By the time eight o'clock arrived, dispirited energy had pervaded the Gryffindor Common Room. Despite their efforts, no amount of card or Wizard's Chess games could alleviate the dread looming over Harry, Ron, and Aralynn. Hermione (bless her heart) also tried to distract them, but unsuccessfully. Nothing could make them temporarily forget that they had detention. Which was awful in itself, but it was who they would be serving their punishments with that made them so unhappy. Although, there was an unspoken understanding that Aralynn was facing the worst of them all. Harry was being sent to Professor Lockhart, who was, indisputably, a moron, but not the worst option. Ron was paired with Hogwarts caretaker, Argus Filch, who was one of the worst options. Then there was Aralynn… She was going to be working with Professor Snape, who was unanimously considered the nastiest, most unkind person in the castle. Ron and Harry weren't looking forward to their staff partners, but neither of them envied Aralynn.
The three of them gathered near the portrait hole, said their goodbyes to Hermione, and then reluctantly went their separate ways. Aralynn, instead of trudging sluggishly down to the dungeons, swept swiftly through the corridors. She thought it unwise to be tardy for her detention at all but knowing Professor Snape's demeanor made her steps that much quicker. The mere thought of showing up to the Potions classroom late made her shiver. Truthfully, knowing that she would shortly be alone with the professor at all made her shudder. That, much to her dismay, was out of her control. Being punctual wasn't, though. She only wished it could make a difference, but Snape would hate her all the same.
It was inevitable. Professor Snape hated all his students, except, perhaps, for the Slytherins. To him, the rest of them were nothing but imbecilic disappointments. It was difficult to recognize whether they had an aptitude for potion making, for he was adamant about their inadequacy. The best they could do was pass the class, but they certainly didn't excel. It was likely that Hermione had the best marks, but he took every chance to criticize her rather than commend her. She wasn't quick to talk about Potions in the same way she was with the rest of their classes, which made it hard to know just how well she was doing.
Aralynn's marks were fair, but they could have been better. She tried to raise them, but Professor Snape saw no room for improvement. She believed herself to be a relatively good potion maker, but that wasn't reflected in her performance. She was simply another casualty of his ruthlessness. It was unfair. She wished that there was something she could do to stop it from happening, but she couldn't. There was no doubt in her mind that the other Hogwarts teachers would be quicker to take Professor Snape's side over any of theirs. She was sure they would only insist that he had high expectations. Which, of course, was possible, and it was only rational to believe he would be willing to help when they were struggling. That wasn't the case. They would either sink or swim, and they usually sank.
As the entrance to the Potions classroom came into view, Aralynn felt like she was sinking. As she approached, that feeling of sinking evolved into drowning. For a few seconds, all she could do was stare at the closed door. Behind it was a special kind of Hell, one that she never wanted to step into. As much as she wanted to turn back, she didn't. A sense of doom washed over her as she knocked. When the door swung open, she had to keep herself firmly planted where she stood to keep herself from jumping out of her skin. Professor Snape, the black aura that he was, stared down at her. Much to her surprise, he wasn't sporting his usual sneer. His face was empty—completely devoid of emotion, but there was the smallest flicker of brightness in his eyes. A kind of anguished flicker.
Snape didn't speak to her at all. He simply glided away so quickly that he was nothing more than a blur of dark shadow. After closing the door behind her, Aralynn stepped further into the room. It was strange to see the tables and stools so empty. What was stranger was how quiet it was inside. The only thing she could hear was her breath. Professor McGonagall told her that she was going to be taking inventory of the storeroom but hadn't elaborated further. Which, she figured, was something Snape was supposed to do, but he had disappeared, and left her standing unsurely in the middle of the room. Was she supposed to follow him? Was she supposed to sit down and wait for him? She had no idea, but she knew which of the choices was the safer one. She took a seat at one of the tables nearby, folding her hands atop it.
So far so good, she thought. Of course, she had only just arrived. There was ample time for things to go amiss, but Snape hadn't even gibed her. He hadn't even scowled at her. She considered that a win. She only wished it would have settled her nerves, but it didn't, and they were buzzing so strongly in her body that every part of her felt numb. The silence wasn't helping matters much. It weighed so heavily on her that she felt like she was being strangled. She didn't dare move from her stool, though, because she was terrified of what Snape might do or say if he found her skulking behind him in the storeroom. If she wasn't allowed in during class, she couldn't imagine that rule would be any different during detention.
When Snape reappeared, she was relieved. If only because it meant that she wouldn't have to go looking for him. He set three crates of empty vials down on the table in front of her, and then a bottled quill and a piece of parchment. "Count these," he said. His voice was warmer than typical, but there was still a tinge of coldness to it. "When you've finished, write the quantity. Then I will assign the next task."
"Yes, Professor," replied Aralynn.
She wasted no time. She stood and began to pull small bottles out of the first crate, counting them as she did. She tried to pretend like she hadn't noticed Snape still standing before her, watching her while she worked. She could feel his eyes on her, but she wasn't sure whether his gaze was approving or judging. She would bet her and Harry's entire Gringotts fortune on which it was, though. She was waiting for him to walk away, waiting to feel like she could breathe again, but he didn't. Instead, he sat across from her and began counting bat spleens. Aralynn had never been so close to him before, and she was wildly uncomfortable. She was on edge, half expecting him to spring from the stool and attack her.
Snape, however, showed no signs of moving anytime soon. She didn't see any tension in his arms, or twitching from his fingers, or even see him looking her way for the right moment. Instead, he continued counting the spleens silently and efficiently. Aralynn loosened her rigid shoulders but made sure to stay alert. If, at any moment, Snape decided to lunge; she didn't want to be caught off guard. Between counting vials, she would spare a quick look up at his hands to make sure they were where they were supposed to be. They never moved, but she still didn't want to be naïve enough to trust him. He might not have been the one trying to procure the Philosopher's Stone the previous year, but he was still unnecessarily harsh, and that made him untrustworthy.
After counting all three crates worth of vials, Aralynn counted them a second time. There was no room for error, and she wanted to be diligent. Snape paused his work when he noticed that she was starting over. He never said anything, but she wanted to speak, anyway. "Just making sure my number is correct, Professor."
Snape was silent for several more seconds. "Good," he finally said, turning his attention back to the bat spleens in front of him.
Aralynn didn't say anything else while she counted, though she wanted to. She wanted to ask why he seemed to hate them all so much, wanted to ask why he was so abrasive, wanted to ask if they were actually hopeless when it came to Potions, or if he was letting his contempt affect his judgment. She also wanted to ask why he hated her father so much when they attended Hogwarts together, but that would be dangerous territory, and she didn't want to ruin whatever semblance of peace was between them. It wouldn't last, she knew that, but wanted to savor it for as long as she could. It was difficult, and being the curious person she was, didn't make it any easier. Before she could stop herself, words went spilling from her mouth.
"Professor," she began. She kept her gaze firmly away, even when he stopped and looked at her. "Would you consider me a poor student? With Potions, of course."
Professor Snape was staring straight through her, but she never looked away from the vials. For a long time, he was silent. So silent that she didn't think he was going to answer her at all. Which wasn't surprising, but at the same time, it was. She had never seen him pass up an opportunity to denigrate a student before, but she had also seen him stare hatefully when he deemed that the asked question was a stupid one. She could only assume that he was staring at her because the question, to him, was stupid. She tried to imagine what was going through his mind. Of course, I think you're a poor student, she thought in Snape's voice. You're all worthless, Potter. He didn't say that; he still hadn't said anything, but she could envision his answer would be something along those lines.
When the silence only continued, Aralynn made her peace with her question remaining unanswered. It certainly felt like progress compared to her obsession with answers during her previous school year. She had resumed taking count of the vials when she heard Snape, somewhat quiet, say, "No." Her fingers stuttered over one of the bottles, but she didn't look up. Having an answer, as minor as it what, only made her want to interrogate him further. She could ask thousands of questions in a short time, but she had to temper herself. The Potions Master very well might have given her more than he had anyone else. It was better to accept that small gift and move on.
Getting her mind to forgo curiosity was a battle, but it was one she still managed to overcome. At least, where it mattered. She was no longer concerned that she might blurt more questions, but they still badgered her mind. Professor Snape had always been fascinating. He was enigmatic and mystifying. Aralynn wanted to unveil the mystery despite knowing the likelihood of that happening was slim, if not nonexistent. She was also positive that she was the only one who had that kind of curiosity when it came to him. He was a vile person, and that was all anyone else needed to know, but it wasn't enough for her. She wanted to understand what made people tick—how they worked. It was a kind of knowledge that she sought so ardently that it was often to her detriment.
After all that happened last year, it was a personality trait she was trying to moderate. Anytime she thought about how aggressively questions burdened her as a first-year, her throat would dry out, and she would try to tamp her inquisitiveness so far down that it would never reappear. Which, much to her chagrin, hadn't worked in the slightest. That much was evident as she sat across the table from Severus Snape. All that she had worked so hard to bury was unearthing itself. She had prior experience telling her that nothing good would come from it, so she worked to bury it all over again.
Instead of letting it distract her, she focused on the sounds of the vials clinking whenever she touched them. She let the repetition of it carry her away so that was enveloped in her work instead of her mind. As soon as she counted the bottles a second time, and the sum was the same, she wrote the number down on the parchment next to her. Professor Snape then gave her several bushels of dried lavender to count.
It continued that way throughout the remainder of her detention: she would focus on ambient sounds to quiet her mind, count whatever was given to her, count it a second time, and then write the quantity. It continued through the lavender, and then the nettles, and then the Wiggentree bark. It was repetitive, but that was exactly what she needed. Four hours had passed by the time Professor Snape dismissed her. Nothing else was said between them, and Aralynn didn't want anything else to be said. The moment she was allowed, she promptly left the classroom. She stared absently ahead while her body followed the memorized path back to the Gryffindor Common Room.
It was only when she walked past The Fat Lady, and inside, that she allowed her mind to have free rein again. She had full intention of heading straight up to her dormitory to go to bed, but she heard frantic whispers echoing down from the boy's dormitories. It was only logical to think it was Ron and Harry, considering the time. She stared at the staircase that spiraled up into the girl's tower but turned on her heel and ascended the opposite ones. As she climbed, she still didn't understand why their stairs weren't enchanted. She pressed her ear against the dormitory Ron and Harry shared with Seamus Finnegan, Neville Longbottom, and Dean Thomas. She could hear their voices, low and scandalous, inside; but couldn't understand what was being said.
Against her better judgment, Aralynn opened the door as carefully and quietly as she could. She crept up to the boys, both of whom needed to cover their mouths to keep themselves from screaming. Ron glowered at her. "Aralynn!" he hissed. "You scared the bloody hell out of me!"
Before Aralynn could say anything, Harry interrupted her. "How was it with Snape?"
"Fine," Aralynn said quickly. "I heard you two whispering up here. What's going on?"
Ron was shaking his head. "Can't believe you made it back in one piece…"
Aralynn sniffed at Ron but was still looking at her brother. Harry was looking apprehensive. "What is it?"
Harry looked towards Ron, who shrugged and said, "Might as well tell her?"
Aralynn placed her hands on her hips and watched Harry expectantly.
Harry sighed quietly. "I heard a voice when I was with Lockhart."
Well, that was certainly caused for alarmed whispering. "A voice?" Aralynn questioned. "What voice?"
"I dunno," Harry replied with a frown. "There was nobody else there. Lockhart didn't even hear it."
"Lockhart can't hear anything besides the sound of his own voice," Aralynn said bitterly with Ron chuckling at her side. "What was it saying?"
Harry swallowed thickly. "It… It wanted to rip something. Tear it, and… and kill it."
Aralynn stared wide-eyed at her brother. "What in Merlin's Beard would have said that?"
"Maybe it was Peeves," suggested Ron. "He's always playing jokes."
Aralynn looked worriedly towards him. "Not those kinds of jokes."
Harry shook his head. "I don't think it was Peeves. It didn't even sound like a voice he could manage. It was… cold."
"It's weird," Ron began, rubbing his head thoughtfully. "Someone invisible would have had to come in and say it. Did the door open?"
"No," said Harry, sounding confident in that. "I don't get it, either."
"There's no figuring it out tonight," Ron determined. "We can talk to Hermione about it tomorrow. Maybe, with her and Ara, we'll be able to work out what it was."
"Maybe," said Harry with a mirthless smile towards him.
"Try to sleep," Ron urged. He yawned and waved at the girl standing next to him. "Goodnight, Ara."
"Goodnight," replied Aralynn as she watched him crawl into his bed. She then turned towards Harry. "Do you want me to stay with you tonight?"
"It's okay," Harry assured. "I'll be fine. Go and get some sleep."
"If you ever need me, don't hesitate to ask," said Aralynn more commandingly than she intended. She didn't want Harry to feel like he had to face anything alone. If he needed her to sleep with him, she would do so in a heartbeat. "Goodnight, Harry."
After hugging her twin brother, Aralynn headed out of the dormitory and went up to her own. She couldn't stop thinking about the voice Harry had heard while she changed into her pajamas. He was insistent that it wasn't Peeves, that the door hadn't opened, and that no one else had been in the room with them. As she lay in her bed, she couldn't stop herself from wondering who, or what, the voice could have come from. She was sure Harry was plagued with the same question, but neither of them had answers. Which felt awful because Aralynn wanted to do anything she could to help her brother. She wanted to have the answers to his questions.
Aralynn tried to imagine what the voice might have sounded like. She tried to imagine the way it probably made Harry shiver down to his bones. None of the voices she concocted seemed correct. None of them seemed frightening enough. Part of her wished she had been there to hear it, if only so that Harry didn't have to feel like he was going mad, or already there. Like so many times before, she felt useless again. She hoped that, between Hermione and herself, they would be able to figure out why Harry had heard a voice at all, and where it might have come from.
She fell asleep imagining various evil voices.
She dreamed of snakes pouring from Professor Snape's mouth.