"Dumbledore, sir?" Hagrid poked his huge, hairy head in through the door to Dumbledore's office.
"Yes, Hagrid?"
"Coupla people here t' see ye. From the Ministry. Should I show 'em in?"
"Yes. Please do." Hagrid disappeared for a moment and returned, leading two men and a woman. The woman held a folded parchment in her hand, and all three of them were somber faced. Dumbledore motioned them inside. "Would you be so kind as to wait outside, Hagrid?"
"'Course. Jes' lemme know if ye need me." Hagrid nodded to the three strange wizards and took himself out. The three were Aurors, of that he had no doubt. They had come in saying they had a message to deliver to Dumbledore regarding one of his students. Judging by the looks on their faces, their news could not have been anything but bad.
He paced outside the door on the narrow landing, keeping his ears open for snatches of conversation. The voices were too low for him to make out the words, although sometimes he thought he could hear the woman's voice. "Wish they'd hurry themselves up a bit," he muttered to himself as he paced back and forth before the door. Step, step, turn. Step, step, turn. "They didn't look too keen about handing off that message. Wonder who it was about. Wonder what it was about. Couldn't 'ave been good news, else they wouldn't of looked so grave 'bout it." Step, step, turn. Step, step, turn. "'M sure Dumbledore'll know how t' 'andle it, but I sure wish I knew what was going on. Never was one for waitin'. Wonder how much longer they'll be. Reckon it won't be much. Bad news never takes long t' pass on." Step, step, turn.
Hagrid paused again as the voices grew louder. He cast a quick glance around to see if anyone was watching, then put his ear to the door, feeling rather guilty as he did. "Jes' t' see if I can figger out who they're talkin' about," he told himself. "Not really lookin' t' eavesdrop." He fell silent, listening.
"...yesterday. We decided to let you know first and leave it to you to decide how to break the news."
"Of course." Dumbledore's voice was oddly subdued, carrying none of its usual lightness. "I will see to it immediately."
"We knew you would be able to take care of it," the woman said. "And please, convey our most sincere apologies. Her mother was a wonderful woman as well as a distinguished Auror. Her father, too was notable of commendation." She sighed, and there was the sound of folding parchment. "No one should have to go through this. War is an evil, unfair thing. And it's always the innocents who get the worst of it. The sooner he is stopped, the sooner we can all breathe easier."
"By then, it will be too late for some," Dumbledore said quietly. "I thank you for your courtesy in delivering the news. I will see that it is passed on." The sound of scraping chairs as the four wizards rose to their feet. "Will you be leaving?"
"I'm afraid so. We have a report on Death Eater activity somewhere north of London we have to look into. Thank you for your time, Professor. And again, our most sincere apologies."
"Of course." This time the voices were quite near to the door. Hagrid jerked his head away just in time as the door swung open to admit the three Aurors. They nodded vaguely at Hagrid as they passed and disappeared down the stairs. Dumbledore stood by Hagrid's side as they watched them go.
"Hagrid, would you please fetch Miss Johnson?" he asked without looking at him. Hagrid nodded, then realized it was foolish since Dumbledore couldn't see. But Dumbledore smiled, though his old face was sad. "Thank you."
Head buzzing, Hagrid lumbered off down the stairs into the castle proper. Lessee, Lydia Johnson, fifth-year Ravenclaw. He remembered her vaguely, the black haired girl who had bumped into him the night Snape had allegedly attacked McGonagall. Ravenclaw fifth-years. They would be in Herbology right now, and that meant the greenhouses. So Hagrid pulled on his moleskin coat and headed out into the rapidly cooling October afternoon.
He found her in greenhouse two, his favorite building and home to some of the nastier plant species. He knocked once and let himself in, with a smile and a wave to Professor Sprout. "Kin I borrow one o' yer students?" he asked as he stroked the waving vines of a venomous tentacula. "Dumbledore wants t' see Lydia."
"Of course." Sprout finished patting mooncalf dung around the base of a baby devil's snare plant, slapping away the grasping vines. "She's over there."
Lydia was carefully tending to a rather large spiked plant with the help of another Ravenclaw Hagrid recognized as Thomas Applegate. He waited until the two seemed to have the plant well under control before engaging their attention.
"Lydia Johnson?" he asked, clearing his throat. The girl looked up at him, startled. "Dumbledore wants t' speak t' ye," he said. "Right now, if ye could." Frowning, Lydia carefully set down the stalks she was holding and followed Hagrid outside, accompanied by the good natured teasing of her house mates.
"Uh oh, busted!"
"What'd ya do now, Lyd?"
"Oooohh, Lydia's in trouble!"
As soon as they stepped outside and closed the door to the greenhouse, Lydia confronted Hagrid.
"So what's all this about, anyway?" she asked, her voice polite if a little insistent. "It's not about Professor Snape, is it?"
Hagrid gave her a hard look, wondering why she would ask. Then he remembered; she had been there when Snape was brought in and enlisted to help Madam Pomfrey in keeping him under control. Only natural that she would assume that was why she was being called up. But Hagrid only shrugged. "Dunno," he admitted as they walked. "Coupla people jes' talked to Dumbledore, couldn't hear what they were sayin', though. Didn't sound like good news. They looked like Aurors t' me." Strange, was it his imagination or did the girl's face just grow paler? "Could be wrong, though," he added hastily. "I didn't hear what went on."
"Mhm." Lydia was silent as they walked up the steps to Dumbledore's office and Hagrid was secretly relieved that he didn't have to answer any more questions. He had never liked being the bearer of bad tidings.
"In ye go," he said when they arrived at the door to Dumbledore's office. "If ye want, I'll wait to walk ye back t' class." But she shook her head and disappeared behind the door. Hagrid shrugged and walked off. "Back t' me hut, then," he said to himself. "Gonna see if those pumpkin's'll be ready in time fer Halloween. Should probably check on those flesh eatin' slugs, while I'm at it. Damn things always in the cabbages." Hagrid wandered off, still muttering to himself, blissfully unaware of what was going on behind the door to Dumbledore's office.
Students passed, shouting, chattering, laughing and arguing as students do. Lydia Johnson heard none of it. A sophomore ran into her, nearly bowling them both over; she barely noticed. Words, faces, robes, voices, noise- it wrapped around her like a blanket, slowly suffocating her. She didn't care. None of it made sense, nothing registered in her clouded mind except the words that rang through to the core of her being like the chorus of a thousand screaming angels.
She walked slowly from Dumbledore's office, feeling her legs tremble with every step. She put her hand out to catch herself, then realized that she wasn't falling. At least, not physically. She half expected to hear a voice calling her back; she had risen and left without a word to Dumbledore after he broke the news, not waiting to hear anything else. None of it would have mattered anyway.
Suddenly she was running, pushing past the milling students with a desperation born of the knowledge that she had to get out, out away from the voices, the press of bodies, of eyes and faces, of jumbled words, the oppressive heat of too many people packed too close. Out, away to be alone, to clear her mind, to think, to mourn.
She ran like a hunter, or a hunted thing, ducking through doors, dodging students, statues, gargoyles. Suits of armour clanked in protest as she rushed by but she refused to look back. Once she stumbled, tripped and fell as a crystal lattice of light danced over and across her vision. She blinked back the tears and was running again.
There were fewer and fewer people in the halls as she ran down, down, down until she was the only one left, hurrying down the corridors without knowing where or why, only that if she stopped she might never start again, not then, not ever.
She ran so hard so fast with such a narrow single-mindedness that she lost track of where she was, where she ran to. She barely noticed as the walls grew damper, the floors sloped downward and the steady drip, drip, drip of water that echoed through the halls. The air grew colder, thinner and sharper; it pained her lungs with every strangled breath. She ran with her head down, not caring if she ran into wall or stone. If she did, then maybe it would fill the empty hollow in her heart.
But what she ran into was not a wall. Walls were not thin and angular, walls didn't wear black and go "oomph!" when you hit them. Walls didn't glare.
"Miss Johnson." Snape's voice was cold as he stared down at her, straightening his robes. "What are you-" His sentence trailed off and Lydia felt long fingers under her chin, lifting her face to the dim light. She blinked her tears away furiously and looked away. Snape's next words brooked no argument.
"Perhaps you had better come with me," he said, a hand on her shoulder. Head down, Lydia followed him wordlessly to his office. "Sit."
She took a seat in a straight-backed silver-wood chair and noticed Snape had done the same behind his desk. He steepled his fingers together on the desk and leaned forward, black eyes piercing, but for once not hard or glaring. "Tell me."
Lydia stared blankly at him, wondering how in God's name she could ever begin, how she could even arrange her thoughts and feelings long enough to hold down a single coherent sentence. She felt her eyes beginning to burn and sting and fought back her tears. Best just say it straight and end it here and now.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came from her dry throat. She swallowed, licked her lips and tried again. She fared a little better. "Dead," she managed, her voice strained and scratched. With that one word the tears came, breaking over the crude dams of human stoicism she had raised in a futile attempt to keep them back. As she wept she forced out broken bits of sentences, spitting out words as they came to her, no longer caring if she could be understood or not. All that mattered was that she said them, got them out, knew herself that the words were spoken.
"Killed- Dumbledore got word- told me He sent his men after them. Burned the house, nearly leveled the entire village. Found the bodies, can't figure cause of death. Two nights ago. Oh God. They're dead- he killed them and their dead!"
One and on she sobbed, too violently for words. She heard Snape moving and felt cold hands on her shoulders but would not- could not- look up. She saw nothing but the bright dazzle of light shining through her heavy curtain of tears, but could feel Snape's hands as he held her gently, soothing away the sobs that shook her body until they quieted and finally faded into small, infrequent tremors.
"Slowly, Miss Johnson. Take it slowly. One word at a time." Snape's voice was soft, soothing, his words gentle. For an instant, Lydia understood just why her mother had loved him.
She took a deep, trembling breath, staring at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. "They found the bodies three day ago. The house was burned to the ground. It took them two days to identify the bodies." Her voice shook as she fought back another wave of tears. She breathed slowly and deeply, continuing in a dull, toneless voice, reciting the story of someone else. "He sent three of them- Death Eaters- after my parents; it was because of my mother. Dumbledore said she may have been close to something big. We'll never know. No one else could even guess at what she might have known." Her throat ached with the effort of forcing out the words and keeping them from breaking down into incoherent babbling. "Oh, God. I'm a wreck. I just don't- I can't even- there's nothing I can do or say- I can't even think. I'm falling apart. You don't need to hear this; I'm sorry, I'm just not- I don't know what else to do!"
"So do nothing," Snape told her, his voice quite near her ear. "Do nothing. Not yet. Take care of yourself before anything else. And don't worry about me or what I think. I'm not going anywhere."
It was that final push, that last bit of kindness from the man she least expected- it was what broke the last barriers of human control that had kept her rational and able to function. She dissolved into tears without regard for shame or appearance, not caring what the cold, contemptuous man before her would think. Instead, she was surprised as Snape drew her closer to him, wrapping her in his arms, letting her weep on his shoulder.
And weep she did, shedding tears for the death of her mother, her father, for the death of the only family she had ever known. She wept for herself, for what she had lost and would never be able to regain, for all her regrets and for all the things she should have done but now would never have the chance. She wept that she had never had the opportunity to say I love you, I'm sorry, good-bye. She wept for so long that time and place lost their meaning until she no longer knew what it was she now wept for. It seemed as though she would weep forever.
But as time ran its course, so did her tears run theirs until at last her eyes bled dry. Even so, she did not move from her place at Snape's shoulder, still feeling the sting of her hot tears soaked into the fabric of his robes. As her mind cleared, she became acutely aware of how gently he held he, how cold his hands were against her back, yet how solid he felt. How good it felt to lie still in his arms, to have him hold her, care for her.
Enough, she thought fiercely. What am I thinking? He's my teacher for Merlin's sake. Twice my age and a greasy bastard to boot! But her mind and body were two separate entities and she did not stir from her place though her mind rebelled. She blinked the last of her tears from her eyes and looked up into a face who's expression she feared to see. Instead, what she saw surprised her and made her heart ache in pity.
Snape's face was streaked with tears and his eyes shone with pain and something more. He saw her looking but made no move to turn away or hide his pain. Without thinking, Lydia reached up as if to brush away his tears. When her fingers touched his skin, brushing gently against his damp face, she realized her mistake too late as Snape turned away quickly and stood, nearly tossing her to the floor.
"I think it's time for you to go," he said, not looking at her directly. She could hear the strain in his voice. "Go see Dumbledore. Or your friend Mr. Applegate. They'll give you more than my cold comfort." He picked up a piece of paper, then set it down again a moment later, clearly at a loss. "I'm sure Dumbledore will wish to speak with you further. Forgive me if I don't see you out."
"Uh- of course." Lydia backed out, her face burning. "I-" She wasn't sure what to say. She turned, then glanced over her shoulder. Why had she done that? More to the point, why had Snape reacted so strangely? Anger she had expected certainly, but not this- shutting down. He hadn't gone cold on her, he had just withdrawn. "And, em, thank you, Professor." Silence. Lydia waited a moment longer, but when Snape kept his gaze fixed on his desk, she gave up and slipped out the door. But as she disappeared from view, shutting the door behind her, Lydia missed Snape's eyes as he lifted his head to gaze at the door, eyes empty and forlorn...
"Julia..."
"I thought I might find you here."
Lydia jumped at the sound of Dumbledore's voice but didn't move as the old Headmaster sat down slowly beside her on the grass.
"Students- and teachers- have been coming to this place for years," he continued, gathering his robes about him as he leaned back against the roots of a giant oak. "They seem to seek out this place instinctively whenever they have something troubling on their minds. It is a good place to come and think."
Lydia nodded mutely. After leaving Snape's office she had gone immediately to the place where she often went to when she wanted to be alone. Right at the fringe of the Forbidden Forest a grove of oaks had sprung up what must have been years ago. Now they towered over the rest of the forest by a good dozen feet at the very least. The massive trunks formed a rough circle and their shade extended for yards. It was apparent that others found it a good place to withdraw to at times for someone had placed an assortment of smooth stones in the center of the ring, and it was on these that Lydia now sat, gazing towards the lake.
They sat in silence for a long while, the only noise the chirping of the evening birds mixed with the piping chimes of spring frogs. Lydia lay back atop the cool stones and closed her eyes.
"Tell me about my mother."
Dumbledore looked at her gravely for a long time. His blue eyes seemed distant and sad. "She was a lovely girl," he told her, staring at the lake. "A bright pupil as well as a popular student. I don't think there was a single student here that didn't like her at least a little. Not even the other houses."
"What was she like back then? When she was my age?"
"A lot like you are now," Dumbledore said. "Bright, exuberant, so full of life. She was a an avid Qudditch player, as are you, but she was a Seeker. She always had a kind word for everyone, or a little bit of help for a younger student. First years in particular seemed to draw her to them; she was so protective of them." Lydia opened her eyes as his voice caught and saw the tell-tale shining in the Headmaster's eyes before he reached up and wiped the tears away. "When she met Hal Curtiss, everyone said it was only a matter of time before they were married. How right we were. They complemented each other beautifully; Hal needed her to hold him back when he got a little too impulsive and your mother had a tendency to think matters to death before acting on them. Without the other, they would probably have gotten into a significantly larger amount of trouble than they ever did."
"My m- Professor Snape-" Lydia paused, uncertain how to proceed. Dumbledore saved her from having to continue.
"I remember your mother and Professor Snape," he said, peering at her over his silver spectacles. "It was a bit of a shock to the whole school, including those two, I believe. The most popular student in the school and the most unsavory. Make no mistake, Severus was disliked as much back then as he is now."
Lydia flushed, unsure what to say. "Then- how?"
"Tutoring." Dumbledore leaned back and folded his hands across his chest. "Potions was Severus' only virtue, your mother's only failing. Anything beyond that, you will have to ask Professor Snape himself."
"She mentioned that to me once, I think," Lydia said. "Other than that, though, she didn't talk much about her school days. Neither of them did." Her eyes misted over as she spoke her next thought. "And neither of them ever will." Her tears were silent this time, hot drops of salt sharp grief that slid down her face onto the rock, spattering the smooth, white stone with her sorrow.
"Miss Johnson, if you would like-"
"Please," she whispered, knowing what Dumbledore was about to offer. "Please. I think I need to be left alone for a while." She turned her head away to stare at the moss covered bole of one of the great oaks. "But if you happen to see Thomas- could you let him know where I am?"
Dumbledore nodded once, understanding. "Would you like me to tell him the news, or let you?"
"I will." Her throat tightened painfully. When she could open her eyes again, Dumbledore was gone and she was alone again, sharing her grief with the whispering of a thousand ancient leaves.
Thomas Applegate was at a loss.
This was not an unusual situation; Thomas was notorious for finding himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, or getting himself stuck in an awkward state of affairs, like the time Filch had caught down in the school kitchens with an éclair stuffed in his mouth and matching pastries in each hand. Most of the time, however, there was always someone else who could get him out of a tight spot, keeping him from having to think of his own way out. Unfortunately for him, the person who predominately occupied that position was currently the one providing him with the unsolvable problem he was now faced with.
"You're going to what?" he demanded, ducking a flying book only to be hit square in the face with a balled up robe. "You can't be serious!"
"You know I am." Lydia was stone faced as she threw items into a trunk with hectic randomness. "And you can either help me or get out of m'bloody way."
"Oh please," Thomas snorted. "Spare me the clichés." This time he caught the robe as it came flying towards him. "Lydia, stop it. Just stop and think about this."
"I have thought about, Thomas. I've spent the last week doing nothing but think about it." She paused as she considered a book in her hand before throwing it on top of the other books and robes piled in her trunk. "I'm going whether you like it or not."
"But Dumbledore-" Thomas grasped at the last straw he could think of as he realized with panic that Lydia was not going to be talked down.
"Dumbledore can't do a thing," Lydia said bluntly. "I'm eighteen now, I can do as I damn well please." Suddenly, she dropped the armload she was carrying and grasped Thomas' hands in her own, her black eyes boring into his. "Thomas, please try and understand. This is something I have to do. Don't you see?"
"No." Thomas shook his head, feeling as though a piece of his heart died with the spark of hope in Lydia's eyes. "I don't. What I see is an irrational girl who is letting her emotions get the best of her." He flinched as she dropped his hands and swore, spinning around sharply as she continued to pack.
"I hoped I could at least count on you to be supportive," she said without turning around. Another pair of robes joined the pile. "It's nice to know that you have people you can trust."
"What, I'm being a bad friend because I don't want you to go and get yourself killed?" His voice was getting shriller as it grew louder, but he didn't care. "Dammit, Lydia, why don't you stop thinking of yourself for a minute!"
That got her attention. She turned to face him and Thomas took an involuntary step back when he saw her black eyes flash. "How can you say that?" she hissed, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. "How can you even think-"
"We've lost enough people already without losing you as well!"
Lydia stared at him in shocked silence. Mutely, Thomas held out a supplicating hand. "Please, Lydia."
For a moment, he thought he had her. Please, he thought. Not you too. Come on, Lyd- "Lyd-"
"Don't call me that."
Lydia's voice was cold as she her back on him, shutting the top of her trunk. Thomas felt his heart fall. He looked at her a moment longer, but she gave no sign that she even recognized his presence anymore. He couldn't get through to her no matter how hard he tried. But he couldn't give up, either. If he did, she was going to die and there would be no help for it. So he did the only thing he could think of. He turned and ran.
His initial thought was to find Dumbledore and inform him of the situation. That would take things out of his hands nicely. It wasn't that Thomas didn't care- it was just that he couldn't handle himself under pressure. He couldn't stand it when people depended on him for help he felt he couldn't give them.
I've got to find Dumbledore, he thought to himself as he ran down the stairs of the Ravenclaw tower. If anyone can talk her out of this, he can. He gave no thought to an explanation of why he'd been in the girls' dorm in the first place, he hoped the larger problem at hand would override that minor detail. He paused as he reached the foot of the stairs. Dumbledore would be in his office right then. It was long past supper and as far as he knew, the Great Hall was empty. The only problem was, beside the fact that the wasn't even certain where the entrance to the office was, he hadn't a clue how to get in when he did find it.
"Bloody hell," he swore crossly. "Where-?"
"Mr. Applegate."
Thomas looked up at the speaker and nearly swore again. Snape was staring down at him, hands folded into the sleeves of his robe. "What are you doing at the foot of the girls' dorm?" he asked, his voice heavy with unspent venom.
Of all the people I had to meet- "I need to find Dumbledore," he said shortly, refusing to let the bastard waylay him from his task. "It's important. I have to find him."
"I think Dumbledore has slightly more important matters to take care of than listening to the whinging of a Ravenclaw brat," Snape told him smugly. "If it's that important, why don't you find Flitwick? Isn't he the one that's supposed to be taking care of your House anyway?"
"You don't understand," Thomas began desperately. "I-"
"No, Mr. Applegate, you don't understand." Snape scowled. "As I said, if it's that important-"
"Lydia's going to get herself killed if I don't find Dumbledore and get him to stop her!"
There, that got his attention. Thomas stopped himself from snickering as the blood drained from Snape's face. The matter was deadly serious.
"Take me there."
Thomas obeyed without thinking the commanding tone of the Potion Master's voice. He turned on his heel and led the way back to the girls' dorm, all thoughts of finding Dumbledore forgotten. While perhaps not the most fortunate person to find, Snape was still a figure of authority and still had a chance talking Lydia down from her suicidal focus.
"What's wrong?" Snape asked, never taking his eyes off the top of the staircase.
"Lydia- Death Eaters...said something about her parents- avenging their deaths," Thomas panted, still out of breath from his earlier rush down the stairs. "She's going after them- any of them. Said she'd take on You-Know-Who if she had the chance. I tried to talk her out of it, but she won't listen. You've got to get through to her, Professor. She doesn't have a chance." Thomas finally ran out of breath and sat heavily on the stairs. Snape brushed past him without a second glance. Thomas could only hope he knew what he was doing and that he wasn't bringing Lydia more harm than good.
"Lydia."
"Go away." Lydia didn't even turn around, just continued to try and jam the lid of her trunk down over the massive pile of stuff that lay inside. Snape held back his retort, reminding himself of the seriousness of the situation. Provided that Applegate had been telling the truth, and there was no reason to believe he wasn't. "You're not even supposed to be in here. Don't you have a dungeon to go crawl into? Or points to take from some Gryffindor?"
Snape winced at the coldness of her voice but steeled his own. "I ran into your friend, Mr. Applegate. He told me that you were about to do something rash and downright stupid."
"Thomas talks to much," she snapped, still refusing to turn around.
"Perhaps. But I can't say I've ever known the boy to lie. It could be that he's just too stupid to know how, but either way. Is it true?"
"What do you think?" She finally got the latches snapped on the trunk and hauled the whole thing off her bed. "What do you care, anyway? Just because you loved my mother doesn't mean that you don't still hate me. I'm not one of your precious Slytherins, after all." Snape could tell by her tone that her next words were meant to hurt, a distraction thrown up to hide her real resolve. "If you really loved her, you'd be doing the same thing I am."
Inside, Snape felt his heart twist at the near truth of her words. If only you knew, he thought. If only you knew how much I want to be packing there by your side, helping you hunt down each and every one of the bastards that did it. I'd face Voldemort one on one if I could, even though it would mean my death. Or maybe I just tell myself that, use my usefulness here as an excuse to stay behind. Maybe I didn't really love her. Maybe I never knew how to love anyone.
"Maybe," he said, keeping his voice neutral and his expression blank. "Even so, I've still things to accomplish before I go out chasing death, no matter how much I may desire it." Damn. He hadn't meant to let that slip. He hurried on before she could either notice or take the time to ask what he meant by it. "And if you stop and think a moment, you'll find that's exactly what you're doing. Honestly, girl. Do you really think you're strong enough to take on even a single Death Eater? If it were that easy, we'd have gotten rid of them long ago." And I should know, he thought as he matched her glare for glare. I was one of the weaker ones and I would have no trouble reducing you to a very large pile of very small pieces.
"What the hell do you know-"
"More than you'll ever imagine, Miss Johnson," Snape interrupted. "You're letting your emotions rule your mind, and that won't accomplish anything but get you killed. Now," he said, turning as if to go, "if that's what you want, try and send a message before you die so we'll know where to go to pick up your body. What's left of it, at least." He stepped towards the door, confident that his ploy would work as it had on so many others.
It seemed Lydia Johnson was no exception. "Wait," she said lowly, her voice filled with malice and reluctance.
Snape turned. "Yes?" he asked patiently, one eyebrow raised. "Have you changed your mind?" He was beginning to weary of this game, every word seemed to slog up from the depths of his brain.
Lydia's glare lost none of its intensity, but she scowled and spoke. "Tell me exactly why I shouldn't go out there and hunt down every single one of them," she demanded. Snape saw the traitorous tears well up in her eyes as her voice strained with intensity. "Tell me why I shouldn't risk my life in hopes of avenging the only life I ever had. Tell me, why I should even care, with the only people who ever meant anything to me laying cold in some graveyard? Why should I care?"
"Why don't you stop and actually think about it for a minute?" Snape shot back. "You were put in Ravenclaw for a reason, because you know how to stop and think! You're acting like your father, all brawn, no brain." He folded his arms across his chest as he stood, blocking the door. "You're not leaving this room, Miss Johnson. There are too many things you have yet to do before you die. Too many people who depend on you now."
She stared at him, her face unreadable. His stomach knotted. He couldn't get through to her. She was unreachable, wherever she was, and nothing short of a paralysis spell could stand in her way. He readied his hand over his pocket, confident he could reach his wand before she could take more than a few steps-
Then, to his complete and utter shock, she dropped her trunk and collapsed on the foot of the bed.
"But what else am I going to do?" she whispered, staring at her trunk, eyes wide and unseeing. "How can I just let Him get away with something like that? He killed my parents," she said, looking up at him wildly. "How can you even begin to understand what I'm feeling?"
"You're not the only one who lost a loved on in this war," Snape reminded her sharply. The time for coddling was past, now nothing more than the full, blunt truths would shock her out of her unheeding hysteria. "We all have. Don't presume that others don't know how much you're hurting."
"How could they?" she asked bitterly. "They haven't lost anyone the way I have."
"What makes you so certain?" I lost more than that to Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Snape thought grimly. I lost myself. I lost my very soul to him, and only Dumbledore could give it back. "Your friend, Miss Taylor O'Shea. She lost her aunt and three of her cousins when the Death Eaters converged on their household. Michael Kileson, the Hufflepuff sixth year lost his brother and father. I could stand here and rattle off names from now until next term, if you like."
"What good would that do?"
"It would help you understand that you are not the only one who's hurt!" he snarled at her with more vehemence than was strictly necessary. He wanted- no, needed- to make her angry now. If she lost herself in pity or grief then she would break down on him, and he wasn't certain if he could handle that. Not again. Get her angry, wear her down so that she had no choice but to listen. Clear her mind of the rage that clouded her ability to think. It was the only thing he could do.
Her jaw set stubbornly. "If their lost ones meant half as much to them as my parents did to me-"
"Not throwing their lives away means that they didn't love their family?" Snape asked. "Stop trying to be the noble martyr. It's better suited for the Gryffidors anyway."
"So then what the hell do you expect me to do?" she shouted at him, jumping up from her seat on the bed and pacing angrily. "Just sit here and let him get away with it?"
"For starters, you may cease the dramatics, shut up, and sit down." Snape was running out of patience. If he couldn't resolve this quickly-
To his amazement, she actually did as she was told. Good thing, too. He didn't know if he had the strength to back himself up.
"Now," he said slowly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "What do you do now? Simple. You think. What I don't understand is why students feel the best thing to do is go out and act on the first whim they get without regard for safety or sanity. Just think for a moment. What are you going to accomplish by getting blown to bits by a Death Eater?"
"Revenge-" she began, but Snape cut her off.
"Don't you think that perhaps your revenge would be better and more complete if you lived to tell about it?" Snape asked quietly. "If you die in this endeavor, Voldemort will have won. Not that it would matter to him; you're just a speck of dust to be wiped away for all he's concerned."
"I know."
"If you took the time to-" Snape paused and stared. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said I know." Lydia's gaze was fixed on the bedpost. "I know. It's futile and hopeless. But- I just don't know what else to do, where else to start!" Her last words ended in a wail as she burst into tears of pure frustration and threw herself into Snape's unexpecting arms.
"I can't even think clearly," she sobbed as Snape held her awkwardly. This was not at all what he expected. "All I know is that I want him to pay for what he did, I want them all to pay. It's the only way I know how."
"I know, I know," he said, trying to make his voice soothing as her tears stormed. "But remember, there are people who can help you. Dumbledore, your friend Thomas." He had learned that lesson years ago when he too had tried to block his ears from the help given him, when he had tried to push away the offers of a compassionate ear, and soothing hand. Dear Professor McGonagall had pursued with all her considerable stubbornness, however, until he had at last relented.
"What-" she hiccupped. "What about you?"
Snape continued on as if he hadn't heard her. "Let in those who would help you," he told her. "Don't let stubborn pride keep you from them. Don't be stupid." Not like I was.
She said nothing, and Snape was surprised to find that she was still curled in his arms like a young child. She had done the same no too long ago in his office and he tried to push away the thoughts creeping in at the edge of his mind. She's young, he told himself fiercely. She's young and vulnerable. You've no right, no right at all. What makes you think she could even begin to- But her last words still echoed through his mind. "What about you?" She couldn't know what she was talking about. She was too young. But she was so sweet and pliable in his arms, so soft, so innocent. He bit his lip as he felt her warm skin seep through her robes, infusing his hands with its heat. She was her mother's daughter...
Snape did not move for a long while, not caring what was right or wrong. All he cared about then was that whatever else may happen, it felt right to have her in his arms.