AN: Hello, back again! How are you all doing? Well, I feel kinda silly
saying this, but I just couldn't resist writing a Snape fanfic of my own…so
I did. It's sort of weird, not really at all like my other story (ies). I
hope you enjoy this…I'm off all week (regents, yay!) and so therefore a lot
should be done…I have no idea how long this will go and whatnot, but do
enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
D/C: (hey, this is a whole lot shorter than "disclaimer" all the time…). Okay, I don't own HP, (Harry Potter, as you know, but some people get confused with my shortening…) but I do own Emilia Black and likewise, please e-me before you run off w/ her (make sure to laugh evilly, of course)
Chapter One: Denied
Emilia Black walked into the halls of Hogwarts, her stomach fluttering and her hands shaking. This was her first job, and her first day teaching. She clap her hands together nervously, coming to the gargoyle that led to the Headmasters' office. She was debating whether or not to tell him the truth about her, as she had always almost done before. Every time, though, she stopped right before she reached his office. Emilia couldn't pull herself to go all the way.
She took three steps back from the gargoyle, and turned to leave. Nope, she wasn't going to tell him today. The opening feast was in an hour, and she was going to be introduced to the entire school population. Her hands shook even more. Emilia looked down at them, willing her hands to stop shaking. Emilia looked up, and paused at the sight of the doors into the Great Hall.
Up and up they went, into a grand arch. Emilia felt very small standing next to them. In fact, she always felt small. Most of the teachers felt that she wasn't experienced enough to take the job of Defense Against the Dark Arts. They felt that she was too young to understand the Dark Arts, let alone teach it.
Professor Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster, tried to explain their unenthusiastic attitude to the new teachers. "It's not your position," he had explained. "It's just that every year, a teacher come and goes." Dumbledore was kind enough, she supposed. He didn't know the real reason why all those teachers didn't like her before they met her. She was only twenty-seven years old, the youngest present teacher here. And she was from the Black family, a prominent pureblood wizard line. He couldn't even begin to understand the discrimination she now faced every day she'd teach. It was as if she were in the same line as the Malfoy family.
She had graduated from this very school ten years ago. Ever since then, she'd been abroad, searching for what she wanted to be when she finally got a job. It came as no surprise to most people when she began to indulge herself in the Dark Arts. On the outside, it looked like she was going to become a Death Eater. On the inside, she was fighting them. She hated all the Dark Arts possible, and she hated the fact that being a Black made her automatically categorized as a Death Eater. She began to find new ways to fight it. Emilia wanted to become an Auror, perhaps.
But because she was a Black, she could not. No one would accept her applications. Finally she decided to take on the job as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, in hopes that she could break the permanent tradition of her family. Dumbledore welcomed her. He was the only one.
She knew, in the back of her mind, that they wouldn't accept her because she was indeed, too young. Never did she expect the kind of treatment she received.
She put her hands on the door and pushed in slightly open, hearing the door creak open just a bit. The term hadn't started; therefore the Great Hall was closed. It was like as if the doors of the hall opening were to signal the start of a brand new year at Hogwarts. She pushed the doors open until they had swung back onto the wall behind them. A rush of warm air from the Great Hall breezed by her, ruffling her long curly hair.
She stood there for a moment, her eyes grazing over the empty oak tables that would be filled very soon with students arriving on the Hogwarts Express. Gold silverware glittered, shining off the floating candles and the lighted torches along the side of the room. The ceiling, which had been bewitched to look like the outside, was cloudless, shimmering with dim stars, as night descended upon Hogwarts.
"Why are you standing there?" a sharp voice snapped behind her. She jumped, not expecting anyone to break her deep thoughts, and turned around. It was Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and residing Slytherin Head of House. "Well?"
She looked at him slowly. "I wasn't planning on staying here," she replied dryly. "I didn't know you were in such a hurry to get in here to meet all the little children you get to humiliate and make miserable this year." Emilia stepped to the side, and brushed past him. Emilia mentally smacked herself. If she was going to fit in, she was going to have to stop being sarcastic and snappish. After all these years of being shoved aside must have rubbed off on her, and if she was going to start anew, she was going to have to start being nice, even when others weren't.
Emilia leaned against the wall just outside of the Great Hall. She didn't know why that man wanted her to move, or even why he commented. All she knew was that man was going to be a nuisance this year. He was probably the rudest of them all, even more so than that McGonagall character. She remembered well their first meeting: They were sitting at the meeting table, and before they left, he leaned over; the first thing he ever said to her was, "So, another Black has come to reek havoc on Hogwarts. Why don't you crawl under the hole you came out of?"
Sighing, she glanced at the time and saw that the students were due to arrive any moment. Her stomach gave a little jolt. Emilia realized she was going to be made a spectacle in front of the entire student body. Her nervousness kicked in again.
Professor Minerva McGonagall walked by her without saying a word, walking briskly to meet up with the first years to give them their little spiel of Hogwarts and their Houses. Fighting the urge to run, she walked into the hall to see Professor Dumbledore place the Sorting Hat onto the stool that would soon be seated by many first-years. Emilia walked up to and around the front table, until she reached her seat. Some of the students were filtering in, as well as some of the teachers. She stared at her seat, which was between McGonagall and Snape. Snape had already taken his place at the table, and did not notice her standing there. Blinking quickly, to fight back on-coming tears of fright, she pulled up her seat and sat down gracefully.
Dumbledore sat down in his seat in the middle of the table, and curled his long fingers in thought. He placed his chin on them and glanced at the ceiling. Emilia turned away from him to see the Great Hall filling up fast, students pointing and whispering at her. She looked down, and her long black hair fell forward, covering her face. She knew that they were only curious, seeing as she was the only new teacher here this year, but the pointing and whispering was all too familiar. The teachers did that in the meeting room the first time she met them, and she has endured that all her life. She had hoped, by now, she could ignore it. But one can't ever ignore something like that, no matter how hard you try to distance yourself from the looks and points.
Turning her head slightly, she noticed Snape was looking at around the hall, sneering at everything he saw. Snape was indeed, a sallow-faced, greasy haired man who had a known dislike for children. Why he taught was still a mystery to her. She looked around to where he was glancing at, and she realized that the youth and freshness of herself must contrast greatly with Snape's penetrating glare.
Soon, the hall was full of abundant chatter. Students arriving from summer break had much to say, she noticed, as the hall was buzzing with excited talk. Almost all the teachers had arrived; on the other side of Snape, Flitwick and Sprout were talking animatedly. Opposite McGonagall's empty seat was Dumbledore; the head of Astronomy, Sinistra; Arithmancy's teacher, Vector; Care of Magical Creatures, Rubeus Hagrid; and after that, Divination's teacher, Sibyl Trelawny. Dumbledore turned to her slowly, noticing her stare.
"Emilia," he said quietly, "you look nervous." There was a twinkle in his blue eyes.
Emilia jumped from being addressed to. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, laughing a bit to wear off her uneasiness.
Dumbledore smiled. "Not really. I usually expect new teachers to be a bit worried. Am I correct in saying that this is your first job?"
Emilia nodded curtly. She was too strained to say more. She breathed in as McGonagall brought in the new students in quite a long line. Her stomach churned with anticipation.
Suddenly the Sorting Hat, being watched by almost every student, began to sing:
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
Or think I'm worth to keep--
I'm simply just a hat, you know,
But my knowledge runs deep.
You can keep all your other hats
Sleek with shine and tall--
But I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can top them all.
So pick me up, and try me on
There's nothing I can't see.
I'll look inside of your head
To tell where you will be.
You might be in brave Gryffindor
Where dwell the very best;
Or perhaps in loyal Hufflepuff
Prized far beyond the rest.
But maybe in wise Ravenclaw
If you've a steady mind;
Or rather ambitious Slytherin:
There you'll seek your kind.
Wherever you will be
You'll be sure to find
Those that are among you
Will help you in a bind.
Now pick me up or slip me on
I will do all my might
To tell you where you ought to go
For I am always right!"
The Great Hall exploded in applause. The hat, it seemed to Emilia, bowed for the students. It was quite a quirky little song.
The first student was called to the front stool. Being a teacher, she could see this girl quite clearly, as she fearlessly approached the Sorting Hat. McGonagall lifted the hat and placed it on her head. The large hat slumped past her ears and covered her eyes. Some of the first years laughed, as well the girl being sorted, trying to break off the tension.
"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat suddenly yelled. There was thunderous applause at the table where she was heading. Beside her, Snape tutted loudly--she noticed he was scowling at the Gryffindor table as the girl was eagerly welcomed.
McGonagall lifted the scroll again. "Beelzy, Amanda!"
Another little girl ran to the front and jammed the hat eagerly on her head. A few moments later that hat yelled, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
This continued on through "LeGrand, Daniel," ("Slytherin!") to "Primera, Vincent," ("GRYFFINDOR!") and finally to "Zambia, Calvin," ("RAVENCLAW!"). Emilia grew more and more anxious as the line got shorter and shorter, knowing that she would be introduced next.
The line ended, and McGonagall took her seat next to Dumbledore, who in turn stood up. "Welcome," he said happily, his face shining. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I welcome all of those who are new, and all of those leaving us this year.
Professor Sprout would like to make a note that Greenhouse Four is off-limits this year, as she is conducting an experiment for the Ministry of Magic. As always, the Forbidden Forest is off-limits to everyone, as well as Hogsmeade to anyone below third year."
He paused. Emilia felt her face flush; she was going to be introduced next, and she knew it. "I would also like to introduce a new teacher in our midst." She squeezed her eyes shut nervously, and opened them quickly. "Please welcome Professor Emilia Black, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Emilia stood up quickly and bowed, sitting down even faster. There was a lot of applause, more than she expected. Dumbledore shot her a quick smile.
"Lastly, enjoy this meal," he finished, waving his wand. Food appeared everywhere, every single dish looking as good as the next.
The clapping was even louder when he finished, and soon the hall was loud once more with talk and eating. Emilia glanced over the dishes, and put very little of some on her plate. Silently, she began to eat. Next to her, McGonagall was talking quickly to Dumbledore. She wished that she were in McGonagall's seat; Dumbledore, she found, was the only one who talked civilly to her. That meant no side jokes about her family, or anything else.
She ate rather quickly, and soon her plate (with what little was on it) was empty before anyone else's. Setting down her fork, she put her napkin on her plate and stood. She walked away from the table, the chatter and the joy getting to her. Must be nice, she thought dryly, to have someone to talk to.
She exited the Great Hall and walked outside on the grounds. It was a warm night, even for September, and her deep green robes were keeping her pleasantly cool. Clasping her hands together, she walked along the path that led to practically everywhere from the main entrance. Looking up, she saw that she arrived at the lake. It was a full moon, and the light shined down on the lake, giving it a misty, romantic look. The mist from the warmer water curled in little rings, and there were only little calm, gentle waves on the surface.
She sat down, running her hands over the dry, cool grass. It was rather pleasant, sitting there and enjoying the scenery. She really hadn't seen the place since she left it ten years ago.
The quietness of the lake was eerie. Despite the fact she'd been up since five, she was wide-awake. The awareness of her surrounding was keeping her awake. She suddenly heard crunching noises and the sound of a breeze flapping inside clothing. Emilia stood, brushed of her robes, and turned around to see Snape. She sighed.
"What is it? Have you come to ask me to move?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"No. The Headmaster wishes to see you," he said, scowling. "I don't know why you had to leave. Makes more work for me having to come and find you."
"You don't have to," she snapped, walking forward. "Don't try doing people favors, Snape; it doesn't suit you."
Snape crossed his arms and smirked. "I'm not doing anyone favors," he spat. "And there are a lot of things that don't suit people. Like, your job, or your bloodlines, for instance."
"Like yours are any better, Snape?" she snarled. "I may not be a Death Eater, but at least I never was one."
That last comment hit him hard. He gave her a look of deepest loathing; one that was entitled to kill and bury someone. She, in turn, glared right back; she had no patience for this type of mockery. "What, no retort?"
"I am above that sort of childish play," he sneered, narrowing his black eyes.
She started to walk up the path. "Then don't invoke it, Snape, if you can't finish it."
Snape followed close behind her; it looked like he didn't trust he farther than the length of his pointed nose. Stupid prat, she thought darkly.
After their gaunt walk to the castle, Emilia realized something and stopped short. "Why did Dumbledore send you?" she asked disdainfully.
"Because," he answered, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, "he trusts me with the more important duties. Unfortunately, I hoped it wouldn't require being his personal messenger for some little girl." He walked briskly right by her.
Emilia suppressed the urge to hit him until he bled; instead, she followed silently and closely behind him until they reached the familiar gargoyle that opened the passage to Dumbledore's office. "Sugar Quill," he muttered absentmindedly, and the gargoyle moved aside to reveal a passage that lead up a winding staircase.
Snape rapped on the door three times and moved aside so that she could go in. Snape leaned in, and snarled in her ear, "Should I have to look for you ever again, you will regret it. Don't ever do that again. I'm not some bloody search dog."
Smiling, she muttered back, "Could have fooled me, mutt," and entered Dumbledore's office. Emilia felt like saying something else, but decided against it. Instead, she glanced around his room; she saw it was in an oval shape, with Dumbledore reading behind his desk. The Sorting Hat stood upon the stool, which was showered in feathers from a most peculiar bird, whose gold and red feathers shone rather brilliantly in the dimly light room. Cupboards and bookshelves line the outside; books upon books were everywhere. Notes, papers and accessories were sticking out of odd places. A quill was perched atop an interesting-looking bowl. Emilia felt very uncomfortable in this office. It was very much unlike her own; she was an organizational freak.
"Emilia! Please, come in. I'm quite sorry to have to disturb you; I plum forgot to mention a couple things to you that I though you might like to know," Dumbledore said, closing his book and standing as she entered the room. "Care for some hot chocolate?" She noticed there was quite a twinkle in his eye, and for reading a book about killing vampires, was rather amused.
"Quite all right, Professor, and sure, I would most enjoy a cup," said Emilia, smiling.
Dumbledore nodded and pulled two mugs with a teapot out of the thin air, setting it on his desk. Pouring it carefully, he said softly, "It's Albus, Emilia."
She went slightly pink. "Professor, you were the Headmaster in my time; I can't call you by your name…. It wouldn't feel right."
He handed her the pink cup, and took one for himself. "Of course, I understand. Please, have a seat." He motioned to the chair behind her.
"What is it that you need, Professor?" she asked, sitting. Emilia took a sniff from the huge mug; the cup barely allowed her hands to reach around it. It smelled absolutely delightful.
"As you know, at the beginning of this summer, one of my brightest students died," he said slowly.
Emilia swallowed hard. "Cedric Diggory. Yes, I know his father--he works in the Ministry."
"Yes, of course. Did you, by chance, hear how he died?"
Emilia paused. "I have learned some of it…." She drifted off. "It was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, correct?"
"Yes. And please, use his proper name, Voldemort," he replied, and Emilia flinched. Like almost every wizard in the wizarding world, Voldemort still caused many people to shun his name; the wizard who tore apart many families and was the root of most of the Muggle killings.
Emilia was only fourteen or fifteen when it happened; she remembered he parents, coming home in the late nights of the summer, with their Death Eater friends: Malfoy, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle…. She remembered them all very well. The way they talked about the killings, the fact that they were the highest of Voldemort supporters--
Emilia looked down from Dumbledore's penetrating glance. He didn't know about any of that. No one did. "Yes, well, he killed him with the Killing Curse, correct?"
"Unfortunately so. Harry Potter, once again," he paused, smiling with pride, "escaped. He is under constant surveillance. I would like you to instruct him in the different ways of defending oneself from such attacks. Everything you know, that could be of help to him. He's facing dark times ahead."
"Of course, Headmaster," she said. "Anything else?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, unless there is something you wish to tell me?" He must know, she thought, that I want—no, need—to tell him something. She shook her head—both to herself, and to Dumbledore. No, she won't tell him. Not quite yet, anyway.
"Nothing, Professor," she replied, standing quickly. She walked over to the table and set the mug on it. "Good night, Professor."
"And you too, Emilia." He glanced down at the mug.
It was completely full.
D/C: (hey, this is a whole lot shorter than "disclaimer" all the time…). Okay, I don't own HP, (Harry Potter, as you know, but some people get confused with my shortening…) but I do own Emilia Black and likewise, please e-me before you run off w/ her (make sure to laugh evilly, of course)
Chapter One: Denied
Emilia Black walked into the halls of Hogwarts, her stomach fluttering and her hands shaking. This was her first job, and her first day teaching. She clap her hands together nervously, coming to the gargoyle that led to the Headmasters' office. She was debating whether or not to tell him the truth about her, as she had always almost done before. Every time, though, she stopped right before she reached his office. Emilia couldn't pull herself to go all the way.
She took three steps back from the gargoyle, and turned to leave. Nope, she wasn't going to tell him today. The opening feast was in an hour, and she was going to be introduced to the entire school population. Her hands shook even more. Emilia looked down at them, willing her hands to stop shaking. Emilia looked up, and paused at the sight of the doors into the Great Hall.
Up and up they went, into a grand arch. Emilia felt very small standing next to them. In fact, she always felt small. Most of the teachers felt that she wasn't experienced enough to take the job of Defense Against the Dark Arts. They felt that she was too young to understand the Dark Arts, let alone teach it.
Professor Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster, tried to explain their unenthusiastic attitude to the new teachers. "It's not your position," he had explained. "It's just that every year, a teacher come and goes." Dumbledore was kind enough, she supposed. He didn't know the real reason why all those teachers didn't like her before they met her. She was only twenty-seven years old, the youngest present teacher here. And she was from the Black family, a prominent pureblood wizard line. He couldn't even begin to understand the discrimination she now faced every day she'd teach. It was as if she were in the same line as the Malfoy family.
She had graduated from this very school ten years ago. Ever since then, she'd been abroad, searching for what she wanted to be when she finally got a job. It came as no surprise to most people when she began to indulge herself in the Dark Arts. On the outside, it looked like she was going to become a Death Eater. On the inside, she was fighting them. She hated all the Dark Arts possible, and she hated the fact that being a Black made her automatically categorized as a Death Eater. She began to find new ways to fight it. Emilia wanted to become an Auror, perhaps.
But because she was a Black, she could not. No one would accept her applications. Finally she decided to take on the job as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, in hopes that she could break the permanent tradition of her family. Dumbledore welcomed her. He was the only one.
She knew, in the back of her mind, that they wouldn't accept her because she was indeed, too young. Never did she expect the kind of treatment she received.
She put her hands on the door and pushed in slightly open, hearing the door creak open just a bit. The term hadn't started; therefore the Great Hall was closed. It was like as if the doors of the hall opening were to signal the start of a brand new year at Hogwarts. She pushed the doors open until they had swung back onto the wall behind them. A rush of warm air from the Great Hall breezed by her, ruffling her long curly hair.
She stood there for a moment, her eyes grazing over the empty oak tables that would be filled very soon with students arriving on the Hogwarts Express. Gold silverware glittered, shining off the floating candles and the lighted torches along the side of the room. The ceiling, which had been bewitched to look like the outside, was cloudless, shimmering with dim stars, as night descended upon Hogwarts.
"Why are you standing there?" a sharp voice snapped behind her. She jumped, not expecting anyone to break her deep thoughts, and turned around. It was Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and residing Slytherin Head of House. "Well?"
She looked at him slowly. "I wasn't planning on staying here," she replied dryly. "I didn't know you were in such a hurry to get in here to meet all the little children you get to humiliate and make miserable this year." Emilia stepped to the side, and brushed past him. Emilia mentally smacked herself. If she was going to fit in, she was going to have to stop being sarcastic and snappish. After all these years of being shoved aside must have rubbed off on her, and if she was going to start anew, she was going to have to start being nice, even when others weren't.
Emilia leaned against the wall just outside of the Great Hall. She didn't know why that man wanted her to move, or even why he commented. All she knew was that man was going to be a nuisance this year. He was probably the rudest of them all, even more so than that McGonagall character. She remembered well their first meeting: They were sitting at the meeting table, and before they left, he leaned over; the first thing he ever said to her was, "So, another Black has come to reek havoc on Hogwarts. Why don't you crawl under the hole you came out of?"
Sighing, she glanced at the time and saw that the students were due to arrive any moment. Her stomach gave a little jolt. Emilia realized she was going to be made a spectacle in front of the entire student body. Her nervousness kicked in again.
Professor Minerva McGonagall walked by her without saying a word, walking briskly to meet up with the first years to give them their little spiel of Hogwarts and their Houses. Fighting the urge to run, she walked into the hall to see Professor Dumbledore place the Sorting Hat onto the stool that would soon be seated by many first-years. Emilia walked up to and around the front table, until she reached her seat. Some of the students were filtering in, as well as some of the teachers. She stared at her seat, which was between McGonagall and Snape. Snape had already taken his place at the table, and did not notice her standing there. Blinking quickly, to fight back on-coming tears of fright, she pulled up her seat and sat down gracefully.
Dumbledore sat down in his seat in the middle of the table, and curled his long fingers in thought. He placed his chin on them and glanced at the ceiling. Emilia turned away from him to see the Great Hall filling up fast, students pointing and whispering at her. She looked down, and her long black hair fell forward, covering her face. She knew that they were only curious, seeing as she was the only new teacher here this year, but the pointing and whispering was all too familiar. The teachers did that in the meeting room the first time she met them, and she has endured that all her life. She had hoped, by now, she could ignore it. But one can't ever ignore something like that, no matter how hard you try to distance yourself from the looks and points.
Turning her head slightly, she noticed Snape was looking at around the hall, sneering at everything he saw. Snape was indeed, a sallow-faced, greasy haired man who had a known dislike for children. Why he taught was still a mystery to her. She looked around to where he was glancing at, and she realized that the youth and freshness of herself must contrast greatly with Snape's penetrating glare.
Soon, the hall was full of abundant chatter. Students arriving from summer break had much to say, she noticed, as the hall was buzzing with excited talk. Almost all the teachers had arrived; on the other side of Snape, Flitwick and Sprout were talking animatedly. Opposite McGonagall's empty seat was Dumbledore; the head of Astronomy, Sinistra; Arithmancy's teacher, Vector; Care of Magical Creatures, Rubeus Hagrid; and after that, Divination's teacher, Sibyl Trelawny. Dumbledore turned to her slowly, noticing her stare.
"Emilia," he said quietly, "you look nervous." There was a twinkle in his blue eyes.
Emilia jumped from being addressed to. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, laughing a bit to wear off her uneasiness.
Dumbledore smiled. "Not really. I usually expect new teachers to be a bit worried. Am I correct in saying that this is your first job?"
Emilia nodded curtly. She was too strained to say more. She breathed in as McGonagall brought in the new students in quite a long line. Her stomach churned with anticipation.
Suddenly the Sorting Hat, being watched by almost every student, began to sing:
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
Or think I'm worth to keep--
I'm simply just a hat, you know,
But my knowledge runs deep.
You can keep all your other hats
Sleek with shine and tall--
But I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can top them all.
So pick me up, and try me on
There's nothing I can't see.
I'll look inside of your head
To tell where you will be.
You might be in brave Gryffindor
Where dwell the very best;
Or perhaps in loyal Hufflepuff
Prized far beyond the rest.
But maybe in wise Ravenclaw
If you've a steady mind;
Or rather ambitious Slytherin:
There you'll seek your kind.
Wherever you will be
You'll be sure to find
Those that are among you
Will help you in a bind.
Now pick me up or slip me on
I will do all my might
To tell you where you ought to go
For I am always right!"
The Great Hall exploded in applause. The hat, it seemed to Emilia, bowed for the students. It was quite a quirky little song.
The first student was called to the front stool. Being a teacher, she could see this girl quite clearly, as she fearlessly approached the Sorting Hat. McGonagall lifted the hat and placed it on her head. The large hat slumped past her ears and covered her eyes. Some of the first years laughed, as well the girl being sorted, trying to break off the tension.
"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat suddenly yelled. There was thunderous applause at the table where she was heading. Beside her, Snape tutted loudly--she noticed he was scowling at the Gryffindor table as the girl was eagerly welcomed.
McGonagall lifted the scroll again. "Beelzy, Amanda!"
Another little girl ran to the front and jammed the hat eagerly on her head. A few moments later that hat yelled, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
This continued on through "LeGrand, Daniel," ("Slytherin!") to "Primera, Vincent," ("GRYFFINDOR!") and finally to "Zambia, Calvin," ("RAVENCLAW!"). Emilia grew more and more anxious as the line got shorter and shorter, knowing that she would be introduced next.
The line ended, and McGonagall took her seat next to Dumbledore, who in turn stood up. "Welcome," he said happily, his face shining. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I welcome all of those who are new, and all of those leaving us this year.
Professor Sprout would like to make a note that Greenhouse Four is off-limits this year, as she is conducting an experiment for the Ministry of Magic. As always, the Forbidden Forest is off-limits to everyone, as well as Hogsmeade to anyone below third year."
He paused. Emilia felt her face flush; she was going to be introduced next, and she knew it. "I would also like to introduce a new teacher in our midst." She squeezed her eyes shut nervously, and opened them quickly. "Please welcome Professor Emilia Black, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Emilia stood up quickly and bowed, sitting down even faster. There was a lot of applause, more than she expected. Dumbledore shot her a quick smile.
"Lastly, enjoy this meal," he finished, waving his wand. Food appeared everywhere, every single dish looking as good as the next.
The clapping was even louder when he finished, and soon the hall was loud once more with talk and eating. Emilia glanced over the dishes, and put very little of some on her plate. Silently, she began to eat. Next to her, McGonagall was talking quickly to Dumbledore. She wished that she were in McGonagall's seat; Dumbledore, she found, was the only one who talked civilly to her. That meant no side jokes about her family, or anything else.
She ate rather quickly, and soon her plate (with what little was on it) was empty before anyone else's. Setting down her fork, she put her napkin on her plate and stood. She walked away from the table, the chatter and the joy getting to her. Must be nice, she thought dryly, to have someone to talk to.
She exited the Great Hall and walked outside on the grounds. It was a warm night, even for September, and her deep green robes were keeping her pleasantly cool. Clasping her hands together, she walked along the path that led to practically everywhere from the main entrance. Looking up, she saw that she arrived at the lake. It was a full moon, and the light shined down on the lake, giving it a misty, romantic look. The mist from the warmer water curled in little rings, and there were only little calm, gentle waves on the surface.
She sat down, running her hands over the dry, cool grass. It was rather pleasant, sitting there and enjoying the scenery. She really hadn't seen the place since she left it ten years ago.
The quietness of the lake was eerie. Despite the fact she'd been up since five, she was wide-awake. The awareness of her surrounding was keeping her awake. She suddenly heard crunching noises and the sound of a breeze flapping inside clothing. Emilia stood, brushed of her robes, and turned around to see Snape. She sighed.
"What is it? Have you come to ask me to move?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"No. The Headmaster wishes to see you," he said, scowling. "I don't know why you had to leave. Makes more work for me having to come and find you."
"You don't have to," she snapped, walking forward. "Don't try doing people favors, Snape; it doesn't suit you."
Snape crossed his arms and smirked. "I'm not doing anyone favors," he spat. "And there are a lot of things that don't suit people. Like, your job, or your bloodlines, for instance."
"Like yours are any better, Snape?" she snarled. "I may not be a Death Eater, but at least I never was one."
That last comment hit him hard. He gave her a look of deepest loathing; one that was entitled to kill and bury someone. She, in turn, glared right back; she had no patience for this type of mockery. "What, no retort?"
"I am above that sort of childish play," he sneered, narrowing his black eyes.
She started to walk up the path. "Then don't invoke it, Snape, if you can't finish it."
Snape followed close behind her; it looked like he didn't trust he farther than the length of his pointed nose. Stupid prat, she thought darkly.
After their gaunt walk to the castle, Emilia realized something and stopped short. "Why did Dumbledore send you?" she asked disdainfully.
"Because," he answered, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, "he trusts me with the more important duties. Unfortunately, I hoped it wouldn't require being his personal messenger for some little girl." He walked briskly right by her.
Emilia suppressed the urge to hit him until he bled; instead, she followed silently and closely behind him until they reached the familiar gargoyle that opened the passage to Dumbledore's office. "Sugar Quill," he muttered absentmindedly, and the gargoyle moved aside to reveal a passage that lead up a winding staircase.
Snape rapped on the door three times and moved aside so that she could go in. Snape leaned in, and snarled in her ear, "Should I have to look for you ever again, you will regret it. Don't ever do that again. I'm not some bloody search dog."
Smiling, she muttered back, "Could have fooled me, mutt," and entered Dumbledore's office. Emilia felt like saying something else, but decided against it. Instead, she glanced around his room; she saw it was in an oval shape, with Dumbledore reading behind his desk. The Sorting Hat stood upon the stool, which was showered in feathers from a most peculiar bird, whose gold and red feathers shone rather brilliantly in the dimly light room. Cupboards and bookshelves line the outside; books upon books were everywhere. Notes, papers and accessories were sticking out of odd places. A quill was perched atop an interesting-looking bowl. Emilia felt very uncomfortable in this office. It was very much unlike her own; she was an organizational freak.
"Emilia! Please, come in. I'm quite sorry to have to disturb you; I plum forgot to mention a couple things to you that I though you might like to know," Dumbledore said, closing his book and standing as she entered the room. "Care for some hot chocolate?" She noticed there was quite a twinkle in his eye, and for reading a book about killing vampires, was rather amused.
"Quite all right, Professor, and sure, I would most enjoy a cup," said Emilia, smiling.
Dumbledore nodded and pulled two mugs with a teapot out of the thin air, setting it on his desk. Pouring it carefully, he said softly, "It's Albus, Emilia."
She went slightly pink. "Professor, you were the Headmaster in my time; I can't call you by your name…. It wouldn't feel right."
He handed her the pink cup, and took one for himself. "Of course, I understand. Please, have a seat." He motioned to the chair behind her.
"What is it that you need, Professor?" she asked, sitting. Emilia took a sniff from the huge mug; the cup barely allowed her hands to reach around it. It smelled absolutely delightful.
"As you know, at the beginning of this summer, one of my brightest students died," he said slowly.
Emilia swallowed hard. "Cedric Diggory. Yes, I know his father--he works in the Ministry."
"Yes, of course. Did you, by chance, hear how he died?"
Emilia paused. "I have learned some of it…." She drifted off. "It was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, correct?"
"Yes. And please, use his proper name, Voldemort," he replied, and Emilia flinched. Like almost every wizard in the wizarding world, Voldemort still caused many people to shun his name; the wizard who tore apart many families and was the root of most of the Muggle killings.
Emilia was only fourteen or fifteen when it happened; she remembered he parents, coming home in the late nights of the summer, with their Death Eater friends: Malfoy, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle…. She remembered them all very well. The way they talked about the killings, the fact that they were the highest of Voldemort supporters--
Emilia looked down from Dumbledore's penetrating glance. He didn't know about any of that. No one did. "Yes, well, he killed him with the Killing Curse, correct?"
"Unfortunately so. Harry Potter, once again," he paused, smiling with pride, "escaped. He is under constant surveillance. I would like you to instruct him in the different ways of defending oneself from such attacks. Everything you know, that could be of help to him. He's facing dark times ahead."
"Of course, Headmaster," she said. "Anything else?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, unless there is something you wish to tell me?" He must know, she thought, that I want—no, need—to tell him something. She shook her head—both to herself, and to Dumbledore. No, she won't tell him. Not quite yet, anyway.
"Nothing, Professor," she replied, standing quickly. She walked over to the table and set the mug on it. "Good night, Professor."
"And you too, Emilia." He glanced down at the mug.
It was completely full.