"Potter!" Professor Snape snapped, turning on her so quickly the hems of his robe billowed around his ankles. "Leave Elijah alone so he can work. He doesn't need you fouling up his potion. You're just like your father-always putting your nose in where it doesn't belong."

Abby froze in the middle of slicing up her roots. Her hands trembled slightly atop the knife she was using to slice, and she stared down in shame at her cutting board. It was her first day of Potions class and already she had managed to do something wrong. She mumbled an apology and waited for him to leave. In the back of her mind she begged him to leave her be. Something about the way his cold, black eyes bore down condescendingly on her made her heart fall into the pit of her stomach. Today was Double Potions, and though she'd made it to the second half of the class it seemed she could do nothing right. No matter what she did, it just wasn't good enough. She knew all the correct formulas and gave them to him when he asked, but he simply turned his nose up at them and criticized her for showing off. She picked off the right number of beetle wings and arranged them beautifully, but he told her they weren't fresh enough, swept them off the desk, and told her to do it over again. Now she was a good half hour behind everyone else, and he wouldn't let her forget it.

"Professor, I asked her for help," Elijah protested on her behalf. "It was my fault, honest." He turned his back on Abby, giving her time to mouth the words "thank you" to him behind Snape's back. The professor now towered over his fellow Slytherin, his hands clasped tightly behind him. His hands, Abby thought in wonder. They look so pale, so cold, so…void of emotions. Just like the rest of him. No wonder he's head of Slytherin house.

"And what makes you so sure she's not going to spoil your formula so as to make herself seem more intelligent?" he challenged, giving Abby one last glare before continuing on to criticize the other Gryffindors and praise the other Slytherins. Abby shivered outwardly at the cold he made her feel. It seemed he had a strong dislike, hatred even, of all the Gryffindors, but he seemed to particularly loathe her. It was only the first day of class, but she already wished it was the last day.

Class ended just when Snape had walked away, and Abby couldn't have been more relieved. He glanced at his wrist, excused the class with a careless wave of his hand, and swept out of the room as quickly, quietly, and darkly as a shadow. The rest of the class started packing up their things, and Abby soon follow suit.

"I hate this class!" she cried out, slamming her book shut. The dead beetles from which she had spent the last ten minutes picking off the wings scattered across the desk in the motion, but she paid them no mind. No doubt she would be in trouble for it, but she would be in trouble with Snape no matter what, unless she was able to somehow transfigure herself into a Slytherin. That or denounce her father and become anything but a Potter. Anyone who was neither a Potter nor a Gryffindor, that's who Snape liked.

"The formulas are hard, the calculations are impossible, and anything I do just isn't good enough for that miserable old git of a wizard!" she went on, surprise by her own fuming. She gathered up her materials in a haste to return to the Gryffindor tower. Her last class of the day, Transfiguration, wouldn't be for another hour, and anywhere was better than being here in the chilly, dank halls of the dungeon. She took much of her frustration out on her materials, slamming her books down hard on one another. She almost upset her ink bottle in the process. Elijah opened his mouth to reply, but she was nowhere near finished.

"I just don't get it! I haven't done a thing wrong, and he blames me for everything! All because of my dad. 'You're a screw-up, just like your father.' 'If your father did this, why can't you?' 'Even your father got it right, and that was rare, so why do you keep getting it wrong?' 'You're a typical Potter.' Potter this, Potter that. I bloody hate this! No es justo, y no sé por qué todo es mi culpa! No hago nada, y siempre es mi culpa! NO HICE NADA!" she exclaimed, shouting the last part loud enough for the entire room to hear her. Of course, it was Spanish, so none of them really understood it anyway.

*sI'm just a student of the language, so forgive any grammatical mistakes I make but loosely translated that's: "It's not fair, and I don't know why everything is my fault. I don't do anything, and it's always my fault! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!" J*

Fighting to hold back tears of frustration, she swept all of her books and things clear off the desk and into her arms, and stormed angrily out of the room. She didn't want anyone to see her cry, so she brushed the corners of her eyes against her shoulder so as to dry any potential tears. She couldn't remember the last time she'd really allowed herself to explode like that, and it almost felt good to release the steam from the anger that had been boiling inside her for she didn't know how long. Behind her she heard the hard slap of leather sole on stone that meant someone was trying to keep up with her. She slowed down enough to see who it was. If it was Elijah, she wouldn't mind walking with him. If it was Paul, she would keep right on going. She usually didn't mind talking to him, but she knew he would demand to know what was wrong and she didn't feel much like explaining herself.

"Abby wait," a familiar voice called, stepping up beside her. She smiled inwardly. It was Elijah. "Are you all right? I mean, I know the class is hard and everything, but believe me, it's not your fault. If he hates you because of your father, well, don't you think he might be a bit…jealous? Harry Potter is a great wizard, after all. One of the best, they say. And he works right along with the Ministry. Meanwhile, no matter how great Snape gets to be, he'll always be stuck teaching Potions, which everyone knows isn't even his favorite thing to teach. He wants to teach Defense Against Dark Arts, and Dumbledore would never give him that position because of his, well, background. If he ever tried to quit being a professor at Hogwarts, one of the Death Eaters – or maybe even Voldemort himself – would certainly make him a target for abandoning the Dark Arts. So don't you think it's possible that maybe, just maybe, Snape feels just about as trapped as you do?"

Abby walked a bit in quiet contemplation of this theory. Was it possible that this cold, dark teacher could really feel any of the same things she did? That she was mistaking his heartless cruelty for bitter jealousy? Now she felt almost guilty for saying the things she'd said. The idea made her think so intently that she stopped walking entirely, though she didn't realize her legs had stopped moving.

"I don't know…maybe…Elijah, this isn't Sympathy-for-Snape Day. I was just…frustrated, overwhelmed, that's all. I'll survive the year, I'm sure. Besides, I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm freezing to death down here, and the only way out is through a door that's over here someplace and I can't figure out where!" She pounded her fists fiercely against the wall in front of her in vexation, as though the door would somehow collapse if she banged on the wall hard enough. She knew it was there; she had walked through it not two hours ago. So where on earth did it go?

Elijah, who knew enough about human nature to approach the situation calmly and delicately, laughed softly beneath his breath. He reached up to his shoulders and unwrapped his green and silver scarf from its loose fold around his neck. He had intended to take a meditative walk down by the school lake after class, and since the weather had become slightly chilly as of late he'd taken his warm, wooly scarf. This he now placed on Abby's shoulders, lifting up her thick, raven-black hair and laying it gently over the scarf and the back of her robe. She shivered, not sure if that came from the chill of the dungeon or the warming of her heart. It was a pleasant feeling to be sure, and she didn't dare question it lest it stop if she did.

"Any better?" he asked softly. Her only reply was a smile, which he knew to be one of gratitude.

"All right, well, this must be one of those trick doors Sean was warning us about," he said thoughtfully, stepping up to the wall in contemplation. He was referring, of course, to Gryffindor's prefect this year. *stupid question for the fans: what year are prefects? Because Percy was a prefect in Harry's first year, and Head Boy in Harry's third year, so was he a prefect in Harry's second year, too? That is, was he a prefect in his fifth and sixth year?* "Let me see…yes, I think that might work…" he mused. He was gliding the palms of his hands along the smooth wall in search of some hint that would solve their puzzle. He gently stroked the spot in the invisible door to show itself. At first this was utter nonsense to Abby…until it worked. The outlines of a door appeared as if they were watching an unseen hand draw it on with thick ink. A doorknob formed, and Abby found it opened quite easily. Before them lay a set of winding stairs that led him into the history and Muggle studies corridor. She looked at him with relief.

"Thank you," were the only words that came to her. He only smiled and gently directed her toward the steps. He had given her more than enough things to think about that afternoon, as had Professor Snape. After all, what was the purpose of bending over backward to please a teacher who couldn't be pleased? She would simply do her best, she resolved, and if that wasn't enough there was nothing more she could do. All during her walk up and out of the dungeons, all the way to Gryffindor tower, she never once took off Elijah's scarf. She got strange looks, mostly from Gryffindors and especially from Slytherins, but she chose to ignore them. The simple gesture meant more to her than the opinions of a handful of people.