Elizabeth tapped the centre of the fixture, and the water pouring over her immediately cut off — none of the half-hearted dripping like from muggle showers, just a blink and it was gone, leaving the air thick with steam. For a moment she stood dripping, gripped her hair tight at the base of her head and slid out to the end, wringing it out, again and again and again, until water ceased dribbling over her fingers. Took far too long, damn shite was impossible. She tapped one particular tile, and the pink shimmery barrier blocking off the rest of the room vanished.
The showers in the dorms were really pretty neat. The surfaces were tile in black and green, though not the too-smooth fake-looking ceramic she was used to, but definitely carved stone, still with a bit of natural roughness to it. And there wasn't a normal shower head or anything, water just sprayed down from the ceiling across the whole space all at once, like a thick rain. And the controls were pretty neat too. There were tiles that had labeled little marks on them, tap on to turn the water on and off, or increase or decrease the water flow, raise or lower the temperature — it was the end of October, and it hadn't once gone cold on her yet, the water stayed how she set it. And that barrier was neat too, stopped anything in the other half of the room from getting splashed on, steam off the mirror. The stall was rather bigger than it really needed to be, but she thought she rather preferred it this way.
The shower in the muggle hotel she'd stayed at had been too small, she didn't like it — she hated feeling trapped.
Liz stepped out of the shower half of the room, the tiles in the changing half dry and warm against her feet. She glanced at herself in the wide mirror all along one wall — her eyes jumped to her scars for a moment, the complicated network of angry red lines switchbacking across her chest, like she'd gotten struck with lightning or something (Petunia had said they were from the car crash that'd killed her parents, but it must actually have been that spell that Dark Lord person had failed to kill her with) — before reaching for one of the towels hanging on the wall.
Her hand touched empty air.
The towels were gone.
A wave of cold tingles ran over her, head to toe, her heart crawling up her throat.
She could see most of the wall in the mirror, but she turned to look anyway. The whole rack was empty. They were all gone. There had been several towels when she'd gone in the shower, but they were—
Liz jumped, hard enough it almost hurt, turned back to the counter. Her clothes were gone. Her fresh change of clothes had been sitting right there, neatly folded on the counter next to the sink, but they were gone. Her old ones, abandoned on the floor, had also disappeared.
Her breath came shaky and thin, her chest almost too tight.
Someone had snuck in, while she was in the shower. With the water going she hadn't heard them, and she hadn't— She should have felt them, but she hadn't, she hadn't been paying attention. It was Hallowe'en, she didn't like Hallowe'en, not since she'd learned it was the day her parents had died — before she hadn't cared for it anyway, since it seemed to mostly be about eating sweet things, which were mostly disgusting, but now? Especially since it was the ten year anniversary of the end of the war, people had been being entirely irritating the last few days, and she'd maybe been moping a little bit, dreading the coming day, and she hadn't been paying attention...
She shivered — she was still wet and dripping, and she felt far too cold, and—
—his eyes on her skin like—
Liz let her breath out in a hiss, bit the inside of her cheek, her fingers clenching into fists so tight it hurt. No, she couldn't think about that right now — her potions were in her room — but the echo of it lingered like a bad smell, she couldn't get away, she tasted a hint of lemon and bleach, that damn sanitiser Petunia used on bloody everything, the phantom cloth of the sofa scratching at her bare—
No! Stop, it was fine! She was alone, there was nobody else here, she was fine! It wasn't the end of the bloody world, she just had to get to her room, they wouldn't have been able to steal her shite out of there, it was—
Just outside the bathroom was the circular room with the doors to all their bedrooms, open halls stretching into shadow.
No. No, she couldn't go to her room.
They wouldn't have taken the towels everywhere in here, she just had to go to one of the other rooms, just across the hall, it was fine, it was fine, it was fine—
(It would be over soon, it had to be over soon—)
Her vision swam with black spots, and Liz realised she couldn't breathe.
She leaned against the counter, she could barely make out her own fingers shaking, her chest was on fire, and she was shivering, she was so fucking cold, and her vision was just getting blurrier, and she was starting to get seriously light-headed, her ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, too full and useless, what little she could see of the room was swirling around her—
"Control yourself, girl, I don't want to hear any of that bloody whining—"
—she cringed as a line of fire was carved down her back and over her bum, and he pushed down harder on her back, holding her still, her face was pressed into the cushion, she couldn't breathe, she grit her teeth, it would be over soon, it had to be—
The tile was warm against her back, but she was still shivering, the air freezing against her wet skin, she thought her ribs might crack, her head was so stuffed full of fuzz it felt too full, like it was going to burst, she'd make an awful mess—
"Clean that up before you—"
—clutched her thin blanket tight around her, and the walls of the cupboard seemed to press in, the darkness thicker than usual, she pressed her face in to the pillow, she struggled to keep it in, Uncle Vernon hated it when she cried, she couldn't breathe, but that was fine, if she couldn't breathe she couldn't cry, they would leave her—
—a pounding on the door, and she didn't quite choke back a sob, Aunt Petunia was yelling at her to get out and get started on dinner, but it was too early, her back was still pounding and her throat burned with tears she couldn't quite hold in, she squeezed her eyes closed and wished she would go away, wish it would all go away, that she could just—
There was another knock on the door, but it wasn't harsh rapping from Petunia, or heavy thuds from Vernon, instead something soft and hesitant. And not just that, the sound was all wrong, none of the rattling in the frame, the metal of the vent clacking, the door sounded much firmer, thicker. She wasn't in the cupboard.
Ellie hadn't been locked in the cupboard for years. She knew that, she knew that.
"Liz? Are you okay in there?"
Liz. She was calling herself Elizabeth, now. She hadn't realised she could do that, just, decide to go by something else. She'd never liked Ellie, it had never quite sounded like a real name — she'd never heard of another Ellie — and sometimes when she heard it there was an echo of Petunia's sneering, of Dudley's simpering. Snape had called her Elizabeth Potter, handing over her timetable, and that sounded much better than Ellie, she'd used it every time she needed her name for anything, talking to the other kids, on her schoolwork.
Dorea had switched to using Elizabeth the quickest — they'd all grown up with the story of the Girl Who Lived, they were used to Ellie — and it hadn't taken her long to start shortening it to Liz. Liz wasn't quite as nice as Elizabeth, but it was still a whole lot better than Ellie.
It was Dorea, Dorea was on the other side of the door. (Definitely not the cupboard, but then it obviously wasn't, she hadn't been in the cupboard in years, she knew that.)
"Liz, do you need a towel?"
A towel... Yes, a towel would be good, she was still very wet, and it was so cold...
And she could get to her room. Right, she needed to get to her room, she could cover herself with the towel and get to her fucking room. Right. Right.
Unfortunately, she still couldn't breathe — she could barely see, her vision more black than colour, her head more fuzzy than brain — when she tried to say something, her mouth feeling numb and clumsy, nothing came out. She focused, tried to pull away from the echo lingering over her, like singling out a single memory in someone's head, focus, focus. She managed to force out a harsh groan, that almost maybe sounded like a yeah. Maybe.
"Just a second, I'll be right back."
Liz tried to suck in a breath, but barely got anywhere, her chest spasming, but by the odd little noise in the back of her throat her lungs must be doing something. Feeling all too numb, she could barely tell what she was doing, her limbs floppy and clumsy and useless, like her whole bloody body had fallen asleep, she tipped herself over, forced herself up onto her knees. Her hands shook almost too much, she nearly fell over, but she got one foot under her, leaning against the wall managed to unsteadily push herself up, slowly, slowly...
She'd managed to pull something in her neck at some point, she shuddered at the pain — and that shuddering apparently shook something loose, air finally slipped down her throat, sharp and cold and almost painful, but she sucked it in anyway, letting it out in a gasp. She forced a few more too thin breaths, her chest clenching and her throat burning with each one, but she focused, she made herself do it anyway.
Slowly, too slowly, the fuzz in her head thinned out, the black blobs in her eyes shrinking. They didn't go away all the way, but it was better, a little.
The echo of Vernon's voice running in her ears faded, the throbbing lines of fire criss-crossing her back cooled. They didn't go away all the way, but it was better, a little.
She wasn't in the cupboard, she was at Hogwarts, Vernon wasn't hitting her, Parkinson had just pulled a fucking prank on her.
It was fine, she was fine, she was fine, she was fine—
She twitched at the knock on the door, but the unexpected noise was helpful, drawing her way from the echoes, pulling her to the here and now. "I've got it, do you want me to just..."
Liz shuffled against the wall a little, moving to lean against the door. She fumbled with the handle for a moment — her fingers were still shaking, fucking useless — pulled it open, just a crack. She didn't have to say anything, Dorea stuck her hand through, a heavy bath towel held in too-pale, pink-tipped fingers. She snatched it away, slammed the door closed as soon as Dorea's wrist was out of the way.
Clumsily, her arms shaking, she wrapped the towel tight around herself, she knew the cloth should be soft, but she was oddly sensitive, it scratched at her shoulders and her back, under her chin and—
—the cloth of the sofa scratched at her bare chest, Uncle Vernon's hand heavy on—
Liz bit the inside of her cheek, hard, grimaced at the white flash of pain. She tasted blood.
With a last strained, thin breath, Liz pulled the door open. Dorea was standing there, in her uniform and ready to get to breakfast, her eyes wide, fingers tangling and untangling. She was worried, anxiety that tingled and sparked in her head, her heart seeming to flutter at the base of her throat and behind her eyes, she'd known Liz wasn't well, but she hadn't said anything, she hadn't wanted Liz to think she was, she didn't know, sticking her nose in or anything, didn't want to be rude or scare her off or whatever, but maybe she should have said something, if not to Liz than to someone, she'd obviously been crying, god, Dorea didn't think she'd ever seen Liz more than mildly irritated with anything, what did she—
Liz tore herself away from Dorea — it felt like ripping out her hair, she was too scattered, she could barely keep herself inside her own brain — teetered in the doorway for a second before tumbling down the hall, toward the sinks at the front, the door out into the rest of the dorm. Her hand was shaking too much, she was fumbling with the door handle again, her throat ached and her eyes stung, Dorea reached around her, and she stumbled into their year's circle. It was even colder out here, Liz gripped the towel tighter around herself, tried not to think about the fact that she was naked under this thing, her skin crawling, she stumbled toward—
Her door was open. Whoever had done this (Parkinson) wouldn't have been able to get in her room, but she must have thrown Liz's things through the door. That was...nice of her. She guessed. She could have just burned them...
(She should start locking her door all the time, even if she was only going to be in the shower for ten minutes.)
Liz slammed the door behind her. She loosened her grip on the towel a little, it slipped down—
—worked under the band, yanked them down—
Her desk drawer rattled, glass tinkling, she snatched out a familiar blue bottle. Her fingers were still clumsy and useless, it took a few tries to get the stopper off, she threw the whole thing back in one go. Calming potions tasted like lavender smelled, smooth and sweet, her tongue and throat tingling. She nearly choked, her chest almost didn't let it through, but she managed to get it down, and a second later...
A second later, Liz was far, far away.
Her chest and her throat still hurt, and she was still a bit dizzy, her vision blurry and her hearing fuzzy. But, for a blessed moment, a warm, drifting moment that seemed to go on forever, Liz was far away from here, far away from here. She felt nothing, nothing at all, a big soft blank, she couldn't even think, just drifted, floating away.
She came back to herself, slowly, bit by bit. Her throat ached, and she felt oddly tired, her muscles hot and jumpy, like she'd just gone running. But she felt fine, everything slow and soft and warm and, just...floaty. That really was the best word for it, floaty. Like nothing were quite real, like she were only half-here. Not nearly so far away as that first moment after taking it — it seemed to last...she didn't know how long, really, a while, but she knew it could only be a few seconds — but still a step removed, skimming along the surface of reality, a little bit of protective distance.
It was fine. She was fine.
For a few seconds, sitting naked on the floor of her room, back propped against her desk, Liz (calmly) contemplated the murder of Pansy Parkinson.
...
She'd almost certainly be caught. Bother.
But that didn't mean she couldn't get revenge. And she had the perfect idea.
Getting dressed took a little longer than it ordinarily should. For one thing, calming potions tended to make her a bit slower than usual, sometimes forgetting what she was doing halfway through doing it, but she had an added problem this time. See, Parkinson, and whoever she'd been working with, hadn't just thrown her things back across the wardline — she'd torn them up and doused them in...ink, that was probably ink. Two shirts, two pairs of pants and shorts. The ink would certainly wash out, but she didn't know if the elves who did the laundry (apparently?) would repair them, so, she might need to get new ones. Somehow.
She would be angry about this, if she weren't still floating from the calming potion. She wasn't angry, because she couldn't be, but she knew she would be if she could, which was sort of a surreal thought.
Thankfully, her school robes had been in her room, so they hadn't been ruined — she only had two of those, and they'd been much more expensive. With a bit of fumbling, she was dressed, had her bag packed up to go to the library after breakfast. She paused to stare blankly at the wall for a couple seconds, before collecting the two empty potion bottles too. She didn't have Potions today, but she'd have to track down Snape anyway, to get a refill. Hmm.
She spaced out for another moment, eventually shook herself. Right outside her door, she nearly bumped into Dorea — Liz hadn't realised she was still out there. Which, she probably should have, she could feel her through the door, she just hadn't been paying attention...
"Are you okay?" She really didn't look okay, her hair was a bloody mess and she still looked like she'd been crying, did she realise her robes were all crooked, what had happened before—
Liz squinted, shook her head, trying to ignore the little flashes of thought and memory dancing in front of her eyes. (It was hard to concentrate on not reading Dorea's mind when she was this floaty.) "Uh. I'm fine. I took a potion."
The twisty nauseating concern filling Dorea's head didn't really go away, but it did get...less sharp, she guessed. She didn't know, figuring out feelings was even harder when she could barely think straight. "You seem a bit... I mean, you just seem more out of it than usual."
Dorea had seen Liz take some before (she tried to ignore the shadow of those moments sizzling at the back of Dorea's thoughts), but only a little sip at a time. If Liz could feel one of her moments was coming on, it only took a little bit to stop it in its tracks, but that didn't work so well if she was already too far into it. She didn't think Dorea had ever seen her this soon after taking the whole thing. "Yeah, it was really bad, so I took more than usual. I'll be fine, I'm just kinda floaty right now."
For a second, Dorea stared at her, a hundred questions unspoken, some what had happened and if she was really okay or what she meant by floaty, or if Dorea should get a prefect or maybe Snape or just someone, because this was not okay and she didn't like it. But instead of saying anything, she dropped her bag, and started tugging at Liz's robes around the collar.
She knew that might annoy her, if she were capable of feeling annoyed right now. She mostly just felt absently confused. "Wha...?"
"You look a mess right now, Liz." Dorea yanked her tie loose, went about redoing it. "People already stare at you too much, we don't have to give them more reason to."
"Oh." Liz blinked. "Thanks."
"No worries." With one last jerk at her lapel, hard enough Liz nearly stumbled forward a step, she was done. Dorea smoothed the fabric of her robes down for a couple seconds before her hands retreated again, and she bent down to pick up her bag. "Let's get going, then."
Liz almost felt like she should say something, but she was too floaty to think of what.
፠
Once the hallway was clear, Liz slunk over toward the door, peeked around the frame inside. "Professor?"
Snape was standing in front of his desk, holding one of the little sample bottles up to the light. It did look a little funny, even from here Liz could see little flakes of something floating in the greenish liquid — judging by the vague bemusement drifting across the room, Snape wasn't even certain how whoever had made that one had managed to fuck it up that badly. "Miss Potter," he muttered, without glancing in her direction. "Did you need something?"
"I could use a refill, sir."
He replaced the sample in the rack with the others, a light sigh escaping through his nose. "Close the door."
Liz hesitated, but only for a second. She still didn't like being in a room alone with...pretty much any adult, honestly, especially one who had the same kind of mind magic powers she did. In fact, she refused to be alone with Quirrell — he'd asked her to visit him during office hours several times now, she still hadn't gone. But Snape was fine. He was hardly nice, of course, Liz didn't think he really had it in him to be nice. (Liz couldn't judge him for that, she hardly knew how to be nice either, when she tried it was awkward.) But he hadn't actually used his mind magic powers on her yet, and the potions were sort of great to have around if she was having a bad day, so. He was fine.
(The potion was definitely wearing off, enough she did actually feel a little uncomfortable, alone with him in a closed room, but it was fine, she was fine.)
Snape was slipping off toward the storeroom, so Liz moved up to the desk, pulled out her empty potions bottles and set them on his desk. He was only gone a few seconds — she suspected he had small stashes of calming and healing potions squirrelled away all over the castle, just in case anyone needed them — came sweeping back, another matched pair of bottles filled with the familiar light blue potion in his hand. The heavy glass met the wood of his desk with a low thunk.
He didn't lift his hand. Snape stared blankly downward for a long moment, clearly thinking about something. Liz couldn't say what it was, not without looking, but he must be having very serious thoughts — the heavy sharpness on the air suggested that much. Finally, he said, "Is there anything I need to know about, Miss Potter?"
"What? No."
"It's only been five days since the last time you came for a refill. That's the quickest you've used them yet, by a significant margin."
"Oh." Well, of course it was. Normally she'd only take a sip of the things every day or two, when she was having an especially bad moment. Going through a bottle in four days or so was a bit faster than normal, yes. And then, having to down a whole bottle at once practically first thing in the morning... She'd only had to take the whole thing once before, and that time the other bottle had lasted her rather longer. So, yeah, she wasn't surprised. "I'm fine, sir. I just...haven't had a great week. And this morning was terrible. But I'm fine."
With a slight suspicious edge to his voice, he drawled, "And you would tell me if you weren't."
"I would, sir." If for no other reason, he was giving her the potions. If he found out she was lying to him somehow, she had no idea if he'd keep cooperating or not. "It's just... It's nothing, one of the other girls pulled a prank is all."
It would hardly be the first time, Snape had to know that, though it was usually just jinxes here and there. Avoidable, and largely harmless when they weren't, if annoying. (And she knew what happened in Slytherin was supposed to stay in Slytherin, but Snape was part of Slytherin, so it didn't count.) Snape could probably even guess who it was, he wasn't an idiot.
"I just..." Liz hesitated, resisting the urge to bite her lip. "I don't think she realised how bad it would be? I mean, she doesn't know me that well, I don't think she meant to freak me out as badly as she did." Liz was still going to get revenge, of course, but she could admit Pansy hadn't sent her into...possibly the worst episode she'd ever had since she'd made Vernon stop, actually, Pansy hadn't done that on purpose. "I took a whole bottle. I probably didn't have to, necessarily, but I wasn't thinking about it, I just did it."
There was a flash of hot irritation from Snape — for Pansy, she assumed. He didn't say anything, but after a second his head dipped in a nod. He lifted his hand, picked up one of the bottles and held it out to her; she took it, slipped it into her bag. "And the other?"
...Oh. Okay. "That was nothing. People just..." Liz was silent a long moment, staring up at a corner of the ceiling, struggling over just what the fuck she could say. "I don't like Hallowe'en."
"Oh?"
"No. Everyone is being just... They won't leave me alone. It'll be better, once it's over."
Liz hadn't quite anticipated how much she would hate it here, sometimes. She didn't like... She was used to, just, avoiding drawing attention to herself as much as possible. Which did make sense, that she'd gotten into that habit, it was the sole practical form of self-defence she'd had at the Dursleys — a necessity, really, on a day-to-day basis — and she'd sort of coasted on with the same habits after it wasn't a problem anymore. She had her mind-control superpowers, but that didn't change much, really. Yes, she could have gotten anyone to do pretty much whatever she wanted, but all she really wanted was to be left alone — she didn't just stop people from being mean to her, she stopped people from being anything to her. In fact, there were some people she'd erased her existence from their minds completely. It was just...easier, that way.
But she couldn't really do that here. For one thing, magic people did notice it happening more often than normal people, so it was more of a risk to compel the other kids willy-nilly than it had been in Little Whinging. And there were adults to consider. She wasn't the only person around with mind-control superpowers — Dumbledore used the fake charms, but she was pretty sure Snape and Quirrell were both like her — and she'd been explicitly warned there would be consequences if she used them on the other students. She still had, a handful of times, but far away from professors, and she tried to avoid it. It wouldn't do any good to get back in the habit, after all.
She didn't know what the consequences would be if she were caught. Her baseline Dumbledore punishment was being sent back to the Dursleys, so, she had the feeling she didn't want to find out.
Forced to actually interact with the people around her, it hadn't taken her very long to find out she really didn't know how to talk to other kids anymore. Well, she hadn't ever, really — Dudley had seemed to make it his own personal mission to ensure she never had any friends, so she'd never really gotten much practice talking to people. When people did try to talk to her, she just...
Things to do with classes, and magic they were learning and stuff, that was fine, she could deal with that. There were facts she could use to frame her response when people did that thing where they left an opening for her to talk, real answers. When Dorea or Daphne wanted to complain about Pansy or Draco, or Hermione wanted to complain about Weasley (or Pansy or Draco), that was fine too — partially because they could go on for a while with very little comment from her, just venting in her general direction, and because the usual suspects really were quite irritating, Liz could usually think of something to contribute.
But normal conversations, with like...small talk and junk? Liz was terrible at those.
She did listen, when people around her were talking, but she never had any idea what she was supposed to say. Because, people would do that thing, where they'd fall silent for a moment, looking at her expectantly, because it was her turn, and she would just...stare, flounder for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly she was supposed to do now. (It reminded her unpleasantly of Petunia asking her what she'd forgotten, she'd thought she'd gotten to all her chores, she couldn't think of anything...) Most of the normal things, people talking about something just to be talking about something, it seemed like, most of those topics she didn't have enough of an opinion on to say anything. She didn't care, she just...
As the weeks had gone on, she'd increasingly drifted toward Dorea, Daphne, and Hermione (when Gryffindors were around), because they were the least difficult to get through a conversation with...though not quite for the same reasons. Dorea and Daphne had obviously noticed she had no idea how to hold a conversation — though the warm, queasy pity she felt wafting off them sometimes was just irritating — and Hermione could go on forever by herself with very little input from anyone, and she had about as much disinterest in the weird confusing things normal people liked to talk about as Liz. With Hermione, it was pretty much always class or book stuff, and that was fine, those conversations had actual answers.
(And most of the other Slytherins were annoyed with her for letting Hermione ramble in her general vicinity, which meant they were less inclined to try to talk to her, so, win-win.)
It might have been...tolerable, she might have learned to deal with it, if she weren't bloody famous. After the initial reaction to her being put in Slytherin — and being able to talk to snakes, and being generally creepy — people went back to paying far too much attention to her. Well, they'd never stopped paying attention to her, they just hadn't wanted to talk to her for a while, instead just...glaring and whispering, and occasionally lecturing at her over something incomprehensible she could safely ignore. Honestly, she would prefer going back to that. It hadn't been nice having everyone in the school hate her for reasons nobody could adequately explain to her, but it had been...familiar (nobody in Little Whinging had liked her anyway), and relatively unintrusive.
But now everybody wanted to talk at her again. Not most of the Slytherins, who still irrationally hated her for not irrationally hating muggleborns, or most of the Gryffindors, who still irrationally hated her for being a Slytherin, but everyone else. The Ravenclaws were at least relatively easy to deal with, most of the time — they tended to be very Hermione-ish, more interested in talking about magic and books than anything else, which, fine, she could do that. But some of them, and pretty much all of the Hufflepuffs, were just... They would just walk up to her and...
The things people expected her to have opinions about! Everything from the gossip floating around about someone's personal shite, to what the magical government was up to, to bloody fashion. There were things she was expected to have opinions about, and people who seemed to feel they were entitled to know her opinions about these things, because she was the Girl Who Lived and that's just how it worked apparently, all these little confusing and frustrating conversations she had forced on her all the time, and she wished she could just make them leave her alone, but she couldn't, and...
It was, just, exhausting. Sometimes, when she was sitting in the library studying with Dorea and Hermione, and Padma or Ernie or Hannah flounced up, flanked with their usual hangers-on, Liz wanted to scream with frustration, or just lay her head down on the table and quietly cry until they went away.
(But she didn't — she would quit that racket, and Uncle Vernon hated it when she cried.)
And this last week was especially terrible. Hallowe'en was coming up. Hallowe'en was the day it had happened, that the Dark Lord had (apparently) come to their house and killed her parents and LIz had (supposedly) resisted an unstoppable curse and destroyed him (somehow). It was the ten year anniversary, in fact — there had been big, special issues of all the major newspapers, commemorating the people who'd died in the war and the miracle that'd ended it, and there were celebrations going on all over the country.
And people wanted to talk to her about it.
They seemed surprised she had nothing to say, and didn't really want to.
They expected her to, what, like all this, to like being their bloody Girl Who Lived, and to have opinions about this stuff.
But she just wanted them to leave her alone.
She didn't have to say anything more than that. Probably for mind magic reasons, Snape seemed to understand immediately — and he seemed annoyed, somehow cold and sharp and hateful. Not at her, though, she could instinctively tell, something about it feeling too unfocused, so she didn't mind exactly, he could go hating other people if he wanted, she didn't care. (Especially if they were very annoying people.) After a moment he moved, silently offering up the second bottle to her.
As Liz tucked it into her bag with the other one, Snape said, "You may not want to go to dinner tonight. I expect the Headmaster to make a statement of some kind. You might find the debacle especially unpleasant."
"Oh." Liz blinked, then shrugged, resolving to make sure she actually ate a full meal at lunch, and probably a little extra just in case. (It wasn't like she was ever all that hungry to begin with.) "Okay, I won't be there, then."
"There is a door behind the Grand Staircase to the right. Take it down one floor, and take a right. Before long you'll see a large painting of a bowl to your left. Tickle the pear to open the door."
Tickle the pear? This castle sometimes, honestly. "Er, what's in it?"
"The kitchens. If you would prefer to have a quiet dinner on your own, perhaps with Miss Black, instead of braving the attentions of a school full of ridiculous children, I'm certain the elves will accommodate you. If anyone gives you any trouble, tell them you're there with my permission."
"Oh." That was...nice? of him? She had no idea what to say right now.
Snape's lips twitched, a tickle of amusement in the air. "A thank you would be appropriate, perhaps."
"Are you in my head right now?" She didn't feel anything, but he was a lot older than her, presumably had more experience with this mind magic stuff.
"I don't need to be. You project your emotions loudly enough it's hardly difficult to guess."
...Oh. That wasn't something normal people could feel, was it? Nobody had said anything, or seemed to notice, so probably not... "Er, thank you, sir. I'm gonna go now."
There was another tickle of amusement, strong enough she almost wanted to smile (almost). "I'll see you here tomorrow, Miss Potter."
It almost felt like there was something else she should be saying to him, but she couldn't think of anything, so she turned on her heel and walked out.
Hopefully that was the most difficult conversation she'd have to tolerate today over with. But she wasn't holding her breath.
፠
"Have you seen Hermione today?"
Evening was settling over valley, the grounds already in shadow as the sun dipped behind the hills — this day was finally almost over — and they'd just been let out of Herbology. Somewhat late, actually, the Feast would be starting in only ten minutes or so. Liz almost had to wonder if Sprout had held them late on purpose — the kids seemed more rowdy than usual today, they could hardly get into much trouble if they had to go straight to dinner from class. And most had immediately set off, laughing and chattering, back up to the castle and the waiting holiday celebration.
Liz and Dorea had lingered behind, just outside the greenhouses, the first step in her plan to get revenge on Pansy. (Millie had probably also be involved, and she'd get Draco and Theo while she was at it too, because fuck them, fuck all of them.) Dorea seemed slightly nervous — she hadn't told her what she planned to do, but she could probably guess from context, Liz could feel she didn't entirely approve. She was going to help anyway, because Dorea was like that, but her determination to stick it out didn't mean she was happy about it.
Most of the class had passed them already, the noisy crowd drifting toward the castle, when the Ravenclaw Patil, Padma, had reversed course to talk to them. About Hermione. For some reason.
"Er, no," Dorea said, "we only had class with the Hufflepuffs today, and I didn't see her at lunch."
Which was slightly odd, now that she thought about it. Most days, at mealtimes, Hermione would at least drop by to say hello, even if she didn't stick around very long — most of the Slytherins didn't exactly appreciate her presence, but sometimes Dorea would lead Liz off to sit at the Ravenclaw table with Padma or Terry, or at the Hufflepuffs' with Hannah or Sophie, if they were there Hermione would sit with them sometimes.
Liz suspected Dorea had started sitting at other tables more often specifically so Hermione could join them without their housemates freaking out over it like racist idiots. She even got Daphne and Tracey to come with them more often than not. (Which Daphne was fine with, she'd known most of the purebloods in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff since they'd been tiny, and clearly didn't give a shite if someone was muggleborn, which, like, half of the Hufflepuffs were.) Dorea was, clearly, much better at this making friends and talking to other kids thing than Liz was. Which was fine, Liz didn't mind being dragged along so much. It was slightly irritating, when people made a point of trying to include her in the talking bit, and frustrating, when she couldn't figure out what the fuck she was supposed to say...but people would just walk up to her and be annoying and confusing no matter what she did, it didn't actually make much of a difference.
If nothing else, people who spent enough time around her gradually came to realise she was flat awful at small talk, so, there was that.
Point was, they'd been at the Hufflepuff table today — they had Charms with them straight after lunch, had walked up with them after eating, Liz assumed that was why — and Hermione hadn't shown her face at all. Which was odd.
A flash of something sharp and tingly shot across the air — concern, more clear in Padma's mind than on her face. (At least, more clear to Liz, she wasn't great at reading facial expressions, too used to cheating with mind magic.) "She missed History today."
Liz snorted. At the flare of irritation from Padma, she said, "Well, it's History. Most of our class doesn't even go to History, and half of them are Hufflepuffs."
"This is Hermione, though. I don't think she's missed a session of History yet. Or, any class, really."
That...was a good point. The Slytherins had Potions, Defence, and Cambrian with the Gryffindors, and she hadn't ever noticed Hermione being absent. (She was always eager to answer questions and such, and her mind was especially noisy, she was hard to miss.) As far as Liz could see, Hermione actually liked going to class. Which was, just, completely incomprehensible, but other people were weird, Liz didn't make a point of troubling herself over why anyone did anything.
Padma's concern had spread into Dorea now. "Was she in Charms? You and the Gryffindors had it this morning, right?"
"Yeah, there was..." Padma winced, guilt slashing across her anxiety for a moment. "Ah, there was an...incident. Hermione ended up partnered with Weasley, and it didn't go well."
"What? How did that happen? I thought Weasley thinks she's some kind of traitor for hanging out with slimy snakes like us."
Padma shrugged, but didn't say anything, the guilt on the air getting thicker and sharper. Out of curiosity, Liz peeked into her head — not very far, just a little bit, like leaning around a mostly closed door. Her thoughts were kind of fuzzy at this distance, but she was pretty sure Padma was feeling guilty for sitting with someone else, that she was partially responsible for whatever had happened to Hermione.
Which was, just, silly. Liz assumed Weasley had been his normal jerkface self, she didn't see how that was Padma's fault. But okay.
"Anyway, apparently he said something nasty to her, I didn't hear what. Parvati said she's holed up in the bathroom, the one near Transfiguration, but, that was hours ago."
"Hmm." Dorea didn't say anything for a moment, frowning. "Well, if we see her, we'll make sure she's okay."
The conversation quickly wrapped up after that. Padma lingered for a moment, giving them a weird look, confused that they weren't making their way up to the castle with everyone else. Before too long she shrugged it off, turned and walked away.
"So, how are we going to go about this?"
Liz shrugged. "I figured I'd just walk around the greenhouses, hissing around until we pick up a couple." The greenhouses were enchanted to keep warm, which would probably seem very attractive to snakes in the fall — apparently, one snuck inside now and again, but they were found pretty frequently outside too.
Still feeling somewhat anxious, less than pleased with Liz's revenge plan, Dorea nonetheless nodded, stepped off the path into the bushes.
It took a couple tries for Liz to speak the weird magical snake language on purpose, but once she had it it didn't take very long, wandering behind the greenhouses, to gather several snakes toward her. Dorea cringed, an unpleasant shiver echoing off of her, retreated from Liz a bit, which... Now that she thought about it, Dorea had completely frozen up the only other time Liz had seen her anywhere near a real snake. Was she afraid of snakes? She could have said something...
After a bit of thought, Liz picked out the four most intimidating-looking ones. Three of them, she knew, were venomous — she didn't know how she knew that, she didn't really know anything about snakes, she just did. (Magic was weird sometimes.) She considered not using venomous snakes, but it probably didn't matter. Even if they did bite someone, they were in a bloody magic castle, with bloody magic healers all over the place, they'd be fine. Especially since it was, like, annoying venomous, not quickly drop dead venomous. She had no idea how she knew that either, magic was weird.
Now they just had to get the snakes into the jerks' rooms.
...
Dorea was going to hate this.
፠
"You know, I was thinking."
Liz turned to Dorea, walking at her side, trying to not frown at her. Dorea had just helped her with her revenge plan, even though she really hadn't liked it — her mind had gone all weird and spiky and gross, Liz had ended up cramming three snakes into her robes, since just one seemed like more than enough for Dorea. Her head had mostly gone back to normal now. The shower had helped, her hair was still wet, face looking somewhat less pale than usual, pink still in her cheeks from the heat.
Her head had gone back to normal, at least, but it was doing something funny now. Sparking with nervousness, she thought, but very mild, it was hard to tell for sure. Not that Liz could guess what she had to be nervous about, the snakes were gone now. Well, in Pansy, Millie, Draco, and Theo's beds — they'd cracked open the doors, Liz told the snakes to crawl into their beds and wait there — but not with them, anyway.
She waited a few seconds for Dorea to say something, but she didn't. "Okay, and what is that?"
"We're going down to the kitchens instead of going to the feast, right?"
"Yeah." Honestly, Liz was slightly surprised Dorea had volunteered to go with her. She hadn't even asked, just said what she was doing — she'd assumed Dorea would want to go to the super special holiday thing with everyone else. "And?"
"I think we should bring Hermione with us."
Liz paused in the middle of the hallway. They were most of the way out of the dungeons now, the staircase ahead had a orange-yellow glow to it, the lights from the Entrance Hall bouncing down. She could even hear the low noise of distant chattering and laughing, they were somewhat late — the meal supposedly didn't actually start for another ten, fifteen minutes, but they'd been told to come early, practically the whole school should already be in there.
Hermione was probably in there too. With all the normal kids, whose parents weren't dead or in prison.
"Why?"
An odd, awkward shiver shook the air, didn't know what to call that. "She just... I don't know. I think she would appreciate being invited. I get the impression people don't like her very much."
Well, if Liz was being honest, she didn't particularly like her much either. But then, she didn't really like anyone much, did she? Hermione had a better interesting-to-annoying ratio than most people, so Liz didn't really mind having her around, but... "If you want to ask her along, that's fine, I don't care. Wouldn't she want to stay for the special holiday feast thing?"
Dorea shrugged. "I'll ask, in a way that makes it clear that saying no is an option. If she stays, she stays." She was talking casual enough, her face mostly expressionless (so far as Liz could tell, anyway), but that weird awkward shiver, those tingles of nervousness, it'd all gone away.
Had Dorea been worried Liz would, what, get annoyed with her just for asking? That was kind of bloody weird, but okay...
While Dorea went into the Great Hall to get Hermione, Liz waited outside, lingering near the bannister at the base of the Stairs. People were stupid about the Girl Who Lived thing, and it was the ten-year anniversary, people have been being fucking irritating all day. If she went in there, people would stare at her, and she'd rather just not, okay. Even the few stragglers wandering by, pointing and whispering, were bad enough. She really wished people would stop bloody doing that.
(She could feel their eyes on her skin like ants.)
Liz was still waiting, what had to be a few minutes. (She didn't have a watch.) What the hell was taking so long? It wasn't like Hermione was hard to find — her big bushy hair was pretty distinctive. (It was nearly as bad as Liz's, though not as thick and just really, really frizzy.) Eventually, after far longer than she could possibly have needed, Dorea slipped back out the doors, alone. Hermione must have said...
Liz frowned — no, something was wrong. A wave of hot tension ahead of her, Dorea was walking all stiff and quick, her face back to its usual too-paleness. "What is it?"
"You know, I fucking hate Gryffindor." Dorea swept past her, storming up the stairs, Liz scrambled to follow her. "Apparently, after Weasley made her run off crying, like the total arse he is, and she locked herself in the bathroom, nobody thought to even go check on her! Nobody's seen her for hours, and they just left her there!"
Well, Liz couldn't say she was particularly surprised. Kids were cruel and terrible, Liz had been very familiar with that idea by her second year of primary, and from what she could tell Hermione didn't really get on with any of the other Gryffindors. Honestly, tracking down some crying kid and trying to...what, get them out and...whatever it was Dorea expected them to do, that sounded awkward and confusing and terrible. She certainly wouldn't want to do it herself, that sounded like far too much...effort, she guessed, for someone she didn't really care much about, for something that didn't really seem that important — what did it really matter if Hermione spent the whole day crying in a bathroom by herself, it wasn't like she was getting hurt or anything.
Liz had spent quite a lot of time crying (or trying not to) in her cupboard by herself, after all, and she was fine.
But she didn't feel like arguing about it, so she just followed along. Dorea would probably do all the awkward talking anyway, so.
They ascended through the castle in tense silence, Dorea's head all hot and sharp and worried and angry, Liz following along in her shadow, wondering how long this would take. (She didn't know how long the elves would have dinner sitting around down there, and she really should eat something — she'd barely had a couple bites at breakfast, too floaty from the calming potion to feel hungry, and she hadn't had much at lunch either.) Dorea must have been told where to go by whichever Gryffindor she'd been talking to — their Patil, probably, Padma had mentioned she'd said something about it — because she went straight to the girl's bathroom just near the Transfiguration classroom, on the second floor. She barged in without slowing, the door slamming against the opposite wall.
There was a thin, muffled squeak from somewhere inside the room.
Dorea paused for a moment, her fists clenched at her sides, taking slow, deep breaths. Trying to control her anger at Hermione's housemates being completely useless, she guessed. It didn't really go away, a smouldering fire at the back of Dorea's head, but her voice sounded soft and normal, at least. "Hermione? It's Dorea and Elizabeth. Are you in here?"
Hermione didn't answer. She was there, Liz could feel her, the familiar electric feel of her hyperactive mind shot through with fear and embarrassment. Which was sort of confusing, what did Hermione think they were going to do to her...
Calling for her again, Dorea walked further into the room. When there again wasn't an answer, she held her hair to the back of her neck, leaned over until her head was practically upside-down, peering under the door of the first stall. She straightened again, started moving for the next stall — and then, something odd and fuzzy shooting through her head, like static suddenly taking over the radio, she teetered, stepped back to lean against one of the sinks, one hand covering her eyes.
Liz watched her for a moment, frowning to herself. That was...weird. She'd thought before, that Dorea didn't seem...entirely well. She didn't know what was wrong with her, exactly, but she was almost as thin and tiny as Liz — a bit taller, but with much more well-behaved hair, Liz actually took up more space most of the time — and she always seemed just a little too pale. She didn't seem to have any trouble with all the stairs...or, no more than most of the other kids, anyway, but... She didn't know, Liz thought there was something. This was the most obvious off thing so far, though she couldn't say exactly what that'd been. Just...
It was just weird, that was all.
Holding in the urge to sigh, Liz walked up to one of the stalls, toward the far end of the row. She turned back to Dorea, and pointed at the door.
Dorea had recovered from whatever that little episode was — there was still a little bit of static in her head, but she was actually looking at her now, her gaze mostly steady. She stared back at Liz, brow tilted in an uncertain frown.
Liz rolled her eyes, nodded at the door. Then she stuck her hands in her pockets, and slunk away, leaning against the wall.
Hermione did still try to pretend she didn't exist, but it was rather hard to do when Dorea was standing there knocking on the door of her stall, being all nice and asking her if she was okay and everything. (Well, that wouldn't have made a difference to Liz, but it clearly did to Hermione.) Dorea did manage to talk her out of there eventually, though it took a bit of wheedling, and a couple times turning to Liz like, Isn't that right? to which Liz just stared back at her, not entirely certain what she was supposed to be saying. Just that, no, she didn't hate Hermione, Weasley and the rest of her housemates were just jerks, that didn't seem to be quite what Dorea was looking for, but she didn't really have much better than that.
Even after getting Hermione out of the stall, they apparently couldn't just leave quite yet. Dorea helped Hermione clean up first — which, she did kind of need it, her face was all blotchy and runny, her hair somehow even more of a mess than usual. And then there was more talking, which Liz mostly ignored. She didn't have anything to say, didn't know what she was supposed to say, and Dorea seemed to have it handled. She wasn't even certain why she was still here.
Hermione kept giving her odd looks, feeling something odd and cool and...shifty, that Liz couldn't quite put a name too. Probably wondering why Liz was here too.
(Well, if she was being perfectly honest, she did know why she was here. Just following Dorea up had seemed like the thing to do, even though it was the exact opposite direction from food. And she'd stayed because she did give at least a little bit of a damn about Hermione, would rather her not be miserable. She just had no idea what to say to help her not be miserable, so it was better if she just stood in the corner and kept her bloody mouth shut.)
Eventually, Hermione realised they were supposed to be at the feast right now, seemed right devastated that she was late for something. (It was actually sort of funny, but Liz managed not to laugh at her.) And Dorea finally got around to asking if she wanted to go down to the kitchens with them. So that was settled, then.
Liz led the way out into the hall, Dorea and Hermione following a few steps behind her, still muttering to each other. Setting toward the Grand Staircase on autopilot, she frowned. "Do you smell that?"
"Probably Dungbombs," Hermione said, with an exasperated sort of exhaustion. "The twins love those damn things..."
She was briefly confused — the only twins she was at all familiar with were the Patils, who didn't exactly strike her as the type to be into playing with that sort of thing — before she realised Hermione meant the Weasley twins. She had heard of the Weasleys by now, mostly from other Slytherins complaining about them, but that one (irritating) conversation on the train had been her only real interaction with them so far. "That doesn't smell like Dungbombs, really." Less shite, more kitchen trash left out too long...
"Well, maybe—" Whatever Dorea was about to say was cut off as they rounded the corner and stumbled into the ugliest fucking thing Liz had ever seen.
A huge bloody thing, three or four metres high, greenish-grey mottled skin, legs thicker than Liz's entire body, a flat, tiny little head, with long gorilla-ish arms, dragging a huge roughly-shapen club... Was that a mountain troll? What the fuck was a troll doing in Hogwarts?!
Liz didn't pause to think, or even take too long looking at the thing. (It was fucking gross, and it stank, she kind of didn't want to be anywhere near it.) Throwing everything she had into it, all her will narrowed into a single, piercing point, fizzy electricity on her tongue and rainbows behind her eyes, she commanded, "Sleep."
The troll grunted, its tiny eyes rolling back into its tiny skull. It teetered back and forth for a moment, before abruptly collapsing, with a heavy thud that shook the floor under Liz's feet.
Well. That was easy.
Liz waited a moment, staring at the huge, ugly, smelly thing, until she was certain it was staying down. She glanced over her shoulder — Dorea didn't look well, suddenly pale and sweaty, even leaning against Hermione, the taller girl supporting her with an arm around her waist. And they were both staring at her, wide-eyed and terrified and stunned. And increasingly confused, as the danger passed as soon as it'd arrived, silently wondering what the hell just happened.
For the blink of an eye, Liz considered making them both forget what they'd just seen. But she kind of didn't want to mess with Dorea's head like that — not to mention, she spent more time with Dorea than anyone else, it was probably inevitable that she'd find out about the mind control superpowers eventually — and if she just did Hermione, Dorea would know, and Liz really doubted she'd approve. She'd probably be insufferable.
Fuck, this was going to be a pain...
፠
"How did you do that? With the troll."
Liz sighed, jabbed irritably at her ice cream. For a little bit there, she'd almost thought she'd avoided having to answer any questions.
The kitchens, Liz had quickly decided, were kind of neat, and preferable above the Great Hall as a place to eat dinner on this particular day by a significant margin. In was bare of any real decoration, plain stone, ceramic, and iron — well, probably not iron, but a rough metal of some kind — in greys and blacks and whites, with a bunch of familiar-but-unfamiliar things she assumed were the magical equivalent of stoves and fridges and somesuch. She'd never actually seen a magical kitchen, when she thought about it. Just by watching the elves go at it, it was pretty obvious what the various fixtures were for, even if they looked little like what she was used to, so the whole thing was an odd blend of alien and familiar.
And there were the elves themselves, of course. She'd been aware there were elves at the school, who took care of all the cooking and cleaning and stuff, though she knew very little else about them and hadn't seen one until today. They were odd little things, the tallest of them maybe topping her elbow — and Liz was short, it was ridiculous — making them even shorter than goblins, though they were smaller, long-limbed and slender. Also sort of like goblins, their minds had a sort of...metallic hardness to them, but where goblins had felt sharp and sturdy, the elves were smoother and...sparklier, a constant glimmery energy, like lightning running through their veins, it was kind of interesting.
Though they didn't look at all like goblins, really. The elves had smooth skin a sort of greenish-grey, long floppy ears, and eyes that seemed far too large for their skulls, irises twinkling in all colours of the rainbow. Their proportions seemed slightly off in general, heads too big and limbs too long, but it was probably most noticeable in their fingers — stick-thin and far too long, she thought they might even have an extra joint in them, it was actually vaguely creepy. They kind of reminded her of the aliens in some of those silly comics Dudley liked, really.
They had cheerfully greeted them when the there of them had walked in — which Liz hadn't expected, weren't students not supposed to be here? — their enthusiasm kicking up a notch when they realised it was the Girl Who Lived. Ugh. Thankfully, the elves were a lot less annoying about it than most people. There had been a lot of high-pitched chittering and babbling, the hyper little things practically dancing in place, but after squirrelling them away at one of the tables and setting out some dinner for them, the elves had retreated, darting off with too-fast, bird-like grace, leaving them pretty much alone. Which was nice of them.
(Though the elves were making her feel a little weird, she couldn't put her finger on why.)
Anyway, through dinner, Liz had just quietly ate, while Hermione interrogated Dorea about house elves. Dorea had mostly grown up in the muggle world, but she'd spent some time on the various old Black properties with her magical great aunt (apparently the last Black left), so she'd met a few elves before. Apparently, the ancestors of modern house elves were a sort of common forest elf — those weren't around anymore, they'd left Earth with the rest of the fae centuries ago — who had been captured by ancient goblins and, through a combination of blood magics and selective breeding, converted into a sort of servant class. Most house elves still lived with the goblins, in fact, though they also did a fair amount of metalwork and glasswork, the tiny fine delicate stuff, not just the cleaning and such. (Apparently, the goblins respected the elves for their talents quite a lot, they even held important positions in certain crafting guilds, the relationship between the two races within their society was actually far more complicated than just a master–slave sort of thing.) The elves in magical society had originally been captured by humans during the various wars with the goblins, and forced to serve them instead.
Though, apparently, the situation in the modern day with mages was also more complicated than just a master–slave sort of thing. There was a lot of babbling about needing to tie themselves to external magic so they didn't blow themselves up (for some reason?), stuff about fae being magically bound to any promises they made in a way humans were not (all fae were simply incapable of lying for that reason, which was kind of neat), it was all very complicated and Liz didn't really follow much of it.
Hermione clearly felt uncomfortable about the house elf thing, which was a little weird. They seemed perfectly happy to her — almost annoyingly cheerful, actually. Liz didn't entirely understand what the problem was.
After clearing away the dinner stuff, one of the elves — Nadsy, one of the more steady once, without so much of that bouncing energy, Liz suspected she was a little older — informed Liz they had her ice cream, if she wanted. Which, that was weird, that they had her ice cream, where had they even gotten that? Apparently, it wasn't at all unusual for them to go out and get special things, things they couldn't make themselves. They normally made the ice cream they served, but since it was Hallowe'en, an important but less than pleasant day for Liz and all, after lunch one of the professors had recommended they go to Fortescue and ask what she liked. They'd bought a tub of the stuff from him, and one of them had tasted it, so they could make more of the stuff now whenever. (Elves could figure out how to make anything just by tasting it, which was really neat.) They could add that to the ice creams they usually made from now on, special to sent up to the Slytherin table, if she liked.
Of course she would like, that sounded great. But she had to ask who had suggested they do all that, and Nadsy, with a tone of well obviously, who else would it be, had said it was Snape. Which wasn't at all unusual, he made dietary requests on behalf of his Slytherins all the time. Looking after them was his job, after all.
Liz was entirely blindsided, shocked into silence for a few long seconds. Dorea and Hermione looked just as surprised as she was, and why shouldn't they be, that was just bloody weird.
But anyway, she had her ice cream now — and it was great, she'd forgotten how good this stuff was. (The other girls had both tried a bite, and Hermione thought it was fine, not great but fine, and Dorea said it was awful, so, Liz continued to be weird.) Hermione had finally exhausted her questions about house elves, and traditional magical Hallowe'en-related stuff, so apparently now was the time to interrogate Liz about her mind-control superpowers.
Awesome.
Liz didn't answer right away, moodily glaring down at her ice cream, so after a couple seconds Hermione added, "I mean, it wasn't a normal spell — I've never heard of anyone casting spells in English, and you didn't even draw your wand. And, aren't trolls magic-resistant? I'm pretty sure sleeping charms don't even work on them, at least without seriously over-powering it, and we're far too young to do that sort of thing."
Taking another bite of ice cream, Liz drew it out for a moment, taking longer to chew an almond than was even close to necessary. She sighed. "It wasn't a normal spell. I can... Well, I call them mind-control superpowers. The first time it happened it was a dog, but I can do it with people to. And trolls, apparently." She was kind of rambling, and she didn't know what else to say, so she interrupted herself with another bite of ice cream.
Hermione's head was sparking like crazy, filled with far too many questions to decide which one she wanted to ask first. There was an odd, chilly sinking feeling from Dorea — sort of fear-adjacent, Liz thought, but not quite the same thing. Like, wary, or intimidated or something. "You're a legilimens."
Liz nodded. "Yep. Though, I didn't learn that's what it was called until a couple months ago."
"What's a legilimens?"
With some visible effort, Dorea pushed back her own discomfort enough to answer Hermione's question. "Ah, one of the primary branches of magic involves the mind, observing and altering it. Legilimens are people who have a natural talent for mind magic, sort of like metamorphs for transfiguration. Though, they're not quite so rare as metamorphs — Professor Snape is a legilimens."
"So's Quirrell."
Dorea frowned. "Really? I hadn't heard that."
Nodding, Liz said, "He keeps trying to read my mind, pretty much every time we're in a room together. I haven't noticed him using it on anyone else, just me."
Liz had absolutely no idea how to interpret that feeling — something hot and tingly and squirmy and... Offended, concerned, maybe? Dorea was annoyed that Liz hadn't told her about it, and worried over Quirrell, she thought. But of course she hadn't told Dorea, that would require explaining she had mind-control superpowers in the first place, and she hadn't wanted to have this conversation, if possible not ever. Whatever it was, Dorea brushed it off. "Right. Well, if you ask around, you'll learn the Dark Lord was infamous for it, but it's not, like, a Dark Arts thing. The Headmaster is a legilimens too."
"No, he's not."
With a mix of exasperation and confusion, Dorea asked, "Isn't he?"
Liz shook her head. "He's mastered the charm, but it's not the same thing. It feels different."
"It...feels different?" That was far easier to interpret: concern, touched with the building heat of anger. "Dumbledore legilimised you? When?"
"First time we met, back in August."
There was a bit of surprise and confusion from Hermione, and she opened her mouth to ask a question — probably hadn't known Liz hadn't known Dumbledore before Hogwarts, they'd never actually talked about that before — but Dorea got there first. "He legilimised you the first time you met? Why?"
Liz shifted in her seat, jabbed irritably at her ice cream some more. She really didn't want to talk about this. But, well, if Dorea was being angry over Dumbledore reading Liz's mind, she wasn't being weird about Liz being able to read Dorea's (though she didn't, most of the time, and really, the charm was a lot more invasive than true mind magic). So, she could either talk about running away to Charing and being caught by Dumbledore, or she could talk about her mind-control superpowers.
She bit her lip to stop herself from cursing out loud.
"I ran away from home, back in July." Hermione gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, and Dorea felt equally shocked, though she wasn't showing it much at all, her eyes just slightly wider than they'd been a second ago. "I'd just gotten my Hogwarts letter, I hadn't known about the magical world before that, and I found out my parents left me some money, and I thought... Well, I could live on my own, I didn't have to..."
Liz sighed, sticking her spoon into her ice cream, and pushed the bowl a little away from her — her stomach had gone all...churny, she couldn't eat anymore. "I'd been staying in a hotel room in Charing for a few weeks when Dumbledore turned up, asked what I was doing there on my own. When I wouldn't tell him, he read my mind to find out for himself. Gave me a hell of a headache doing it, and then lectured me about using mind magic on people, hypocritical bastard..."
"Why did you run away?" Dorea asked the question slowly, hesitantly, as though she wasn't certain she wanted to know.
Hermione, on the other hand, practically spat out, "Oh my gosh! I had no idea, are you okay?!"
Liz sighed. "I'm fine, I just don't get on with my family very well. They don't, like, hurt me or anything—" Not anymore, at least. "—it's just... Well, I have the money my parents left me now, and I thought, you know. Dumbledore brought me back and... I'm fine, is what I'm saying, don't worry about it."
Neither of them seemed to particularly believe her, but they both seemed to decide to drop it. (Or, perhaps, they were as uncomfortable talking about this as she was.) After a moment, Dorea said, "And you still have your mind-control superpowers."
Dammit. "Yeah, there's that. Even if they tried to do anything to me, I'd just stop them, anyway."
"And you...can do that?" Hermione cleary didn't like the implications of what she was asking, but this was Hermione, she couldn't not ask a question — there was more than a little fascination threaded through that uncomfortable mess in her head, because of course. "Just, make people do things."
"I mean, I don't," Liz said, lifting her shoulders in an awkward shrug. "I can, it's not even particularly difficult, but... People can tell when I do it, if I'm not careful or if I do something too big, and...well, I didn't want to have this conversation, and... I don't want people to be weird about it, you know."
One of Dorea's eyebrows ticked up. "You never use legilimency at all." It was clear just from her tone of voice that she didn't believe her.
"Well, a little, but I can't really control that. I know what everyone around me is feeling all the time, but that's, just, automatic, I can't turn it off." She could, kind of — she pulled herself in during Defence, to protect herself from Quirrell — but it'd be exhausting to do that all the time. "But I have to, like, get closer to tell what someone's thinking, that's not really the same thing. Like, people's emotions kind of waft off of them, like steam or something, but the thoughts stay inside, if I want to see those I actually have to look. I might do it on accident, if I'm really tired, or just not paying attention to what I'm doing, but I'm not going around reading people's minds all the time.
"Though, er..." Liz hesitated, wondering if admitting this was really a good idea. If she said something that she clearly didn't want to admit to, they might be more likely to believe she was coming clean about everything, but she wasn't certain it was worth it. Well, might as well try. If they reacted too badly, she could always wipe their memory of this entire conversation. She didn't want to do that, but... "Honestly, I do read your minds sometimes. I'm not, like, going trawling through your memories or anything, just, if you're saying something, and I don't really know what you're talking about, I'll take a peek quick to figure it out. I don't go in very far, just check the stuff right on the surface, you know. Just, I don't really get people, a lot of the time, and I get confused really easily. It helps."
If she had to put a word to it, Hermione seemed envious — she'd noticed Hermione was terrible at getting along with other kids their age too, probably wishing she could do the same thing. Dorea seemed far more uncomfortable with even that minor invasion of her privacy, but there was a bit of reluctant amusement too, her lips twitching. "You mean, you've been using legilimency to cheat this whole time?"
"Er, sort of, I guess."
"Liz, you're terrible at talking to people."
She shrugged helplessly. "I can literally be watching every single thing someone's thinking and feeling, and not understand them at all. Being able to read people's minds helps, but I'm still a freak, so."
Inexplicably, Hermione seemed offended, puffing up in her chair a bit. What the hell had she said? "You're not a freak, Liz, you shouldn't call yourself that." Oh, offended on her behalf, right.
"I kind of am, though," she said, shrugging again. "People tend not to like child legilimens much, sort of a creepy devil-child thing. And well, admit it, Hermione, you do find me sort of creepy sometimes. You're polite about it, but I know what you're feeling even if you don't say anything."
Hermione flushed, embarrassed over some of the...less flattering things she'd thought of Liz in the past — Liz had seen some of that too, of course, since she did peek a little, but Hermione probably didn't realise that yet and Liz wouldn't be pointing it out.
"Is that why you don't get on with your family, they think you're creepy?"
Liz winced. Dammit, why did Dorea have to be so perceptive, that was just annoying. "Ah, something like that, yes. I was a bit weird even before it kicked in, so, yeah, kinda." Or, more accurately, they'd known she was magic and were trying to somehow keep her down and helpless. Which was fucking stupid — if she were dealing with someone who'd get ridiculous magic powers at some point in the future, she'd try to make certain they liked her, so wouldn't be motivated to use them against her — but, Dursleys, stupid was expected. "Anyway, are we still good? With the legilimens stuff, I mean."
"What do you mean?" Hermione said, frowning to herself a little.
"You're not, like, freaking out on me, or...I don't know, gonna run off and tell everyone about it, or something."
"Of course not!" Again, Hermione seemed a little offended, which was just fucking baffling — Liz really didn't get people most of the time. "I mean, it is kind of...not scary, exactly, just kind of a lot, you know what I mean? But it was something you were just born with, right? And, well, it's not like you're running around forcing everyone to do whatever you want, so, I don't see why it should matter that much."
"I imagine she can't use it too much," Dorea said. "Snape's probably keeping an eye on her."
"He hasn't made a point of telling me he's watching, but Dumbledore said he would be."
"Right, so." Hermione hesitated for a moment, something turning around in that hyperactive head of hers. "You, um... You don't have to hide it, you know? Not with us, I mean. Besides, it is rather fascinating, isn't it, you can talk about it if you want to."
"I'll think about it." Liz suspected she wouldn't much, but it was...reassuring, she guessed, that she wouldn't freak Hermione out if she did. No more than she had already, at least.
That was, apparently, the end of the conversation. Okay, then.
It was not long after that, Dorea and Hermione talking about inborn magical abilities, when the door into the kitchens slammed open, the heavy thud making Liz, Dorea, Hermione, and dozens of elves jump all at once. Professor Snape was standing in the doorway, and there was something...well, odd about him. His mind was cold and sharp and intense, more than usual, not exactly angry or anything, just...focused. He was missing his overrobe, leaving him in magic-style trousers and shirt — weirdly, one of the legs of his trousers was mangled and torn, streaked with what looked like bloodstains, a line of char from the centre of his chest crossing over his shoulder, burned all the way through in a couple places — his hair uncharacteristically disheveled, scattered all over the place, his cheeks pinked from exertion, sweat dotting his brow.
The room fallen into a tense silence, he stood there for a long moment, sounding a little out of breath, wordlessly staring at the three of them. After a few long seconds, he twitched, stepped back into the hall, closing the door behind him.
...
"What the fuck was that?"
While Hermione started lecturing at Dorea for her language — Hermione would continue to be Hermione, after all, no matter the circumstances — Liz pulled her half-melted ice cream closer, shaking her head to herself. She didn't say anything, just sat back, listening to Hermione and Dorea bicker, transition into wondering what had happened to Snape, throwing around theories about him getting into a fight with one of the professors about something.
It didn't really seem like Liz's business, but if her friends wanted to argue with each other about it, that was fine. She didn't mind listening.
You might have noticed I enjoy anticlimaxes.
And those are the five chapters I had finished. Pacing is quick on this one, first year will already be done in...probably three chapters, I think. Can't say exactly when I'll have them though, we'll see.
—Lysandra