other students with prank spells. My, even Madame Pince who found you to be the rare tolerable student has discussed your recent change in behavior. Let me assure you, Miss Potter, that I will not tolerate your misbehavior. Tell me, Miss Potter, what has changed?"
"Is that a rhetorical question?" she challenged. "Because I think you know the answer."
"Five points from Slytherin for cheek, Miss Potter. Now, tell me."
"Don't blame the Weasleys! That's not fair."
"Life is not fair, Miss Potter. Tell me why I should not think it is the influence of those red-haired menaces when you behaved quite well during the summer."
"I didn't," she said. "I've always been like this. I rode my broom when I wasn't supposed to. I snuck out to the corridor last year. I broke curfew investigating the Mirror of the Erised. I lied for Ron, so he didn't get in trouble. Professor, if you honestly think my misbehaving has just begun, you're blind."
He narrowed his eyes. "It may not have just begun, but I assure you, it is swiftly coming to an end. Misters Weasley are nothing but trouble, and I expected you to have sense enough to realize that."
Now the girl's eyes narrowed. "They're not 'nothing but trouble,'" she said. "They were trying to cheer me up."
"Pray tell precisely what about your life leaves you in need of cheering up, Miss Potter. You have a guardian who takes an interest in you, friends, popularity, fame. Tell me, what is so wrong that you need those two miscreants to take you on a late night excursion?"
The girl clamped her jaw shut and stared up at him defiantly.
"I didn't take you for a liar, Miss Potter. Another twenty-five points from Slytherin. Now go to bed."
The girl stomped off through the narrow passage to the common room.
He let out a frustrated sigh before turning away. Just when he thought the girl couldn't get more impossible.
*HP*
"Hazel, why weren't you in bed last night? And why is the Slytherin hourglass eighty points light?"
Hermione tutted. "What about the Gryffindor one? One-hundred points."
"Please tell me you didn't go looking for the voice," Daphne said, exasperated. "If it's something real you're hearing and not a trick, it's going to be nothing but trouble. I'd like my second year to be a bit more peaceful than my first."
Hazel rolled her eyes. The twins sat down on either side of her.
"Long time-"
"-no see!"
Hazel grinned, but the smile fell from her face as she glanced at the head table, where Snape was watching. His black eyes bored into hers. She tossed her hair and looked away, throwing her arms around Fred and George.
"Pity Professor Snape caught us," Hazel said.
"Yeah-"
"-the old git."
Hermione tutted again. "That's not a very good thing to say about a professor, you two. I rather think the three of you got what you deserved, sneaking around for no good reason."
"But it was for a good reason, Hermione!" Fred said.
"Poor Hazelnut hasn't been herself."
"And you and Daphne won't tell us why."
"Me either," Ron said sullenly.
"Ah, little brother," George said.
"I suppose we can let the little ladies have their secrets, at least this once," Fred said.
"After all-"
"-we have ours."
The twins shared a pointed look with Ron.
Hazel considered what the Weasleys might be hiding, but decided it was probably just a ploy to get her to spill her own secrets. She liked the Weasleys, but she wasn't about to tell them everything-she still hadn't told Hermione and Daphne the details of how she had come to be Dumbledore's ward along with her cousin. And if she told the Weasleys about the voice, they might think she was crazy and tell someone else. Hermione and Daphne knew her, knew that she wasn't insane.
She did wonder if it had something to do with the remarkably shy Ginny Weasley, who was currently eating at the Gryffindor table with Percy, head bowed low over a meager portion of food. The girl blushed or turned pale everytime she encountered her. Daphne had blasely asked the poor girl if she had a crush on Hazel, causing both Hazel and Ginny to turn a furious shade of red. Ginny had scurried off after that, and no one, not even Percy could find her for the rest of the day.
Just as Hazel moved to take her first bite of sausage, Hedwig dropped a package onto her plate, sending food flying across the table. Some of it landed on Ron's plate. He grinned and shovelled a piece of sausage into his mouth. Hedwig fluttered downwards, perching on Hazel's shoulder. She stroked the snowy owl, smiling as she nipped at her fingers before flying off towards the owlery again.
With deft fingers, she pulled the paper wrapping and string off the package, recognizing the loopy handwriting at once. Albus. She looked across the hall to where Dudley sat-he too had received a similarly sized package. This was her first year at school with a proper guardian-she wondered if it was a care package of sweets and reminders of home that so many students receive at the beginning of each school year.
Hermione squealed in excitement as the wrapping fell off the package. Books. How quintessentially Albus. Hermione, unable to help herself, reached across the table to grab the top book. Her brows furrowed, she looked at the spine, which simply said Occlumency in aged gold letters.
"Occlumency?" Hermione said. "I can't say I've ever heard of it. It must be very old or very advanced."
Daphne snorted. "A book Hermione hasn't heard of? I'm shocked."
Hazel thumbed through the rest of the books-some of them were Muggle novels, but two more were about advanced defensive magic, and another was about soul magic. Hermione reached for them greedily, but Hazel shook her head and magicked the wrapping back into place when she saw Draco approaching.
"Just when I thought this school couldn't get any filthier," he drawled. "Dumbledore goes and brings in an actual Muggle, not just mudbloods. I swear the old man gets barmier by the day."
Hazel clenched her fists. Forget magic-she just wanted punch Malfoy in the face. Albus was the first adult to give her a real home, to show her affection, and Dudley was the only family she had left. She wasn't about to sit there and let Draco insult them, Albus's instructions to behave and the potential for detention be damned.
"Easy there, Hazelnut," George said. "Let me and Fred handle this one."
And before she could blink, the twins were brandishing their wands. And before McGonagall could swoop down upon them, they had Malfoy dangling upside down, robes about his head, green underpants on display for the entire hall. Hazel burst into laughter, and many others soon joined her. Hermione tried to look disapproving, but a grin broke through.
"Let me down! Let me down!" Draco demanded, his voice muffled by his robes.
"I don't think we will," Fred said. "Not until you apologize to Hazel here."
But she would never know if Draco was going to apologize, because he dropped from the air just as a nasally voice sounded beside her.
"Miss Potter, Misters Weasleys. Forgive me, but I had thought our chat last night would have been more impactful. Fifty points from Slytherin, and one-hundred more from Gryffindor."
"You didn't hear what Malfoy said!" Hazel protested. Of course it had to be Professor Snape-Professor McGonagall would have taken maybe half as many points and left it at that, and would have taken points from Malfoy as well, if she had heard what he said. She didn't stand for any nonsense, but she was fair.
Professor Snape was a different beast altogether.
*HP*
When he saw Malfoy dangling upside-down from that spell, he saw red. He couldn't think of anything but that day. And he couldn't hear anything but himself saying that word.
And Lily smiling and Potter laughing at him, just as Hazel and the Weasleys were the Malfoy boy.
Without thinking, he grabbed the girl by her arm, dragging her away, not caring for her protests or pleas. He saw the twin menaces sharing a look, heard Greengrass and Granger say the girl had nothing to do with it. He didn't care. The whole thing smacked of Potter. Someone-he didn't know who-but someone had told the girl. And when he found out who had, he was going to tear them limb from limb. How dare they, how dare they!
"Professor, you're hurting me!" the small voice cut through his angry thoughts.
He dropped the girl's arm, staring blankly at the red marks on her wrist where he had gripped her. Albus was going to kill him. Familiar self-loathing was starting to replace his anger. He took several deep breaths-the girl wasn't Potter, nor was she Lily, however she looked.
"I had thought better of you, Miss Potter. Does Slytherin House mean nothing to you? I hope you recall our first rule."
"Present a united front," she whispered. "But sir, Malfoy was saying awful things about Albus and Dudley."
"Words are just that," he said, feeling every inch the hypocrite. Had he not always been ready to fight Potter and his gang over the simple childish insult Snivellus? Had he not lost his one true friend over, just a word?
The girl flushed red. "I know, professor. I-I don't know what's come over me lately. It's like I know things are a bad idea, but I just can't help myself. Albus doesn't need me to defend him."
He looked at the girl, refusing to meet her eyes. He was tempted to blame this streak of mischief on Potter, but he knew it was Lily too. Lily had always been surrounded by friends and laughter. She was a good student, yes, but no saint, not to anyone but him. She had quite the habit of getting even with anyone who threatened or insulted her friends. And how many nights had they snuck out to the kitchens together, sharing secrets? How many times had they been late for class, because they had lingered over their meal, desperate to recapture those hours of solitude they had shared in Cokeworth?
"Professor?" she said, pulling him from his reminiscence. "I'm sorry."
"It's no matter, Miss Potter," he said. "But you will be serving detention with me tonight, rather than attending the feast. And twenty-five points to Slytherin for willingly acknowledging your own wrongdoing."
A smile split the girl's face. "Yes, sir."
When she arrived for detention that night, her face was solemn. Perhaps there had been something to what she had said last night-the Weasleys were cheering her up. It was not since she had suspected him a murderer that the girl had been so blank in his presence. She was pale and sweat dripped down her brow.
"You'll be writing an essay on why your behavior has been so abysmal as of late," he said. "Two feet. You'll write until it is done."
He waited for acknowledgement from the girl, not looking up from the papers he was marking. The girl didn't answer. "Miss Potter!" he snapped, looking up.
The girl was bone white. Something had her frightened-guilt churned in his stomach once more. He had been strict, yes, but surely she was not afraid of him. Against his will, his dark eyes slid down to her wrists, where bruises had formed. He had done that to the girl. You're no better than Tobias, his mind supplied.
Narrowing his eyes, he tried to make eye contact with the girl, desperate to figure out what had her so out of sorts. But when he looked into her mind, he heard only sibollant hisses. The world spun around him as he pulled himself out of her mind-he had not heard such sounds since the Dark Lord. To find them in the girl's mind-it was unthinkable.
"Miss Potter," he said, this time softer. "Is there anything you would like to tell me?"
She shook her head. "No," she said.
Stubborn, impertinent child! "Then get to work!"
"Yes, sir," she whispered, sitting down at the rickety desk she always favored. She pulled out a piece of parchment and spun her quill in her hand.
Then he heard the scratching of her quill. He smirked. He would have her secrets soon enough.
*HP*
Why had she changed, in these short few months? Was it as pronounced as Professor Snape seemed to believe? She didn't know. It was a hard thing to think about for a child, comparing the past self to the current self and then thinking about what she wanted her future self to be. Perhaps she was becoming someone else, or perhaps she was only becoming more herself, now that she was no longer beaten down and fearful.
At least regarding the Dursleys.
Hogwarts was supposed to be her home, her refuge, but now she feared what she was becoming. She was becoming someone Professor Snape didn't like, and that bothered her. And then there was the voice, making her sometimes timid and sometimes bold. She didn't know where it came from or what it meant, only that it could mean nothing good. Albus would likely have an explanation, but she feared what would happen to her if he didn't, and she didn't even want to think what Professor Snape would say.
Yet another thing you think makes you special, she imagined him sneering. No, she wanted Professor Snape to like her, to believe in her, not think her an attention seeking fathead.
She put her quill to the parchment and began writing what she thought he wanted to hear, because the truth didn't bear telling.
She wrote about how sometimes she thought Fred and George were funny, but how she didn't like it when they were cruel. She wrote how she admired the Weasley's bravery and loyalty, how she wanted to be like them, even if it made her a snake in the lion's den. She simply didn't know how to excise the good from the bad. She wanted to fit in with someone-she knew she would always have Daphne and Hermione, but part of her longed for something more.
She wanted to belong. Her writing wasn't all lies-that was true enough.
In the Muggle world she was that freak with the baggy, faded clothes, the idiot cousin of the biggest bully in the school. In the wizarding world, she was a hero. Only her friends saw her as Hazel, just Hazel, and that's all she wanted to be seen as. She suspected even Albus saw her as a piece in a bigger game from time to time, and then there was Professor Snape, who she suspected didn't see her at all.
"...so hungry...for so long…"
Hazel dropped her quill.
Professor Snape scowled at her. "Please forgo the dramatics, Miss Potter."
"I-I've finished," she said, scribbling the last words onto the parchment. It was just shy of two feet, but she planned to be out the door before Professor Snape was any the wiser. She had to find the source of the voice, before anyone got hurt. What if it was some horrid monster, and it burst into the Great Hall? What if it caught Hermione, Daphne, or the Weasleys? She couldn't bear the thought.
She curled up the parchment and dropped it on his desk before bolting out the door.
She raced down the corridor, seeking out the source of the voice. "Kill...time to kill…". The hisses grew louder and louder, and she heard the sound of running water. It was going to kill someone. She didn't wish that on anyone, not even Malfoy, not even the Dursleys. She had to stop it, somehow.
"I smell blood...I SMELL BLOOD!"
Water splashed around her ankles as she ran.
And then nothing but the sound of a wailing ghost and running water.
"MISS POTTER!"
Hazel turned around to face her professor, pale-faced and afraid. She was vaguely aware of two firm hands on her shoulders, shaking her, calling her back to herself. She looked up into Professor Snape's face, expecting to see his familiar, murderous expression, but instead his face was blank and white.
"Professor?"
She turned around to see what had captured his attention so. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir...beware. It was written in a red liquid that looked terribly like blood. Hazel took a step back, running into the professor, whose hand returned to her shoulder.
"Miss Potter," he murmured. "We must leave. It is imperative that we are not found here…"
Unable to help herself, Hazel drew closer to the professor. "Is that Mrs. Norris?" she whispered.
"Yes, Miss Potter. Now follow me."
But it was too late. A rumbling filled the corridor, the loud sounds of happy and well-fed children echoing down the hall. Hazel looked up at Professor Snape, whose grip on her shoulder had tightened. She got the impression he was doing some very fast thinking.
"Professor!"
The rumbling died down, as the crowd caught sight of the dangling cat and bloody text. The older students shared knowing looks as the younger ones looked on, wide-eyed.
A shout broke through the quiet. "Enemies of the heir, beware! You'll be next, mudbloods!" Hazel turned to glare at Draco Malfoy, noting the flush on his usually bloodless face, how his cold eyes were alive with malice.
Professor Snape's grip was almost painful now.
And just when Hazel thought the situation could not get any worse, a gruff voice called, "What's going on here? What's going on?"
Filch pushed his way through the crowd of students, then clutched his chest when he saw Mrs. Norris, his usual bluster faltering.
His eyes immediately fell on Hazel. It was as if he did not see Professor Snape.
"You've murdered my cat!" he screeched. "You've killed her. I'll-I'll kill you!"
As he reached for the front of her robes, she shrunk back into Professor Snape, whose wand was now pressed to Filch's throat. The caretaker's pale eyes widened in disbelief. Clearly, he had thought he had an ally in Professor Snape.
"That's quite enough," Professor Snape said, his voice low and deadly.
"Severus." Albus's voice filled the corridor-Hazel's shoulders slumped in relief. For a moment, it had seemed things were going to get nasty indeed, but with Albus here, she was confident that everything would be alright
Professor Snape dropped his wand, still scowling, but Filch did not step away.
Albus and Professor McGonagall swept past them. In one swift movement, Albus detached Filch's beloved cat from the torch bracket.
"Come with me, Argus," he said. "And you too, Severus, Hazel."
Lockhart, who had only just arrived, stepped forward eagerly.
"My office is nearest, Headmaster-just upstairs-please feel free-"
"Thank you, Gilderoy," Albus said.
The crowd parted, allowing them to pass. Filch's pale eyes kept darting to Hazel, then back to Professor Snape, but he didn't say anything. Lockart, self-important as ever, trailed behind them.
Hazel had never been to Lockhart's office-she did her utmost to avoid the man. She could not have imagined a space more fitting for the obnoxious man. The walls-what she could see of them-were a shade of lilac, but they were mostly covered with pictures of Lockhart himself, beaming down at his visitors. A few of them ducked out of their frames, their hair in rollers.
Albus and Professor McGonagall bent low over Mrs. Norris, casting spells and sharing whispers. Hazel strained to hear, but everything sounded fuzzy to her. Lockhart's babbling didn't help matters.
"It was definitely a curse that killed her-probably the Transmogrifan Torture-I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very countercurse that would have saved her…"
Unable to help herself, Hazel rolled her eyes and looked up at Professor Snape, who seemed to be trying to hide a smile.
Lockhart's continued comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs. The caretaker was slumped in one of Lockhart's ostentatious chairs, looking very heartbroken and very out of place. Hazel couldn't help but feel bad for him-she imagined how she would feel if something were to happen to Hedwig.
Albus murmured some strange words under his breath and tapped Mrs. Norris with his wand, but nothing happened.
"...I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once…"
The photographs of Lockhart nodded along, one oblivious to the hairnet still in his golden hair.
Dumbledore straightened his back and placed his wand in his robes.
"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.
Lockhart abruptly stopped recounting his supposed accomplishments.
"Not dead? But why's she all-all stiff and frozen?"
"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say…"
"Ask them!" Filch screeched, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Hazel and Professor Snape. Hazel glared at their accuser.
Albus peered over his glasses, directing a piercing gaze at them. "I trust Severus with my life. He would not have done this."
"But he could have!" Filch raged. "He-he was a Death Eater! They sent him to Azkaban! And he knows, he knows that-I'm a squib!"
Hazel's eyes widened. She knew what a squib was, thanks to the books Albus had given her, but she would never have guessed Filch was one. She supposed it made sense-she never saw him use magic-but she couldn't imagine being a Squib at Hogwarts, always reminded of what should have been yours, but you could never have. She felt another stab of pity for the formerly hated man.
"And what were they doing in that corridor? They weren't at the feast with everyone else!" Filch said.
"I gave Miss Potter detention for the incident at breakfast this morning. She ran from my classroom for a reason unknown to me. I was merely following her."
Albus's gaze turned to her. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes.
"I needed the loo," she whispered.
Professor Snape scoffed, but didn't challenge her.
"My cat has been Petrified! It had to be one of them!"
"This is Dark Magic far beyond a second year, Argus. And I trust Severus. Innocent until proven guilty."
"I want to see some punishment!"
"We will be able to cure her," Albus said patiently. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrake. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris."
"I'll make it," Lockhart said. Hazel supposed she should not have expected the conversation to continue very long without his input. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep-"
"Excuse me," said Professor Snape icily. "But I believe I am the Potions master at this school."
A very awkward pause followed.
"You may go, Hazel," Albus said. "But I must ask if there is anything you wish to tell me."
"No sir," she mumbled to her shoes. Then she left as quickly as she could without actually running.