There is a lake behind the house.  I have been staring at it longingly for several days now, but of course, just when I became ready to go outside, violent summer storms roll through.

The storms themselves are beautiful, though.  There is a skylight in the sitting room, and through it I watch the clouds.  It is interesting to see them go from innocuous white, puffy wisps to black thunderheads; if you are still enough, you can see the clouds expanding, surging upwards into the atmosphere and filling with conflicting temperatures.  I would like to know the science of it; Snape tried to explain it to me, but I'm the sort of person that can't quite grasp something unless I go over it myself.

I love the lightning.  I'll sit there and try not to blink, not wanting to miss one single splintering of that magnificent electricity.  Snape taught me an old muggle trick to track how far the center of a storm is from you, in which you count the interval between lightning and thunder.  I expected it to be utter nonsense, but it does seem to work, if not terribly precisely.  The closer a storm gets, the shorter the intervals become. 

When I'm not watching the storms, I'm reading.  I let Snape pick the books for me; I would have no idea where to start in his library.  I read that book about Gandhi.  If all muggles were that intelligent, brave, and disciplined, the world would not have nearly as many problems.  The Gandhi book led me to other books about suppression, discrimination, and atrocity.  My real undoing was a book about the Holocaust.  The Holocaust was not foreign to me; many wizards had died during that dark time, and old Binns had lectured on it in History of Magic.  But of course I never gave my full attention to that class, and it didn't become real to me until I looked at that book and saw muggle and wizard side by side, working themselves to death because of the whim of one man and his propaganda machine.  Muggle and wizard, working together, suffering together, dying together, being buried side by side in the same undignified mass graves that they themselves had probably dug at some point.  It makes me think of Voldemort and how similar the situations are.  After reading and seeing that I began to realize that the muggles could not be blamed for all the world's conflicts and shortcomings.  Wizards are just as brash, biased, and corrupted as muggles.  We simply think of ourselves as better because we can do things that the muggles can only dream of.

Now Snape is steering me away from that sort of reading; I suppose he is engaging in a propaganda of his own.  But I know it is one that will inevitably help me, so I don't mind.

Now he has me wading through the vast collection of philosophy.  There is much that I cannot process, and sometimes Snape will sit with me and offer me tangible examples.  He seems to genuinely love the subject and the mind-straining and debate that goes along with it.  I wouldn't dream of saying it to him, but he is vastly better at teaching philosophy than he ever was at potions.

Today, however, there are no clouds to watch.  The sun is out and the cicadas are chirping.  I couldn't concentrate on a book if I tried; I keep eyeing the lake, lusting for a swim.

"Will you stop staring and just go?"  His voice holds a tinge of irritation that inexplicably reminds me of my father.  "There are no giant squids, I assure you."

"I'm not very good at swimming."

"It isn't deep." 

"You've been in it?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I've never seen you in less than full ensemble.  You mean to tell me that you've gone into that lake in just your skivvies?"

Snape's eyebrow goes up and a rather devilish smirk graces his face.

"Less than that."

I grimace.  I didn't quite need that image in my mind.  But it seems like a wonderful freedom.  At the Manor, could I have ever just torn my clothes off and gone for a swim?  No, that would be much too undignified and unbefitting of a pureblood heir.

"Well, if you won't go, I will," Snape says, standing and heading for the door.  I watch him as he strolls down to the grassy bank, hands in pockets.  Then he begins to strip – layer after layer of black clothes.  Probably for my sake he leaves his boxers on, and then wades into the water without a moment's hesitation.  The water reaches his waist, and then he dives under.  I don't see him for several seconds.  At last he emerges in the middle of the lake near a small dock I hadn't noticed before.  He pulls himself up on it and lounges, looking like the very picture of summer relaxation – completely not like himself.  All he needs is a drink with a little umbrella in it.

I am suddenly very jealous.  But what's stopping me?  Nothing.  I am a pureblood in disgrace.  Neither I nor the Malfoy name means anything anymore.  So why shouldn't I do as Snape did?  I have no reputation to worry about now.

I am out the door and sprinting down the lush green lawn, pulling my clothing off as I go.  The water is cold, but I force myself to run straight into it or else I'll never get all the way in.  I gasp at the frigid temperature, but oh does it feel good!

I wade out further and further, pondering whether or not I might be able to make it to the dock.  I really am a very inexperienced swimmer, and have not been in the water in years.  But I'm all right as long as I can still touch the floor.  I am amazed at how far away the shore is; the water is up to the middle of my chest.  Snape did say it wasn't too deep…if I can just walk a bit further I may be able to flail my way to the dock—

And suddenly, as I take another step, the lake's sandy floor is no longer there to cushion it.  With a gasp I go under, getting a mouthful of murky water.  I open my eyes but can see nothing; the water is too dark.  My arms thrash, but I touch nothing but water.  Water all around…and by now my lungs are starting to burn and I am dizzy with panic, because I can't swim and I don't know which way is up and there are no mothers or fathers left to pull me out and scream at me for scaring them half to death while simultaneously hugging me so hard that I feel like my ribs are going to crack—

And then I break the surface, propelled by strong hands.  I cough and don't know if it's water or tears or both on my face.

"Perhaps I should have warned you about that little drop-off," Snape says, pulling me back to where I can stand.

"Little?" I gasp.  "It must be a hundred meters deep!"

"I don't know," he replies with a shrug.  "I never tried to touch the bottom.  But you did say you could swim, if not very well!"

"I haven't in years," I mumble, now a bit calmed down, and more embarrassed than anything else.  "And I wasn't good at it even when I did swim."

"Lack of skill and inexperience are very different things.  I'm willing to bet that with some time and proper lessons, you'll be just fine."

"Really, I'm just no good at it—" I start.  But Snape will hear none of it.

By the end of the afternoon, I can swim to the dock and back easily.  Snape and I even try to dive down to the floor of the drop-off.  I become nervous about ten meters down and turn back.  Snape goes further than me and comes up nearly a minute later, gasping for breath.  I ask him if he touched the bottom, and he shakes his head.

Perhaps it is a hundred meters deep.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

The time for me to go back to school is getting close, and we both know it.  He says he'll come to the Manor and Diagon Alley with me under a Glamourie spell, if I want.  But I turn him down; returning to the Manor might be difficult for me, and I need to start being self-sufficient again.  He understands this like he understands everything else.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

When I go back to the Manor, I know instantly that I can't stay there.  It is so huge and barren and full of painful memories.  I'll get an apartment in Diagon Alley…or something.