Interview with a boy-who-lived
So, in the last chapter, our intrepid reporter was exposed to mad old man who believed that the Harry Potter universe had been based on a true story. Then, he bought out a pensieve and things started to get a little odd. Now to see how she's taking the news that this fiction isn't what she thought it was…
Cliches, confusion and consternation to come! (Hurrah for alliteration!)
Chapter two: Bickering
I drifted slowly back into the waking world, my head throbbing and my back feeling decidedly painful. I must have been sitting badly on my chair at the office again; I always started off the day well – back straight and all that jazz – but I'd soon get distracted and return to the normal teenage slouch… Well, anyway, there it was. My back hurt, and it felt as though I'd visited another of those parties where underage drinking is all but encouraged. Groaning, I deigned to wait a little while to open my eyes – I might very well be sick. Judging by the dim light coming through my eyelids, it wasn't morning yet.
Yawning widely, I stretched; something cold met my hands, and I shivered. I'm sure I closed the window last night…didn't I? Perhaps I'd been too drunk…this was one hell of a hangover… In fact…maybe that was why my back hurt so much… Bet I fell asleep on the floor again – hope Dad doesn't look in on me, or he's going to kill me. With this delightful prospect in mind, it became obvious that I would, indeed, have to get up, if I wanted to be spared the 'alcohol at your age!' talk.
With some trepidation (at the thought that this might not even be my room, or my house for that matter), I opened my eyes.
Almost immediately, my worst fears were confirmed. The glow-in-the-dark stars and cheap imitation dream-catcher I'd bought in a craft shop in Wales were gone. So too were the cat-shredded purple curtains, and the window with the dodgy lock. The ceiling was a good three or four times higher than it should be, and made of stone. At least, it looked like stone from here, but I couldn't be sure; it was quite dark…
Maybe I'm in the church? But, I was sure they locked it at night nowadays – too much crime… Well, maybe I'm in another church… Maybe I caught the train, staggered off, and somehow found my way in here? There was a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'd forgotten something. A pretty important something at that, if the wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm me was anything to go on. Where in the fuck am I then?
I sat up, wincing as my back clicked. With some annoyance, I realised that I'd managed to fall asleep on a flagstone floor, of all things. I must have been really drunk. Must remind myself to volunteer as driver more often in future… The image of about five friends piles on the back of my scooter served to amuse me for a moment, but then worry set in again.Looking around a little more, I realised that no, this wasn't a church. Nor was it a state building, art gallery, or museum.
The high ceiling was vaulted in a sort of Gothic style. Well, OK, so 'Gothic' is the only style I know, and I don't even know what it looks like, so, I could be wrong. It just looks old. My brain seemed to be working a little too well for me to have a hangover. Everything consisted of the same, dark grey stone (granite? Basalt?) I should have been able to tell, but I'd never found geology a particularly interesting part of the geography course… Candelabra fashioned of some dark metal clung to the walls, the lit candles within them burning with low flames.
All in all, this wasn't what I'd been hoping to see.
It looked like the set for some horror movie for goodness sake!
Wait a minute… I nearly laughed out loud in relief. Of course! Rickie was going to review that new horror movie and he brought me along! But, if that was the case, why on earth was I lying on the floor? Surely he wouldn't have let me drink! He was a laid-back guy, but he was also strictly tea-total…something to do with his brother and a motorbike accident… He wouldn't have let me get hammered, would he? Well, maybe he didn't know… Oh, why can't I bloody remember anything! Did I hit my head? I felt around for a telltale bump that could explain my odd amnesia, but couldn't find anything.
Frustrated by this point, I scrambled to my feet, feeling a little bit wobbly as I did so. Looking down, I saw that I was wearing the same outfit that I'd worn to the Potter interview; the skirt and sweater and-
Oh my fucking God. I blinked down at my boots, a rushing sound in my ears. It can't be – why – that's preposterous! This must be a dream, or a nightmare or something! I can't be in…it's a bloody book for Christ sake! A book! The idea that this was a dream appealed to me… I often had very lucid dreams; this was probably nothing more than that. The pounding headache and aching back were all part of my overactive imagination…
Why's your finger bleeding then? A small voice inquired wheedlingly. You can't dream blood, can you now? I didn't know – could you? I checked, and yes, my finger was bleeding. That bloody pen! I stared at the vermilion liquid welling up from the puncture wound, and felt the nausea rise again, more insistently than before. I'd never been good with blood (this was perhaps one of the reasons why I so adamantly wanted to be a boy when I started sex education at primary school). Deciding that I had more important things to do, I just stuck my finger in my mouth and sucked the blood off. Then, I pulled my finger out again, and held it warily aloft from the rest of my hand, so as not to accidentally brush it.
Curiously, I scanned the room yet again, hoping to find some trace of cameras or trickery. It was still possible that this wasn't real. Though it certainly looks it. Light was beginning to rise outside; it spilled through the large, stained glass window in the wall to my left. Beneath this window were two, equally magnificent wooden doors; suits of armour stood to attention at either side. In front of me, a set of steps led downwards into darkness. To my right, a grand staircase led upwards – following the graceful curve of the banister, I could see that they led to many more floors above.
Turning around, I was met with another set of doors, though these were slightly ajar. Curious (and thinking that this could well be the way off set…if it was a set…), I started towards them. The sound of my booted footsteps echoed grandly around the cavernous hall; I half expected people to come running because of the noise. No one came though… I was perfectly alone in this strange, old ('ancient's' more like it!) place.
When I came to the doors, I peered through to see whether there was anyone there.
It was like looking at a movie set. But, it was like looking at the movie set of a film that had been shot when I was nary more than a twinkle in my parents' eyes. Harry Potter… It looked just like the Great Hall had done. There were four long tables running away from me towards the other end. A raised dais supported another table, with an ornate chair in the centre (that's where Dumbledore would sit), flanked by chairs, which decreased in grandeur the further away from the centre you looked. Above, the sky was a murky pinky-grey, heralding the arrival of dawn.
I choked, and clung onto the edge of the door. This isn't happening, I thought, though I wasn't convinced… Not convinced at all. "Well fuck me," I breathed, as an owl fluttered through one of the open windows above, and settled comfortably on the wide windowsill. There was something tied to its leg – probably a letter.
"Pardon me?" a curious voice made me jump, but when I turned around, the person's face was full of amused malice. I say person. I mean ghost.
Ghost? A ghost? What are you on about? There's no such thing as-
"You shouldn't be saying naughty words like that girlie!" the ghost – or whatever the hell it is – said, wagging a translucent finger and grinning madly. "Peeves' ears are burning, yes, flaming hot, see?" Peeves! I stared, transfixed, as the poltergeist from my favourite series of books turned his head to the side, and indicated translucent, ghostly smoke rising from his red, glowing ears. Suddenly, a shrewd look crossed his face, and he sank lower to peer at me.
"Who are you, girlie?" he asked suspiciously. I tried to answer, but couldn't. I'm going to be sick… "I don't believe you're a student. You're a strangie-wangie, aren't you? A spying menace, that's what you are!" Before I could force any words past the huge lump in my throat, he had sped off, shrieking, "Spies! Thieves! Murderers! In the Great Hall – get up you lazy scoundrels! Wake up!" There was an assortment of crashes and bangs as he no doubt wrought havoc on everything in his path. My state of paralysis ended abruptly, and I looked around for places to hide.
Why hide? I wondered, when I looked again at the doors beneath the stained glass window. May as well just get out of here! With apprehension, I left the safety of the entrance into the Great Hall, and bounded over to the doors. This time, I didn't worry about the noise I made – the pandemonium above served to obliterate the sounds of my footsteps completely.
As soon as I reached the doors, I grabbed the handle of the closest one and turned it viciously. To my relief (and surprise – surely security was tighter than this in the books?) it creaked open. The world beyond was still grey and gloomy; a fine mist hung in the air. It rushed in to meet me, and I shivered at the cold. However, needs must and all that… I have to get out of here! Assured that I'd made the right choice, I pulled the door open a little more, and made to step down onto the first step, and so begin my journey away from this madness.
There was a yell – I couldn't understand what was said – it wasn't English by any rate…
A burst of pain, followed by a sense of restraint. I toppled forwards, just about managing to twist so that I landed on my side rather than my face – surely my balance wasn't as bad as that, was it? I'd just been walking, and now I was sprawled down the steps! My head, which had been pounding before, now felt as though it was going to split in two down the middle. Ouch! Was the most intelligent (and coherent) thought that sprung to mind. Next, I thought, I hope my skirt hasn't ridden up…it'd be embarrassing to be seen wearing granny pants… Then, I felt a rush of panic as someone's shadow fell over me.
"And what have we here?" they murmured, betraying themselves as male. If I'd been shivering before, now I was positively shuddering; his voice was cool, calculating, and I didn't like it one bit. I found myself tongue-tied again and silently cursed.
As I was facing out across a swathe of grass and heath land (there was the shadow of trees in the near distance), it was possible that he hadn't seen my face yet. Banking on that, I closed my eyes, and hoped that he'd think he'd knocked me out. At least then, I'd have a little more time to think of a feasible alibi for being here.
But where is 'here'? There's no such place as Hogwarts, everyone knows that!
Do they? Contested the wheedling voice from earlier. I wondered if I was going mad…hearing voices…
Well, almost everyone. That Mr. Potter believed it exists…but… He's crazy! According to the press, an alcoholic, chain-smoking pervert with more porn than food in his house! At least…if what I saw piled under the coffee table was anything to go by, anyway… I had to stop myself from flinching when the man leant over me; fabric brushed momentarily across my face, and a small sound of surprise reached my ears. "Well…that's…unexpected," the man muttered; some of the iciness had left his tone, but it still made me feel very afraid.
Footsteps pattered on the flagstone floor, and another man huffed, "What is it Severus?" That'd be…Snape… Potions master. Played by Alan Rickman (how I adored him in that role) in the films… I mentally slapped myself for thinking such inconsequential rubbish, and blamed it on the blow to my head. The second man's voice lacked the coolness of the first man, instead sounding almost fatherly with worry. I preferred the second man's voice a great deal.
I felt the potions master step away from me. "This, headmaster," he answered shortly. I guessed he must be indicating towards me at this point. Headmaster? I resisted the urge to peek – I'd always assumed Dumbledore would look just as my favourite great-uncle had… The movie version didn't look anything like I imagined… What are you doing! Stop thinking about the movies and try and figure out what the hell is going on here! If this was a prank, it was a good one…
"Oh my," the headmaster replied, sounding shocked.
"She was trying to leave the school, so I had to restrain her," Snape explained.
"She seems to be bleeding," Dumbledore remarked. I am? Oh…well, no wonder my head hurts so much then… "We'd better get her up to the hospital wing."
"Sir, with all due respect, wouldn't it be better to…" the potions master trailed off. "Very well. We will need to keep her under close guard…"
"Indeed," the headmaster agreed at once. "But first, we will need to have Poppy attend to her head, and then, we shall ask her what she's doing here."
"What I'd like to know is how she got in…"
"So would I." One set of footsteps led away – listening hard, I could hear the buzzing of excited and agitated voices from inside. Evidently, Peeves had caused quite a stir…
Another snippet of the language I previously hadn't been able to identify issued from the potions master's mouth. This time, I found I recognised at least one of the spells… "Wingardium Leviosa!" I couldn't force away the image of 'swish and flick', and bit my tongue to stop myself smiling. I felt a strange sensation of weightlessness, with the support of canvas, or some other material, beneath me. Then, I was moving sideways, and rotating at the same time. With my eyes closed, the experience was quite disturbing – I felt as though I'd fall at any moment!
There was a crash as someone shut the door behind us. Hush descended. Even though I couldn't see them, I could feel eyes prickling on my skin. Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck! I thought, paraphrasing Hugh Grant's eloquence in 'Four Weddings and a Funeral'…or was it from 'Notting Hill'?
What does that matter? Concentrate!
The problem was, I just couldn't…it was like a physical impossibility. My back ached, my head hurt, I was, apparently, bleeding; and, to top it all off, I had obviously gone quite mad. And I thought running out of coffee this morning was bad… This thought was one that I found ridiculously amusing. I bit my tongue again, hoping to silence the giggle that just begged to be let loose. Intrigued mutterings had started from all those gathered in the entrance hall…
No such luck – my laugh exploded into the world with an unattractive snort, and, before I could even manage to open my eyes, the weightless feeling left me. Crap. I plummeted down onto the flagstone floor, and yelled as my head once again collided with hard stone. "Ow!" I managed, eyes snapping open; everything swam through the tears of pain clouding my vision. I made to reach up a hand to rub the back of my head, but found that it was restrained.
Looking down, I saw that I was bound, shoulder to knee, with coarse rope. Looking up again, I blanched when I found a wand levelled to get me right between the eyes. Tentatively, I flicked my eyes up to study the owner of the wand. There was no doubt in my mind who he was… Severus Snape, Potions Master, genius, git… The greasy black hair, the big nose, that rather terrifying snarl… I blinked in disbelief. And about ten years younger than I placed him… My train of thought ground to halt when the brandished wand moved slightly closer. All the chatter had stopped, and I felt many pairs of eyes trained on me.
Why, oh why did you open your eyes, you stupid girl? Demanded the wheedling voice, sounding scandalised and annoyed. You idiot. I closed my eyes again, wishing to erase what I'd just seen, and agreed – I was indeed blessed with great idiocy…
Something cool brushed against my forehead, and I opened my eyes once more, startled. The potions master had bent down beside me, and had the back of his wand-free hand pressed against my forehead. I stared at him, utterly confused. "Identify yourself," he whispered, apparently conscious of the huge crowd of people watching. I swallowed, opened my mouth, shut it again, and shook my head. Obviously, my eyes bespoke my desperation, and he didn't press the matter. Unable to tear my eyes away from him, I watched him stand up again, moving as lithely and gracefully as a giant cat.
Once more, he intoned, "Wingardium leviosa," and the feeling of weightlessness enveloped me for a second time. The muttering had started up again; I could see the dark-haired man frown, and was surprised when he addressed me again, so softly that only I would hear. "I would pretend to have fainted again if I were you." He cast a sidelong glance at me, and I manageda tiny nod. Then, I squeezed my eyes tight shut once more, and focused on calming myself down.
The stretcher bore me upwards, and I supposed that he was levitating me up the grand staircase, and towards the hospital wing. Having never taken the time to think about how long it would take to get there, I was surprised when we came to an abrupt stop only a minute or so later. "Snape," a man with a gruff voice greeted, and I felt a shadow pass across me.
"What?" the potions master asked shortly.
"Been attacking school girls again have we?" the first man asked mockingly. Snape let out an exasperated sigh,
"Just shut up and either help, or leave me be." There was a paused, in which the other man must have thought about the proposal.
"This'll probably be the most interesting thing that happens for a while, so I'll come with you."
"Damnit," the potions master cursed, the hint of a sneer in his voice.
"I never knew you cared!" the other man simpered. There was a thud, followed by an exclamation of "Oi!" from the new man, and then the stretcher started moving again. "No need to get violent now Snivellus!"
"So help me Black, if you don't shut up, I will make you!" Black! I had to almost literally force my eyelids to stay closed. But…hang on a second! If this is Harry's sixth year, then wouldn't he be…wouldn't he be…dead? This was just too weird.
Black didn't say anything else during the rest of the trip, and it was only the fact that I could hear two sets of footsteps that told me he was still there. Finally, we began to slow, and I heard a set of doors creak open. A woman cried out, and then a set of footsteps came pattering over floorboards, "Oh my!" she exclaimed, leaning over and pressing a hand to my forehead. "What on earth happened?"
"Nothing – Snivellus was just trying to feast on her blood," Black said off-handedly.
"For the love of Merlin, just go and roll in some filth, dog!" the potions master spat.
"Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" the other man taunted, parodying flirtation. I had the feeling they were about to come to blows, and was relieved when a serene voice cut through the bickering,
"Severus, I believe Poppy asked you a question?" Dumbledore had entered the room, and again I was straining against the urge to take a peek at what he looked like.
"Yes headmaster…of course," Snape conceded, sounding a little ashamed. Black didn't say anything. "Well, Peeves alerted us to the presence of a stranger in the castle; I was already on my way to catch an early breakfast at the time, so was already close to the entrance hall. When I got there, I found the front doors ajar, and this young lady attempting to flee. So, naturally, I restrained her so that we could ascertain-"
"You restrained her before you knew whether or not she was a threat. For all you knew, she could have been a student out for an early morning walk!" the woman bristled, now applying a moist flannel to my forehead.
"Poppy, I assure you, I knew at once she was no student of ours-"
"But you do admit that you were unsure of the threat posed by this young lady?" the nurse pressed hotly.
"…yes…but…" I'd never have believed it if I hadn't heard it with my own ears; the potions master and suspect for everything that went wrong in Harry Potter's world…stammering?
"So, you restrained what could well be a perfectly innocent young lady, injured her in the process, and you have the cheek to try and claim that this wound on her forehead is not your fault? Is that it?" I felt my heart go out to Snape, even though I didn't even know him. Even I felt a little intimidated by this woman, and she wasn't shouting at me.
"Poppy, I think that's enough," the headmaster decided softly. The nurse seemed about to protest, but thought better of it. "Now, if you would just patch up this young lady; hopefully, when she comes around, we will be able to question her."
"Headmaster?" it was the potions master again. For one, horrible moment, I thought he was going to give away the fact that I was, indeed, still conscious. Thankfully, I was wrong. "I do apologise, but, what with the current climate…"
"It's quite all right Severus – I don't believe there's any lasting damage, is there Poppy?"
"No…but I would hasten to remind Severus to be more careful in future." The nurse still sounded angry, but there was the feeling of a smile about her words.
"I believe he'll take that to heart," Dumbledore chuckled, before withdrawing from the room. I was still floating on the stretcher, and wondered what they were planning to do with me next. A sudden movement diagonally into the room made me feel a little queasy, and I held my breath as my stomach clenched in protest to this unexpected shift. Then, almost so gently that I didn't feel it, I was set down on a horizontal surface, which gave slightly under my weight, moulding around my body comfortably. A bed. I realised. So this is definitely the hospital wing then.
A strange civility had fallen between the woman and two men. I heard them speaking to one another, sounding strained as they kept their voices light and non-committal. Snape and Poppy discussed potions to heal the wound in my head (I still had no idea how big it was, though I did know it hurt a great deal), and Black dropped in the occasional comment or question on how he could help. I even heard Snape and Black share a joke as Poppy fussed around, wrapping bandages around my head.
I kept my eyes closed throughout, not feeling as though I wanted to answer any questions just yet. The surprise at finding myself in this place was beginning to wear off, as more and more remembered information from the books came to the front of my mind. Nothing seemed new or surprising, considering I knew much of what there was to know from the books themselves. Once the nurse had wrapped my head in bandages, she then lifted my head up, and pressed a glass to my lips. Knowing full well that it was an instinctual reaction to swallow, even in sleep, I drank what she gave me.
Whatever it was, it tasted foul! I frowned and gagged at the flavour, but when she tipped the container to my lips again, I was unable to avoid drinking the stuff. Bit by bit, as she slowly fed me (what I now knew to be a potion), the throbbing pain in my head subsided first to a dull ache, and then to a mere twinge. Evidently, this magical healing liquid was powerful indeed. Better than morphine, I thought, remembering the time when I'd dislocated my knee and had been fed the stuff from a canister in the ambulance. This potion, just like the gas, was making me feel drowsy.
Weakly, I fought against the sleep threatening to consume me. I needed to stay awake. I had to figure out how and why I was here, and how I was going to get back. That thought bought me back to the waking world for a few more seconds. Horror dawned in the pit of my stomach. How am I going to get back home? Then, the potion-induced sleep took me off into the land of nod, and I knew no more.
"No, don't!" Mr. Potter exclaimed, but I had already wrapped my fingers around the wand. A surge of warmth ran through my fingers, and a few red and gold sparks fizzled at the tip. The old man, who'd reached out to grab the box and its contents, allowed his arms to drop. "Well I never!" he whistled. "Looks like I'm not the only one with magic in this room." I dropped the wand back into the box and snapped it shut. Then, I thrust it towards him, shaking violently.
"No, there must be another explanation," I muttered defiantly, pulling the sleeves of my sweater so that they covered my hands…
I felt sick, as memories flooded into my mind, unbidden. The very idea that I was magical was one that I'd toyed with when I was younger. The world of Harry Potter seemed so very far-removed from my own. Magical, safe, a place where I could potentially be myself, without having to worry about impressions and social faux pas. I'd be so powerful that no one would contend me, but I would be good like Dumbledore, and would use that power to help people.
Of course, like all children, this was just make-believe; it kept me amused, and my parents were glad of it. They were both domineering people in business, using their talents to ensure that I'd never want for anything. I had toys, mountains of them, videos and games, the best nannies that money could buy, designer clothes, and, perhaps, most important of all (at least in my mind), an endless amount of books. So many books that I could lose myself in them for days and days, and hardly dent the stock of them in the dozens of bookcases around the house. They built up my already fruitful imagination, so that I could easily conjure characters and invisible friends from the air, to accompany me on adventures up the stairs or under the bed, in search of treasure!
This was all well and good whilst I was still little, but, as time wore on, I began to realise that these material things would not replace what I truly wanted. And what I wanted was my parents. How selfish, I know, when there are millions in the world who don't have enough to eat, and I'm surrounded by things fit for a princess! But, there it was – a long line of nannies had left me disoriented. Who was I supposed to cling to for comfort after my nightmares? Who could I confide in when the people at school realised my imagination and sheer drive to work singled me out from the rest, and so was shunned for it?
I had no one. Everyone in the books and stories had friends and family, and a happy ending. And I had none of it!
In the mind of a child, this just wouldn't do. So, whenever I could catch my parents at home between trips and meetings, I would demand that they spend time with me. Of course, they'd be tired, and the last thing they'd want to do was amuse a child. This incensed me. How dare they be like that to me! So, after months of boiling anger, punctured only once by my tenth birthday, which both of them made sure to be home for, I finally blew…
My mother had been home for about half an hour; she'd had a cup of tea and was now unpacking, exhausted, after a seventeen hour journey. I walked into my parents' bedroom, and pestered her to talk to me. She just told me to go and play. As per usual. So, the anger that had been collecting like floodwaters, finally burst the banks in a tidal wave of fury. I screamed, long and loud, in the way that only young children seem able to scream. Then, remembering half-snatched words from Harry Potter, and supplicating them with my own 'magic' words, I yelled 'spells' and 'curses' at her.
To my great surprise (and my mother's), the lightbulb in the lamp overhead exploded, sending glass shards everywhere. Then, in the darkness, I saw her go rigid, and then slump heavily on the bed, only to then slide onto the floor, completely still. I stopped screaming, and the silence rang in the room. My nanny (a Dutch woman by the name of Gwenda, who'd been tirelessly trying to teach me both Dutch and French), rushed into the room. She took one look at my mother on the floor, and one look at me, before calmly bending down and shaking my mother.
She wouldn't wake; I joined Gwenda, desperately shaking mother's shoulder and sobbing. "Wake up, wake up!" I cried as I shook her, but it was to no avail.
"Go get me the phone, little Lee," the nanny told me softly. "Your mother has had an accident, and will need an ambulance." Her mere calmness served to calm me as well, and I fled down the stairs to get the phone, and then ran all the way back, carrying the cordless handset with me. She took the set from me, punched in 999, requested an ambulance, and then informed the person on the other end that it was a heart attack.
The ambulance was there in record time, and they managed to resuscitate her in the ambulance. It had been too long though…her brain had been starved of oxygen. She was never the same afterwards…she could still walk, and perform major functions, but she had lost both her sight, and the ability to talk.
I did that to her; I cursed her…
Abruptly, I awoke, twisted in the sheets and dripping with clammy sweat. Shaking, I stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling with a sinking feeing in my stomach. Magic…not magic…I hate magic! I hitched in a breath, forcing myself not to cry in sorrow and guilt over the memory. I'd never had imaginary friends after that day, and I'd never had any adventures either.
Frustrated by the unfairness of it all (and the irony of being sent into a magical world), I kicked out with my legs, so that the sheets flew off onto the floor. Someone had evidently taken my boots off, because my feet were bare, and now cold in the nighttime air. Wow…I've been asleep for a long time! I heaved myself into a sitting position, and drew my legs up so that I could wrap my arms around my knees. My hair was sticking uncomfortably to my forehead, and I brushed it away distractedly.
A great snuffling snort sliced through the quite of the hospital wing. I jumped, and looked to my right, where someone was awakening in the chair next to the bed. It was Severus Snape, lifting his head from where it had been resting on the wall. He blinked a few times, and then his bleary eyes focused on me. Immediately, he seemed fully awake, and withdrew his wand. I felt like laughing; scoffing at him for being scared of a little girl with no magic.
Then I noticed the scorch marks on the few scraps of the curtains left on the other side of the bed. His eyes had flickered to them just before he'd gone for his wand. Oh shit! I thought; things like that happened every once in a while…whenever I had the dream about that day, in fact…
The black-haired man unfolded himself from the chair, and then padded around to the end of the bed, so as to look me in the face. I turned away, flustered under his gaze. I knew I must look awful – sweaty, hair un-brushed, and my make-up was bound to have run due to my tears. I frowned at the singed tatters of the curtains, wishing myself away from this place.
A square of white appeared in the field of my vision, luminescent in the darkness. I turned, to see that the potions master was holding out a handkerchief. Must be something common to the old days then – most people don't even carry the damn things anymore! I didn't accept it, and stubbornly looked away again. I chewed my lip and wrung my hands, wishing he would just get on with it and say something. Yet, he didn't speak; he just stood there, wand pointing vaguely in my direction, other hand limply clutching the handkerchief. He stood there, staring.
"Stop it," I said, mouth speaking without permission from my brain. Damn it.
"Stop what?" he asked, sounding amused. I wasn't.
"Staring at me."
"I'm not," he answered. Both my eyebrows rose at this.
"You've been looking at me for nearly three minutes, you haven't said anything, and I believe you've only blinked twice."
"Well, it's nice to know you realise I'm still here, considering you refuse to acknowledge me by looking at me," he returned, tone just as icy as mine had been. Confused and slightly enraged, I turned my head again and stared blankly back at him.
"Better?" I muttered.
"Much," he nodded, tone ponderous. "What's your name?" he fired, voice sharp (just as I imagined it would sound when he was teaching.)
"What does it matter, Snape?" I bit back, not feeling in the mood to play his game. I didn't want to be in this stupid place after all. He faltered for a moment, impassive mask slipping away to show surprise because I knew his name. Then, just as quickly as the mask had fallen away, it returned again. A calculating smile was on his face, and his eyes were narrow.
"Clever, very clever – I take it you heard Black call me that." I shrugged, and he lifted his wand a little higher, so that it was levelled at my heart. "I won't ask again; it would be easy enough to get some veritaserum; what's your name?" I knew I was beaten – the idea of being forced that truth-serum for something as paltry as my name didn't seem worth it.
"Lee," I told him, deciding that I would at least annoy him as much as he was annoying me. His mouth shrank to a thin line.
"Full name," he stressed. "I will be able to tell if you're not telling the truth."
"Shouldn't you really wait until Dumbledore's back before you interrogate me?" I queried, guessing that he wasn't supposed to be doing this. He paused again, caught out, but brushed off the surprise. He tried another tactic, and lowered his tone to a persuasive purr,
"Please, I would just like to know your name; mine is Severus Snape."
"I know." He looked ready to shout again, but contained himself.
"Your name; please." It was evident that I couldn't stretch the game out any longer. If I did, it was likely that he'd lose his temper completely… And I didn't want to find out what else he could do with that wand…
"Leonie Lucis," I murmured, averting my eyes to the ruined curtains. He nodded, satisfied.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," I answered, in spite of myself. A chilly silence descended between us. I made a point of looking at everything apart from him. He, in turn, took to studying me closely. I felt the urge to bend over the edge of the bed, pick up the sheets, and hide underneath them. I wouldn't, of course; that wouldn't look particularly good, or even normal. I had the feeling I might want to try and stay on everyone's good side for the moment. At least until I can get the hell out of here…
My head started to throb a little bit again, and I wondered if the potion had only been a temporary painkiller. From the corner of my eye, I could see that Snape's face looked calm, and his eyes glazed. Then, I physically recoiled as I felt a presence in my mind that shouldn't have been there. Panicking, I flailed out in my head, striking at it and driving it away. Leave me alone! The potions master gasped and his eyes cleared. He took up a duelling stance, and green sparks danced on the tip of his wand.
"How did you do that?" he demanded, voice shaking. I shook my head, not understanding. A spark flew from the end of his wand and died in the air. I panicked, and scrambled backwards in the bed, only stopping when I was pressed flat against the wall. I searched around for something to defend myself with, but there was nothing there other than a pillow. "How did you shut me out girl? Answer me!" he seemed insane now, and I shook my head helplessly.
"I don't know!"
"Tell me how you did it!" he roared, advancing, the wand still sizzling.
"I don't know!" I repeated at a scream, instinctively ducking and wrapping my arms over my head. When pain and death didn't follow, I dared to peek up at him. He was looming over me, wand dormant once more. The look on his face was unreadable.
"Evidently, there is more to you than we bargained for," he said musingly. I stayed as I was, ready to duck under my arms again at any moment. "Ah, headmaster," he looked over my head to greet the person entering the room. I wanted to look, but didn't dare move, in case the potions master attacked me.
"Severus," Dumbledore returned his greeting. There were several pairs of footsteps walking towards us, and I wondered who else was there. "Ah, I see our 'stranger' has awakened." I slowly bought my arms down, and relaxed, reasoning that Dumbledore at least wouldn't allow anyone to kill me in cold blood… Would he?
Dear reviewers (I'm not supposed to thank you, but, feh, I laugh in the face of yet another ffnet ban. Three years here has toughened me against all!) Thank you!
I would just like to advise everyone that potions master baiting is not to be tried at home! Lee is a highly trained specialist in this field and knows what she's doing – however, an untrained individual could cause themselves considerable harm. So please, do not try what you've seen today at home and thus keep the lawyers of my back! Thanks folks!
Lastly, be in awe of the obligatory 'tragic-past' snarks how I do love the cliches. Next chapter - more Bitchy!Snape baiting!