The next few weeks proved an exercise in frustration and futility for Marya. Every attempt at starting a conversation was thwarted; friendly greetings were ignored or barely responded to. He was paying about as much attention to her as he would to a pesky fly. Well, less, actually.
Observing him in conversation with the other teachers, she thought that Dumbledore's idea of Snape as a mentor had been a colossal miscalculation. The few times she did see him in the staff room, he seemed quite capable of carrying on a civil conversation with everyone except her. Though his interaction with the rest of the staff was impersonal, it was civil. No one seemed to particularly like him, but they did seem to respect him. It appeared to simply be the fact that he had been told to take her under his wings that made him determined to stay away from her. The Potions master seemed to have quite a stubborn streak.
Once, in desperation, she drummed up a question to ask him even though she knew the answer, simply to be able to talk to him. His silky cold voice asking her with mock concern if he should call over one of the fifth year Slytherin girls, who surely would be able to help her out with such an elementary question, was enough to cause Marya to slink from the room in embarrassment.
How dare he treat her like a stupid student! Every time she was in his presence she seemed to feel like a tongue-tied First Year about to be sent to detention, cringing before her stern teacher. She was an adult, for crying out loud, and a staff professor, in every way his equal. Why did she let him talk to her like that? Gads, she couldn't stand that man...
Her thoughts slipped back to one of the few memories she had of her mother.
She had come home crying. One of the neighbor boys had been bullying her, calling her names, stomping on the garden she had been making out of sticks, rock, and leaves in the front yard. And this hadn't been the first time – for weeks he had hounded her, tormented her. "I hate him," she had sobbed as her mother held her close in her arms. Her mother had let her cry, just holding her and stroking her hair. Once she had calmed down, her mother had set her down on a chair, and knelt down on the floor so they were eye to eye. "Sweetheart, I am going to tell you something that I want you to remember. Yes, he is mean to you, and what he does is hurtful and mean. I know you feel like hurting him back. But you have a choice, Love – you can allow him to turn you angry and hateful, bring you to his level, to make you like him through his meanness and smallness, or you can choose to respond the opposite way – warm, loving, and generous. The way you act towards someone can change the way you feel about him. It can change the way he acts towards you. Sometimes it can even change him. I can't say it always works, but why don't you give it a try?"
She had taken her mother's advice, even though she could not see how it would possibly succeed. Amazingly, it had worked - he had lost interest in tormenting her once she stopped responding in hurt and anger and tears. Now, she was acting like a little child again – hurt and angry because someone bigger and stronger was bullying her. Sighing, she decided to give her mother's approach a try. Maybe if she treated him like she cared, her feelings would follow. She fervently hoped so. Because right now, all she felt like was hexing him into day after tomorrow.
October 31st - time for the Halloween feast and the usual dance for the older students following after. The hall was decked out at its most festive. After the abundance of food had been cleared off the groaning tables, the floor was cleared for the dance, and the band tuned up, getting ready to play.
Professor McGonagall, who was serving as master of ceremonies, stood up at the High Table and tapped on her wine glass; with her commanding presence i,t didn't take her long to get everyone's attention. "This year, we will be starting a new tradition. Muggles have something called a Sadie Hawkins dance. The Organizing Committee thought that it would institute something similar, since it seemed like a good way to get everyone to mingle. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it is a ladies' choice dance. To open the evening, we will ask the youngest lady on staff to choose someone to dance the first two dances with. While they are dancing the first, all the young ladies among the students will ask a partner of their choice for the next dance, and the gentlemen asked will have to accept the invitation. The second dance will be for all students and faculty. Professor Morava, as the youngest teacher, will you please make your choice?"
Marya had had no idea this was coming. Her face turned flaming red. For a moment she thought of just asking her godfather – that was by far the easiest. Then she remembered her task – here was her chance. Two dances, uninterrupted. And he couldn't say no. Gathering up all her courage she took the longest fifteen steps she had ever taken and stopped in front of the Potions master. In a clear voice she said, "Professor Snape, may I have this dance?"