(Severus Snape - PoV)(Start of Sorting)
It takes a great deal of self-control not to show my displeasure as I watch that bastard's spawn strutting up to the Sorting Hat. Even with the dog locked away his entire life, the pup appears to have taken after him. Unsurprising.
Unfortunately, there is little I can do about it. Not when his Grandfather appears to favor him.
Keeping my eyes firmly forward, I sip from my goblet and pray the little bastard continues to take after his father and doesn't end up in my House.
I am not sure what I will do if he does...Arcturus has been murdering rather a lot of Death Eaters recently. I would rather prefer not to end up on his list. Better to keep Dumbledore and him at each other's throats.
Getting to watch him humiliate the other manipulative old bastard is merely a bonus, if a very rewarding one.
"SLYTHERIN!"
Maintaining my default, mostly neutral, expression, while applauding the decision is certainly not the greatest test my composure has ever faced.
But it is up there.
By Merlin is it up there.
...
I suppose it says a lot about me, that such a thing competes so strongly with having to stand by passively, or even help, to an extent, while so many of my allies committed atrocities.
Murder. Rape. Torture. In a thousand different ways.
But I came to terms with that a long time ago.
I was never a good person.
"Black, Phoebe!"
And the other one. Because he somehow deserves multiple children...
Not only that, but as I watch the girl make her way to the Hat it is clear the rumors are true. She has the Sight.
I have to fight to keep the sneer off my face.
Twins...Perfectly healthy, gifted enough to catch their Grandfathers interest (and have him silently threaten my students as well, I notice), and the damned mutt never even looked at them before getting locked up.
Typical. The mongrel has all the luck in the world and pissed it away like nothing.
I don't sigh as I place my goblet on the table, placidly watching the Sorting...or what little there is to watch, as the students slowly get worked up.
My boredom is interrupted by an inane question from Arcturus.
I can't tell if he is serious or still poking at me. Regardless, my eyes are drawn back to the center stage.
Phoebe. The last thing that monster needs, a pocket seer. Thankfully, the girl seemed every bit as out of it as most of her kind.
I withhold a grimace.
I just hope she turns out to be better than Trelawny, not that that will be a difficult feat.
Cooking sherry...what is wrong with that woman?
...
The one with the pow-
My eyes flash open.
Feigning casualness, I survey the hall and, more importantly, the long table. Thankfully, none appear to have caught my lapse. The old men appear focused on the sorting.
...
Strange, that the Hat is taking so long. Some hidden Hufflepuff tendency? She rather screamed Raven on the way to the stool...
Despite her family, I simply cannot see Slytherin, not after her walk. The way she was spaced out, barely paying attention? No. No, that won't do at all.
I don't shake my head, no matter how much I want to.
Unfortunately, I suspect what is going on. As with so many of my House, she is insisting on it, isn't she? Another foolish sion, demanding to follow in their families footsteps, despite lacking the tal-
Arcturus nearly knocks over my goblet reaching past me to grab the entire bottle of spirits. He would have knocked it over on the return trip if I didn't pull it out of the way.
What in Merlin's name?
I can only stare as the most dangerous man in the country, a Pureblood Lord with a reputation for manners and decorum, upends the bottle and begins to drink directly from the neck.
*Gulp* *Gulp* *Gulp*
...
What could possibly...
Hesitantly, I turn back to the girl being Sorted in the center of the hall.
Actually paying attention this time, I finally notice what's wrong with the picture.
It does not take long after that to put the pieces together.
To understand that I had vastly underestimated the situation.
An active seer. A seer who can control their power...
It is good that I am holding a goblet and not a glass, else I expect I would be bleeding right now. As is, I suspect the thin metal may still end up with fingerprints.
The Hat's declaration of Slytherin is no surprise, this time. Not after that.
Its follow-up demand, however, puts a chill in my soul.
To the best of my knowledge, it has never made such a demand. Not in the near millennium since its creation.
The Sorting Hat has sat on the heads of witches and wizards who went on to be lunatics and monsters of every sort...and occasionally even on lunatics and monsters, when they returned for a visit...or to teach. Even the Dark Lord received no complaint or notice.
But this girl, it will not touch again.
And now she stands there, smiling. Waiting?
It takes a moment, before I notice. Given how...off-put, I am.
Her brother is applauding.
Alone.
For a moment, at least, before he bullies his nearest neighbors into joining in.
Slowly, sporadically, much of the hall gives quite possibly the least enthusiastic applause I have ever heard.
This is coming from a (former) Death Eater.
The Dark Lord enjoyed having captive victims applaud their entrance. Often without the Imperious.
At last, the girl goes to sit next to her brother.
...
She was waiting for it before she would sit. Waiting for her actions to be applauded.
I barely keep the twitch off my face.
The arrogance...the audacity...
And...
I can't even say it is not deserved. Not in this case.
Staring at the table, I reflexively finger my wand before dropping my hand and returning my attention to the Sorting, withholding a grimace.
I want few things more than to know what is going on over there.
And it would be easy. I have the perfect spell, a rather excellent listening charm that I have made good use of over the years. There is a reason I have such a reputation for omniscience amongst the students.
...
Alas, I don't think I will be able to get away with it this year. Not with Arcturus right there.
He will notice. If not immediately, then quickly. And I don't know how he will take it.
It is not worth it. Not when I have other ways of getting the information.
"Potter, Iris"
...
The silence that descends upon the hall is appropriate, I feel, as I take her in.
The fact that it is quickly broken...
I take a slow breath, never taking my eyes off her.
Watching, I see the nervousness...right up until she is reassured...by them.
Because of course.
Who else would she make friends with?
...
Finally, I allow my eyes to close.
I failed.
I...I failed.
For all the scorn I heap upon the bastard, and every bit that he deserves it...I failed her just the same.
He may have been named her Godfather, but I promised myself to at least ensure her safety. She is the last bit of Lily left in the world, her last true remnant. I swore...
...
Thankfully, Arcturus is distracted, his attention split between the Sorting and the general hubbub surrounding it, and he doesn't appear to notice my loss of control or the utter rage that bubbles up once again.
...
Breathing carefully, I regain my mask of indifference.
Dumbledore will pay, for his part in things. The moment he is no longer needed.
As for the Dursleys...
I don't look at the man next to me, but still consider him carefully.
Dumbledore prevented me from visiting them.
Several times, in fact.
But if Iris and the Blacks are so close, I may not have to. Arcturus is very much not the sort to let things go.
Scanning the hall as I muse, out of habit as much as anything, I notice the anomaly.
Three tables are as expected. Full of noisy students, making wild guesses and spreading baseless rumors.
The Slytherin table is dead silent, with every face focused not on Iris but on Phoebe Black.
I do my best to quash the irrational surge of irritation.
Blacks...they are going to give me so many problems.
"SLYTHERIN!"
My head jerks slightly as I refocus my attention, caught off-guard.
Applauding mechanically, I struggle to maintain my composure once again.
I had assumed...No, she is friends with those two. After they were sorted, I should have expected it. Foolish. But...
Watching her storm her way to the table, slamming her hands down and grumbling complaints, I try to reassure myself, that it was unintentional.
A mistake. She didn't want to join Slytherin, she meant to go somewhere else...
A pity no part of that argument makes any sense.
I don't bother even pretending to pay attention to the rest of the Sorting, not feeling up to the task.
It appears that Arcturus feels the same, as he leans over to speak to me once again.
"She does look much better, you know."
I raise an eyebrow at him.
He rolls his eyes.
"Iris. I met her not long after they...well, I suppose rescued is actually a fairly accurate term for what happened after, isn't it?"
"I see."
I attempt to maintain my nonchalance, but from the glint in his eye, I can tell I failed.
Turning away from me, he looks back to the table, where they appear to be playing with a sword.
I would also like to know who thought it was a good idea to give Sirius Black's spawn a bloody sword, but that's not important right now.
"I am certainly glad that her magic recovered in time for her to attend Hogwarts," he adds.
I frown.
"Her magic?" I ask.
He glances over at me.
"Oh? Did Dumbledore not tell you?"
I feel a pit open up in my stomach. And my anger begin to rise.
...
"Tell me...what...exactly?" I ask carefully.
"About exactly how the muggles treated her, and the extent of her injuries. And what she had to do to survive them. She very much earned her title, those long years,"
He looks away once more, turning his attention to the House table. To Iris.
"The Girl-Who-Lived..." he mutters.
...
Dumbledore...now that I think about it...told me the absolute bare minimum. That she was physically abused. That at least some of what was in the Prophet was correct.
That alone was enough to get my hackles up. Enough to bring up too many memories of my own childhood.
In retrospect, he steered everything along from there. Led me around like those muggle bullfighters, with their bright flags. I never bothered asking about any details, never seeing a need. I assumed she grew up at least similar to myself.
Another mistake.
And Arcturus' voice...I don't like it.
I am not certain I want to know what happened to her to make him speak of surviving with respect...but I have to.
And he knows it.
We ignore Dumbledore as he rises and begins his announcements.
Reaching into his robes, Arcturus retrieves a sheaf of parchment, passing it to me.
"Ted Tonks is a fully qualified healer. He gave her a checkup, after they took her in."
I nod. Dumbledore mentioned at least that much.
"Her injuries were beyond his capabilities. They elected to take her to Mungos, to a Master healer I know personally, who can be trusted for both skill and discretion."
...The bastard left that part out, obviously. Implying, if not stating, that Ted took care of things. After all these years with the man, you would think I would know better...
And not a good sign. I am aware of Edward's capabilities as a healer. For him to not be able to help her? From damage done by muggles?
"Those," he indicates the parchment, "are the records from her visit. How fortuitous, that I happen to have kept a copy on me."
Fortuitus. I'm sure...
I stare down at the sheaf of parchment in my hands, feeling it out. Specifically its thickness.
"I would advise against reading that now," he warns me.
"You have so little faith in me?" I ask.
He is right, of course. This is not the time or place.
Arcturus waves a hand at the table.
"Dinner, my friend."
"Ah."
Reluctantly, I put away the parchment and take up my plate.
I can feel it in my robes as I pick at my food. Whispering. Burning. Demanding my attention.
Arcturus makes small talk here and there, but I barely respond.
Not until the deserts come.
"Ah, an excellent toffee. What do you think they put in it? It is different than Dipper's. Hmmm. I may have to ask him to experiment."
"What did you mean," I finally ask.
The old wizard looks over at me but does not answer. Waiting for the rest of the question, despite knowing exactly what I am asking.
"Earlier. What did you mean, about her magic recovering?"
Nodding slowly, he finishes his toffee before replying.
"The details of how it came about are in the parchment, of course," he starts needlessly, "But to summarize? She was dying."
I very carefully don't react to the old bastard punching me in the gut.
Something to thank the Marauders for, perhaps.
"Her body effectively did die."
This time I do blink.
"She replaced it with magic. Bit by bit, piece by piece, as it couldn't sustain itself, her magic took up the slack. Filled in the gaps. By the time she received her letter she was more magic pretending than flesh and blood."
I frown.
"That's i-
"Impossible? Against the rules of magic?"
He nods.
"Yes."
And smiles.
"She did it anyway."
He glances down at the House table, but my attention is focused on him.
"I told you, she very much earned her title."
...
Idly, I toy with my empty goblet, considering.
"And Hogwarts?" I ask, deciding to focus on my original question.
There will be time to think about what exactly drove her into such a state soon.
Very soon.
He hmmms.
"Tell me, Snape. How long does a Transfiguration last?"
The goblet bends in my hand.
"Temporary," I state.
Cold eyes watch me silently.
"It was temporary. Her entire body?"
He nods.
The rest of our conversation does not make me any happier.
I have no time to stew, however. When Dumbledore rises to make his start-of-term announcements, McGonagall steps over to me.
"Severus," she begins, giving Arcturus a side-eye. "There is an issue with the Black twins' pet."
Looking towards Arcturus, I raise an eyebrow at the elder Black, who shrugs lightly.
"I know nothing on the subject, I am afraid."
"Of course..."
Returning my attention to McGonagall, I withhold my sigh.
"And why," I ask, "Is their Head of House needed? We have procedures, do we not?"
She, at least, has no reservations about sighing.
"The house elves were...unclear, about the issue. Whatever it is, it is not a normal banned or illegal animal."
"An adventure, then?" Arcturus asks, amused.
I don't bother glaring.
Turning back in my seat, I reach for the -.
Right. He drank the alcohol.
Now I glare.
The Express is, thankfully, cooperative as we take our leave.
The students remain silent as well. Which is...appreciated.
...
Arcturus was right. It was good that I did not read the parchment at the table.
I may not be a fully qualified healer, but I know enough. More than enough. I can at least guess at what would be needed to, theoretically, cause such a...unique...situation, as he described.
And it was already hard enough to reign myself in back there, between our history and his failures. If I knew for certain what she had gone through, instead of only suspecting...If I knew what that stupid, useless bastard was responsible for? The only question is if Dumbledore would have reacted quickly enough to save him.
The walk through the train takes just enough time for my emotions to settle. Stepping out onto the platform I pause for a moment, taking in the night.
It's so much easier to blame him than myself.
...
Glancing back, I check on my charges. While I am careful to avoid focusing on Iris, I don't like the way the girl twin, Phoebe, is looking at me. Bloody seers...
Turning away, I continue without speaking, making my way to the carriages.
They will follow.
"Thestrals..."
The quiet whisper stands out after the silent walk in the night.
Pausing once more, I turn back to examine the three again.
It was the boy, Coeus, who spoke, but both he and his sister can clearly see them. Iris may be looking in the right direction, but her eyes search fruitlessly.
Some mercy, at least.
Frowning, I eye the twins.
I suppose if any First Years would be able to see Thestrals, it would be "proper" Blacks, wouldn't it?
I wonder if Bellatrix...?
Resisting the urge to shake my head, I eye the two a moment longer.
I rather doubt that such things are the case here, so I wonder...
A pity it would be rude to ask.
"Our mother," the girl answers anyway.
Ah.
Nodding silently, I give them a moment.
I can understand.
Mother...
My eyebrows raise as she swats her brother upside the head.
"Stop it," she demands. "Stop causing the apocalypse!"
...What?
He rubs the back of his head while she wags a finger in his face.
"Bad!"
...
Perhaps I do not understand.
The girl continues to chide her brother, overruling his protestations, as I finally turn towards Iris.
She shrugs.
"Phoebe sees the future. Apparently, Coeus has had plans that would accidentally lead to the end of the world multiple times?" she replies, seemingly unbothered by this fact.
...
Spinning on my heel, I quickly make my way to the carriage, throwing open the door and climbing inside.
The sooner we get back to the castle the sooner I can retreat to my room and a drink.
A strong drink. I don't have classes tomorrow.
There is, unfortunately, a flaw with this plan.
The children all follow me onto the carriage, which sets off once they are all settled. Leaving me trapped in here with the three of them.
...
Please be a silent trip. Please be a silent trip. Please be a si-
"It probably would have worked, if you chose the right spell," the girl speaks.
DAMNIT!
...
What was that?
I give her a look.
She looks back at me as if the answer should be obvious.
"Back on the train. Dumbledore couldn't conceive of you actually trying to outright murder Sirius, so you could have gotten off something quick to cast. Not a Killing Curse, but something."
I can't help but stare at her.
"Wait, he was going to kill him?" the boy asks, his tone rather odd. "I...no. No, you can't do that! I don't want to have to get revenge on someone for him! That's not fair! Ugh," he draws back in his seat, a disgusted expression on his face.
...What?
"The part that would make it escalate to murder is because he abandoned Iris," the girl adds, glancing at her brother.
Green eyes lock onto me as I twitch slightly at the revelation.
Seers are not supposed to be able to do this...
"Huh? Oh." He relaxes. "That's ok then. Have at him."
...
"I mean, there is plenty of personal hatred there as well but," the girl shrugs, "We knew that already?"
The boy nods.
"Yeah. Lupin mentioned something about it. He also tried to deride your career path when we first met! Can you believe that man?"
The homeless vagabond?!
"Seriously! He's homeless and his best friend spent a decade in prison, yet he has the gall to deride someone else's life choices? Please. Hogwarts Professor is a very respectable career. Well, aside from Defense."
"Erm," Iris speaks up, still half looking at me, "That's not...quite how the conversation went. And I think it was the whole "being a Death Eater during the war" thing he had a problem with, not the Professor part."
The boy waves her off.
"But the Death Eater thing probably helped him get his current job!"
...He is not wrong.
"And besides, so what? We know loads of Death Eaters that have done quite well for themselves. I think Lupin is just resentful," he finishes, nodding firmly.
I don't even know how to respond to that. I...appreciate, not having my past held against me? I wonder, however, does the boy really understand what it means, having been a Death Eater?
He is a Black, so it is hard to tell...
Iris frowns at him and shakes her head.
"He's not that bad. Not intentionally, I don't think," she argues. "He just...," she smirks, "hangs around with a bad crowd," she finishes with a nod.
I barely keep from flinching, as she channels Lily so hard it hurts. Repeats her near word for word, with the same mannerisms, so many years later...
Lily was talking about me though, not the bloody were...
The boy blinks.
"Ha! I like it! Turning his words back on him! Ah..."
He all but lays draped against his sister, staring at the ceiling.
"So, you actually had to grow up with our sperm donor, huh? Ugh. I can understand why you would hold a grudge. I ended up cursing him the first time we ever met."
"Stupid bloody skeleton..." he mutters under his breath.
...
It's not fair.
I had a whole series of subtle, petty acts of vengeance planned. All of which were either minor enough to not draw attention or could not be traced back to me.
But no.
I might almost like the little bastard.
What is wrong with the world?
"We have a...history," I admit.
The boy scoffs.
"Yeah. He seems to annoy pretty much everyone. I would say except his friends, but then apparently Pettigrew...well."
He sighs, while I suppress the flare of rage at the name.
"Anyhow, I think someone," he pokes Iris, "is about to burst."
He looks at me lazily.
"She always has tons of questions about Lily, and you are the first person she can ask," he adds.
I don't flinch, from the comment or the painfully familiar green-eyed stare, but it is a closer thing that I would like.
The carriage at last coming to a stop gives me an out.
"Another night, perhaps," I respond. "It is well past time, for you all, to be in bed."
They remain mercifully quiet as we enter the castle and make our way to the common room.
None of the three speak as I lead them inside and point out the dorms before sending them to bed.
The older students still up quickly look away as I survey the room.
Oh how I wish I could return to my private room now, but no.
Instead, I head to my office. The quiet chatter ceases as I enter, replaced with respectful nods from the Prefects inside.
"Samuel," I speak as I make my way to my desk. "Your report. Start with the First Years."
"Sir," he answers with a nod, his voice firm but respectful, and the perfect volume. "The obvious standouts were the Black twins. More so even than the Girl-Who-Lived."
My frown grows at the title but I don't interrupt, allowing him to continue.
"The girl, Phoebe, scares the shit out of me."
I stare at the boy after the very out-of-character utterance.
The other Prefects, however, nod.
"After what she pulled off with the Sorting Hat, and some of what she said at the table..." he continues.
"Elaborate," I demand.
"She claimed to have intentionally upset the Hat, knowing it would push/warn the Girl-Who-Lived. Warnings she would refuse to listen to, instead further biasing her against houses other than Slytherin."
I resist the urge to rub my face.
Step-removed social manipulation through reverse psychology, playing against a thousand-year-old mind-reading magical artifact she had never seen before.
As a First Year.
Yes, I can see why that makes my snakes rather nervous.
"Her Sight in general," he continues, "Is...it is almost like..."
"Yes She appears able to use it at will," I inform them.
All of the Prefects grimace at the confirmation.
"I didn't know that was possible," Samuel admits.
"It shouldn't be," I reply. "Not, to the level she has displayed. But magic does enjoy making, fools, of us all."
And it is not even the most impossible thing I learned of even just tonight.
He nods.
"Her brother, Coeus, is something else as well. Both of them absolutely inherited the Black Madness,"
Wonderful.
"But it is more obvious in his case. While I have not got the full story yet, there was some sort of altercation on the lake with the first years. I don't have the details, but it seems to have involved him dueling and throwing a lot of the others into the lake."
Ah, right. Arcturus mentioned something about that insanity...
"And while I don't think he is trained with it, he at least appears inclined to actually use that sword he was carrying. He was very quick to threaten people with it."
Resisting a sigh, I wonder how much work it will be to actually get the damn sword confiscated. Surely I can at least ban him from carrying it around.
"He also has an enchanted dagger. An anti-were dagger, specifically, he claims."
Samuel shifts slightly in his seat.
"But the magic in it is...significant. It's not the sort of thing you can find in an Alley shop."
...I should just let him keep the sword. Merlin knows what insanity he will pull out if we take it.
Also, the dagger suggests there is a lot more to his issues with Lupin than mild dislike...
"He was using it to eat."
...Bloody Blacks. I remember Bellatrix pulling similar stunts.
"He also seems to have stol- uh...bought? The Candy Trolley from the train, which is why almost no one else got any this year."
"Us included..." one of the girls grumbles.
"The Trolley itself?" I ask.
Samuel nods.
"The entire thing. Apparently, he forgot to "restock" this summer, and it was easier to just buy the whole Trolley."
Blacks and their gold...
"The Trolley lady agreed. But..."
Samuel hesitates again.
"Coeus also claimed, and the others appeared to support him, that the Trolley is...significantly more than anyone realized. He claimed it almost killed him shortly after."
...What.
"His claim is supported by the fact it does appear to follow him around, and even acts on its own initiative to some extent. He, uh, also threatened to feed people to it. He makes a lot of threats. That said, unlike most people who just blow hot air, I suspect he is willing to carry them out."
I give a slight nod.
"Even if he is not, Arcturus Black very much is. Tread carefully." I warn.
I dismiss whatever is going on with the candy cart for the moment. It can wait.
"Yes sir. The next true stand-out is, of course, the Girl-Who-Lived."
"Iris," I correct him at last.
"Sir?"
"She is no longer a distant figure, but a fellow student. Use her name."
"I...Yes sir. She is close to the twins, with Phoebe appearing rather...possessive, of her."
There's a headache I was not expecting to have to deal with for a few years...
"Phoebe also made a claim, about Iris being "too stubborn to die". I am uncertain how much weight to give it." All of the Prefects watch me carefully as he finishes, clearly interested in my response.
Once more I resist the urge to twitch.
This day has been absolute hell on my composure.
"Do you intend to, have a go at her, perchance?" I ask.
His eyes widen.
"Wh-what?" he asks. "No! Of course not!"
"Then it doesn't matter, for the moment. Continue."
The Prefect hesitates a moment, barely resisting the urge to glance at his fellows before he settles down and moves on.
"Right. Coeus was constantly keeping his sword out of her reach, so..there is something going on there, though I have no idea what."
The Black lunatic that assaults and threatens his fellow students in public and regularly almost ends the world doesn't trust her with a weapon.
...She takes after Lily so much.
Lily gave me more scars than my time in the Death Eaters.
"More importantly, is what happened right before the Trolley came up."
Samuel sighs, running his hand through his hair.
"Iris was hoarding food. Sneakily."
...Ah.
"Coeus caught her, but didn't understand what she was doing, or why."
I nod, and he continues.
"He assumed she wanted to save some for later, so stole half the feast for her. Shoved it in his Trolley while threatening anyone who objected."
I resist a snort. At least she has someone looking out for her. Someone who hasn't been a miserable failure...
It's not surprising he would misunderstand. He grew up with Andromeda and would never have the need.
My fingers twitch, attempting to curl up. I hide the motion by clasping my hands in front of me.
Too many of my snakes understand. For every old family scion, there is another like myself. Damaged, angry, and hungry.
The Prefects glance at each other before Samuel speaks again.
"Sir, we all saw the story in the Prophet. We also know exactly how...reliable...the Prophet is. So..."
He takes a breath.
"She's...Sorry, but she is the Girl-Who-Lived!" he exclaims. "Just...how?" he asks.
...
I sit silently, observing them. My Prefects.
My favorite students, by and large. Chosen for both their talent, and because I trust them, to an extent. Or can use them, at least, to watch over the others.
Still, anything I tell them will get out. So what to do?
...
Reaching into my robes, I withdraw the parchment and place it on the desk.
I skip to a random section.
And another.
And another.
...
Slowly, carefully placing my hands on the desk, I finally return my attention to the waiting Prefects.
"The Prophet," I begin," is woefully inaccurate."
Five Prefects show confusion.
Samuel does not.
"I only recently discovered the, scale, of the problem. While the, details, are hers to share, or not, I will say this. Arcturus Black spoke of what she went through, and the fact that she survived at all, with respect."
It takes a moment for it to sink in, but these are not young children or naive, empty-headed fools. They understand what that means.
"As for how it happened?"
Looking down at the parchment, I read over another small segment, my eyes narrowing.
"Dumbledore."
Looking up, I slowly turn my gaze across the room, locking eyes with each Prefect.
"There were thousands of offers to take care of her, many reputable. He, had his own plan, and ignored them all. The few of us who knew of it objected, strongly, and were ignored as well."
I don't bother to hide my clenched fists this time.
"I, mistakenly, assumed that he at least heard our objections. That he would at least pay attention to the girl, who was supposedly in such danger that only his plan could possibly protect her. That he would check in on her, at some point, during all these years. I assumed, the Greatest Wizard Alive, would have some idea, if she was on the verge of death, for most of her life."
The Prefects stare at me, eyes wide.
"But no. The world placed its trust in Dumbledore, and he failed utterly. If not for another impossibility of magic...and, yes, her sheer, stubbornness, she would have died years ago. Under his watch."
Returning to passivity, I carefully look at Samuel.
"Does that answer, your question?"
Slytherin House has never been Dumbledore's greatest fan, but I have always officially maintained a more, neutral, stance on the man. With my Prefects, especially, I emphasized the importance of at least tolerating him.
Samuel takes a moment to gather himself before replying.
"Y-Yes. Yes sir,"
"It has been a long night," I speak again. "We can continue this tomorrow."
I wave them off.
The six hesitate at the unexpected dismissal, looking at each other before nodding and taking their leave.
I stare at the door for some time after they are gone.
Did I make the right choice, for once?
Slytherin will become more hostile towards Dumbledore, and by association the "Light", than ever.
Letters will be sent home. Tonight.
Dumbledore's position will be weakened even further.
My gaze slowly falls to the parchment on my desk.
So many years.
So many years, I have put up with that bastard. Tolerated him, and his "eccentricities".
All for the plan, such as it is.
And now I am throwing it away, piece by piece.
Should I even finish this? Can I?
If I have gone this far after just a glance, will I be able to stay the course, after reading it all?
...
Stuffing the parchment in my robes, I storm out of the office, heading toward my rooms.
If I am going to do this, I will at least be comfortable.
And have a good drink.
*Clink*
A good drink. Hah.
Shaking my head, I glare blearily at the empty bottles.
Or three, or four.
But who's counting?
Ah...
The parchment on the table catches my eye as I lean back in my chair.
The damn parchment.
Another of Arcturus' weapons.
The bastard turns everything into a weapon.
And it worked. He gave it to me, and I immediately started attacking Dumbledore.
"DUMBLEDORE!"
I throw the half-empty bottle in my hand across the room, where it smashes against the far wall. The shattered remains join a pile of broken glass and spilled liquid already on the floor.
"Bastrud..." I mutter.
"Old...maniputive...bastard..."
My fists clench.
"You would have let heR DIE TOO! JUST LIKE LILY!"
Glancing around, and finding nothing worth throwing in easy reach, I fall back into the chair once more.
"Jus like Lily..."
"You promised. And let her die anyway."
Head slumped, I look down at my arm. Where it lies.
The mark.
"Cuz of me. Cuz I went an told it about the Profecy..."
...
"Cuz of the RAT!"
I take a swing at the empty air, hitting nothing. Getting up, I pace/stagger around the room, ranting and mumbling.
"The RAT! The rat...the raitor..."
"E' gave her up!"
"And...and it..." I bump up against the wall.
"The Dar Lord...The one who killed her..."
My fist slams into the wall next to me.
"We'll pay, we'll all pay!"
"Only then...only then will it be...right..."
Slowly, I slide down the wall into the floor in a heap.
I don't bother to hide the tears. Not anymore.
"Mm sorry, Lily. I'm so surry."
Reflexively, I reach towards the desk where I keep her picture.
It is across the room.
Falling completely over, I lay there on the floor.
As good a spot as any.
"M sorry..." I repeat.
"Dumbdor...I hate him...so much..."
"Buh I cnt...take V..Vldnmrn...withou him..."
...
"M sorry..."
Laying my head down, sleep at last begins to overtake me.
...
*Knock* *Knock* Knock*
...
*Knock* *Knock* Knock*
...
*Knock**Knock*Knock**Knock*
No...
No...Goway...
*Knock**Knock*Knock**Knock*Knock*Knock*
Snotfair...
*Knock**Knock*Knock**Knock*Knock*Knock*
Slowly, ever so slowly, I dig around in my robes.
The knocking continues as I finally find it. A small, unbreakable vial.
Bringing it to my lips, I throw back the stupidly expensive concoction.
"Ugh..."
My thoughts sharpen, and my motions become more coordinated within moments, allowing me to pick myself up off the floor.
"Yes, yes, I'm coming," I mutter, the continued noise irritating me.
There is a reason that my clock does not tick.
I shake my head and straighten my robes before taking my wand from the table and casting a few charms to hide the more obvious tells of my recent activity.
Thankfully, I am not known for excessive personal neatness, so nothing more should be necessary.
Finally making my way to the door, I allow my displeasure to make itself known as I open it.
Little Draco stands outside, hand still raised, along with most of the other first-year boys.
All of them, in fact, other than Coeus.
"Finally!" Draco huffs, ignoring my glare.
"We need a new room!" he insists. "We are not sleeping anywhere near that lunatic!"