Oops! Did I Say That?
One thing about food at Hogwarts, it was ever so much better than her mother's cooking. Antigone had never been able to figure out how her mother could be such an atrocious cook when she was so good at everything else. Even the spiteful looks coming from Malfoy and his cohorts couldn't dampen her enthusiasm for dinner that evening. Succulent roasts, buttery potatoes, warm sweet breads, more delights than she remembered in her own time. Of course, that could be because she was starving. After all, she'd only gotten one meal the day before, thanks to both morning and evening detentions (not to mention the party in Gryffindor Tower), and she had been so tired after staying up to brew potions that she had slept right through breakfast today. Then, of course, there had been Quidditch practice.
The Nimbus 2001 wasn't as fast as her Quantum 500, but it was fun all the same. Malfoy's broom was surprisingly obedient, given that its usual rider wasn't the one on it. Perhaps it just liked girls. Malfoy himself had come to practice to sit in the stands and watch with a sullen expression as she caught the snitch each and every time it was released in less time than it ever took him. Of course, she had been given her pointers in Quidditch by the Seeker of the British National Team and hadn't learned it at school. She wondered how he would have responded to the knowledge of just how far Harry Potter would go in life.
Sunday night ended with her making her way to her father's quarters and into the new room that he and Aunt Minerva (must remember to call her Professor McGonagall) had transfigured for her. After the fight, it had been decided she would be safer in her father's apartments than in the dormitories where she would have to constantly watch for the occasional hex or curse thrown at her by Malfoy's sycophants. She had just changed into her nightgown when her father came into the room.
"You have completed your assignments for the week?"
"Yes, Papa. Mum and I finished them up yesterday." She saw him flinch and bit her own tongue in silent admonishment. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before speaking again.
"You should refrain from speaking of Miss Granger as your… as your mother. You might let it slip in the presence of one of the other students. Should the wrong people learn of it, it would put her in unneeded danger."
She nodded. "Yes, sir. You're right, of course." She licked her lips and looked back up at her father. "Practice went well today. We should really flatten them next Saturday." She emphasized the last word by smacking a fist into her other hand. To her pleasure, her father's lips turned up at the corners.
"I know. I was watching you from the Astronomy Tower. You're quite good, far better than Lucius' brat. It will be interesting to see which is the better Seeker, you or Potter, especially since you have no doubt learned a few tricks from his older self."
"More than a few." She grinned, no longer worried at her father's reaction to his future wife. "He goes professional eventually. Takes his team to the World Cup twice by the time you and M… Hermione allow me on a broom."
He studied her with those eyes that were so much like her own, silent for a long moment. "Well… then we shall see what unfolds on Saturday. Into bed with you. You're no doubt exhausted after this weekend, and I know you got little sleep last night. You don't seem to be suffering from a hangover so I take it that the Gryffindors didn't sneak any liquor into their party last night." She gasped, and he smiled. "You'll find, Tigga, that there is little you will ever do that I am not fully aware of. You're a bit too troublesome for me not to keep a close eye on you." He left her standing there in muted shock as he turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
~***~
He didn't know why he hadn't marched up to Gryffindor Tower and dragged his errant offspring back to the dungeons on Saturday night. He had been fully aware she was there, thanks to a little charm he had cast upon her the first night she slept in his quarters. It was linked to a crystal he now wore tucked under his robes and allowed him to track her movements about the castle. It had been prudent after she had earned so many enemies in her own House that night. In spite of the rules he had laid down for himself when she had appeared in this time, he found he was becoming quite attached to this child of his, and he felt the need to protect her at all costs.
And why shouldn't I? He downed the last swallow of brandy and set the tumbler down on his desk. Why shouldn't I care what happens to my own flesh and blood? She was what he had needed for some time now, proof that his life would turn around for the better. Evidence that he would eventually redeem himself of his past enough that he could have what every normal man wanted; a family. Of course, he would never have imagined that his family would one day include Hermione Granger, Minerva's precious and prized student.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He rather doubted that Minerva had yet reasoned out the relationship between Antigone and Hermione. That was probably for the better as far as he was concerned. That particular witch was too skilled in Transfigurations for his taste, and he didn't relish being turned into a toad because she suspected him of molesting one of her Gryffindors. To be truthful, he was having trouble wrapping his mind around the concept of having that particular girl as his wife himself. He had watched her closely ever since he had figured out the truth, and he could honestly say that he felt nothing towards her other than the proper feelings of a teacher towards his student.
Of course, she's still a child yet, and it is some time before Tigga is born. He couldn't deny that Hermione Granger was a promising young witch with a staggering amount of potential. He had also forced himself to admit that there was a promise of beauty there as well. Once she had grown up a bit more, she would be a devastation on the male population of the wizarding world. And apparently I'm the lucky fool to be at Ground Zero. There are worse fates that to spend the rest of your days with a young wife who also possesses such a sharp mind. I must do something blindingly right in the future. It was a pleasant thought to dwell on as he went to bed, but it was forgotten by the time pale sunlight filtered in through the narrow window high over his bed.
Apparently he was never destined to become a morning person, because Antigone had quickly made it a habit to secure a carafe of black coffee, double strength, each morning. It was waiting on him on his desk along with two pieces of white toast dressed in butter and strawberry jam. Ever the dutiful and considerate daughter, it was almost enough to make him feign ignorance about the shiny little badge she now kept pinned to the front of her book satchel. Almost, but not quite. He insisted she remove it and put it somewhere out of his sight before he would let her leave their quarters for breakfast. The little minx thought she could outsmart him by tucking it into an inner pocket of her robe, but as long as he didn't have to look at it through Potions, he was satisfied.
A frown creased his forehead as he stared unseeing at a stack of essays in desperate need of grading. Potions meant that Hermione and Antigone would likely be sitting with one another again. The pair seemed to be bonding in traditional ways for girls of the same age, and it wasn't every girl who got the chance to know her mother on a non-parental basis. Still, he had to admit it bothered him, watching them together, their heads bent over a sheaf of notes as identical sets of hands moved over ingredients. With her eyes hidden, he could see very little of himself in the girl outside of the willowy build and ungainly height. It wasn't until she would straighten up that she stopped looking so much like the girl destined to be her mother, a constant reminder of what was to come. On the other hand, he couldn't bring himself to separate them. To pair Antigone up with one of the other students would be to handicap her, as well as serve to give a lazy student an undeserving edge. He was not one to use the intelligent students to shore up the abysmal ones.
As for the rest of her classes, his daughter was proving to be as brilliant as both of her parents. Hagrid had to admit that she did have trouble in Care of Magical Creatures, but that was only with the actual creatures themselves. This didn't surprise him, since Snapes usually didn't have much luck with anything warm blooded. Flitwick noted that she struggled with Charms, but she made up for a lack of natural talent through sheer will and determination to excel at her assignments. Another trait she had in common with her father. Perhaps she wasn't so unlike him after all.
As for the enmity she had earned from her fellow Slytherins, he admitted to himself that this didn't disturb him too much. Many of the students were destined to become Death Eaters, and he did not wish for his child to make the same blundering mistakes he did in his youth. Better that she take after her mother in that respect. Hermione Granger was unerringly loyal to Dumbledore, and there were far worse people to pledge loyalty to. He had proven in his past to have poor judgment when it came to choosing sides, though experience had taught him better. He hoped that, as a father, he could teach his daughter to learn from his own mistakes.
His daughter. He would admit that he would have preferred a son, someone to carry on the family name. Still, a daughter was quite pleasant. Daughters worshipped the ground their fathers walked on whereas sons tended to favor their mothers. Daughters were more likely to remain loyal to their fathers after they had grown whereas sons tended to chafe under even the gentlest advice and charge on with their own lives bull headedly. He had been a typical son, never wanting to listen to his own father, even when he had tried to warn him of the path he was starting down. Miss Granger, he knew, was a typical daughter. He had seen it in correspondence he had received from her parents in regards to questions they had about her education and heard it in bits of overheard conversations that referenced them. On the other hand, it was also said that daughters married their fathers, or rather men that were much like their fathers. He wondered what there was about himself that was like Mr. Granger, and he would hope Antigone had better sense than to ever marry any man who was too much like Severus Snape.
~***~
Antigone was seated at the very end of the Slytherin table, a good space between herself and the other students. It was Saturday, the Saturday, the day she would fly against Harry Potter as Seeker. It was the one day she could depend on the Slytherins to leave her alone, since they were just as eager to win this match as she was, albeit for different reasons. They wanted the pleasure of trouncing Gryffindor. She wanted the chance to fly against her mentor on a level playing field.
Poor Mum. This is driving her batty. Hermione didn't know who to cheer for. On one hand, Harry Potter was her dear and close friend, had been since her first year. He was also a fellow Gryffindor and it was her house team playing. On the other hand, Antigone was a new and dear friend, and someone who understood her on an intellectual level. She didn't tease her about how much she studied or obsessed over assignments, being just as obsessive herself, and didn't mind spending an entire weekend shut up in the library. She wanted both of her friends to win, but that wasn't possible.
There was a good hour or so before the game. It was enough time to let the meal settle so that it wouldn't be a bother. She made her way to the Quidditch pitch and into the locker room. Since there were no other girls on the Slytherin team (sexist pigs!), she had the girls' lockers all to herself. She made a face at the green robes, thinking that they were just the color of broccoli but without the cheese sauce, before slipping them on. It's only for a short while. Soon Albus will find a way to send me back home and I'll be back in good ole red. The only downside she could see about flying for Slytherin was that she'd be winning for Slytherin. That couldn't be helped, however. If Albus figured out how to send her back soon enough, Uncle Harry would have time to correct the little oversight.
The thought that she might actually lose didn't even enter her mind.
Malfoy's Nimbus 2001 flew into her hand as though it were a faithful hound rushing towards his mistress. She smirked a bit. Brooms, over time, were known to become used to a single rider if they weren't changing hands often. The old school brooms were used to being used by anyone and everyone, but the Quidditch brooms were usually the property of the player, since they'd be all but useless to the next student who tried to ride them. Malfoy must not treat his broom well, since it seemed eager to be in the hands of someone else. Temperamental things, magical items.
She waited in the corridor with the rest of the team. They didn't speak to her, unwilling to upset their Seeker after watching her in practice. She was better than Malfoy, maybe even as good as Potter. It wouldn't be wise to wreck their chances now. The doors opened to the sound of cheers, and they mounted their broomsticks before kicking off. Antigone ignored the rest of the team, losing herself in the feeling of the air rushing through her shoulder length hair and the sound of the cheering crowd. Of course, three of the houses were cheering for the Gryffindors, but that didn't matter. She could imagine they were cheering for her.
Madam Hooch came out onto the field. Tigga had seen her before this and had been floored by the fact that she still looked the same age in her time, not even an added wrinkle. Of course, Madam Hooch was over one hundred years old in this time, and with those eyes, Tigga suspected that she wasn't entirely human. She had never been able to find out just what else she was, however, other than bloody brilliant on a broomstick. She heard the sound of the silver whistle the woman always wore around her neck and immediately began looking for the Snitch.
"I really like you, Antigone. I hate the fact that I'm going to have to beat you."
She grinned, her eyes still roaming the field for the Snitch as she suspected his were as well. "Famous last words, Harry. Besides, it's about time you lost."
"Isn't happening." She resisted the urge to look at him and grin. This was Quidditch; she didn't have time to engage in banter with the enemy Seeker.
Her own team was using every dirty trick in the book. One of the Chasers deliberately tried to knock Harry off his broom, giving the Gryffindor team a penalty. Then a Beater purposefully attacked a Chaser with a club, no Bludger in sight, earning another penalty for Gryffindor. After the attempt to get rid of the Gryffindor Keeper and another attempt against Harry, she had stopped keeping count of how many penalties the Slytherins were amassing. She would play by the rules even if they wouldn't.
A glint of gold caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Instinctively she turned her broom and started towards it, Harry catching on quickly. She knew that the Firebolt was faster than the Nimbus 2001, it was clearly detailed in A History of Magical Broomsticks in Quidditch by Herman Bagshot, but she was not going to just give up, not even when he caught up with her, and then started to pass her. She leaned further into the handle of her broomstick, whispering encouraging words to it even though it wasn't likely to help, then noted dimly that she caught up to Harry and began to pass him. Perhaps whispering to your broomstick did help after all, or perhaps her broomstick was simply tired of being shown up by a Firebolt time and time again. She didn't question it, she just went with it, following the Snitch and gaining on it as she did so. The golden ball seemed to grow in size as she neared it, getting closer and closer until she was close enough to stretch out her hand. She thought she could feel the difference in the wind from the beating wings, but she didn't focus on this as she closed the last few inches and clamped her fingers around the cold metal of the ball.
She heard the horn sounding, signaling the end of the match. The commentator sounded upset at the Slytherin win, but he was nearly drowned out by the roars of the Slytherin students. She turned her broomstick around to look for Harry, and then froze in mid-hover. His own broomstick was behaving quite oddly. She watched as he tried to rein it back under control as it bucked one last time, throwing him off. With a shriek, she leaned forward and raced towards him, diving all the while and catching him a mere four feet from the ground. "Harry?"
He gasped, trying to catch his breath. "Wow… nice flying, Antigone. You may be up for another medal for this one, an official one this time." She lowered him the last few feet to the ground. He looked up and must have seen something written on her face, because he flinched. She ignored this, jumping off her broom and fighting her way to Madam Hooch.
"Rematch! I want a rematch!" Madam Hooch arched a brow at her as the Slytherin team captain gaped at her.
"Rematch? What for? You caught the Snitch fair and square?"
"It wasn't fair!" she shot back into the seventh-year's face. "Potter's broom was tampered with! It wasn't a fair match!"
"Now, now, settle down." Madam Hooch leveled a gaze at Harry, who swallowed and nodded. "She's right, Madam Hooch. My broom was behaving just as it did during my first year."
"Just because you can't handle your broom doesn't mean it was tampered with, Potter!" The Slytherin boy snarled and took a step towards Harry, his fist clenched tightly.
"It was a cheat!" Antigone's own fists were tight as well. She was taller than her team captain, but he was easily twice her weight. Still, she was a Gryffindor at heart, all action and little thinking when tensions were high. "I don't need someone to cheat for me to win a game of Quidditch!"
Black robes came into view as Snape appeared. "What's going on here?"
Madam Hooch cleared her throat. "There seems to be a question regarding the legitimacy of the win. Miss Snape feels that someone on the Slytherin side jinxed Potter's broom."
"A jinx? Are you certain, girl?" There was a flash of black and red as Ron and Hermione came towards them as well. They ran past Snape to move towards Harry and Antigone.
"I'm positive! Father, you can't let…" Her eyes flew wide, hands flying up to her mouth as the crowd around them gasped. Her father's eyes narrowed and she took a step back from him, her broomstick forgotten on the ground. "I… I'm so sorry… I didn't mean…"
"Inside." His voice was like a deadly whisper and she could hear the blood pounding in her ears.
"I really didn't mean…"
"I said, inside." He didn't raise his voice, but she could hear the difference in it. Worse, she could feel the eyes of everyone upon her. Someone grabbed her wrist firmly and pulled her aside.
"Come on!" It was Mum, her sweet, ever-ready-for-anything mother. She felt her legs unfreeze as she was dragged towards the castle, Hermione's hair flowing in her wake. They didn't stop until they had gone through the front doors, up three flights of steps and into an empty classroom. Finally, Hermione let go of the grip on Antigone's arm, allowing the taller girl to sink into a chair.
"Oh, I've really done it now. He's furious!" She leaned forward, resting her head on her knees and wrapping her hands around her ankles. Hermione watched, for a moment uncertain of what to do as she watched her friend rock back and forth in the chair, muttering something about Snape planning to kill her. After a moment, she unfroze herself and knelt down at the girl's side, rubbing her back with one hand and muttering soft words of reassurance to her.
What, exactly, did you say to comfort the daughter of the Potions Master?