"You're not going to get that potion right, you know. Not like that, anyway."
He glared at the auburn ponytail that was in his line of sight as he stood over his cauldron, working on another NEWT level potion on a sunny, bright Saturday. Anyone else in their right mind would be outside, enjoying the last possible bit of light and warmth found in early December before the fullness of winter came to fill the skies above the castle, the thick snow on the ground a novelty to them. Anyone except for him.
And, evidentially, the girl who was his self-designated shadow.
"What makes you think I'm not going to get this potion right? And when did you become such an expert on healing potions in the first place?"
The ponytail turned and blue eyes flashed at him, smiling. He never quite understood how she could smile so damned much. "I was working on them with Mum when I was little. Besides, I skipped grades in Potions, remember?"
He rolled his black eyes and turned back to his cauldron, which, he had to admit begrudgingly, contained a potion that wasn't quite the vivid scarlet that it should have been. It was undeniably red, but a little too dark. "Yes, yes, I know; the youngest person to sit her OWLs in a subject in centuries. Blah blah blah."
The smile turned into a laugh. "Someone jealous?"
"I can still beat you in almost every class."
"As you should, since you're four years older than I am, Sev."
"Why did you insist on giving me that nickname? And what in hell are you even doing down here?"
The laugh turned into a pout. "I gave you that nickname because I wanted to. And I'm down here because I wanted to work too. You know me – I hate sitting around bored. Just because it's the weekend doesn't mean I can't be doing something useful."
"Rasputin only gave me permission to be down here working. Me. Not you."
"Papa gave me mine."
"Not everyone here is related to the Headmaster, Desi."
"You're one to talk about nicknames. I think I've heard you say Desdemona three times in as many years."
The lie came easily to his lips. "I never cared for 'Othello'."
"No. I could see you being more a 'Macbeth' fan."
He glared at the potion in his cauldron that was quickly turning purple. In frustration, he vanished the contents, staring at her. "Why are we discussing Shakespearean favorites, nicknames, and your inane abilities with a cauldron right now?"
Desi stared at him, smirking over her own cauldron. "Because you brought up the Shakespeare, you commented on your nickname, and you asked me why I was down here. So, don't blame me for the topics if you don't like them, Severus Snape."
The black eyes narrowed. "Alright, Desi, what was I doing wrong with the potion?"
She smiled, looking at his ingredient and instruction list. "It's really a subtle thing, but it's the way you add the ingredients."
"The way I what?"
"The way you add them. Not the quantity, the method. You tend to just add them quickly. You can't do that all the time. Some of the ingredients need to be added slowly, or drizzled in all over, not just dumped in, unceremoniously. That's your problem."
He stared at her. "You have got to be kidding."
She shook her head, her ponytail swaying with her movements. "No. It's why Rasputin can't make the Transfusion Solution either. You both just drop in your ingredients."
Bloody hell. Sometimes, he hated her. Other times, he was grateful for her presence, although he'd never admit it.
Sadly, she was the only true friend he had. Everyone else in his life was friendly out of convenience. Whenever someone needed a finished homework assignment, or tutoring, or a potion and no questions asked, they came to him. And only those dressed in Slytherin green.
Except for Desi. All she really ever asked for was trust.
The hardest thing for him to give.
He looked over at her cauldron, the liquid inside a shimmering crimson red. Glaring at it, he sighed and began putting away ingredients, disheartened that a girl four years younger than him could make a potion he failed at.
Four years and three weeks younger, as Desi reminded him on numerous occasions.
"You're not giving up, are you?" Her voice teased him from the other side of her cauldron, her ponytail swinging as she stood up suddenly.
He glared at her, black eyes narrowing, his stringy hair covering one eye. "I'm tired, Desi. I stayed up late finishing some homework."
She glared back. "Why you bother doing their homework is still beyond me. I have half a mind to tell Papa…"
"DON'T!" He hadn't realized he shouted at her until he noticed her jump back, her blue eyes wide, her back straight. With a sigh, he sagged his shoulders. "Sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice. Just, please don't tell Dumbledore about it."
Desi gave him a wary look. "I just wish you'd stand up for yourself once in a while, Sev. That's all. Don't let them control you like that. Don't let them manipulate you into doing their bidding. You're better than that."
"So you keep saying."
Usually, a thirteen year old girl with her hands on her hips wouldn't be terribly intimidating, especially to someone a good seven inches taller than her. However, Desdemona Dumbledore seemed to possess her grandfather's uncanny ability to stare through a person, unnerving them completely. How things like that carried into heredity, he'd never understand.
"Gods above and below, will you EVER be able to see your own self-worth? Listen to yourself. You act as if nothing good will ever happen to you. Like you're not deserving of appreciation. I've been listening to this nonsense for two years, and I'm growing tired of it. You're better than most of the people in our house, Sev. You're brilliant, you're talented, and frankly, you're a lot more mature…"
His scowl stopped her words in their tracks. "Some maturity I have. I let myself get baited every time I turn around by…"
She threw her cauldron ladle at his head, missing by a narrow margin, a string of curses in mingled languages coming from her small body before she settled on speaking English once again. "Hell's Bells! James Potter and Sirius Black can go to Hell in a dementor's carriage for all I care! Half the bloody useless things they say would drive anyone to stoop to levels of stupidity. And I do NOT want to hear you rattle off a list of reasons why you deserve their loathing. I don't care. Correction – I don't give a muggle damn. It doesn't excuse their actions. The fact that you haven't done half the things to them that they do to you shows you're more mature than they are most of the time."
He wasn't sure what shocked him more. Her throwing the ladle at him or her swearing so vehemently. Moments like this, it was hard to remember she was only thirteen.
His chest heaved with the heavy breath he drew. "If only the world saw me the way you seemed to, Desi. Maybe things would be different."
She scoffed, her brilliant blue eyes narrowing. "Maybe if you let the world see you the way I do, Sev, things would be different. And don't start in on your little 'if you were smart, Desi, you wouldn't see me in such a good light either' nonsense again.' Desi reached in her bag, pulling out a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. "Here. I might as well give you this now. Was saving it for when I left for Christmas break, but it just feels right to give this to you now."
He simply stood there, in shock, holding the gift. "You…you got me a gift?"
Blue eyes rolled in her porcelain face. "Don't act so surprised, Sev. It's what friends do for each other around Christmas. You need to start learning that." With a sudden quickness of movement that he privately envied but publicly denounced as childish, she stepped on a chair right next to him, leaning in to kiss his cheek, her lips warm against the angles of his face. As he registered what she'd done, she leapt down, walking out of the Potions lab room, her ponytail swinging behind her.
With a groan, he untied the twine around the paper, unwrapping two books. The first was almost expected. Esmerelda Copperfeld's Historical Overview of Ancient Potions: A Discourse of Alchemic and Potion Arts throughout Civilization. He'd actually commented on wanting to own the book someday, after reading through chapters of it while sitting in the Restricted Section with her earlier that term. Since both their birthdays fell in April, Christmas was the likely time to give it to him.
The second book, however, shocked him. It was a worn, tattered paperback, the kind he'd seen in Muggle bookshop windows over the years. The faded cover was bent and creased, and the pages seemed dog-eared and well-read.
What in hell…?
The title on the cover read: The Once and Future King.
The title sounded familiar to him, but he couldn't recall why. Curious, he opened the cover, and read the inscriptions inside. One old and faded, barely legible, in a script foreign to him, the other fresh and new, and as familiar a writing as his own.
To Desi, on her ninth birthday. May she always imagine, and see the entire world through wide-open eyes, despite the limits of ability. – Mum and Dad.
To Sev, Happy Christmas. May you one day see yourself as I do, through wide-open eyes, despite the limits of others' sights. – DMD
It took an hour for him to leave the Potions room, the shock of the simple gift, and the intentions behind it, touching him deeper than he could recall ever being touched.
It was what Desi did best, after all.