"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron said, pushing his way through a crowd of first years who had stopped to gape at Hazel. "But I never knew he started all this pure-blood stuff. I wouldn't be in his house if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I'd've got the train straight back home…"
Hazel opened her mouth to tell him off and inform him of the distinguished history of her house, but Daphne beat her to it.
"Excuse me," she said icily. "But Hazel and I happen to be Slytherins."
"The only good ones in the lot," Ron muttered. "I forget, sometimes…"
"Well, you're lucky I forget what a git you are most of the time so I can tolerate you," Daphne said. "Honestly, Ron, we're not all evil followers of You-Know-Who. My dad was a Slytherin and happens to be an auror, you know."
A first year Hufflepuff rounded the corner and ran into Hazel, falling to the ground. Hazel offered the girl a hand up, but she squeaked, pushed herself to her feet, and ran in the opposite direction. Everyone thought she was the Heir of Slytherin. She didn't know why-after all, Professor Snape had been there too, and wouldn't the hated professor and former Death Eater be a much more likely culprit than a second year student?
Not for the first time, she wished she was a Gryffindor. That had been her parents' house, the house of heroes. She well remembered begging the Sorting Hat to put her in it-she wanted to be brave, good, heroic-but it wouldn't hear it. Instead the old hat had whispered in her ear, telling her she would be great in Slytherin, that she would make her real friends there.
When the hat declared her to be a Slytherin, she hadn't been able to quell her fears. She had already heard of its reputation for Dark wizards and witches, how her parents' murderer had been from that house….
Adrian passed them in the corridor, his tie crooked and his sandy hair tousled. He tried to stop to speak to her, but he was caught in the crowd.
"Hazel-Hazel-watch out, Malfoy's upset, and he's-"
Whatever he said next was lost in the echoing rumble of the crowd. All she heard was "-be careful-" before he was gone.
"I wonder what Malfoy is upset about," Ron said.
"Probably that everyone thinks I'm the Heir of Slytherin," she said. "I bet it's just eating him up, that he can't say it was him."
"People are afraid, Hazel," Hermione said. "They don't know you like we do-"
"All they see is a green tie. I know, Hermione. It just seems so silly, what people are willing to believe about each other. Especially seeing as we don't even know there is a Chamber of Secrets."
Hermione smiled sadly. "Myth often has its basis in fact," she said. "I'm not saying there is or isn't a chamber, just that there's the possibility it does exist. And, well, Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs. Norris-that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not even be human. If there's some monster living in Hogwarts, it would make sense that it would dwell in a secret place nobody has ever found."
They rounded the corner and found themselves at the end of the corridor, the scene of the attack. Nothing had changed, aside from Mrs. Norris's removal from the bracket. The words still glistened on the wall, catching the torchlight. An empty chair sat on the opposite wall, facing the ominous words.
"We shouldn't be here," Daphne said. "Filch will be lurking about. He's been right crazy about sticking around here. It's like he thinks the attacker will be daft enough to come back and, I don't know, attack another cat."
"He's also daft enough to think he could stop it," Hazel said, thinking of how vulnerable Filch was as a Squib. Squibs were hardly better than Muggles to blood-purists-both he and Dudley would be targets as much as the Muggle-borns if this was more than an isolated attack.
She looked around. The corridor was empty, and all was quiet except a ghost wailing in the girl's bathroom.
"Can't hurt to have a poke around," Hazel said, casting her eyes about for clues.
Hazel soon found scorch marks, and Hermione noticed a long line of spiders scurrying to get through a small crack in the window frame. Ron backed away, looking as if he very much wished to be somewhere else.
"I-don't-like-spiders," he said.
A wicked grin crossed Daphne's face. "Our brave, brave Gryffindor boy is scared of a little spider?"
"It's not funny," he said. "When I was three, Fred turned my teddy into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick…"
He shuddered. Hazel and Daphne were clearly trying not to laugh. Hazel didn't find it funny, even though she didn't much mind spiders, other than that they reminded her of her cupboard.
Hazel took a few steps towards the girl's bathroom. "I wonder if Moaning Myrtle knows anything about it."
"Can't hurt to ask," Daphne said.
They moved towards the door. Daphne and Hermione walked through, and Hazel turned and raised a brow at Ron. "Coming?"
"Can't go in there," he said. "That's a girls' toilet."
"Suit yourself," she said, stepping inside.
Hazel never used this toilet if she could help it. Strictly speaking, it was out of order, but there was nothing really wrong with it, if you could ignore Moaning Myrtle. The mirrors were cracked and spotted and the sinks were chipped. There were no windows-the only light came from candle stubs that looked as though they had not been replaced in a very long time. The wooden doors to the stalls were scratched, the paint flaking, and one dangled from its hinges. Moaning Myrtle hovered just outside the most dilapidated stall.
"Hello, Myrtle," Hazel said mildly.
Myrtle glared at her. "I don't know you-but you're a Slytherin. Olive Hornby was a Slytherin, she and her friends were always saying awful things about me…"
"I'm not like that," she said. "I'm Hazel Potter. I've, er, heard about you."
"Oh, and what have you heard? That I'm a fat, ugly, pimply, four-eyed baby? Oh, I've heard it all before, go ahead and tell me what you've heard!"
"No, it's not like that," Hazel said. "I-I know what it's like to be bullied, I'd never do that to someone."
Myrtle's eyes narrowed. Hermione and Daphne shared a look-Hazel had never said anything about being bullied before, aside from her few encounters with Malfoy.
"What do you have to be bullied about? You're, well, pretty."
"Oh, people will find anything to find fault with," she said vaguely. "Point is, I'm not here to make fun of you. No one wants to upset you."
That was the wrong thing to say.
"No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!" howled Myrtle. "My life was nothing but a misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death."
"Really, Myrtle," Daphne said dryly. "If you wanted a peaceful death, you should have gone on."
Myrtle gave a tragic sob before diving headfirst into her toilet, splashing water all over them. Hazel scrunched her nose-toilet water was inherently disgusting, never mind cleaning spells and the disuse of these toilets.
"Come on, you two, that was honestly almost cheerful for her…"
Hazel had only just closed the door on Myrtle's muffled sobs when a nasally voice caused them all to jump. Professor Snape was standing there, holding Ron by the top of his robe.
"Why am I not surprised, Miss Potter? I knew the moment I saw your cretinous friend...lurking...outside. Perhaps you learned nothing from last year about becoming involved in things which do not concern you."
Hazel blushed at the reminder of their ill-fated trip to investigate the protections on the stone.
"It's not against the rules to use the toilet, sir," she said.
"Quite right," he said. "But one must wonder, Miss Potter, why you chose this one when it's so very far from any place you ought to be."
Hazel looked into his eyes, ignoring the prickling sensation she felt. She knew what he was doing, thanks to Albus's book, and resented it. He had no business poking around in her mind. She might trust him, like him, even, but she didn't fancy having anyone looking in her head without her express permission.
To her surprise, he looked away first.
"Come along, Miss Potter," he said at last. "You and I must discuss that abysmal piece of writing you produced in detention."
With one look back at her friends, she followed Professor Snape down the corridor, dreading the conversation to come.
*HP*
He sat down behind his desk, pinning the girl with a piercing stare. She squirmed in her chair. That was a reaction he understood well enough. He knew all about fear, feeling it and inspiring it. Other emotions, not so much, which was what led him to have this conversation with the impossible girl. He had never understood the workings of children's minds, not even when he had been one, but he suspected even Minerva would balk at the load of tripe the girl had handed him on Halloween.
Lucius found endless amusement in him being a teacher, of all things. He was supposed to have insight into young people's minds, given his (not) chosen profession. But he didn't. He loathed children. He didn't understand them, especially not girls. Even though he had been friends with Lily for years, he had never understood her. It came so naturally for the other professors-Minerva, Filius, and Pomona all had a talent for understanding the little beasts-and none of them could hold a candle to Albus, who always knew just what they were thinking, without even stooping to using Legilimency.
Oh, he knew what the students thought, in the most literal sense. He knew well the names they called him when they thought he couldn't hear. When the rare student came along and played it close to the vest, he could look into their mind without them being any the wiser. But he didn't understand why they thought what they did, where those ignorant and ill-formed opinions came from. They baffled him, not that he would ever admit it.
And the girl in front of him was the most baffling of all.
Even after her relatives' abuse, she was a happy and kind girl. When he had suffered what she had, it had turned him bitter and hateful, which in turn made him hated and bitter. He would hate his parents until his dying breath, whereas the girl had forgiven one of her chief tormentors, that stupid Dursley boy. He had turned away from everyone, except Lily, though she had ultimately turned from him. Yet the girl was surrounded by friends and admirers, the recent rumors aside. She was curious and interfering (just like her guardian), yet trusting and true. She wasn't afraid to feel, unlike him. She was happy, unlike him, and probably always would be.
She was staring at him now, most likely wondering why he had pulled her away from her friends for a conversation they weren't yet having. He looked into her eyes, into her mind, his gut churning as her eyes narrowed into angry slits. He felt a feeble flailing against him, as the girl struggled to order her thoughts and shut him out, but it was useless. His legilimency was behind only Albus's and the Dark Lord's.
Then he heard that hissing again, just as he had heard it on Halloween. What it meant, he didn't know, but he did know hearing Parseltongue in the mind of this particular girl could not be a good sign.
"I wish you wouldn't do that," she said, dragging him away from his thoughts.
"Excuse me?" he said coldly. "I don't see where your wishes enter the picture, Miss Potter."
"If you want to know something, you could always ask me," she said cheekily.
He nearly snorted. "And I am certain you would be forthcoming with answers to my questions."
"I might not tell you something, professor, but I wouldn't lie to you," she said.
"I suppose Albus taught you that particular trick," he muttered. "But I'll play along. Tell me, what does this rot you wrote mean?"
A blush crept up her chest and onto her face. "I didn't think I'd have to talk about it."
"I'm surprised you can think at all, with as much sense as this paper makes. Tell me, what are you afraid of?"
The girl looked away from him, at a candle sitting on his desk, a contemplative look on her face. At least she was thinking about it, rather than spurting out the first thing that came to mind. That's what a Gryffindor would do, though, and he expected better of his Slytherins.
After a long moment, she spoke. "I don't know, Professor. Change and changing, I guess. Everything is so different, this year-I never thought that Ron and the Weasleys would be my friends, not after last year, but they are. I thought I was stuck at the Dursleys. I mean, I'm happy with what's changed so far, but I feel like I'm not the Hazel Potter I used to be, and sometimes I miss her."
He raised a brow, privately impressed. He had not expected a twelve-year-old girl to be so candid about her feelings, let alone have that level of insight. He certainly hadn't until his twenties and still lacked it at times, if he was being honest. Something warm filled him-the girl was telling this to him of all people, that had to mean something. Perhaps she really did trust him, despite all that had transpired between them.
Albus had certainly been a good influence on her. That warm feeling turned to something bitter-where would he be if Albus had looked past his green tie? Where would he be if someone, anyone had truly cared about him when he was a child?
But someone did, his mind whispered. And you pushed her away. Lily had cared, up to the moment that accursed word had slipped out of his mouth. And with Lily came her parents and their love and caring. Henry Evans, the kind English professor who loved his books, with his red hair, green eyes, and sloppy tie, always with a witty joke and ready smile. He had fought in the war, but he hadn't let it destroy him. He was everything Tobias Snape was not-smart, friendly, loving, brave. And then there was Violet Evans, a placid woman, a faithful wife, and a loving mother. She was nothing like Eileen Snape, who was quick to anger and even quicker to hurt her son. The Evans's had been older when they had their children, being twenty years the Snape's senior, but they were better for it: their children were cherished treasures, instead of an unwanted burden.
It may have been Lily who showed him friendship, but it was her parents who taught him about love and what a family should be. They had loved Severus as if he were their own-Henry and Violet would stop to speak to him on the street even after Lily had declared him beyond redemption, even while their daughters looked on beside them, eyeing him with contempt. They had cared about him, they truly had. If only he hadn't had his stubborn pride. As a child, he had thought their attempts to help him pity and charity, but it hadn't been. He knew now it was love, and the Evans's would have whisked him away from Tobias and Eileen, if only he had been brave enough to say the words.
He couldn't help but wonder what Henry and Violet would think of him now, of the tangled web of his life. Somehow he thought that Henry would still stop him on the corner to tell him about a new book he had read. Somehow he knew that Violet would still pull him into a tight hug and whisper that it would all be okay. He had unwittingly taken their daughter's life after foolishly pledging his own to a madman, but they would have forgiven him, even though he couldn't forgive himself. He didn't know how he knew this, but he was as certain of it as he was Golpalott's Third Law. Henry and Violet had no doubt heard what he became from Lily, but they had never treated him any differently than they had when he was their daughter's shadow-they had treated him with respect and kindness until the day they died in that horrible car crash in Manchester, on their way home from Henry's favorite author's lecture.
He knew, too, that they would be proud of the girl in front of him. If he was a better man, he would have told her so, but that part of him was too carefully hidden. Instead he opted for his favorite mask-biting spite.
"That's maudlin rot worthy of a Gryffindor," he said, watching the girl's face contort in anger and confusion. "Now tell me, what are you afraid of?"
"I just told you!"
"No, you obfuscated. What were you scared of, Halloween night, when you ran down the corridor, straight to the scene of an attack?"
"I-I-" the girl began.
"Choose your words carefully, girl," he said. "You promised not to lie, and I will have points from you if you do."
He had her thoroughly boxed in with her own sentiments. He would have her secrets now.
But she looked up at him, defiance in her features, a spark of it in her hazel eyes. "I also said I might not tell you, and I won't."
Rage twisted his face-he wasn't used to this quiet, confident non-compliance in his students. It was infuriating enough on Albus, but to have this slip of a girl use it on him was unpalatable.
She might have scored a point, but he would strike the final blow. "Ten points from Slytherin," he said.
"What?" she said. "You're-" she snapped her mouth shut, evidently thinking better of what she was about to say.
His eyes glistened dangerously. "Go ahead and finish your surely ill-advised statement, now that you've begun it."
"First you look in my mind without my permission," she snapped. "And then you try to force me to tell you my private thoughts! You, professor, are sticking your big nose where it doesn't belong!"
The girl then stormed off without being dismissed. A smirk crossed his face. He knew he ought to be furious about her disrespect, but that outburst was pure Lily. He had pushed her, and she had reacted. He found himself enjoying the girl's company rather more now that she wasn't a fearful doormat. Perhaps there was more to her than he had previously thought.
*HP*
Hazel slid down into her usual seat between the twins, head in her hands. She could not believe she said that. Oh, Professor Snape must be furious! He would surely tell Albus, and then she would get that horrible twisted feeling in her stomach, like she did every time she did something that caused Albus to be disappointed. Albus never raged at her, he didn't even really lecture her. Sometimes she wished he would. It would be better than his gentle disappoint and quiet suggestions as to what she could have done and might do in the future.
"Did you do something to get detention again?" Hermione asked.
She glanced up at the high table, where Professor Snape was taking his seat. He looked at her and smirked.
"Maybe…" Hazel said. "But he hasn't given me one. Not yet."
"Oh, Hazel!" Hermione said. "What did you do?"
"I may have refused to answer his question and told him he had a big nose."
Daphne snorted and the three Weasleys laughed. Ron sputtered his pumpkin juice into his glass. Hermione, however, looked disapproving, as she always did where disrespecting a teacher was concerned.
"You said that to the git?" Ron said. "And he didn't give you detention?"
"I may have also ran off before he had the chance to respond."
Fred and George shared a look.
"We're proud of you, Hazelnut" George said.
"We've been an excellent influence," Fred added.
"More like terrible," Daphne muttered.
Just then, Hazel noticed several Hufflepuffs turned around, staring at her. Among them was Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had run away from her early today. It wasn't hard to figure out why-he was a Muggle-born and he thought she was the Heir of Slytherin. She had been nothing but kind to Justin and his friends, and they thought the worst of her. While the thought would have once made her angry or sad, she was now just resigned to it.
But that didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun. She smiled coyly and waved, relishing how their eyes widened as they turned away.
"Nice one," George said.
"That'll show those tossers," Fred said.
But the Hufflepuffs weren't the only one staring at her. Malfoy and his friends kept sending discrete glances her way. He looked furious about something. Pansy rubbed small circles on his back as he shrugged away from her grip.
"Trouble in paradise?" Fred called down the table.
"You think you're so funny, Weasley," Malfoy said. "You and your mudblood and blood-traitor friends."
"At least we have friends," George said. "You just have goons and lackeys."
Crabbe and Goyle shared a puzzled look. Hazel supposed they didn't know what a goon was.
Malfoy flushed red. "You won't be laughing when the Heir comes for you!" he said. "You're the biggest blood traitors in the school. And you, Potter, palling around with them! You and the likes of Snape-you miserable half-bloods-you'll be the first to go when he returns! The Heir won't tolerate filth in Slytherin House!"
The Weasley twins shared a look. "Snape's a half-blood?" Fred mouthed.
"What would you know about it?" Hazel said. If only she could get Malfoy to admit he was the heir, or knew who he was.
"More than you!" Draco said.
Daphne kicked her under the table.
"Come on, Hazel," she said. "He just wants to impress Pansy. He doesn't know a thing. He's nothing but a nasty little prejudiced brat."
"You're right," Hazel said, tearing her eyes away from Malfoy. "I'd best go get some rest if I want to beat Fred and George at the match tomorrow." She smiled at her two friends, who were now protesting furiously that Gryffindor would win.
Hazel woke early the next morning. When she made her way down to breakfast, she found the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams huddled at their respective tables, which were almost empty aside from the players. She grinned at Fred and George, noting the Gryffindor captain's scowl, and made her way to sit next to Adrian Pucey. He ran a hand through his sandy hair and smiled at Hazel.
"It's about time you showed up, Potter," Marcus said, before launching into his usual speech about how it's only illegal if you get caught.
They made their way down to the pitch to get dressed in their green and silver Quidditch robes. It was a muggy day, but fine flying conditions, at least for the moment. There were dark clouds in the sky, hanging gloomily overhead. Derrick and Bole hefted their bats on their shoulders, flanking Hazel on each side, scowling at passersby as they made their way to the field.
Adrian glanced at Hazel. He jerked his head to the side, indicating he wanted her to follow him under the stands.
Once they were away from the rest of the team, he leaned closer to her. She could scarcely hear what he said over the roar of the crowd above. "I've been wanting to tell you this, but I can never seem to catch you. I overheard something. Marcus and that Malfoy git were talking with Professor Snape-Lucius Malfoy offered to buy the lot of us Nimbus 2001s if Professor Snape put his son on the team as Seeker. Snape offered him Montague's spot as Chaser, but he insisted on the Seeker position. Snape ended up refusing him outright-apparently he and the Malfoys had a big row about it."
Hazel scowled. That sounded exactly like Malfoy. Bribing his way onto the time, trying to take her spot-oh, she would like to hex the little git.
"Lucius Malfoy is here today-I think he's looking for a reason that'll convince Snape to take you off the team. He's putting a lot of pressure on Marcus and Snape. I just wanted to let you know-fly like you've never flown before."
Hazel looked into Adrian's brown eyes, feeling a great fondness for her friend. They hadn't spoken much this year, but she knew she could always count on him. She fought the urge to hug him.
"Right," she said. "Let's show that arse he can't buy his slimy son a spot on our team."
"That's my Hazel," Adrian said, placing a hand on her shoulder, smiling.
The two friends left the underside of the stands, brooms in hand, ready for the match to start.
*HP*
"Severus, now, you really ought to reconsider-"
Severus's whole body was tense. He had been listening to Lucius's prattling for the last hour and had come close to cursing the man several times. He probably would have if Lucius wasn't a member of the Board of Governors. Not that losing his teaching position would be any great loss, for him or the students.
"She's just a silly little girl. Don't tell me you've let her on the team because you're still mooning over that mudblood she has the misfortune to resemble."
Severus clenched his fists and started counting to ten.
"Miss Potter earned her spot on the team," he said icily. "Your son did not. I have witnessed both of them flying-I assure you, Miss Potter is the superior flier."
"So you say," Lucius said. "How about a small wager of, say, one-hundred galleons? I say the Gryffindor boy gets the Snitch. And if he does, you let Draco onto the team."
His eyes narrowed. Lucius was goading him again. A small wager, one-hundred galleons! That was a week's wages. That may be pocket change for Lucius, but it was a sum Severus could scarcely afford to lose. And Lucius knew it. Worse, he knew that Severus was touchy about money, growing up the way he had.
But his pride would not allow him to refuge the wager, so he shook Lucius's hand.
He had every faith in the girl's abilities. After all, the new Gryffindor Seeker, Cormac McLaggen, was a complete dunderhead who probably didn't know one end of his broom from the other, if his abysmal performance and annoying antics in his class were any indicator. The boy was as pompous as James Potter and Sirius Black had been, but the girls in his year positively fawned over him, just as they had Potter and Black. All the insufferable boy talked about was Quidditch, judging by the notes he had caught him passing and the conversations he had interrupted, but he knew that obsession with Quidditch didn't equate to talent at it.
He turned his eyes towards the girl, watching as she soared high above the stands, until she was was little more than a speck of green against the bright sun.
Only a few moments into the match, he moved to the edge of his seat as the girl narrowly avoided a Bludger. He cast his eyes around, expecting to see one of the twin menaces nearby, but both of them were on the opposite side of the pitch, trying to unseat Flint with the other Bludger. Bole gave the Bludger which had nearly struck the girl a powerful whack in the direction of one of the Gryffindor Chasers, but it immediately changed directions and hurled back towards the girl again.
She turned in the air, dodging the Bludger once more. Derrick hit it away, only for it to fly at the girl again, who this time put on a burst of speed to avoid it.
He looked at Lucius-Bludgers were not charmed to concentrate on a single player, not unless they'd been tampered with. He wouldn't put it past Lucius to have done it, not with one-hundred galleons and his pride on the line.
It started to rain. Slytherin had the lead at the moment, but with their Beaters concentrating on protecting the girl from that blasted Bludger, the Weasley twins had managed to knock Flint from his broom. The captain was currently laying on the ground, clutching his gut where the Bludger had struck Pomfrey rushed onto the field.
There wasn't even a way for the girl to call a time-out, with their captain out of commission.
A moment later, Bole and Derrick flew off towards the Weasley twins, leaving the girl unprotected. Of all the bone-headed things! Didn't they know that if she was unseated, there was no way for them to win?
He watched as the girl looped and spiraled, moving higher and higher as the Bludger came at her again and again. The crowd roared with laughter-the girl looked ridiculous, but Severus knew a less talented player would have been struck or fallen already. To him (an admittedly bad flier), her performance was impressive.
"I do believe your beloved Seeker missed her calling as a ballet dancer," Lucius said.
And at just that moment, the Bludger slammed into the girl's arm. Severus suppressed his urge to wince-it had struck her hard. It was a wonder she had managed to stay on her broom.
"Perhaps not," Lucius said.
Then, in a streak of green, the girl took off, the Bludger trailing close behind. She was flying straight at the Gryffindor Seeker, who was looking at her with a bewildered expression on his face. Severus's breath caught in his chest-the Snitch, it was hovering just below McLaggen, all he would have to do is look down…
But the girl was faster. In a wild snatch with her left hand, she caught the Snitch, gripping the broom with only her knees. She twirled on her broom, narrowly avoiding the Bludger again as she began her descent.
Severus pushed his way down the stands.
When he reached the pitch, Pucey had already obliterated the Bludger that was still determinedly pursuing the girl with a clever bit of wandwork he was tempted to award points for. But another threat had made its way to the pitch, hovering over the girl, who seemed to be barely conscious.
That buffoon had his wand drawn, brandishing it at the girl. Severus drew his own wand, itching to disarm the man, but he knew that would be entirely inappropriate.
"No-don't-" the girl said weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand. Only a moment later, he had it pointed at the girl's arm.
Severus grimaced as her arm curved, no longer having any structure. The Creevey boy began clicking away madly.
"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. The point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind-"
"You imbecile," Severus snarled. "Of course her arm isn't broken-there are no bones left!"
The girl whitened. He hauled her to her feet, gripping the arm that still had bones in it tightly. The two Weasley boys hefted their bats and glared at Lockhart, flanking him as he led the girl to the hospital wing.
He made sure to bump into Lockhart on the way, sending the man with his absurdly white teeth and perfect robes hurling into the runny mud.
*HP*
After Madam Pomfrey looked her over and magicked her into a hospital gown, Hazel flung herself down on the bed beside Marcus's. She couldn't believe that Lockhart had removed her bones. On second thought, she actually could, because the man was a complete fool. She and Hermione had read some camping books last year (the Grangers were avid campers), and she had read about a spell to debone fish, but she had never thought about someone using it on a person, though she was sure that it was entirely accidental in Lockhart's case. She supposed she ought to be thankful it was just her arm and that Madam Pomfrey could fix it.
Fred and George pulled two chairs up to her bedside, ignoring Marcus's glare.
"Lockhart's a complete prat-I don't know why mum is so obsessed with him," Fred said.
"Yeah," George said. "If Hazel had wanted deboning, she bloody well would have asked for it."
Marcus shifted to face them, grimacing as he moved. "Deboning," he said incredulously.
Hazel raised her arm, letting it flap pointlessly to show him the damage. Marcus shook his head. "I'm going to kill him."
"Get in line," Fred said.
Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain, holding a large bottle of pearly white liquid labelled Skele-Grow. She handed it to Hazel and said, "You're in for a rough night. Regrowing bones is a nasty business."
Hazel took a sip of the potion and nearly spat it out. "Not as nasty as this tastes!" she said. It burned as she swallowed it, causing her to cough and sputter. Madam Pomfrey walked off after she drank the last of it, still tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers.
George handed her a glass of water, a look of sympathy on his face. "I always said Snape makes the potions taste as nasty as he can."
"Mister Weasley," a nasally voice called from across the room. "If you paid the slightest attention in my class, you would know that extraneous ingredients often render a potion ineffective or worse. Forgive me for not going through the arduous process of modifying every common potion to make them more palatable for your senses."
"Git," Fred muttered.
Hazel glanced at Professor Snape. He didn't look angry, so he must not have heard.
"Now, Misters Weasley, I recommend you leave Miss Potter be and join your house in lamenting your Seeker's sub-par performance."
The twins didn't move. Fred glared at him.
"That wasn't a suggestion!"
Knowing better than to argue with Professor Snape or disobey him when he was in such a mood, the twins vacated their seats and left. Professor Snape sat down in one of their seats, smirking.
"You didn't have to do that, you know," Hazel said. "They're really not so bad."
"It is not for you to decide what I do and do not do, Miss Potter," he said, flicking his wand. "Now be quiet. I have something I need to tell you, and that spell I cast will give us complete privacy."
Hazel nodded.
"I suspect you know that Bludgers do not behave as they did today of their own volition."
She nodded again.
"I trust you know what that means?"
"Someone is trying to kill me again," she said.
"Indeed," he said. "Now, Miss Potter, I implore you, tell me what you are hiding."
"It doesn't matter," she said quickly. Too quickly, she knew.
His eyes narrowed. "That is not for you to determine," he said. "You and your empty-headed friends don't know enough to understand what is and is not of importance. Even the slightest detail may be significant."
She wouldn't tell him. She wouldn't. He and Albus would have her carted off to the loony bin. She shook her head. He had rooted around in her head-she didn't understand why he didn't already know, though was grateful that he didn't.
"Do you know the identity of the attacker?" he asked.
She raised a brow. "I wouldn't hide something like that," she said, trailing off. "But Malfoy has been acting strange, going on about the Heir and Muggle-borns and half-bloods. I think he knows something. And I heard he wanted my spot on the team-could he have done something?"
His lips twitched. "Mister Malfoy lacks the brains, power, and ambition to be behind these incidents."
"But his father doesn't," she said, remembering Lucius Malfoy's presence today. "He could be telling him what to do, and he could have cast the spell on the Bludger-"
"Lucius Malfoy did not have the opportunity to enchant the Bludger," he said. "He was with me the entire morning. He is an old friend," he said, though it sounded like the word friend tasted as bad in his mouth as the Skele-Grow did in hers.
"If his father is your friend, then why does Draco hate you so much? He was raving about how the Heir was going to clean the 'filthy half-bloods' like me and you out of Slytherin."
"That is not your concern," Professor Snape said, but he did continue. "I have known the Malfoy family since I was a child myself. Their actions are seldom what they appear to be."
"Are you really a half-blood like me, Professor?" she asked, thinking back on how Aunt Petunia knew who he was. "I always thought you were a pureblood."
"Because I was a Death Eater," he said bitterly, surprising her by admitting it.
"Well, yes," she said.
"Not all Death Eaters are purebloods, just as not all purebloods are Death Eaters. My father was a Muggle," he said, practically spitting the word father. "I grew up in a Muggle neighborhood not far from Manchester."
"Is that how you knew my mum and Aunt Petunia?" she asked. She hadn't known what to think of Aunt Petunia's comments on her mum and Professor Snape. Every time a conversation plausibly led to her asking this summer, he masterfully steered the conversation elsewhere or mysteriously disappeared. She knew better than to believe anything Aunt Petunia said, especially when it came to her mother, but the nasty woman rarely made something up outright. She simply didn't have the imagination for it.
Professor Snape looked thoughtfully out the window. Then, barely more than a whisper, he said, "Yes, I knew your mother as a child. I grew up on the other end of town." Then he turned his black eyes towards her, pausing and fixing her with a piercing stare that rivalled Albus's. "I trust, Miss Potter, that you will keep this information to yourself?"
Hazel nodded, desperate to hear more. She would have agreed to almost anything he wanted to learn more about her mum. She knew so little of her parents. For so many years, she had only heard them referred to as drunkards who had gotten themselves killed. Aunt Petunia had always told her that her mother was a no-good whore and her father was an amateur magician who liked the drink more than his family. To know the truth-they were good people who fought and died in the name of something greater-it made her proud. And here was someone who could tell her all about her mother, someone who wouldn't lie to her.
But before she could ask her questions, Professor Snape spoke. "Now, I suggest you get some rest. You have thirty-three bones to regrow." He stood up and was gone in a swoosh of black robes.
*HP*
He huffed in frustration and took a swig of firewhisky. Someone was trying to kill the girl, again. At least last year he knew who it was and could keep watch over Quirrell, but this year, he hadn't the foggiest. It was unlucky that Pucey had destroyed the Bludger-if they had managed to confine it, he might have been able to determine what kind of magic was affecting it. Despite what he had told the girl, Lucius was his primary suspect. He didn't know how he could have done it-he had came through the floo to his quarters and had spent the entire morning with him-but he was the only suspect he had. Inspecting the Bludger might have yielded some answers, as it might have had traces of the caster's magic. He didn't blame Pucey for destroying it, however-he had protected the girl from further injury, unlike that Lockhart buffoon.
Then there was that conversation with her-he was trying to get her to spill her secrets, and he ended up telling her his instead. Petunia had already revealed some of it, and telling her a little of the truth was better than her speculating on her aunt's words alone.
He didn't understand himself. What he had sworn to never tell her, he had, and it was just her second year. Oh, if she guessed the truth of it, suspected the depth of his love for Lily...he would never recover. He didn't want anyone to know. He loved Lily and always would, but he knew it was pathetic for a man of thirty-two to cling to unrequited love for a childhood friend who had rejected him, hated him by the end of it. He had always been pathetic, and he didn't see that changing. Lily and Albus were the only people in his life to show him so much as a scrap of affection.
And here he was, protecting Lily's daughter from a murderer once again, all because he had been foolish enough to talk to a pretty, well-off girl from the other end of town. If she had continued to think the word witch an insult, followed her sister's lead, he would have been free to live his life of hate. But he couldn't regret leaving Spinner's End. His life, even though it was a mess now, would have been infinitely worse if he had never ventured beyond his parents's hovel. He couldn't regret Lily, either. He could never regret Lily. He loved her.
He drank and drank, downing one bottle of firewhisky, then two. When he was thoroughly drunk, he decided it was time to go see Albus.
He stepped through the floo to the headmaster's office, the world spinning and swaying around him. He was surprised to find Minerva standing at his desk in a tartan dressing gown.
She turned around, stray hairs falling from her bun. "Severus! It is usually customary to announce yourself before coming through someone else's floo."
"I hope I didn't interrupt your shagging session," he sneered.
"Are you drunk, Severus?" she said.
"Quite."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Perhaps you had best return to your rooms for the time being, my boy. I'll be along to speak with you in a minute. There has been another attack. Young Mister Creevey was found Petrified by the stairs to the hospital wing."
"Another attack? I can see why the Heir chose Creevey-he was bloody annoying with that camera."
"Severus!" Minerva snapped. "He's just a boy, excited to find himself in a magical world. I suggest you go back to your quarters and take a Sober-Up Potion if you want to continue this conversation."
"That'd ruin all my hard work getting pissed," he said. "I'm not some errant first year you can just send away with a word, Minerva. I need to talk to Albus about his infuriating ward."
"I was under the impression young Dudley was settling in quite well with Charity," Albus said.
"Being obtuse does not suit you. I'm not talking about Dursley, as you very well know. It's the girl. She's a menace."
"Now, Severus," Minerva said tartly. "I think you're being unfair. She's certainly not as mild as she was last year, but I often find that young girls start to come out of their shell around her age. She's not at all a menace-a few misdemeanors does not a troublemaker make. And that Bludger today was hardly her fault."
"She's impossible! That incident at breakfast-"
"-she had no hand in it. I know that James was fond of that spell, but Misters Weasleys were the ones responsible for casting it on Mister Malfoy. If you had bothered to ask one of the witnesses before dragging the poor girl off, you would have known that, in addition to what Mister Malfoy said to provoke them."
"That girl is up to something, I am sure of it!"
Minerva looked at him, something akin to pity in her eyes. "The girl is not James, Severus. I'm terribly sorry that your school years were so filled with troubles, but you are a thirty-two year old man. You need to act like it. The girl is not trying to make your life miserable. She is simply muddling her way through life as so many adolescents do."
Severus glared at her.
"I should have known you'd be a miserable drunk," she said.
"Now, Minerva," Albus chided. "Perhaps we should hear Severus's concerns. He is her head of house."
"As he sees fit to remind me every Quidditch match."
Feeling triumphant at finally being heard, he said, "The girl has not been herself this year. She seems...fearful. Afraid of something, but she will not tell me what, nor can I intimidate her into telling me. And when I looked in her mind, all I heard was hisses."
Albus sat up straighter in his chair, but a look of fury crossed Minerva's face. Her lips thinned, pressed into a tight line. Severus could not recall her being so angry at him since his school years. The rational part of his mind recoiled, but his drunken self rejoiced.
"You looked into her mind, Severus? After last year? Are you mad? It's a wonder the girl trusts you at all, that's a terrible violation of her person! You can't just enter people's mind on a whim, Mister Snape-"
"Minerva," Albus said. "Severus is no longer a schoolboy for us to set right. I am sure he is aware of the consequences of his actions."
She straightened her dressing gown, looking flustered. "Quite right."
"Now, let us forget how he obtained this information and focus on what it means."
"It sounded like Parseltongue to me," he said.
"Yes," Albus said. "That is distinctly possible. Before you came through the floo, we were discussing the attacks. This is merely another piece of the puzzle. Now tell me, was it a memory, or the present moment you witnessed in the girl's mind?"
"The present moment, just before the attack on Halloween" he said, following Albus's train of thought. "You mean to tell me the girl was hearing a snake, right then? That means, Filch's cat-"
"I believe that a basilisk resides somewhere in the school. Where, I do not know."
"You mean to tell me a great snake, the king of serpents, is moving through the corridors undetected?"
"I suspect it is using the plumbing."
"The plumbing?" he said incredulously.
"Yes," Minerva said. "Albus and I have discussed what could have Petrified Mrs. Norris. Only powerful dark magic or a basilisk."
Severus considered this for a moment. They weren't wrong. He could name a handful of spells that could Petrify a cat-several wore off within hours, others turned the victim to stone in a torturously slow process. Very few painlessly and indefinitely Petrified the victim. The few curses he knew that would do so were not latinate spells, and were therefore generally unknown to all but the most ardent students of Dark Arts in the UK.
"A basilisk would certainly explain the Petrification," he admitted. "There was water where that bloody cat was found-it is entirely possible she merely saw a reflection of the basilisk's eyes. And I'm assuming Creevey was found with his camera?"
Albus nodded. "He was found holding his camera to his eyes."
"Then a basilisk makes sense. But the writing on the wall spoke of an heir, as if a person was responsible for the attack."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said, eyes shining. "The Heir of Slytherin. It was before your time, Severus, but we had a string of similar attacks in 1943, culminating in the death of Myrtle Warren. There were several Petrifications. We believed a basilisk was responsible then as well."
"A basilisk would require the skills of a Parselmouth to command," he said. "And the only known Parselmouth in the last century was the Dark Lord."
"I can name a few besides Tom. Even now, there is a young girl, yet to enter Hogwarts, who comes from a line known for having the gift, poor and mad though they were. But I agree with your assessment-of the Parselmouths that I know of, Tom Riddle is the most likely culprit. Especially given the last attacks occurred when he was a student, and considering what he went on to be," Albus said.
"And last year's events prove that the school is not as protected from him as we had previously believed," Severus said. "Do you have any suspects as to who he is acting through?"
Albus peered at him over his spectacles. "Yes," he said. "I fear he may be acting through Hazel."