Nestling into their second full month at Hogwarts, Sharlen's sleep became more fitful by the night. Dumbledore hadn't reached out to speak to her again, and Harry had gone to have mysterious lessons with him twice already. She was becoming concerned with the standing still—the guilt over not telling Harry who she really was constantly weighing on her, but she knew it wasn't the time. Mercifully, it was normal for her not to dream or see anything in her sleep very often anymore; she simply fell asleep deeply, saw black, and then woke. Now when she closed her eyes, she was filled with unease.
Nearly every night now, images plagued her. In truth, she had never dreamed, but instead witnessed a series of very real and true visions, just as she would experience in her waking life if touched. These visions caused her immense terror as a child, to the point of fearing sleep, and of waking unsure of what was real and what wasn't. As the years had gone on and she gained better control of her magic, the night visions had all but stopped.
Now in sleep, she'd seen stone guards decorating the outer walls of Hogwarts castle plummeting to the courtyard and rising to march forward. More recently, she dreamt of the Ministry of Magic, or what she supposed it would look like. Frankly, she hadn't an inkling; she'd resigned that the Ministry would never be a place she'd see in her lifetime.
This morning, she woke with a sound somewhere between a scream and a pant, grasping forward frantically. Breathing hard, she looked down at her arms, how they were held out, and then around the room, hoping she hadn't woken anyone. The sun was yet rising. From the positioning of her arms and hands, the tenseness in her muscles, she was about to attack.
She groped inside her head for the wisps of the vision before they disappeared, snatching her little black book and scribbling wildly. Who the hell is Kingsley? she thought, shaking her head slowly as she furrowed her brow at her words. Opting for shorthand, she recorded whatever words came to her fastest and most clearly, resigning to go back and try and fill in the blanks later. All she needed was the gist; among the other fragments of dreams she'd begun having since arriving at Hogwarts, this one didn't seem to fit or match in any obvious way. Who was Kingsley? Why was she defending him? More importantly, what "burrow?"
Exhaling slowly, Sharlen returned the book to her side table and pulled her knees to her chest, hands in her hair as she tried to steady her breathing. Failing at that, she reached for the flask and took a tentative sip. She was low, again—she'd have to ask Snape for more. She loathed depending on him for anything still; she'd have to ask what it was she was drinking and learn to brew it herself. The last time she'd required a refill, he lashed her to the limits of her consciousness for her closeness to Harry. He said nothing of it, was completely wordless. But she knew it had to be that.
Feeling a little more solid inside herself, Sharlen shakily got out of bed and went to brush her teeth and splash water on her face. She tried not to dwell on the visions, opting instead to try and decipher them later when she had some distance from it. Since her first night in the castle she'd felt weak, constantly; regular meals, her potion from Snape, and flying to classes did nothing to help the underlying exhaustion she experienced, the light-headedness, the shaking. Snape was acting odd, she was constantly at the ready for Dumbledore to call on her again and put her to use, and she was always warring with herself on what to tell or keep from Harry at this stage. Now that she had met with Dumbledore, something inside her knew the man had a plan she should try to aid rather than overrule—but Harry was vulnerable going about his school life like this. He needed to be finding Horcruxes and destroying them. It was clear now that was the only thing that guaranteed his safety.
On top of all that, being around so many people was like living in hell. Being polite—rather, tolerant—of her peers had to be at the forefront of her mind at all times, making normal chat with the semi-odd classmate or partner, or Harry's friends… she silently damned him, watching herself over the sink, for being so well-liked. She'd met more friends of his in the past two months than she had ever met of people in her entire life. Of her father's followers, only the Malfoys, Bellatrix, and Wormtail knew she existed, and probably for the better; it neither seemed relevant nor pertinent that his little personal project be revealed to the masses. Likely it benefited him that she remain a secret as long as possible.
A new practice she found both fascinating and disturbing, Sharlen looked up into the mirror. Her home with Snape didn't have one, so being able to see herself regularly was a bizarre phenomenon she was still by no means used to. The girl in the mirror had sunken eyes and pale skin, stringy hair and cuts and scratches around her throat from all the mornings she'd woken up to find herself gripping her own neck as if for dear life, as if trying to pry someone's hands away from blocking her airway. They stood out still, red and angry, stark against her pale skin.
Playing in the mirror during late nights in their dorm, Stacey had introduced her to eyeliner and mascara, even offering to paint Sharlen's nails while they talked late into the night about Professor Burbage's Muggle Studies classes, tricks for casting spells wordlessly, and anything else that possible came to mind. Looking at herself in the mirror now, Sharlen carefully applied the black around her eyes before heading back to her room to change. Normal girls did this, at least that's what she told herself. Normal girls wore makeup and knew how to put their hair up in more ways than a standard ponytail. As strange a practice as it was, she had to admit it helped her to feel more normal as she moved around the school with the other girls—and certainly made her look more awake and healthy.
Sometimes when she was alone in their home on Spinner's End, she would look out the window and watch the world. Their house was largely secluded, thoroughly hidden from passerby with protective enchantments, but every so often a person would pass by on their way into town. She used to try to mimic the women's hairstyles, failing miserably to recreate them on herself. She was trying to learn, to fit in better. The sense of otherness she felt watching people interact around her was heavy, but she was fascinated all the same.
Opting to head down to the dungeons before meeting up with the others for breakfast, Sharlen grabbed the necessities and left her roommates to their sleep. Stacey seemed content, which pleased her; she'd grown rather protective of her and had noted that the girl was particularly attuned to Sharlen's struggles with sleep. Sweeping out of the Slytherin Common Room, she shuddered—maybe her poor sleep could be attributed to all the energy remaining in this castle from years and years of magical life. Surely plenty of ominous events had unfolded, especially in Slytherin's dorms.
Recalling her previous one-on-one encounter with Snape, Sharlen walked slightly past his door, turned, paced past it in the direction she came, and repeated the action again. Tentatively she knocked on the door, gripping her flask hard. She needed this, and he knew it. She also needed to know where they stood.
"Master?" Sharlen called when he didn't answer her knock. His back was to her and he stood over a smoking cauldron. The scent of the room was familiar; he was completing what she needed. Knowing she would be a fool to relax so soon, Sharlen could not help a sigh escaping.
"How good of you to visit," Snape drawled quietly, not turning around. "I figured you'd be by."
"Why don't you tell me what this is and I'll take care of it from now on?" Sharlen asked easily, stopping a few feet behind him. She set her bag on a nearby worktable and held the flask loosely in one hand. Snape said nothing. "Surely you don't want to do this anymore," she added, gesturing to the cauldron, though he had no way of seeing.
"Explain," was all he offered, continuing to stir. He may have been counting.
"This," she exclaimed, a slight edge in her voice. She was tired and anxious. "This potion you've been making me for as long as I can remember. Taking care of me. I know you never wanted this and now it's not necessary anymore. If you tell me what the potion is, I'll take myself completely off your hands and you can be done with me."
Snape turned around slowly. "This brew is very complex," he said nonchalantly, "and you are still in my care."
"Please," she began, but Snape interrupted her.
"You are my charge until your father sees fit to relieve me of that position," he said loudly, his voice echoing off the damp bricks though his voice was calm. "Besides you're no better equipped to deal with the outside world than Wormtail. You don't belong here."
"That's not up to you," Sharlen hissed coldly, narrowing her eyes. "I'm allowed to be here and I have my own work to do."
Snape couldn't help but smirk at her. "Ahh yes, Potter," he spat, taking a step closer to her. She stood her ground. "And what exactly is your plan with him, Sharlen? What are your intentions for your dear old friend?"
"I think you know."
Snape remained silent. They stared each other down.
"You and father have your own plans for how all of this ends," she said finally, gesturing to nothing in particular. It took Snape off guard. "So do I."
"It's called Exspiravit Ancora," he muttered finally, snatching her flask and a ladle. Placing a funnel in the spout, he deftly poured the potion inside. Sharlen held her breath.
"Will you finally tell me what it's for?" she breathed, watching the steam rise. Snape secured the cap to the flask and walked away to find a larger vile to store the rest.
"I'm confident you can figure it out. Better yet, why not ask your new friend Granger?" he muttered, emptying the cauldron. He put the full vile of Exspiravit Ancora on a high shelf above his desk where it fit in well with a dozen others. "Feel free to give it a try on your own, surely you could use some extra credit in this class."
The name, if he was being honest, was more than she could have originally hoped from him. With a small nod, she thanked him and went to leave.
"Sharlen," he called to her, something a little more urgent in his voice. She turned back to him, startled. The hot flask was beginning to hurt through her cloak. "You really don't know what you're doing with all of this. You need to be careful."
"Are you going to tell me what's going on or are you just going to give me vague warnings from the sidelines of my life?" she asked, clear as a bell. Snape's eyes darted away for a second. "I can't trust you anyway, what with my father hitching a ride inside you now and again."
"That won't happen again," Snape assured her lightly. She rolled her eyes.
"I can't trust you. I think you know why." As she turned to leave she thought she saw a flicker of guilt flash across his face, but thought nothing else of it. Since their last encounter she had spent enough time dwelling on Snape's physical punishment; it wasn't the first time he'd struck her, but if was the first time she'd been beaten by hand rather than by magic. As hellish as he was to have as a guardian, it was far beyond out of character for him, and what was worse was that it was not explained. She had never been a confidant by any means, and growing up in a house with him had proven to be more isolating than anything, but she knew there was so much now he was holding back from her.
Sharlen recalled how it used to be during the school year. After classes every day, if he didn't have any meetings or disciplinary councils with students, he would walk outside the grounds and Apparate to their home outside of London. He brought her assignments from lesson plans the other teachers were working through and they would sit at a table together while she worked and he graded Potions papers. Sharlen grew bored quite often, always being left by herself, and would frequently get up, stare out their kitchen window, and return to the table in a different chair. During the day she barely saw Wormtail at all and would result to watching the life outside the house; she was only allowed outside on weekends and even then it was only to fly around the yard. Just having Snape's company, albeit silent, was worlds better; sometimes he'd even allow her to open the windows while they worked. Snape's mouth would twitch into a thin line, but he let her be. Sometimes she would make him tea and he'd keep working silently. Once she was in bed, he returned to the castle and Wormtail would stand guard over her. Before Wormtail came into the light, it was the Malfoys.
Since arriving, she had been largely left alone; he monitored her and perhaps was giving her father status reports, but she had no mission (whether she accepted one or not), not a word from her father since her first day, and neither side was moving an inch in either direction.
She didn't know what to expect. It was all too surreal.
Making her way to the Great Hall, Sharlen spotted Harry and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. They sat next to Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw who frightened Sharlen very much and often sat with them and another Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom. Ron had yet to make an appearance, which was not uncommon. Spotting her, Harry stood, continuing his conversation with Hermione and Luna as she walked up and into his embrace. It was casual and practiced by now, something that still washed over her like a dizzying epiphany each time. Six months ago it was a distant dream that she would ever see Harry again, that she would ever speak to him again. Now she could touch him, now she could even kiss him. With a light peck on the temple he said good morning to her. Letting the images play of Harry before a small gathering of wizards at his trial at the Ministry of Magic the year before, Sharlen briefly planted her chin on his chest, looking up.
She didn't want to worry about who had or hadn't made a move or what the plan was. She just wanted to lean up and kiss this boy every hour to make up for all the time they'd lost.
Harry craned his neck backward, worry furrowing his eyebrows as he caught a glance at her neck. He leaned in to further examine the cuts and scratches, which were beginning to bruise. "Where did those come from?" he asked, his voice full or worry.
Sharlen adjusted her robes shyly. "Very, very bad visions," she offered as an explanation. Having had his fair share of nightmares, he gave her a sad smile and a soft kiss below her ear.
The two rejoined the table and Sharlen greeted the others politely, eyes flitting to meet Luna's and away again. Her aura was white. Just white, all the time. Hope and emptiness, all the time. No matter when Sharlen glimpsed her, this girl radiated both hope and emptiness and it was tragic and horrifying, especially when her soft, quirky disposition already gave nothing away about her. Settling on Hermione, who watched her warily, she said, "I need to go to the library before classes start and I was hoping you'd go with me."
"Uhm, sure," she said carefully, absentmindedly running her fingers through her hair no doubt in an attempt to avoid looking at the marks on Sharlen's neck. "Why me?"
"Because all the teachers are afraid of me and I have a feeling you'll be more help in there than the librarian, somehow," she answered with a smirk. Hermione granted her a small smile.
"Sure, I'll help. What is it you're looking for?"
"A potion," she said simply, reaching around Harry for a piece of toast. He shared a worried look with Hermione that didn't go unnoticed. Luna watched all of this passively.
"Have you asked Professor Snape?" Neville timidly asked out of nowhere. Sharlen couldn't help but laugh, in a way she hoped was not perceived as unkind.
"What kind of potion?" Hermione asked.
"I don't know," Sharlen answered with a shrug, holding up her flask and giving it a little shake, "but it's called 'Exspiravit Ancora' and I've been taking it for years, so I clearly should have known a long time ago."
Hermione shook her head, confused. "Why would you be taking that?" she asked genuinely.
Sharlen stared at her. "I literally don't know, I just always had to. I found out what it was called today, hence why I'd kind of like to read up on it."
Hermione shook her head again. "'Exspiravit Ancora' means 'ghost anchor.' That potion is meant to anchor specters to our world." Harry and Luna turned their eyes to Sharlen, who narrowed hers suspiciously.
"That can't be right."
"It is," Hermione assured her matter-of-factly. "What we know of ghosts is scarce but we do know that when a person dies they have the option of moving on—that is, finding peace—or staying in this world. A lot of them aren't ready to move on, so they stay here." She explained it all very carefully, not knowing what to make of this.
Sharlen was just angry. "The bastard lied then."
"Who?" Harry asked.
"Snape. He told me that's what it was called, but he obviously lied."
"Because you're…not a ghost…?" Harry asked slowly, watching her.
"Of course I'm not a ghost!" she exclaimed harshly.
"Okay, okay!" Harry said quickly, trying to soften her. "Just had to be sure, you know, imaginary friend and all." Luna and Neville looked at each other quizzically.
Hermione was watching the two of them carefully, and then briskly stood from the table. "Well, come on then," she said, gesturing Sharlen to her feet. "We haven't much time and there must be more to it than that."
"Or the bastard lied," Sharlen muttered as she stood, looking back at Harry with an apologetic frown on her face. He gave her a reassuring smile and a small wave as she followed Hermione out of the Hall.
Before the two girls arrived in the library, Hermione turned to face Sharlen, which startled her. "Let me help you with that," she said quietly, wand out and pointed to her throat. Unsure and immediately defensive, Sharlen held up both hands and frowned, ready to defend herself if needed. Hermione quickly shook her head. "No, please, the marks on your neck. They look dreadful and you don't want the teachers getting involved. Let me fix them." Tentatively Sharlen nodded and allowed Hermione to do her spell. Unable to see the result, she took Hermione's satisfied smile and quick nod as law and continued into the library. Within minutes, Hermione had five large texts open to the pages they were looking for.
"Well, these aren't horrifying at all," Sharlen said, trying to ease the tension. Truthfully, Hermione looked rather pale; the illustrations differed from each text, but the unanimous conclusion depicted a ghost-like figure being held in structures, objects or inside a human body. Much of the text was in Latin. "Can you read any of this?"
"It says, 'Used to ground vengeful spirits in one place, this brew will keep a ghost trapped inside the drinker and subdued as long as constant doses are delivered for the rest of their natural lives. Failure to keep this potion in the blood, even in small quantities, can make the drinker susceptible to possession.'" Hermione was radiating fear and confusion, her aura spreading out yellow to gray. Sharlen was copying down the ingredients and instructions furiously inside her little black book.
"Thank you for helping me, Hermione," she said quietly, avoiding her eyes. She wasn't sure how to digest this new information, and doing so in front of a stranger was the last thing she wanted to do. "You better hurry, I don't want you to be late to class on my account."
"Sharlen," Hermione whispered, full of purpose, "Why do you take this potion? Who gives it to you?"
"Snape has always made me drink it. I always have it on me," she answered quickly, still copying every line. When she finished she reached into the pocket of her cloak and withdrew a sheet of stickers, holding them to her face to consider them. She peeled off an orange "Thank you!" sticker and gently laid it against the text in Hermione's arms. "I've asked before but he always refused to say anything, and I keep taking it because without it I lose consciousness. I don't know what to tell you. That's everything I know."
Hermione didn't want to say the obvious. "I think you should get Professor McGonagall involved in this."
"No," was all she replied.
"If this means what it says, you're in very real danger," Hermione whispered furiously. "You've only just come back into Harry's life and you owe it to him not to keep yourself in any danger that could take you away again."
Sharlen considered the girl carefully, taken aback by the angle she'd chosen to approach from. "But it's always been like this, I told you. I've always taken this potion. Nothing's changed."
"It's not sustainable," she insisted. "I've only seen a potion this complicated once before and it was the Polyjuice Potion. If I had to brew that all the time…" She shuddered. "Look, there's a lot I don't understand about you and I'm actually quite frightened of you and I don't know why," she admitted hurriedly, glaring, "but being with you put Harry in better spirits than he's been in years, even after you two first reunited. It was immediate. He has more hope now than he's had since before Cedric Diggory was killed. When Sirius died… We've been really worried about him and you're helping."
Sharlen stayed silent.
"Whether you like it or not, you're involved now and Harry has a lot ahead of him." Hermione's voice was fracturing but she maintained conviction in her expression, fists clenched. "That's going to mean accepting help." Snapping two books shut and gathering them in her arms, she turned to leave, assuring her, "We'll figure this out together." And with that, she was gone, taking the books with her to continue her research.
Sharlen decided to sit on her new knowledge about the potion for a while before marching back to Snape and demanding he explain. Over the next week, she worked on brewing it with Hermione in the Room of Requirement, which allowed a constant stream of sunlight the brew needed to mature, and let her jabber on about her theories while vaguely dodging her questions regarding Sharlen's past. Hermione was, in a word, the Inquisition; remembering Hermione's confession about being afraid of her, Sharlen knew she had some wiggle room when it came to answering her questions, but that wouldn't last for long. A few times Sharlen had deflated a little and told her, honestly, that she had no idea what this meant and that her directive was to help Harry with his task, not find out something new and potentially horrible about herself. Hermione could tell she was being sincere—she just couldn't rest on leaving this piece of the puzzle unsolved.
It was a Saturday and the grounds were beginning to cool significantly in the mornings and evenings. Sharlen sat, wrapped in a cloak, holding Harry's in her lap, at the Quidditch field; Harry and the Gryffindor team were having a pep talk in the shelter of the locker room before heading out to practice.
Sharlen's eyes moved easily around the pitch, following the colorful banners that lined the walls, a faint smile on her face. Completely alone, she let herself enjoy this aspect of the wizarding world; she had never heard of Quidditch before coming to the castle, let alone watched it. There were many aspects of normal life in their world that were unnecessary for her to know about according to her father and Master Severus. When Harry found out, his eyes nearly fell out of his head. He had leapt into a detailed explanation of the game to her, citing from a book Ron had gifted him years before, and while she had enjoyed his enthusiasm, she still needed help to follow what was happening during practice. Hermione had begrudgingly taken up that role between chapters of her school reading. She enjoyed being outdoors and supporting her new friends, but the game itself was less than important to her.
As the Gryffindors came out onto the pitch, Sharlen noticed Hermione making her way toward her through the benches. She gave a little wave and returned her eyes to the players. She saw Harry cast her a wave and she touched her fingertips to her lips and held them out to send him a little kiss, elbows on her knees. How had he become such a sweet person? When she'd had to leave him all alone at his aunt and uncle's house all those years ago, the thought of him growing up without any love in his life was heartbreaking. The home he'd found at this school had saved him, no doubt in her mind about it.
A muddy green aura caught her eye and her gaze landed on Ginny Weasley staring up at her, just as Hermione sat beside Sharlen and started to get her belongings organized. Ginny had seen her small gesture to Harry and her face was unreadable; upon meeting her gaze the girl quickly looked down and then turned toward her team, kicked off the ground with her broom and into the air.
"Jealousy…?" Sharlen muttered, half confused and half amused. This was not a color she'd seen often in her isolated life. Hermione settled a giant text onto her legs and turned to Sharlen, confused.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Does Ginny like Harry?" Sharlen asked bluntly, watching the red-haired Chaser fly past them. Hermione gave a little chuckle.
"Well of course she fancies Harry," she said, amused. "She's always had a crush on him, for years now. But she's with Dean Thomas," she explained, waving it off with a brush of her quill and returning her gaze to the book. Sharlen glanced over at it briefly to see if it concerned the potion, but she appeared to be reading about Heffalumps. "The person you probably need to worry about is Cho."
"Cho?" Sharlen repeated, watching Harry giving the Chasers an order from fifty feet above. "I don't know who that is."
"Well she very likely is out of the picture after she blew our secret about Dumbledore's Army last year, but she's a Ravenclaw in our year. She and Harry dated very briefly," she said with a sigh. "I'm sure that's very over."
Sharlen shook her head, amused. None of this seemed important at all. Harry flew over to Sharlen and Hermione about twenty minutes into practice and asked them what their plans were for later in the day, after which Harry invited Sharlen to visit Hagrid with them. She agreed timidly, knowing she made the Gamekeeper nervous, and he flew off again to tell his troops to take a break. Once the whistle sounded, Ginny flew over to the girls as well while all her teammates hit the ground. Flushed pink, her scowl was furious with Sharlen.
"Ron's told me all about you, and your little black book," Ginny spat at her angrily. "I would have thought Harry would know better after Riddle's dairy and the Chamber of Secrets."
Sharlen blanched and looked at Hermione quickly to be reassured. Clearly not wanting to betray her friend Ginny, Hermione kept her head down and her eyes on the book, flipping a page animatedly. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm sure you do!" Ginny shouted, gesturing to the book on Sharlen's lap. "Suspiciously similar piece of dark magic you've given him if you ask me! More familiar than I care to acknowledge. You better watch yourself," she finished, hovering a little higher. "If you hurt him-"
"Oh please," Sharlen hissed, "You'll what? Glower at me?"
"Don't underestimate me," Ginny sneered, rocketing toward the ground beside her brother and Harry.
Sharlen found herself breathing hard and standing and quickly sat, confused. "What am I feeling right now?" she asked Hermione, who looked at her carefully, lightly amused.
"Incredulity," she answered.
"How do you…" Sharlen began, putting her forehead in one palm heavily, "How do you even stand to be around people all the time?"
"Speaking of which, I've been reading about auras," Hermione gushed, quickly replacing the book on her lap with an even heavier one from her bag. Sharlen just stared. "The ability to read auras is a long-forgotten art largely in the wizarding world, so much so that very few claim to practice it. Even fewer have ever claimed to be able to see auras naturally, without casting a spell or practicing a section of divine sight."
"So you're saying I'm a giant freak, basically," Sharlen teased, tucking Harry's cloak tighter around her legs.
"No, I'm saying this might be a clue about why you take that potion," she answered cautiously. Sharlen had been expressly clear about not wanting Hermione to worry too much about the "why" of it, but she just couldn't help herself. "Look, historically it's an exceptionally rare gift that largely comes from both parents being of divinative heritage. So either both of your parents were skilled at Divination-"
"I really wouldn't know, would I?" Sharlen snapped—a bold lie, but one that helped to keep her Hogwarts life from being too complicated.
"…And you not being able to cast spells may mean there's something inside you that makes wands unable to tell clearly what best suits you."
"Enough, please," Sharlen said, turning to her in earnest. There was almost a pang of desperation in her voice. "It's just me in here."
"I…" Hermione stopped herself and slowly closed the book. "The potion should be done tonight."
"Yes," Sharlen agreed, returning her gaze to the players as they took to the air again. "I think you're right."
When Quidditch practice was over, Sharlen helped Hermione gather her schoolwork and the two met their friends outside the Gryffindor locker room. Ron and Harry looked flushed and tired, but happy; the sight made Sharlen positively glow. When he saw her, Harry wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek; she smiled warmly, trying to focus on the coolness of his cheek against hers as he lingered there for a second rather than the image of him suffering through his first Occlumency lesson with Snape just under a year ago. As he pulled back slightly she held up his cloak and he took it with a smile. "You're freezing."
"I'm fine," he assured her. Ron asked Sharlen if Hermione was being any help on her mission to understand Quidditch and Sharlen joked that she was rubbish. Ginny lingered in the background, watching the four of them warily. Dean was there to meet her but she was clearly distracted.
The four of them went to go see Hagrid for a few minutes, most of which Sharlen spent playing with Fang. Generally a less-than-playful dog, he'd bounded up to greet her as they approached the cabin, despite Hagrid's protests. Sharlen grinned and laughed as he bowled her to the ground. At first, Harry and Ron moved as if to get him off her, but she was frankly delighted. She remained on the ground sitting beside Fang and stroking him while the group talked. She noted that Fang's acceptance of her had eased Hagrid's distrust considerably.
They spent the afternoon in Gryffindor Tower, partially catching up on homework and partially discussing when the first Hogsmeade weekend would be. When dinner came along, Sharlen deviated from the trio on their way to the Hall, saying she had something to check on. Dodging the odd student here and there on her way to the Room of Requirement, Sharlen had to keep reminding herself to breathe. Upon opening the door, she saw the constant stream of sunlight the room had provided the brew was now a regular, darkened, dusk window. Peering over the cauldron, Sharlen saw the familiar scarlet. Carefully ladling a serving into an empty potion cask, she swept from the room and toward the dungeons to Snape's office.
From the looks of it, he was on his way to the Great Hall when she entered and closed the door behind her. Snape looked from her face to the cask warily, leaning on his desk with his long, outstretched fingertips.
"I wanted to ask if you'd check it," she said quietly. Snape held out his other hand without a word and compared to the draft to the extra he'd brewed for her previously.
He couldn't help but turn up one corner of his mouth. "I've taught you well."
"Tell me what it is," she pleaded. She had kept her curiosity and fear hidden well from Hermione, but before him she crumbled. He kept watching her warily, extremely uncomfortable with emotions other than anger and indifference. "Master, why do I drink that?"
"You clearly read about it in order to brew it, surely you're more than capable of putting two and two together," he muttered dismissively, handing the cask back to her.
"How can you expect me to be completely passé about there being a ghost inside me?" she shouted, unable to keep the quake out of her voice. When Hermione had suggested there was something inside of her earlier it had shaken her to her core, despite her suspicions; hearing it out loud was a new level of horrific. "How did this happen? Why don't we just let it out?"
"You can't," Snape snapped simply. "Merope has been a part of your foundation since creation and now one cannot be extracted from the other. Even if you stopped taking the potion she wouldn't be unchained from you, she would simply take over your body and you would be a passenger inside her instead."
"Merope? She's… a passenger…?" Sharlen breathed, unable to stop herself from shaking. "Who is she?"
"Unimportant."
"Like hell it is!" Sharlen shouted. "Who are you protecting with this secret?"
"You," Snape said finally.
"How much of me is her?" Sharlen demanded, slamming her fist down on the nearest desk. Angry tears were in her eyes. "Have I ever existed?"
"Don't be dramatic," Snape snapped, quickly tiring of the conversation. He looked exhausted and irritated. "You are you wholly, down to every last annoying ounce. You are able to access her abilities and that's largely it, besides trapping a nuisance. The potion dulls her and that's why you take it, so she cannot take over your body and mind. She had the power to see auras and now so do you."
Sharlen's eyes darted to different bricks on the floor, trying to digest this. "My father made me to imprison a ghost?"
"The Dark Lord made you for many reasons," Snape said dismissively, turning away from her. "He means it when he says you are his greatest creation yet."
Disgusted, Sharlen swept from the room and left the door slowly closing behind her. His appetite gone, Snape allowed himself to fall into his chair heavily.
