~*~ It Seems Like Yesterday . . . ~*~
The room is quiet, save for the sounds of a sleeping hawk who just earlier arrived. Horus was perched on the far side of the room, away from the sight of the fire, but so he could feel it's warmth. He'd flown most of the journey to Hogwart's, and he served in place of an owl for her - hawks always had. Most of the time, he stayed out on his own unless she needed him, and when she did, she would call out to him in his own language - for he was always near her unless he was already on an errand. Just like her other hawks had been before him. Lark looks at the giant bird and smiles, admiring his golden, brown and white hue. She then settles back into her chair, sipping at the tea she'd been filling her cup with for the past hour. It's nearing midnight, and she lacks in the intentions to sleep - and will stay so for hours. Her mind goes then to Severus, wondering if he is still awake, wondering what he is doing. Not that she will go look, of course - but her curiosity was just peeked. Sighing, she gets up from the chair and places her cup onto the table that sat at her side. Her bare feet on comfortable, soft black carpet, she crosses the room to her book shelves (the contents of which had been shipped there days before she'd arrived) and takes up 7 thin, hard backed books. Her feet carry her back to her chair, and as she sits down, she opens the book on top. The picture book for her first year at Hogwart's. A smile creeps across her face . . . it's hard to believe she was once 11 years old, only a year in Europe and still un-tame as her father's family had allowed her to grow up. Her mother had wanted her to stay that way too, and none of them had really thought of the trouble it would cause her in the future - or how it would help to save her life. ~ Was it really so long ago? ~ Her soul asks her. It doesn't seem like it at all. She opens the cover and begins to thumb threw it, looking at the message-less signatures that were scrawled over some of the pages. A child's way of keeping memories, nothing really to say -just the autographs, for at that age everything was so simple. Well, for most children anyway. She begins to look at the pictures, her eyes keeping to the pages that were solely for the Slytherin House. Small faces, most of them snobbish even in the moving images, look back up at her with masked disdain - their true natures hidden for benefit of their parents to display them with pride on fire place mantels or walls for when visitors came and remarked on how 'lovely' their little devils were getting to be. She soon finds the picture of Severus, her smile gentle as the serious face smiles up at her in return through his eyes, through the black tunnels of his soul. That was before his pain, before he'd been broken by his family, and by those he called his friends. . . Before his fate had torn him asunder. She skips over her own picture, then flips back near the front of the Slytherin section. Lark doesn't know why she looks, but she does. Is anger and remembrance so strong in her? ~ Of course, ~ she scolds herself, ~ you were put in this house for more than mere cunning and need to be great at everything. ~ Soon, Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, is looking up at her with a snotty smile. He's peaking through the scratches that are etched over the photo, his eyes showing the lethal hatred that she'd known ever since she'd first met him, the look she had once mistaken as friendly rivalry. ~ What a foolish child I was. ~ Ever since the word passed his lips that very first time, on their very first train ride to Hogwart's. Heathen. . . Heathen. ~ Look at the little, stupid Heathen with her bare feet! ~
She scratches the picture with her nails again, allowing the grooves already made years ago to penetrate into the next page. The image of the boy moves quickly, avoiding the violence meant for him. Always able to avoid what was dealt to him. Well, one day, he wouldn't be able to dodge it anymore - something which she was sure of.
"Tomorrow comes quickly, Lucius," she whispers allowed, "and you won't be ready tomorrow."
Her mind moves away from that, and goes back into the past as she sips her tea and goes onto the next book. And as she does, everything becomes as clear as the pictures she thumbs through . . . .as if it had all taken place yesterday . . .
~*~ 1.1.1.1.1 Part Two ~*~
-The First Year -
~*~ The Express & Sorting ~*~
The woman's dark auburn hair is pulled tightly back into a bun at the nape of her neck as always, to keep her long curls out of her face. She looks down into her daughter's face, seeing twins of her own green eyes smiling back up at her, even if the mood of the child is joyful to cover nervousness. Kneeling in front of the girl, the woman lets her own smile grow larger.
"It'll be alright, my pixie." She tells the girl. "All of my family went to this school. It's the best in Europe. I loved it there when I went."
"What if there doesn't love me?" The 11 year old girl asks, raising one of her small, dark eyebrows. She looks past her mother to the brick wall that leads to the platform where she will board the train at. Except, she doesn't see the illusion put there for muggles. Her family had raised her to see through things like that. She saw what was hidden beyond. The little girl saw platform 9 ¾, and was watching the other children, teenagers and families that had gone through the barrier. The train was probably about ten minutes away from the final call for the passengers to board. She looks back at her mother, after hearing her groan.
"Audrey, trust me . . . it will be okay."
"Isn't that what Father always said?" She regretted that right as it left her lips, but what's said is said. Her mother sighed, fought back the tears and looked away from her child, her only child. "Mother - I know . . . he didn't know what was going to happen." She feels her matriarch take her into a hug. "I'm sorry."
"Don't fret over it, pixie, you get the foot-in-mouth disease from me, just like your eyes." The wan smile on her face did not settle her daughter's soul, and the child was more than pliable as Mother scooted her along through the barrier and they disappeared to the muggles around them - if in fact, they'd been noticed at all. Which it was doubtful they hadn't been. The little girl, with her bare feet, tawny skin, unruly dark hair and emerald green eyes, had a large hawk on her shoulder as she'd stood with her young mother who carried a trunk and a leather bag. It must have been something of a slight shock to see them disappear without a trace. But their minds weren't on that -and neither was that of the daughter and mother. The pair now stood in front of the train, amidst a crowd of wizarding families and the chaos of children loading onto a train that was bound for school.
"I have a very bad feeling about this." The girl whispered to herself, in a tone she knew her mother couldn't hear. She patted the knife which was hidden under her black cardigan, tucked in at her side, over her old, bright green dress. Mother didn't know about that either -thought she'd stowed it away in the trunk for the travel to Hogwart's. But that was something the child would never do. That knife, with it's deadly blade and beautifully carved engravings, was her best friend. It had been since her Father had given it to her, before he had been killed and before she and Mother had crossed the seas to England, to London. She then thinks of her family in America. The Hidden People -her Father's people. They hadn't wanted her and mother to leave. Grandmother hadn't wanted her to go to this wizarding school, so far from both of her homes -away from family. The children of the Hidden People were always schooled at home, in everything that could ever be learned - from the magic of the ancient people, to earth magic and all of the magic of the European wizards (even to the Dark arts) who'd helped them preserve who they were. These were things that every child of the Hidden People was well versed in, and little Audrey Lark Windsong was by far no exception - in fact, she knew more at 11 than her mother knew at 29, and her mother was a very powerful witch. And it was for this reason that her mother was sending her to Hogwart's, against the wishes of Grandmother and the other Hidden People. Little Lark had the knowledge, but it had to be made sure that the knowledge didn't have her. So, Mother thought it best that she go into the care of Albus Dumbledore, head master of Hogwart's, and the other teachers to be found there. Lark would be well attended there, and warned off from the dark arts, which to her mother's sorrow, charmed the little girl to no end. And it was that last factor, when Grandmother was reminded of it, that was the closing argument to whether or not Lark was going to Dumbledore's Hogwart's. The lessons in the dark arts had been to help for protection against them, but the child had secretly studied and learned to perform them on her own. It hadn't been known until she'd practiced Avada Kedavra, the killing curse, on an annoying little yap-yap dog and it had worked -right in front of her father. The curses were her secret enjoyment, something she'd tried so long to hide -and her father's disappointment had hurt her deeply. But, they still fascinated her, and that would not change. No matter how much shame it would bring. Hidden People could keep secrets well, and this was something she'd keep -and be like a trained dog when it came to what she showed her family. After her father had found it, she'd hidden it - but they still knew. They always had after that. But it was her father's look that got to her above it all. The little girl, thinking of this, stops in her walking towards the train, her hand still in her mother's, though the adult woman was not able to move her. Lark was a lot stronger than her thin, short frame let on.
"Pixie?" Her mother was looking down at her again, with concern. She saw the haunted look in her child's eyes. In the green depths, a clear decision was made. ~ They won't see it ever again, I'll hide it all so they'll never see it again -but I must do what my soul sings with. Father is with the ancient ones, he will know now - he will understand. The spirits know what we can and can't do. And I can't forsake my own soul. ~ The child thinks, then nods so slightly her mother doesn't detect it. "Pixie, you need to get on the train."
"I know mother, just having last minute thoughts that I needed to have with my feet on unmoving ground." The child's little chest heaves in a sigh and she smiles up at her parent. "But I can go on now."
"Good." Her mother's smile warms her. "Audrey, your Father would be proud of you. He always was."
"He is." The child nods, wondering how her mother could believe that the soul departs the world after bodily death. Everyone knew that souls stayed to watch, to help, to give strength. Well, almost everyone knew. In a second, her small, bare feet are off of the solid ground and in the train. Her mother hands her the trunk and the bag, blows her a kiss, wishes her a good year and moves away to let others in to give their good byes to their children. Mother will not stay to see the train go. One goodbye was always enough for her, until it was time to say hello again. Lark feels Corbin's talons dig gently further in her little shoulder, and then the bird turns it's regal head to look down on her. He was clearly begging her pardon for the rest of the trip. "I trust you'll find your way?" The bird cocks its head to look at her as though not knowing the way anywhere was complete blasphemy - especially for a hawk. She gives her friend bird a half hearted smile, to feel his beak rub against her smooth little cheek in affection. "Go on then, darling one. I'll see you when we get there."
She is alone with her trunk and bag within a second, and she soon makes her way to a nearby compartment, hoping to find it empty. Lark's wish is half answered. She finds that the comfortable little room was inhabited by only another figure. A boy her own age, with long, lank hair and pale, very pronounced features. His dark eyes are fixed on the book he is reading, paying her no mind as she sits down and leans forward to examine the letters of the book. Latin, most of it in ancient slang, but the information was valid - she tried to make some of the potions before, and most of them had been successful. The mice she'd tested them on had met pretty interesting, not to mention nasty, ends.
"I doubt," his voice, very sharp yet gentle sounded, "that you will understand any of this subject matter."
"On the contrary," her own little voice replied, "I have it memorized. Ancient potions used by the old dark wizards isn't exactly my main stay though, and the Latin that book is written in is worse than English in a B rated muggle novel."
Those dark eyes are on her in an instant. Her eyebrow raises at the assessment he gives her, and she makes her own of him. He is very thin, and tall for a child who was clearly no older than she herself. His black hair reaches just above his shoulders, and his face reminds her of Corbin, her hawk. Dressed in all black by way of an old fashioned jacket over a pressed shirt and slacks, his feet encased in dull, but very well made shoes, the little boy looks like someone she'd get along well with. A rare find indeed.
"What is your main stay then?" He asks, his voice curious but not abundantly so. He seems to have trained himself away from a monotone, and was still in the training.
"The curses, the hexes of death, pain - things of that sort." She states, watching the black eyes glitter with interest.
"Ever tried any of them though?"
"I killed a small dog." She says proudly, dismissing an image of her father scowling at her from her mind. "I used the one with no counter spell."
"Avada Kedavra." He whispers with reverence. A smirk lights up his features. "I killed two squirrels with it, and a cat." He lifts an eyebrow at her. "So you know all of the unforgivable curses then?"
He is answered with a curt nod. The boy's eyes shift to her feet, then ignores them. He'd found someone half way tolerable already, as well as interested in the dark arts -which was shocking -and he wasn't going to dismiss her for not having shoes. "What's your name?"
"Audrey, but everyone save my parents calls me Lark - my middle name. My last name is Windsong."
"I'll call you Audrey, it's only logical to use the given name, and I hate pet names of any kind." He replies, his eyes sharply going to the book again. "By the way, I'm Severus Snape."
"Pleased to meet you." She smiled down at his bowed head. He looked up with a smirk, his eyes telling her he was glad to have met her to.
"Likewise." He went back to the book. She keeps her eyes on him for a few minutes, making him look back up at her after a few minutes. "I will take back that statement in a few minutes, Audrey, if you don't stop staring at me."
"You're very rude, reading in front of a fellow bookworm and not offering anything while I'm in your company." She retorts, receiving a roll of his eyes. A second later, he was fishing another old, dusty book out of the case that sat by his side.
"It's history, but it's violent and full of . . . interesting . . . accounts." His eyes assure her it will be an enjoyable read. She takes it, her hand hitting the sun light -setting off the shine of her skin. "Speaking of history, you're not from Europe are you?" His eyes take a closer glance to her features. His first had over looked all of it, the signs of her heritage. Now it was apparent, and his next question was just out of curiosity. "Which tribe?"
"Lakota Sioux." She states. "I was born among the Hidden People, my father's people - my mother is from England though, and I live with her now. She's where I get my green eyes, and the tint of red to my hair."
"Obviously." He nods. "If you don't mind me asking, are you a pure blooded witch?"
"Zero percent muggle." She states, proud of her very strong lineage on both sides. "And yourself?"
"British through and through, and wizard to the roots of the family tree." He tells her, then bends his head back to the book. After a moment, she follows suite and begins to read as well, soon being swept up into the true stories to be found within.
She became so enamored with the accounts that she didn't notice that another boy, lithe and blond haired with sharp eyes had joined them. In the door were two other boys, both with blank looks on their meaty faces. Severus was looking slightly annoyed, but the other boys didn't seem to notice - in fact they were looking at her.
"Well, well. . . . look at what we have here." The blond quips, smooth, pretty features viewing her with amusement mingling with disgust. Her eyes are matching his right off the bat, and he doesn't flinch. "Look at the little, stupid Heathen with her bare feet! And, it can read, no less!"
His regret came after that, and came too fast for any of them to do anything about it. Her knife was out, in her hand, pressed to his throat. He was sprawled across the floor of the compartment, her bare feet pinning him to the ground and she was sitting on his chest rather comfortably.
"Heathen, hmm? I'll show you a heathen, you ugly snot nosed slime!" She'd hissed down at him, his gray blue eyes full of shock, and somehow, respect. She felt the two guard dog boys at her back, but didn't move a muscle. Her knife, not only deadly, was enchanted to do her bidding, even if her hand wasn't on it. It followed her mind's orders.
"I'd call them off I were you." Severus stated, looking at the two oafs- his voice silken with amusement at the treatment the blond was getting. He knew the boy well, and though he could tolerate him - he was glad that this girl had the upper hand. Arrogant Lucius Malfoy literally floored by a small girl a fraction of his size. Classic scene this was. The blond did as he was told. The oafs, respectably called by their last names - Crabbe and Goyle, backed off at a word from him. Severus was not surprised they were at Malfoy's beckon- they'd grown up with him as well, but he was no slave to the whim of young Malfoy - no matter what the blond slime ball thought. Still, this was not a good situation. Especially if the girl were caught by someone in 'authority'. "Audrey, do back off as well. Expulsion will do you no good, nor will a stay at Azkaban."
It took her a few minutes, but she eventually came off of the brat she'd knocked to the floor. Malfoy stood, looked at her -and much to the shock of every one in there, offered his apologies for the incident.
"I just hope you're not a mudblood. That, I won't back off of." He'd said, looking at her with clear expectations written across his face.
"My mother's maiden name is Monroyael." She smiled at the boy as he blanched in some respectable fear at her mother's name. Her family was powerful, she knew this well. Mixed history, both dark and good. All formidable. All very rich. Her clothes were a lie according to her wealth, but she didn't care. She continued on. "My father is of the Lakota Hidden People. And, I'll eat dog vomit if anyone can call that the make of a mudblood."
"You won't be dining on vomit any time soon then, I'm sure." A feline smiled graced the face of the blond boy. "And your name?"
"Audrey Lark Windsong. Lark to you." Her own catty smile matches his. "And you are?"
"Lucius Malfoy." He bowed deeply, making her roll her eyes. Then, he regained composure -became haughty once more. A gesture behind them. "They are Crabbe and Goyle, their first names aren't important. And I see you've already met our favorite brainiac -Severus."
"Brainiac? Really, Lucius, keep to plotting the over throw of the world, and leave the English language to those who know how to deal with it." Young Snape's nose was once more stuck in his book, but his eyes glanced towards Miss Windsong, their look the same. Annoyance with this prat named Malfoy, who was then laughing at what Severus had said.
After that, the train trip hadn't been that bad. Malfoy didn't stay long, he and his bulldogs had other fellow first years to assess, and soon, the compartment shared by Severus and Lark had grown silent once more. Both had resumed reading, and sound was only made when he convinced her to pull down her trunk so they could sort through what books she had.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Snape, Severus!" The woman, with her plain face, dark hair and bony build, was calling them out to be sorted by a very ragged looking hat that could sing. Lark thought it all very ridiculous, and was trying to contain her laughter as Severus left her side to approach the stool where the hat would be sat on his head. He shoot her a glance that told her he was clearly reluctant to do this - he didn't see the appeal in having a dust rag sat atop his head -and one that could sing was definitely no bonus in his eyes either. But, if this was the way it had to be . . . he reached the little hat, and Lark watched as the woman - McGonagall was her name - sat the hat on his head. The hat made an odd face, as though he was deep in thought. Severus' eyes were glancing around, and he was trying not to fidget. He hated when people watched him, and now every eye was on him - all because of that stupid hat. Finally, the hat's face cleared, and if Lark didn't know better, she'd swear it had nodded to itself ever so slightly.
"Slytherin!" It screamed out. A smirk crossed Severus' face as he looked at Lark, and then he went to join Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle at the house table he'd been sorted into. From that perch, they watched as the rest were called out and sent to different houses. Soon, only one child was left.
"Windsong, Audrey." McGonagall smiled at her, beckoned her forward. She went without hesitation, glad that this whole thing was just about over. It was no surprise to see that her friend from the train was watching her anxiously, with Malfoy at his side - looking interested as well. That was surprising. Then, her thoughts were turned else where - to a little voice that sounded in her ear. Perfectly clear to her this voice was, but she knew no one else could hear it.
"You will be no trouble at all, dear child." The voice stated. "Just be patient."
"Well," she thought back at it, "if I'm no trouble, then put me into a house!"
"You are very demanding aren't you? Dark thoughts in you, with the ability to do great things. You will be something of a force, I dare say. However, you are very brave, as well as loyal - still - that ambition and unflagging pride, and the vindictiveness! . . . hmmm. . ."
"Get on with it! You said no problem, remember?"
"Very well, but you are my last chance to chat for the year."
"Do I seem like the chatty type to you?" She'd nearly hissed that question out loud.
"O, fine!" It yelped into her ear with it's sad whisper. Then, out loud, it screamed:
"SLYTHERIN!"
A cheer went up from the table that she walked to. Severus was clapping slowly, his face trying to force itself to make a smile -but not quite achieving it. The smirk on it was pleasing enough for her though. As she sat down, she saw the smile in those deep black eyes of his. Malfoy's hand on her shoulder then interrupted the eye contact she had with Severus. Lucius then introduced her to their fellow first years, most of them boys. The girls she met looked at her with fleeting interest. Except for one, who was at her side in a second of their introduction. She took Malfoy's place, and ignored Severus. Her name was Narcissa. Blond hair, light eyes, perfect features -but the ambition and blatant dislike for everything not like her was already apparent on her face. She smiled at Lark sweetly, and then quickly attached herself to her hip. This one saw something in the American, something that had to be acquired for her own advantage - and a friendship was something highly useful in acquiring the advantage. Plus, she'd heard what the girl had done to Malfoy on the train -and that had to be respected. In the distant future, Narcissa would be the only part of Malfoy that Lark could tolerate. For that year, and for years after that as well, she would be Lark's closest female friend.
Off to another table, they were being whispered about already. The Marauders were forming among the Gryffindor first years, and already it was a hobby to talk about the Slytherin kids, whether or not they knew them. It was the makeup of the school to have house grudges - and the grudge that that generation would share would be one of the worst ever. But that was for later worries - the whole school was soon elbow deep in a feast after a welcome speech from the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.
The room is quiet, save for the sounds of a sleeping hawk who just earlier arrived. Horus was perched on the far side of the room, away from the sight of the fire, but so he could feel it's warmth. He'd flown most of the journey to Hogwart's, and he served in place of an owl for her - hawks always had. Most of the time, he stayed out on his own unless she needed him, and when she did, she would call out to him in his own language - for he was always near her unless he was already on an errand. Just like her other hawks had been before him. Lark looks at the giant bird and smiles, admiring his golden, brown and white hue. She then settles back into her chair, sipping at the tea she'd been filling her cup with for the past hour. It's nearing midnight, and she lacks in the intentions to sleep - and will stay so for hours. Her mind goes then to Severus, wondering if he is still awake, wondering what he is doing. Not that she will go look, of course - but her curiosity was just peeked. Sighing, she gets up from the chair and places her cup onto the table that sat at her side. Her bare feet on comfortable, soft black carpet, she crosses the room to her book shelves (the contents of which had been shipped there days before she'd arrived) and takes up 7 thin, hard backed books. Her feet carry her back to her chair, and as she sits down, she opens the book on top. The picture book for her first year at Hogwart's. A smile creeps across her face . . . it's hard to believe she was once 11 years old, only a year in Europe and still un-tame as her father's family had allowed her to grow up. Her mother had wanted her to stay that way too, and none of them had really thought of the trouble it would cause her in the future - or how it would help to save her life. ~ Was it really so long ago? ~ Her soul asks her. It doesn't seem like it at all. She opens the cover and begins to thumb threw it, looking at the message-less signatures that were scrawled over some of the pages. A child's way of keeping memories, nothing really to say -just the autographs, for at that age everything was so simple. Well, for most children anyway. She begins to look at the pictures, her eyes keeping to the pages that were solely for the Slytherin House. Small faces, most of them snobbish even in the moving images, look back up at her with masked disdain - their true natures hidden for benefit of their parents to display them with pride on fire place mantels or walls for when visitors came and remarked on how 'lovely' their little devils were getting to be. She soon finds the picture of Severus, her smile gentle as the serious face smiles up at her in return through his eyes, through the black tunnels of his soul. That was before his pain, before he'd been broken by his family, and by those he called his friends. . . Before his fate had torn him asunder. She skips over her own picture, then flips back near the front of the Slytherin section. Lark doesn't know why she looks, but she does. Is anger and remembrance so strong in her? ~ Of course, ~ she scolds herself, ~ you were put in this house for more than mere cunning and need to be great at everything. ~ Soon, Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, is looking up at her with a snotty smile. He's peaking through the scratches that are etched over the photo, his eyes showing the lethal hatred that she'd known ever since she'd first met him, the look she had once mistaken as friendly rivalry. ~ What a foolish child I was. ~ Ever since the word passed his lips that very first time, on their very first train ride to Hogwart's. Heathen. . . Heathen. ~ Look at the little, stupid Heathen with her bare feet! ~
She scratches the picture with her nails again, allowing the grooves already made years ago to penetrate into the next page. The image of the boy moves quickly, avoiding the violence meant for him. Always able to avoid what was dealt to him. Well, one day, he wouldn't be able to dodge it anymore - something which she was sure of.
"Tomorrow comes quickly, Lucius," she whispers allowed, "and you won't be ready tomorrow."
Her mind moves away from that, and goes back into the past as she sips her tea and goes onto the next book. And as she does, everything becomes as clear as the pictures she thumbs through . . . .as if it had all taken place yesterday . . .
~*~ 1.1.1.1.1 Part Two ~*~
-The First Year -
~*~ The Express & Sorting ~*~
The woman's dark auburn hair is pulled tightly back into a bun at the nape of her neck as always, to keep her long curls out of her face. She looks down into her daughter's face, seeing twins of her own green eyes smiling back up at her, even if the mood of the child is joyful to cover nervousness. Kneeling in front of the girl, the woman lets her own smile grow larger.
"It'll be alright, my pixie." She tells the girl. "All of my family went to this school. It's the best in Europe. I loved it there when I went."
"What if there doesn't love me?" The 11 year old girl asks, raising one of her small, dark eyebrows. She looks past her mother to the brick wall that leads to the platform where she will board the train at. Except, she doesn't see the illusion put there for muggles. Her family had raised her to see through things like that. She saw what was hidden beyond. The little girl saw platform 9 ¾, and was watching the other children, teenagers and families that had gone through the barrier. The train was probably about ten minutes away from the final call for the passengers to board. She looks back at her mother, after hearing her groan.
"Audrey, trust me . . . it will be okay."
"Isn't that what Father always said?" She regretted that right as it left her lips, but what's said is said. Her mother sighed, fought back the tears and looked away from her child, her only child. "Mother - I know . . . he didn't know what was going to happen." She feels her matriarch take her into a hug. "I'm sorry."
"Don't fret over it, pixie, you get the foot-in-mouth disease from me, just like your eyes." The wan smile on her face did not settle her daughter's soul, and the child was more than pliable as Mother scooted her along through the barrier and they disappeared to the muggles around them - if in fact, they'd been noticed at all. Which it was doubtful they hadn't been. The little girl, with her bare feet, tawny skin, unruly dark hair and emerald green eyes, had a large hawk on her shoulder as she'd stood with her young mother who carried a trunk and a leather bag. It must have been something of a slight shock to see them disappear without a trace. But their minds weren't on that -and neither was that of the daughter and mother. The pair now stood in front of the train, amidst a crowd of wizarding families and the chaos of children loading onto a train that was bound for school.
"I have a very bad feeling about this." The girl whispered to herself, in a tone she knew her mother couldn't hear. She patted the knife which was hidden under her black cardigan, tucked in at her side, over her old, bright green dress. Mother didn't know about that either -thought she'd stowed it away in the trunk for the travel to Hogwart's. But that was something the child would never do. That knife, with it's deadly blade and beautifully carved engravings, was her best friend. It had been since her Father had given it to her, before he had been killed and before she and Mother had crossed the seas to England, to London. She then thinks of her family in America. The Hidden People -her Father's people. They hadn't wanted her and mother to leave. Grandmother hadn't wanted her to go to this wizarding school, so far from both of her homes -away from family. The children of the Hidden People were always schooled at home, in everything that could ever be learned - from the magic of the ancient people, to earth magic and all of the magic of the European wizards (even to the Dark arts) who'd helped them preserve who they were. These were things that every child of the Hidden People was well versed in, and little Audrey Lark Windsong was by far no exception - in fact, she knew more at 11 than her mother knew at 29, and her mother was a very powerful witch. And it was for this reason that her mother was sending her to Hogwart's, against the wishes of Grandmother and the other Hidden People. Little Lark had the knowledge, but it had to be made sure that the knowledge didn't have her. So, Mother thought it best that she go into the care of Albus Dumbledore, head master of Hogwart's, and the other teachers to be found there. Lark would be well attended there, and warned off from the dark arts, which to her mother's sorrow, charmed the little girl to no end. And it was that last factor, when Grandmother was reminded of it, that was the closing argument to whether or not Lark was going to Dumbledore's Hogwart's. The lessons in the dark arts had been to help for protection against them, but the child had secretly studied and learned to perform them on her own. It hadn't been known until she'd practiced Avada Kedavra, the killing curse, on an annoying little yap-yap dog and it had worked -right in front of her father. The curses were her secret enjoyment, something she'd tried so long to hide -and her father's disappointment had hurt her deeply. But, they still fascinated her, and that would not change. No matter how much shame it would bring. Hidden People could keep secrets well, and this was something she'd keep -and be like a trained dog when it came to what she showed her family. After her father had found it, she'd hidden it - but they still knew. They always had after that. But it was her father's look that got to her above it all. The little girl, thinking of this, stops in her walking towards the train, her hand still in her mother's, though the adult woman was not able to move her. Lark was a lot stronger than her thin, short frame let on.
"Pixie?" Her mother was looking down at her again, with concern. She saw the haunted look in her child's eyes. In the green depths, a clear decision was made. ~ They won't see it ever again, I'll hide it all so they'll never see it again -but I must do what my soul sings with. Father is with the ancient ones, he will know now - he will understand. The spirits know what we can and can't do. And I can't forsake my own soul. ~ The child thinks, then nods so slightly her mother doesn't detect it. "Pixie, you need to get on the train."
"I know mother, just having last minute thoughts that I needed to have with my feet on unmoving ground." The child's little chest heaves in a sigh and she smiles up at her parent. "But I can go on now."
"Good." Her mother's smile warms her. "Audrey, your Father would be proud of you. He always was."
"He is." The child nods, wondering how her mother could believe that the soul departs the world after bodily death. Everyone knew that souls stayed to watch, to help, to give strength. Well, almost everyone knew. In a second, her small, bare feet are off of the solid ground and in the train. Her mother hands her the trunk and the bag, blows her a kiss, wishes her a good year and moves away to let others in to give their good byes to their children. Mother will not stay to see the train go. One goodbye was always enough for her, until it was time to say hello again. Lark feels Corbin's talons dig gently further in her little shoulder, and then the bird turns it's regal head to look down on her. He was clearly begging her pardon for the rest of the trip. "I trust you'll find your way?" The bird cocks its head to look at her as though not knowing the way anywhere was complete blasphemy - especially for a hawk. She gives her friend bird a half hearted smile, to feel his beak rub against her smooth little cheek in affection. "Go on then, darling one. I'll see you when we get there."
She is alone with her trunk and bag within a second, and she soon makes her way to a nearby compartment, hoping to find it empty. Lark's wish is half answered. She finds that the comfortable little room was inhabited by only another figure. A boy her own age, with long, lank hair and pale, very pronounced features. His dark eyes are fixed on the book he is reading, paying her no mind as she sits down and leans forward to examine the letters of the book. Latin, most of it in ancient slang, but the information was valid - she tried to make some of the potions before, and most of them had been successful. The mice she'd tested them on had met pretty interesting, not to mention nasty, ends.
"I doubt," his voice, very sharp yet gentle sounded, "that you will understand any of this subject matter."
"On the contrary," her own little voice replied, "I have it memorized. Ancient potions used by the old dark wizards isn't exactly my main stay though, and the Latin that book is written in is worse than English in a B rated muggle novel."
Those dark eyes are on her in an instant. Her eyebrow raises at the assessment he gives her, and she makes her own of him. He is very thin, and tall for a child who was clearly no older than she herself. His black hair reaches just above his shoulders, and his face reminds her of Corbin, her hawk. Dressed in all black by way of an old fashioned jacket over a pressed shirt and slacks, his feet encased in dull, but very well made shoes, the little boy looks like someone she'd get along well with. A rare find indeed.
"What is your main stay then?" He asks, his voice curious but not abundantly so. He seems to have trained himself away from a monotone, and was still in the training.
"The curses, the hexes of death, pain - things of that sort." She states, watching the black eyes glitter with interest.
"Ever tried any of them though?"
"I killed a small dog." She says proudly, dismissing an image of her father scowling at her from her mind. "I used the one with no counter spell."
"Avada Kedavra." He whispers with reverence. A smirk lights up his features. "I killed two squirrels with it, and a cat." He lifts an eyebrow at her. "So you know all of the unforgivable curses then?"
He is answered with a curt nod. The boy's eyes shift to her feet, then ignores them. He'd found someone half way tolerable already, as well as interested in the dark arts -which was shocking -and he wasn't going to dismiss her for not having shoes. "What's your name?"
"Audrey, but everyone save my parents calls me Lark - my middle name. My last name is Windsong."
"I'll call you Audrey, it's only logical to use the given name, and I hate pet names of any kind." He replies, his eyes sharply going to the book again. "By the way, I'm Severus Snape."
"Pleased to meet you." She smiled down at his bowed head. He looked up with a smirk, his eyes telling her he was glad to have met her to.
"Likewise." He went back to the book. She keeps her eyes on him for a few minutes, making him look back up at her after a few minutes. "I will take back that statement in a few minutes, Audrey, if you don't stop staring at me."
"You're very rude, reading in front of a fellow bookworm and not offering anything while I'm in your company." She retorts, receiving a roll of his eyes. A second later, he was fishing another old, dusty book out of the case that sat by his side.
"It's history, but it's violent and full of . . . interesting . . . accounts." His eyes assure her it will be an enjoyable read. She takes it, her hand hitting the sun light -setting off the shine of her skin. "Speaking of history, you're not from Europe are you?" His eyes take a closer glance to her features. His first had over looked all of it, the signs of her heritage. Now it was apparent, and his next question was just out of curiosity. "Which tribe?"
"Lakota Sioux." She states. "I was born among the Hidden People, my father's people - my mother is from England though, and I live with her now. She's where I get my green eyes, and the tint of red to my hair."
"Obviously." He nods. "If you don't mind me asking, are you a pure blooded witch?"
"Zero percent muggle." She states, proud of her very strong lineage on both sides. "And yourself?"
"British through and through, and wizard to the roots of the family tree." He tells her, then bends his head back to the book. After a moment, she follows suite and begins to read as well, soon being swept up into the true stories to be found within.
She became so enamored with the accounts that she didn't notice that another boy, lithe and blond haired with sharp eyes had joined them. In the door were two other boys, both with blank looks on their meaty faces. Severus was looking slightly annoyed, but the other boys didn't seem to notice - in fact they were looking at her.
"Well, well. . . . look at what we have here." The blond quips, smooth, pretty features viewing her with amusement mingling with disgust. Her eyes are matching his right off the bat, and he doesn't flinch. "Look at the little, stupid Heathen with her bare feet! And, it can read, no less!"
His regret came after that, and came too fast for any of them to do anything about it. Her knife was out, in her hand, pressed to his throat. He was sprawled across the floor of the compartment, her bare feet pinning him to the ground and she was sitting on his chest rather comfortably.
"Heathen, hmm? I'll show you a heathen, you ugly snot nosed slime!" She'd hissed down at him, his gray blue eyes full of shock, and somehow, respect. She felt the two guard dog boys at her back, but didn't move a muscle. Her knife, not only deadly, was enchanted to do her bidding, even if her hand wasn't on it. It followed her mind's orders.
"I'd call them off I were you." Severus stated, looking at the two oafs- his voice silken with amusement at the treatment the blond was getting. He knew the boy well, and though he could tolerate him - he was glad that this girl had the upper hand. Arrogant Lucius Malfoy literally floored by a small girl a fraction of his size. Classic scene this was. The blond did as he was told. The oafs, respectably called by their last names - Crabbe and Goyle, backed off at a word from him. Severus was not surprised they were at Malfoy's beckon- they'd grown up with him as well, but he was no slave to the whim of young Malfoy - no matter what the blond slime ball thought. Still, this was not a good situation. Especially if the girl were caught by someone in 'authority'. "Audrey, do back off as well. Expulsion will do you no good, nor will a stay at Azkaban."
It took her a few minutes, but she eventually came off of the brat she'd knocked to the floor. Malfoy stood, looked at her -and much to the shock of every one in there, offered his apologies for the incident.
"I just hope you're not a mudblood. That, I won't back off of." He'd said, looking at her with clear expectations written across his face.
"My mother's maiden name is Monroyael." She smiled at the boy as he blanched in some respectable fear at her mother's name. Her family was powerful, she knew this well. Mixed history, both dark and good. All formidable. All very rich. Her clothes were a lie according to her wealth, but she didn't care. She continued on. "My father is of the Lakota Hidden People. And, I'll eat dog vomit if anyone can call that the make of a mudblood."
"You won't be dining on vomit any time soon then, I'm sure." A feline smiled graced the face of the blond boy. "And your name?"
"Audrey Lark Windsong. Lark to you." Her own catty smile matches his. "And you are?"
"Lucius Malfoy." He bowed deeply, making her roll her eyes. Then, he regained composure -became haughty once more. A gesture behind them. "They are Crabbe and Goyle, their first names aren't important. And I see you've already met our favorite brainiac -Severus."
"Brainiac? Really, Lucius, keep to plotting the over throw of the world, and leave the English language to those who know how to deal with it." Young Snape's nose was once more stuck in his book, but his eyes glanced towards Miss Windsong, their look the same. Annoyance with this prat named Malfoy, who was then laughing at what Severus had said.
After that, the train trip hadn't been that bad. Malfoy didn't stay long, he and his bulldogs had other fellow first years to assess, and soon, the compartment shared by Severus and Lark had grown silent once more. Both had resumed reading, and sound was only made when he convinced her to pull down her trunk so they could sort through what books she had.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Snape, Severus!" The woman, with her plain face, dark hair and bony build, was calling them out to be sorted by a very ragged looking hat that could sing. Lark thought it all very ridiculous, and was trying to contain her laughter as Severus left her side to approach the stool where the hat would be sat on his head. He shoot her a glance that told her he was clearly reluctant to do this - he didn't see the appeal in having a dust rag sat atop his head -and one that could sing was definitely no bonus in his eyes either. But, if this was the way it had to be . . . he reached the little hat, and Lark watched as the woman - McGonagall was her name - sat the hat on his head. The hat made an odd face, as though he was deep in thought. Severus' eyes were glancing around, and he was trying not to fidget. He hated when people watched him, and now every eye was on him - all because of that stupid hat. Finally, the hat's face cleared, and if Lark didn't know better, she'd swear it had nodded to itself ever so slightly.
"Slytherin!" It screamed out. A smirk crossed Severus' face as he looked at Lark, and then he went to join Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle at the house table he'd been sorted into. From that perch, they watched as the rest were called out and sent to different houses. Soon, only one child was left.
"Windsong, Audrey." McGonagall smiled at her, beckoned her forward. She went without hesitation, glad that this whole thing was just about over. It was no surprise to see that her friend from the train was watching her anxiously, with Malfoy at his side - looking interested as well. That was surprising. Then, her thoughts were turned else where - to a little voice that sounded in her ear. Perfectly clear to her this voice was, but she knew no one else could hear it.
"You will be no trouble at all, dear child." The voice stated. "Just be patient."
"Well," she thought back at it, "if I'm no trouble, then put me into a house!"
"You are very demanding aren't you? Dark thoughts in you, with the ability to do great things. You will be something of a force, I dare say. However, you are very brave, as well as loyal - still - that ambition and unflagging pride, and the vindictiveness! . . . hmmm. . ."
"Get on with it! You said no problem, remember?"
"Very well, but you are my last chance to chat for the year."
"Do I seem like the chatty type to you?" She'd nearly hissed that question out loud.
"O, fine!" It yelped into her ear with it's sad whisper. Then, out loud, it screamed:
"SLYTHERIN!"
A cheer went up from the table that she walked to. Severus was clapping slowly, his face trying to force itself to make a smile -but not quite achieving it. The smirk on it was pleasing enough for her though. As she sat down, she saw the smile in those deep black eyes of his. Malfoy's hand on her shoulder then interrupted the eye contact she had with Severus. Lucius then introduced her to their fellow first years, most of them boys. The girls she met looked at her with fleeting interest. Except for one, who was at her side in a second of their introduction. She took Malfoy's place, and ignored Severus. Her name was Narcissa. Blond hair, light eyes, perfect features -but the ambition and blatant dislike for everything not like her was already apparent on her face. She smiled at Lark sweetly, and then quickly attached herself to her hip. This one saw something in the American, something that had to be acquired for her own advantage - and a friendship was something highly useful in acquiring the advantage. Plus, she'd heard what the girl had done to Malfoy on the train -and that had to be respected. In the distant future, Narcissa would be the only part of Malfoy that Lark could tolerate. For that year, and for years after that as well, she would be Lark's closest female friend.
Off to another table, they were being whispered about already. The Marauders were forming among the Gryffindor first years, and already it was a hobby to talk about the Slytherin kids, whether or not they knew them. It was the makeup of the school to have house grudges - and the grudge that that generation would share would be one of the worst ever. But that was for later worries - the whole school was soon elbow deep in a feast after a welcome speech from the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.