13. Quarter-making. Meeting Draco.

Back down in the corridor, in front of the Headmaster's office, Silva's heart started beating hard.

Her brother had, after all, agreed to meet her – even while he, in the meantime, tried to behave as if everything was quite normal – he, his nasty old self, and she, a mere stranger of the more obnoxious kind...

It was silly to feel as excited about this meeting as if it was a first date with someone one had a crush on, but then, it had been about 25 years... No use worrying, Albus was right, as usual.

Harry Potter seemed to have grown up nice enough – what with all the worries that he might be spoiled by the fame and everything. They seemed to have been quite unnecessary. Silva still disagreed with Dumbledore's decision to put him to grow up with the Dursleys. Basic physical well-being was not all there was for a child, and even that had been lacking. She, and most of the other wardens, had been worried eventually by the thought that the Dursley treatment might damage or break Harry Potter irrevocably.

But the boy seemed to have survived even that, and seemed, while being a bit thin, to have made his way. He was lively and intelligent, and none of the ordeals he had had to go through seemed to have injured him gravely. His personality radiated early strength, benevolence, and equilibrium, with a becoming hint of arrogance. Silva was quite looking forward to be tutored by him, and, probably, in her turn, teach him some, too.

She also knew of her Brother's attitude toward the boy by what the Headmaster had told her, and disliked that utterly.

Oh well, she could not seem to get that brother of hers out of her mind... Dumbledore had implicated that Severus had closed up to kinder influences, and become a truly hard man since he had lost his love…

What change would that be anyway in his attitude to her?

The woman Severus had been with – now what had been her name? Silva could not remember – had been a great artist, and very successful with both Muggles and wizards. She had seen one of her performances, and loved it, but never bothered to find out what her brother was up to there – for fear, to be honest, that it was Death Eater business, and for fear of being recognized by him or his Death Eater pals, of course. Eventually, that woman had mysteriously vanished and Severus had, about a year later, come to the Muggle world himself, and even tried to find her... He'd gotten pretty close, too, but she had managed to avoid him. And she'd be darned if she told him that!

This had been a long time before Silva started gathering intelligence for Albus, long before the old wizard found her himself, even, and made her a warden. Word had been that Severus had himself taught at Hogwarts before breaking his wand, but that their parents would not have it.

For a fleeting moment, Silva pondered the old Headmaster's second thoughts on having her tutored by young Potter, like providing the boy with a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on, and an idea of how to trust his Potions Professor, but decided she'd not mind at all. She had liked the boy right away then, and found she still did today.

Harry would likely want to know a lot about his parents and their times, too…

Silva wondered about her own behaviour today. She had not been that submissive toward her brother since quite some time before his coming of age, she remembered – probably never after she was admitted to Hogwarts herself... Yet, she had never felt fear of him, or compelled to raise to his baits, or even take the obvious insults for what they were. It just had not mattered...

But today, right from the first moment... The things he had said – as if it all was her fault! She felt how she got angry now still, like she had become angry a long time ago when he had demanded her trust and obedience in return for nothing but the good chance of being taken, one way or the other, by his dirty lord Voldemort... That anger quite revived her.

She had realized even then that he had been taking beatings by schoolmates for her diffidence towards him, just as he had stated, and had stopped her behaviour toward him, with great difficulty and pain. Well, that had been one reason to leave, among other things. But had it not been for her, there would still have been hassle for him – because of what he was of himself, because of his arrogance, his reticence, his experiments... That general air about him of being special. But Severus WAS special – to her, in any case. It had been his way to handle her affection mainly that made things happen to him. Other boys had had younger sisters at school who liked them, even adored them, and never got beaten up for that.

Not that she had missed any of it in all the years of being away, though. Losing or leaving it had been like having one's hair cut, maybe, by comparison – nothing really to be missed, nothing really gone, nothing irreplaceable that wouldn't grow on one again... Yet never those tips again…

She did not feel confused, but the strength of her anger at his self-righteousness, and unquestioning demands, his off-handed giving-away of her life, and also her unbent feeling of deference and love towards him had never left her, still amazed her. This was all part of her, obviously, yet it felt strange at the same time. Mostly, it seemed to result in her baiting him...

If he still hated her so much, how could she be hoping for his misdemeanour to let up? If it did, would anything really be different, and in which way? It had been, for all she know, like that with her family for centuries – Elder Brothers and Younger Sisters were connected so closely somehow that surprise at an unexpected encounter, or some such emotion, was just not a given option – it would have been like being surprised at one's own image reflected in a mirror. They knew what each other thought whether they liked it or not.

Silva thought that the hate of that mirror-view in particular could have been and might be still the main reason of her brother's harshness. There was never just one reflection in a sense, no privacy. Twins were not that close.

The dungeons, then. But meet Severus where, precisely? She was not sure where his office or quarters were, never having been there before, and decided that she'd wait by the classroom. For a second she thought of stopping by the kitchens for something to eat, or of taking a shower, but found that her hunger had gone, and that time would be lacking.

Utterly exhausted, she slowly trudged along toward the dungeons.

But what the hell – he might as well wait some, too! More than 20 years and not a word of welcome! She called for an elf, not sure if that would still work – but it did. The elf wore a fairly clean blanket with the Hogwarts coat-of-arms in lively colours, and looked decent and official enough, for an house-elf.

"Please show me my quarters, will you? I believe the Headmaster has instructed you?"

The house elf mutely shook his or her head.

"O dear... We were interrupted... I believe it's supposed to be the Slytherin headperson's quarters... I definitely can't walk around here any longer in these rags... So there would be no clean clothes for me to change into in the closet there either, I assume?"

The elf shook his or her head again, still not speaking.

"Would you know where those rooms are? What's your name, anyway?"

"Hookums, Silva Snape, miss. Hookums knows the rooms, miss."

"So you do know who I am... See any chance to find me a place to clean up, and some fresh clothes my size, so that I'd look presentable within 30 minutes or so, Hookums?"

"Hookums does, Silva Snape, miss. Follow me. I will bring miss to the empty head boy quarters of Slytherin house, and find some garments, as surely Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster," – now there was some mix of adoration and bliss in the small creature's voice at saying that name, Silva thought – "will soon issue an according order, Silva Snape, miss."

"Thank you so very much... Merlin, am I tired.. And maybe, Hookums, some food? Just a couple of sandwiches and some tea, possibly?"

"It will all be set when we arrive, Silva Snape, miss."

And so it was.

A tub had already been filled with some warm, golden, perfumed delight upon her entering, the predominant arome being of arnica to soothe minor scratches and scabs, and revitalising rosemary oil. It proved absolutely irresistible after the strain of previous days, so Silva, knowing this to be unwise, slipped into it with boring premonitions of some sort of nastiness, or impending punishment, by her brother for being late at the back of her mind – yet she did not hesitate for one moment. Groaning with relief, she soaked. The tension of the days before washed off her, as did the premonitions, and she felt her muscles slacken, her utter exhaustion finally leaving. Great herbs in this tub... The last few days had indeed been bad!

Tea and food, and all fresh, on a tray bridging a tub filled with some ingenious, relaxing and very refreshing, bath mix... perfect! A shame to get out... This was luxury of a kind that she had only very rarely enjoyed in the Muggle world. At times, she had had to count herself lucky if her apartment had a box shower to itself, and she not been forced to use common bathrooms, generally of questionable hygiene and cleanliness, across some corridor, with slots for coins to order very limited trickles of very poorly-heated water...

She pondered her life. Not a success story, but no waste either. It was hers, and se regretted not a bit of what she'd done and seen. It could have been easier in many respects... Well, who wanted easy, anyway...? Presently, she must remember to get out of the tub...

Silva Snape pondered her fate. Severus Snape was Silva's senior by two years, and he had loved her dearly, treated her kind enough most of the time – until, one day, during his sixth year at Hogwarts, and shortly before his coming of age, their father had made it known that he was decided to introduce him to Lord Voldemort upon Maturity, and have him initiated into You-Know-Who's fold.

Severus had been enthusistic then. Somehow, all that had suggested a kind of welcoming gift to the Dark lord, too...

No-one else in the family – well, in this particular bloodline, if that was only some rather old aunts even then – had considered joining Voldemort. They had, like the former High King's clan, chosen not to take sides at all.

When she was a little girl, she had asked her mother once why that was, why they had joined, and mentioned the proud history of the Soniverirus. Her mother had yelled at her for impudence, and told her father. The punishment had been most severe. She still thought that this one event had done much to get her into Hogwarts. The Snape girls usually were educated at home privately, sometimes by more than one professional teacher and, sometimes, like she had been until then by her granddad, by a highly capable relative. This was not necessarily a disadvantage at all, depending very much on the choice the parents made as to subjects of teaching, and teacher's personalities.

That had been before Tom Riddle had started paying visits to the Snape's home. He had become a friend of the family, if someone like him could be called a friend. Riddle might have been her father's master even then, but he obviously had felt honoured to be invited to places of wizard renown like Wayward Manor, and their London home. Riddle had by then already taken on the name of Lord Voldemort, but still operated under his old name as well – the identity of the Dark Lord had not been disclosed yet, if it was suspected by some.

The first time she had met Tom Riddle had been in her summer holiday, after her second year at Hogwarts. Riddle had then looked to be in his late twenties, but must of course have been somewhat older. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life – and all her travels in either world had not shown her any match to him in that. There had been a light of his own about him, of incredible power and determination. He had been a tremendous orator. No-one who listened to him could remain unpersuaded. No-one who met him for the first time would have remotely considered him to be the impersonation of evil that he eventually turned out to be.

He was not beautiful anymore now, she understood.

Riddle had asked her parents about her, suggesting marriage should time come, and been told what was appropriate of the family traditions. Later though, once affairs were cleared, they would if course be greatly honoured if he'd still... She herself had been hopelessly infatuated with him, and his offer to marry her had been a source of pure bliss. Silva had been about 13 when that had happened and, while she had feared something about him and not liked his smell, had had a real crush on him. Teenagers, as her brother would surely say.

Granddad though would have nothing of it. He had held nothing but contempt for Riddle from the first moment, not only because the man was a half-blood – and because of what he told Silva hurt her, she had just handed on his words to her brother, who had not hesitated to tell their father. Another belting, another good reason for Hogwarts, if from an opposite direction... It seemed that there had been a huge fight between her father and her Granddad about her future, which had ended in her going back to school, but Granddad had stayed in the manor, and she had still been allowed to be with him during her holidays.

Silva'd definitely have to get out of this glorious bath now, and revelled in the thought that there would be more like this whenever she pleased, at least as long as she stayed at Hogwarts. She decided to make use of it while it lasted.

Her brother had been as jealous of her crush on Riddle as he was to be displeased by her contempt for their parents' allegiance to the Dark wizard later. She, like most people, had at that time not known that Riddle and the Dark Lord were one and the same person. Her parents had instructed her not to mention Voldemort to Riddle under any circumstances, so there had been no mishap that would have illuminated that matter. When she'd finally realized what Riddle was, after a big event at the Malfoy's where Riddle finally and officially became Lord Voldemort, at the height of his power, her horror and disgust again had not pleased Severus. That had been about a year before her brother himself...

Silva had shared her brother's craving for knowledge, and knew that he'd delved deeply into the Dark Arts, with the aid of their father, before the age of twelve, but she could never understand how someone so proud, so brilliant, how someone she adored so much, would ever wish to bend his knee to someone like Tom Riddle, let alone allow himself to be marked by him. Never had one of the Snapes ever played someone else's game – their only attachment and loyalty had forever lain with the High Kings, and the good of the land and the wizarding world.

She had told her brother many times what Granddad had told her about that man, and never effected anything but anger.

Severus's actions during her last year in school were a miracle to her to this very day. She considered them a particular disgrace to the family, regardless of their parents' actions and affiliations, and not paying Severus deference as the Elder Brother had not been much of a pain anymore by then. He had slapped her face when she told him so, an action unheard of in the family history which must be attributed to Lord Voldemort's influence.

Not much later, he had tried to hand her over to his newly-found master. She had only managed to get away by some flattery and a lot of her own speedy magic when it happened. She had been expecting and fearing the event for weeks, and met her preparations, but when it came about she had had less than an hour to run and hide... Silva still was not sure how she had managed to escape. Maybe Dumbledore had helped her in some manner unknown to her, regardless of what he had said to convince her to stay when she told him what she feared to happen.

Her deference and her baiting had, elusive combination that they were, always managed to elicit any amount of bile from her brother... She had sent her wand, unbroken, to the hands of Dumbledore, without any comment.

Musing, pondering the steps that had led her to where she was now, Silva got dressed, lost in thought, and in utter disregard of what she put on. She had to rebutton the dark green blouse three times, and did leave out the school tie, but put on the dress robe the house-elves had lain out for her. Very dark green, too, which would be fine for dinner as well, so she might not need to come back again before that.

-----------

Still lost in thought, she wandered off to find the classroom. She was late by about 20 minutes now – her bro would just love that. Not that she cared, chance was that he'd have made her wait anyway.

But Professor Snape was not there at all, and the dimly-lit room appeared to be empty. It seemed that the classrooms were left open when classes finished, but Silva did not want to enter. She decided to stay outside, and leaned in the frame of the opened door, waiting.

After a moment's time, she realized that there was some little commotion inside, outside of her range of view, that indicated someone trying to move about quietly. That, surely, would not be her brother?

She walked inside some steps and, from behind a column, perceived a pale blond boy in Slytherin garb, rummaging around in some cupboard filled with jars and boxes, very likely the stock of ingredients for classes, while trying to make no noise. Silva leant to the wall, motionlessly observing these activities.

When he did not seem to find there what he was looking for, the boy cursed under his breath and turned toward a door in the back of the room that probably led to her brother's private storage space.

As he lifted his hand to give the door a push for a try, he looked back toward the entrance to make sure that no-one was watching. He did not seem to notice her at first and turned back to touch the knob, but suddenly, upon realizing that, unexpectedly, someone was indeed watching him, gave a start that was rather comical and very funny to perceive. What she had seen of his face had been enough to show her that here was a Malfoy at work and, hence, very likely, Lucius's son.

She thought of clearing her throat in a menacing manner, but decided that that would have been a trick good only in advance of the shock of discovery. So she just waited, arms folded.

When the boy did turn fully around after a moment of recovery, she noticed a look of relief on his face that annoyed her. Silva realized that it had to be due to the fact that, in the first instant, he must have mistaken her for her brother. He was wary though, and he'd better be, she thought, disappointed a little.

"Erh – uh-oh... I..."

"A Malfoy, obviously, I can't be mistaken, regardless of the lack for words. You must be Draco, Narcissa's son – you look it."

"Erh... yes... see, miss, I was..."

"I do not care at all what you were but, considering your bearing, it obviously was not whatever you should have been – you should be out of here right away, as I do expect my brother – Professor Snape – to arrive any moment now, and he is likely to be in a most foul mood, my boy."

She need not tell the brat that the foul mood would be caused by her presence at school, and directed at her, did she? No-one could possibly know in advance the turn that Severus's spilling of bile would take, in any case.

"I should think, furthermore, that whatever it is that you are looking for will be locked in his office, tightly sealed. The more interesting stuff always used to be."

"Well, but he..." Draco stopped dead in mid sentence.

"Yes, Malfoy?"

What kind of ploy was that?

Draco did not say another word.

"He's like that, the dear Professor, likes baiting his students – but he does keep a close watch on the more costly and dangerous stuff, as you will surely know... So, what were you looking for here, anyway?"

The blond boy's eyes had narrowed which let him, to Silva's eyes, look like his father very much, and he had quite speedily regained his composure. Surely, being Lucius's son would be a test to everyone's abilities of recovery... Slender, fairly tall, but not yet fully grown, exuding arrogance and snottiness – so he did have a good share of that particular bearing. Upbringing, some might call it. There'd be fight, then, if Silva was not mistaken. Draco's hair was short which lessened the likeness to his father a bit.

This boy had of cours, seen her too when she had crashed the Potions lesson today. Perhaps it was he that she owed one for that remark about Muggle slaves she vaguely remembered overhearing.

Right now, the brat gave a tiny ironical bow, by it expertly undoing all they had said so far: "Ah – Miss Silva Snape, I believe? I never thought I'd meet you in ... the flesh. My father has told me about you."

A pause.

"Oh, has he indeed?"

What was that about? Silva'd be damned if she reacted to such doubtful courtesy. Arms folded and still leaning to the wall, Silva gauged the Malfoy offspring calmly – while he, vice versa, did not seem to bother with that. What his father would have told him was quite obvious by now, and to be seen reflected in his pale eyes, easy to be read.

Slowly, she spoke, showing him the full intake of his words, his demeanour, and some of the contempt she had for Lucius:

"Has he indeed? I suppose that is an honour?"

"I should guess so" – Draco Malfoy took the bait – "of course, he mentioned you as a particularly repulsive example of treason. Someone... something like you should better be kept quiet about, I think. You are the one who refused to give up yourself to You-Know-Who, in disobedience to an Elder, thus putting your own brother into disregard with his master, and in great danger, and became, by that, a disgrace to your noble family, if not to all of the pureblood community..."

None of it hit home, yet was rather revealing. These must precisely be Lucius own words. No trace of originality or creativity in that boy? The father then was overpowering. Whatever there might be of some sort of personality in the son was buried beneath the father's will. She sensed no real Draco anywhere... and felt sorry for him, but only for a second. No-one deserved sorry, not even a Malfoy.

Draco had had enough sense though, considering his carelessness when they had first spoken, to realize the import of the phrase about her Elder, which would just suffice to serve as a brazen and extremely thin varnish of righteousness, in case someone should listen in... Well primed here, but not there, she reckoned.

Meanwhile, Draco continued:

"Worse, you relieved yourself from the wizarding world, or rather it of you, to the world of the Muggles of all places in cowardly flight, thus creating for yourself a fate worse than almost any other. A well-deserved punishment for one so perversely inclined... If it was at all a punishment for a degenerate creature like you... You have even given up the wand, I understand?"

Some English that boy spoke! He tried to hide his contempt and fear by keeping an even voice, trying to cut by the words he chose alone. He sure was brazen, she had to grant him that, reckoning her being his head of house's sister, and he did not know what she would or could do. There was no respect in him, and however much she usually hated the idea of frightening young ones, she'd love to put the fear of Merlin into this brat. Little Scumbag!

At the same time, Silva did feel rather amused. That sneer was an exact copy of his father's, the attitude as incomplete yet as Lucius's had been at this age. Well, Draco surely would develop a style of contempt of his own, eventually...

"Does my brother – your godfather, after all – know that you think and speak like that of his family? Degenerate... And what does he think of it? I do believe you owe your head of house a little respect, at least..."

She let that sink in, but the boy did not flinch. A soft spot of Severus's, this godson of his? He did not talk back anymore, though.

Silva went on, using the breach.

"You should know, at your age, my boy, that the wand has to be given up. or is broken, upon leaving the wizarding world... No going there with it unless you are a member of an appropriate Ministry of Magic department, or an emergency squad... And then, you are really sure that I need a wand to do some weird things to a little sneak like you, aren't you?"

That did it. She had Draco Malfoy's full attention now.

"Neither would you ever dare to ...relieve yourself of Voldemort's service, should it come to that, I am sure – no gut in you, nor bravery. And wanting to relieve yourself of that service, you are sure to, everyone does eventually – even if they desire to serve the Dark Lord well. Must be your turn soon... when do you come of age? All your daddy's copy... Did you ever stand up to your father?"

Silva spoke quietly, but hit the mark like she'd meant to. What she'd said was meant to hurt in more than one way, also. She really wanted to crack that little shell – such attitude as Draco had shown her she would not have from a boy, particularly not a Malfoy – or any man, coming to think of it.

Moving in Draco's direction and noting with satisfaction that he backed away from her, Silva continued:

"I can vividly imagine what else Lucius will have told you about me, out of hurt pride – or vanity, more precisely, and also that you'd believe all of it unconditionally. I was less than your age, but I did act for myself. If I had not declined you father's hand – that is, his kind offer to escort me to Voldemort in person, in order to be able to later collect the left-overs and scraps for his own use and, I have reason to presume, by that getting himself an obedient pureblood wife – maybe have some fun as a little advance, as well, as neither of that was at all above him, you know? – I might be your mother now, Merlin save me, instead of that meek, thin-blooded Narcissa – really, I shudder to think!

"And, oddly, I somehow did get the impression that the great hater of Muggles extraordinaire, Lucius Malfoy in person, seems to be about to defect to the world of the despised mudbloods... Now that can't possibly be true, can it?"

Silva shook her head in mock confusion about such an absurd notion.

At her words, Draco gasped in surprise, either not knowing his father's whereabouts, or taken aback that she should know of Lucius's plans, but gathered his composure at an impressive speed. He was not without grace either, that one.. Not used to have some of his own poison though, apparently... Draco had cringed appropriately, too, at her mentioning of The Name.

Silva did not relent yet, wanting to let him have it all, so fronts would be clear once and for all.

"And, I assure you" – Silva lowered her voice, not having spoken loud to start with – "I assure you, Draco Malfoy, that were I your mother, you would not even remotely have considered to approach me, or anyone else, in the way you just did – not for your life; and you will consider an apology right now.

"And that done, shouldn't you run? Your so revered head of house is due here any moment now."

And if he didn't apologize, or run?

Silva was sure he would, Draco was not of such mettle. It would show him how to use some strength against Lucius, in any case...

Yet, young Draco did flinch, but held his ground, while he now looked as if he'd rather be elsewhere, she noted. Silva was impressed. This was more than there was to be expected of someone who had one Lucius Malfoy for a father. Draco looked a lot like Lucius from most perspectives, with the better parts of Narcissa thrown in for good measure. He would turn out to be a real pretty one in a couple of years for sure, a heartbreaker. A woman's man, or a weakling? Looking merely like Narcissa, and not only for a boy or man, would have meant disaster completed. It would have been some punishment – that confused vain prettiness...

So, here was a lucky one.

There was some substance too, but would it ever hold up to Lucius' intrepid stance? Also, there was something withdrawn and secretive about this boy Draco that was not easily pinned down, and did have nothing to do with present events – something glib, and a bit rat-like, or rabbity, too, yet cute... Ferretty was the word.

Draco Malfoy had very obviously not the stature or scope that his father had – not that raving urge for power, the recklessness that could be sexy with Lucius; nor the hunger for life that was the latter's most attractive trait – if it, for once, was not directed at the violation of others. Nor did Draco, Silva was quite sure, possess his father's intelligence or cunning. Draco very likely lacked the properties which had made Lucius Malfoy some match even for the Marauders in school, for Potter and Black… Silva heart jumped a little at the though of irresponsible Sirius, always acting on impulse, who had made her laugh so many times unless he was after her brother, which he had stopped or at least toned down a bit sometimes at her pleading... He was dead… She did not want to think about that now.

It seemed to her that under all this encumbrances, Draco might be a nice enough and entirely decent young chap – if he'd just let be...

Malfoy the younger had turned all red under her scrutiny by now, Silva noted with satisfaction, and licked her lips. The boy looked away like he ought to, blushing some more still. But he was not in the least considering apologies:

"I do not have to take treacherous talk against..." Draco stopped himself at the last moment, "that kind of insults about my father, or myself, from a creature like you – mudblood-lover! My dad was under the Imperius all the time, by the Dark Lord, when he did – these things, and you know that, too!"

That had come out too hastily to be convincing, as if it could be at all, but impressed Silva somewhat no less. Draco here had gained back his presence of mind quicker than she'd have thought!

A moment later he brushed past her with a withering look and left the dungeon in a flurry.

"Oh, sure as dirt he was," Silva said to a receding back.

That boy had been so desperate to get away that he had not realized that his last sentences could have been a poison arrow of the meanest kind if aimed with deliberation – that was if she'd cared which she didn't; but Silva was sure Draco would notice if he recapitulated this exchange, which she was sure he was going to, and more than once. To report the pleasing bits to his father, for instance.

Dashing around the corridor corner, Malfoy the younger walked briskly into his godfather and teacher, knocking the wind out of him, and Silva Snape had the doubtful pleasure of earwitnessing some muttered curses, and foul excuses, made in a tone of anger restrained with difficulty, and of slightly breathless admonitions of a snide sort, by her brother.

She noticed that Draco, who must definitely be afraid now judging by his voice, neither lowered his volume nor did he suck up to her brother. Had she been mistaken in her assessment? That would be rare...

And Severus did let the boy go too, without taking as much as one point off his own house of Slytherin. His godchild... A weak spot, then.

Now that was to be expected, wasn't it?