October 2, 1972
She didn't see him again for three days. The only way she had of telling that he'd recovered his things was by their absence when she returned on Thursday to find them gone. At least, Rowan presumed he'd recovered them. It wasn't as though the place was a frequent hideout. She wasn't even sure if anyone else knew about the study room.
But she didn't see him for three days, and by Friday's end she was starting to worry. If someone else had his books and everything he'd be in serious trouble in his classes. And even if he didn't, she should probably apologize for butting into what was obviously a lnog-standing dispute between him and those other boys. Not that they hadn't been beastly… despite trying to put him out of her mind she still wondered. Did that happen often? It would explain why he hid in the study room if it did. What was the usual outcome of those sorts of scuffles? Had she made it better or worse? She found herself devoutly hoping she made it worse, which she told herself was a ridiculous thing to think over a beastly, older Slytherin boy.
She finally caught a glimpse of him, hunched over a book with his long, potion-stained fingers wrapped tightly around a quill, taking notes at a fever pitch. His book-bag, she was relieved to see, lay next to his chair. No sign of anyone else nearby, or at least there wasn't when she looked. Rowan went over and took a seat in front of him, waiting patiently for him to notice her presence.
"What do you want," he said finally, not looking up from his book. It was more of a growled statement than a question.
Rowan took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I got in the way," she said, quietly but all in a rush. "I shouldn't have… I mean… well. I'm sorry."
Now he did put down the quill and look at her as though she'd done something interesting and obnoxiously confusing all at once. "Well…" he started, but he didn't seem to know what to say either. She guessed that no one apologized to him very much.
"Does that happen a lot?" she asked after a few minutes of silence, long enough for him to pick up the book and start taking notes again. He dropped it immediately with a loud thud. "Sorry!" she said, and then lowered her voice to a whisper again as the librarian glared at them both. "Sorry."
"Go away," he muttered from behind his book.
She looked at him for a little while, not sure whether to stay just to make sure or leave. After a few moment's consideration she nodded. "I'll be in the room, then. I suppose you found your books all right…" she looked down again and, yes, it was his bookbag with his books in. "Okay."
He didn't look up as she crept out of the library. He certainly didn't see her as she pelted down the hall and to the familiar hiding place, closing the door more quietly than she wanted. She didn't know what to think or do about what had just happened, except that she'd bungled it up again. There were so many prickly points to the boy, so many places she needed to step carefully around lest she hurt him somehow. It was going to take a while to get used to it all. She wondered why she was even bothering. She wondered why she couldn't get him out of her mind.
It didn't matter. She pulled out her Charms book and tried to study, but she'd been up too late trying to find him the night before. Her eyes were closed before she had a chance to turn more than two pages, and she started to doze off.
The creaking of the door alerted her to another presence in the room, although she could barely force her eyes open to see who it was. Not that it mattered. There was only one person it was likely to be, especially with that much black in their blurry form. He swept into the room, and he must have seen her sprawled over the couch, although he didn't say a word. After a moment she heard the familiar sounds of him settling down to study at the desk, and drifted off to sleep again.
Severus Snape glanced over his shoulder at the tiny sleeping Ravenclaw on the couch as soon as he thought she was asleep again. His face was set in a ferocious scowl, for once tempered by confusion and bewilderment. He'd never encountered a first-year quite like this one, especially not a girl. Especially not a girl who he'd insulted, ridiculed, and bullied when he'd first encountered her in his private hiding place, crying like a baby. She should have run screaming for the nearest Ravenclaw prefect or just some older student she would have been friends with. Instead she'd hung around and made herself alternately unobtrusive and annoying.
Especially the other day. There was something even more humiliating about being rescued by a younger Ravenclaw girl than being hung upside down by Potter. Not that much more humiliating, but close. There was also something to be said for the fact that she apologized afterwards. But that hadn't done anything for the way Potter and his cronies had ambushed him in the boy's bathroom later that week and stuffed him headfirst into a toilet.
And why had she done it, anyway? What did she care what happened to him? Probably she didn't, she was just a stupid, meddling first-year anyway. She'd soon learn the way things worked in the school, and then she'd stop hanging about him like a child that had lost its mother.
He frowned, leaning in closer to the parchment as he forced cramped and aching hands to write just a little bit more. It didn't matter, the girl didn't matter anyway. She was asleep on the couch and not bothering him, and he had the essay to finish. Defense Against the Dark Arts was one of his favorite subjects, if not the easiest. He already had two more inches than the essay called for, but he wasn't done yet.
There was a noise on the couch behind him, so he wrote faster. If he was very lucky he could finish it and get out of the room before she really woke up. Not that he would have been in there anyway, but Potter and his lot had wandered into the library and it had been all he could do to sneak out before they saw him. They were the main reason he was in the damn room in the first place, anyway. If it had been up to him he would have avoided the Ravenclaw girl as well as the Potter gang. But given the choice between two evils, he would pick quiet and relatively studious over loud, obnoxious, and bullying.
Something made a thump, but he was just about done now. He tried to gather his books quickly, but she'd sat up and made sleepy murmuring noises before he could get everything into his bag. He ignored them as best he could.
"Mmr." She sounded like a cat when she was half-asleep. "Whatcha doing?"
"Leaving," he replied shortly. He didn't even know why he was bothering to speak to her.
"Okay…" she yawned, stretched, and curled up again on the couch. "Sorry 'bout earlier. 'Still none of my business."
He placed the last of his scraps of parchment into the bag and slowly turned to stare at her. She didn't seem to be looking at him. She actually seemed asleep. "That's right," he said, not sure if she heard him. "It's not."
"Still need help with …" another yawn. "Potions. If y'can. If y'don't mind."
He didn't have an answer for that. He just turned and walked out.
She didn't see him again for three days. The only way she had of telling that he'd recovered his things was by their absence when she returned on Thursday to find them gone. At least, Rowan presumed he'd recovered them. It wasn't as though the place was a frequent hideout. She wasn't even sure if anyone else knew about the study room.
But she didn't see him for three days, and by Friday's end she was starting to worry. If someone else had his books and everything he'd be in serious trouble in his classes. And even if he didn't, she should probably apologize for butting into what was obviously a lnog-standing dispute between him and those other boys. Not that they hadn't been beastly… despite trying to put him out of her mind she still wondered. Did that happen often? It would explain why he hid in the study room if it did. What was the usual outcome of those sorts of scuffles? Had she made it better or worse? She found herself devoutly hoping she made it worse, which she told herself was a ridiculous thing to think over a beastly, older Slytherin boy.
She finally caught a glimpse of him, hunched over a book with his long, potion-stained fingers wrapped tightly around a quill, taking notes at a fever pitch. His book-bag, she was relieved to see, lay next to his chair. No sign of anyone else nearby, or at least there wasn't when she looked. Rowan went over and took a seat in front of him, waiting patiently for him to notice her presence.
"What do you want," he said finally, not looking up from his book. It was more of a growled statement than a question.
Rowan took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I got in the way," she said, quietly but all in a rush. "I shouldn't have… I mean… well. I'm sorry."
Now he did put down the quill and look at her as though she'd done something interesting and obnoxiously confusing all at once. "Well…" he started, but he didn't seem to know what to say either. She guessed that no one apologized to him very much.
"Does that happen a lot?" she asked after a few minutes of silence, long enough for him to pick up the book and start taking notes again. He dropped it immediately with a loud thud. "Sorry!" she said, and then lowered her voice to a whisper again as the librarian glared at them both. "Sorry."
"Go away," he muttered from behind his book.
She looked at him for a little while, not sure whether to stay just to make sure or leave. After a few moment's consideration she nodded. "I'll be in the room, then. I suppose you found your books all right…" she looked down again and, yes, it was his bookbag with his books in. "Okay."
He didn't look up as she crept out of the library. He certainly didn't see her as she pelted down the hall and to the familiar hiding place, closing the door more quietly than she wanted. She didn't know what to think or do about what had just happened, except that she'd bungled it up again. There were so many prickly points to the boy, so many places she needed to step carefully around lest she hurt him somehow. It was going to take a while to get used to it all. She wondered why she was even bothering. She wondered why she couldn't get him out of her mind.
It didn't matter. She pulled out her Charms book and tried to study, but she'd been up too late trying to find him the night before. Her eyes were closed before she had a chance to turn more than two pages, and she started to doze off.
The creaking of the door alerted her to another presence in the room, although she could barely force her eyes open to see who it was. Not that it mattered. There was only one person it was likely to be, especially with that much black in their blurry form. He swept into the room, and he must have seen her sprawled over the couch, although he didn't say a word. After a moment she heard the familiar sounds of him settling down to study at the desk, and drifted off to sleep again.
Severus Snape glanced over his shoulder at the tiny sleeping Ravenclaw on the couch as soon as he thought she was asleep again. His face was set in a ferocious scowl, for once tempered by confusion and bewilderment. He'd never encountered a first-year quite like this one, especially not a girl. Especially not a girl who he'd insulted, ridiculed, and bullied when he'd first encountered her in his private hiding place, crying like a baby. She should have run screaming for the nearest Ravenclaw prefect or just some older student she would have been friends with. Instead she'd hung around and made herself alternately unobtrusive and annoying.
Especially the other day. There was something even more humiliating about being rescued by a younger Ravenclaw girl than being hung upside down by Potter. Not that much more humiliating, but close. There was also something to be said for the fact that she apologized afterwards. But that hadn't done anything for the way Potter and his cronies had ambushed him in the boy's bathroom later that week and stuffed him headfirst into a toilet.
And why had she done it, anyway? What did she care what happened to him? Probably she didn't, she was just a stupid, meddling first-year anyway. She'd soon learn the way things worked in the school, and then she'd stop hanging about him like a child that had lost its mother.
He frowned, leaning in closer to the parchment as he forced cramped and aching hands to write just a little bit more. It didn't matter, the girl didn't matter anyway. She was asleep on the couch and not bothering him, and he had the essay to finish. Defense Against the Dark Arts was one of his favorite subjects, if not the easiest. He already had two more inches than the essay called for, but he wasn't done yet.
There was a noise on the couch behind him, so he wrote faster. If he was very lucky he could finish it and get out of the room before she really woke up. Not that he would have been in there anyway, but Potter and his lot had wandered into the library and it had been all he could do to sneak out before they saw him. They were the main reason he was in the damn room in the first place, anyway. If it had been up to him he would have avoided the Ravenclaw girl as well as the Potter gang. But given the choice between two evils, he would pick quiet and relatively studious over loud, obnoxious, and bullying.
Something made a thump, but he was just about done now. He tried to gather his books quickly, but she'd sat up and made sleepy murmuring noises before he could get everything into his bag. He ignored them as best he could.
"Mmr." She sounded like a cat when she was half-asleep. "Whatcha doing?"
"Leaving," he replied shortly. He didn't even know why he was bothering to speak to her.
"Okay…" she yawned, stretched, and curled up again on the couch. "Sorry 'bout earlier. 'Still none of my business."
He placed the last of his scraps of parchment into the bag and slowly turned to stare at her. She didn't seem to be looking at him. She actually seemed asleep. "That's right," he said, not sure if she heard him. "It's not."
"Still need help with …" another yawn. "Potions. If y'can. If y'don't mind."
He didn't have an answer for that. He just turned and walked out.