Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it belongs to J.K. Rowling

Chapter 6: Owls After Curfew

The week following Fanny's first meeting with Severus was busy for the seventh years. Spring was blooming outside the school and the teachers, realizing time was pressing, began to pick up the pace to cover the wealth of material required for the end of year exams. Every prospective graduate became quickly bogged down in homework, and even those with very light course loads appeared haggard and stressed by the following Wednesday. The change was a rude awakening for Fanny, who had heard of NEWT's a few times, but hadn't fully realized their importance or difficulty as she had arrived late in the term at Hogwarts from a school system that was quite different. Between homework and the extra potions work that Snape had assigned her, the week flew by in a buzz of concentration and study.

There was one major advantage to the sudden busyness. It provided a pleasant relief from the awkwardness of the previous week. Fanny's relationship with the Gryffindors, although improved, had not yet returned to the friendliness of early Easter weekend. Sirius had progressed from stony silence to timid smiles and brief but pleasant conversations during charms, and Lily was almost her usual boisterous self. But no plans had been made to spend time together outside classes since the fateful maze chase. Under ordinary circumstances, this might have aggravated the discomfort rather than quell it, but the work load was so heavy that, even had they wanted to, there was no time left over for socializing. All in all, the stressful workload pushed all other worries from the students' minds, and Sirius' kiss was quickly being relegated to the past. Within a few weeks, Fanny expected things to be easy and relaxed with the Gryffindors once more.

It was lucky that her social forecast appeared optimistic: it gave her one less thing to worry about and allowed her to concentrate more fully on her studies. The assignment that Snape had set her turned out to be so time consuming that on top her other classes she had little energy to spare for anything else. But Fanny was determined, and her second meeting with Snape found her well prepared.

Feeling a little braver this week, Fanny did not set out for the old Runes classroom until nine thirty. She had found it so difficult to concentrate on homework as she waited for Snape the previous week that she considered it wise to spend as much time as possible in the library before sneaking through the halls to her destination. Although curfew was not until ten o'clock for seventh years, she moved quietly, not wanting to be caught heading away from her common room only to be turned around and sent to bed. The classroom was as she left it last week: dark and empty save for some rickety looking furniture. This week, however, she came prepared. Pulling a handful of birch twigs from her bag, she transfigured them into pretty iron work storm lanterns and charmed them to hover overhead. This particular bit of magic had been her side project for the week. The sticks she gathered from the edge of the forest on the weekend, and the lantern spell she had learned late Monday night when she couldn't sleep for insomnia. It was a practical bit of magic that she needed to learn eventually, she told herself, but truthfully she was looking to impress Snape as well, although she would never openly admit. In her mind, she was the more eager of the two, and the idea goaded her. 'After all', she thought, 'I'm always early, I'm always encouraging him to open up, I'm always thinking to impress him. He comes late, walks out on me, makes fun of me!'

When Snape did arrive, forty five minutes early, Fanny was too set in this belief that she didn't take it as an encouraging sign. She was merely relieved to have her wait cut short. The room was well lit this week, thanks to the lanterns, and his entrance didn't startle her as it did the previous time. He watched her as he crossed the room, a somber unreadable expression on his face, and continued to stare in silence even as he took his seat, and pulled books and paper from his bag. A minute or so passed as he scrutinized her, and although it was rather intimidating, Fanny held his gaze.

"Well, have you completed your assignment for this week, Miss Bowley?" he finally asked.

"Yes, of course."

"Let me see, please." He impatiently held out a long thin sallow hand, and Fanny handed over her summary of chapter twenty of the potions text. He held the paper close to his face, and read in silence for a few minutes.

"How long did this take you?" he asked.

"I don't know. Maybe two or three hours," she lied. It had taken her at least eight, but she didn't want him to think her slow.

"Hmm...you misunderstood the effects of Henbane. It does not act directly on the digestive tract, but the autonomic nervous system. This is what causes hallucination. The other symptoms are side affects. The rest is not bad though. Actually," he sat back considering her paper, "it's quite good. Perhaps you do have a little potential." He smiled at her arrogantly.

"Sure. Why else would you be teaching me?" asked Fanny seriously.

"Er, yes, of course. Shall we continue?" Snape launched into a lecture on poisons that lasted for at least an hour and a half. Like the previous meeting, he was bold and articulate and obviously knew what he was talking about. Although she resisted, Fanny found herself thoroughly impressed with his vast knowledge. Her mother's skill at potions was always a source of admiration for young Fanny, and it developed a predisposition in the girl to believe any potions master to be wonderful.

As he spoke, Fanny watched him quite enraptured. A fervent expression lit his face when he lectured on toxic fungi that he never wore in other situations. His black eyes and pallid cheeks glowed from enthusiasm and all of the scorn, sarcasm, and biting wit that he normally hid behind dropped away to reveal a vibrant seventeen year old boy, rife with the conflictions of adolescence: self-conscious but confident, frightened but determined. Fanny wondered as he spoke if she had ever met anyone who was as driven as he was, and to her surprise, she found that in his passion, he became quite alluring; almost handsome in fact. More than anything, she wanted to understand him and in return, make him interested in her.

"Where are you from originally," she asked. "I mean what part of England?"

His enthusiasm dropped the moment the conversation moved away from potions, and his hostile defensiveness returned. But Fanny now knew of his hidden passions and would not forget the look he wore moments before. She still found him attractive. "Oxfordshire," he said.

Fanny waited for him to elaborate, but he only stared mutely down at his book. "Oh, I hear that's a nice part of the country," she said, "very green isn't it?"

"Yes, it's lovely," he said vacantly. "Is it quite different in America?" he asked, although Fanny had the distinct impression that he was not really interested in her answer, but was trying to shift the focus away from himself.

"Quite different. In the lowlands of south Massachusetts, where I'm from, it's flatter. Well, maybe not flatter than Oxfordshire, but it certainly is compared to here," she waved her arm vaguely towards the jagged mountains that surrounded the school. "It's heavily wooded, mostly with deciduous trees, like firs, maples, birches, that sort of thing. Evergreens too. I lived in a small town that was surrounded by woods on all sides. I practically lived in there when I was little. In the spring, it was like being in a giant room with an intricate green ceiling, and when the sun shone through the leaves it would glow emerald. The streams would swell and the sound of the running water would echo through the trees for miles. It was so beautiful, so alive. It was definitely my favorite time of year. Most people say fall is the best time to be in New England, with all the foliage changing color and they have a point, it's quite amazing to see. But it's the end of the cycle, isn't it, when the trees are worn out with their current life? While the spring, it's not really like youth, more like rebirth. I always liked that idea-that you can start fresh when things wear out or go wrong." She sighed and stopped for a moment. Snape watched her quietly and seriously and although he gave no indication that he'd like to speak, she seemed to have caught his attention.

She continued. "Have you ever been to Dumbledore's office? Once, when I first arrived here, I was so behind that I was practically banging all my professors' doors down for help. Well I was always rather good at transfiguration so I thought I'd get it out of the way first and start with him. Or maybe it was because he is so friendly and approachable. Anyway, do you know what he has in there? A phoenix! It's incredible. It was strange, because I found myself almost jealous of it. Wouldn't it be amazing to be able to incinerate the past and start again? It would still be a part of you-you'd be born from the ashes after all. But it's not so directly connected to you-it's a bit more abstract." Fanny fell silent, and looked at the dark windows before turning back to Snape, who still sat watching her silently. "Sorry, I can really run on sometimes."

"Yes, I noticed."

"You tell me something then," she said, but Snape remained silent. "Seriously, I'd like to know." Silence. "What sorts of things do you like to read?...Any favorite pets?...Greatest aspirations?...Come on, you've got to give me something."

His eyes turned glassy and dangerous as he looked at her. "If you hadn't noticed, I give you the priceless gift of knowledge every Wednesday. Is that not enough for you?"

"No, I mean, something that will give me some idea of who you are! If we're to be friends you can't be totally shut off to me."

"Friends" he sneered, but Fanny was silent, and he didn't argue the point. Instead he yielded a little, sighed, and said, "well, if you must know: I read mostly scholarly publishings in my free time. Potions, obviously, as well as other subject. I had a dog when I was a boy, but we didn't' care much for each other. Greatest aspiration?" he smirked. "To withstand one evening without your incessant and ridiculous questions."

"Shouldn't you set your aims on a more realistic goal?" Fanny smiled at him, and miraculously, incredibly, his smirk dissolved into a pleasant smile.

Their meetings continued in this vein for several weeks. Fanny worked hard between sessions to keep up with the assignments Snape would set her, and she was generally rewarded with his mild approval. They would study for one or two hours, then break off into conversation that was, for the most part, friendly. Snape continued to be extremely closed about his personal life-on the third meeting he said only that his family was very ancient, and on the fourth, that he was an only child-but he was beginning to open up with his views and opinions. His intense scorn for what he called "the great bungling asses" that ran the ministry of magic was obvious. In fact, he seemed to have an aversion for authority in general and pointed out whenever possible the incompetence of almost every teacher at Hogwarts from Professor Yestmin, the Slytherin head of house, to Headmaster Dippet. At first, Fanny thought him simply a typical skeptical teenager, but as she grew to know him better, she started to wonder if his criticisms weren't well founded. 'He probably is more intelligent and competent than the people in charge,' she thought. 'How depressing it must be for him. He's so young and yet more astute than most everyone above him.'

All in all, Fanny and Severus got along very well. She accepted his incessant pessimism, and he tolerated her frequent swings between whimsy and gloominess. By the end of the fifth meeting, a familiarity permeated their conversations, and laughter was not uncommon. They parted later and later each Wednesday, and on this fifth night, it was three o'clock in the morning before they said goodbye and quietly made their ways to their respective dormitories. Fanny, whose spirits increased steadily over the course of the month, was carelessly lost in pleasant thoughts as she snuck through the corridors. It was not a good time to be distracted by merriment. As she turned out of the main portrait gallery, she walked headlong into the headmaster.

"My office, Miss Bowley," he said succinctly.

The cold grey room hadn't changed at all since Fanny had last been there many months ago on her first day at Hogwarts making it look more than ever like the space had been carved from solid unalterable stone. The headmaster stood over Fanny who sat nervously fidgeting in the hardest most uncomfortable chair she had ever had the misfortune to alight upon.

"Explanation please," said Dippet.

"Well, uh, you see, I couldn't sleep." Fanny's brain was reeling in an effort to invent something that sounded at least half way plausible and she spoke very quickly. "And I remembered that I'd left my charms essay in the library. I know I should have waited until tomorrow, but I'd spent so long on it already that I guess I just freaked out, and I'm sorry I'll never do it again."

The headmaster crossed over to his chair, and stretched out in an uncharacteristic moment of languor. "Tell me, Miss Bowley, what do you think your punishment should be?" he asked looking up at the ceiling.

"Er.nothing?" she asked timidly with a little smile.

"Now, now, I cannot simply ignore such behavior. But then again, you are one of our best students, and you will be writing your NEWT's soon. It would be a terrible waste if you failed them because you were too busy with detentions to study." He raised his eyebrows and looked at her pointedly. "You will receive no punishment for now," he emphasized, "but if I catch you out so much as one minute past curfew again, you will be expelled from Hogwarts. Do I make myself clear?" Fanny nodded. "Then bed. This minute." Dipped took her by the arm and practically dragged her behind him to the Ravenclaw dormitory.

The following morning, Fanny made her way to the owlery. She had remained awake until five in the morning debating how she could communicate the events of the previous night to Snape. Walking right up to him was out of the question: he clearly did not want to be publicly associated with her. She could wait for him in the halls, as he had done with her, but there was no guarantee that she would catch him by himself. Finally she decided that an owl was the best solution. Discreet, and anonymous, his Slytherin friends would probably take no interest at all in any letters he should receive, and if they did, he could make up whatever story he liked. After several drafts, she arrived at the following:

Severus,

I was found out on my way back last night. Can't risk another jaunt after curfew. Still want help. Isn't there some other way?

-F.

It wasn't very good, she thought, but at least it didn't give too much away. Picking the most ordinary barn owl she could find, she tied the note to his leg, and gave him the proper directions.

At the end of breakfast the morning post arrived. On cue, the barn owl dropped her note on Snape's plate, and flew off. Fanny watched his eyebrows furrow as he opened and read the note. His face became pale then red and she knew he was angry. He looked up and scanned the room quickly, locating her and locking her with a livid frown before storming out of the great hall. It almost seemed that he was mad at her and the indignity of it spurred Fanny's temper. Tired and irritable, she spent the rest of the day in a huff and spoke rather rudely to the few people who dared approach her. Her anger was groundless, though, and the following morning at breakfast she received a note back from him.

Fanny,

I'll think of something. Wait for my instructions.

-S

The Slytherin table was crowded, but she immediately picked him out. He was already watching her and she experienced a strange and momentary surge of excited happiness. Smiling broadly, she nodded. Relief swept over her. They would continue to meet! She guessed that he would simply end the sessions and the thought frightened her more than she cared to admit. Rereading the note once, twice, then a third time just for the hell of it, she sighed. She was weirdly satisfied that he used her first name.