Rook awoke on Saturday morning with an anxious knot in the pit of her stomach. She had spent the night before tossing and turning restlessly before finally falling asleep. Once asleep, she dreamed of the man who looked as though he could be her birth father, who called her by the name "Avalina" before she even knew that it had been her name for the first few years of her life. Again the dream started on the bank of a bayou, but this time it was night and Rook could feel the warm, muggy air against her skin as she watched an egret standing stock-still a short way away from her, its pure white plumage glowing in the moonlight. The forest around her was alive with the various sounds of swamp life. She turned quickly at the sound of rustling behind her, but saw nothing there. She turned back to the egret and saw that man gazing at her with an intimidating intensity, seeming to speak to her without talking.

Rook struggled to make her voice work, hindered by that particular dream sense of desperation and urgency.

"Dad?" she finally managed to speak in a strangled voice. "Are you my dad?"

He stared at her evenly, as though her question was not consequential enough to warrant a reaction. Slowly, he lifted a finger to his lips, then raised his other hand to point across the water at a figure emerging silently from the trees. Rook's heart raced painfully once she glimpsed the familiar outline of a man that, once remembered, she was unable to forget. Rook stumbled backward and fell into the tall grass behind her as Casta stepped up to the water's edge, staring at Rook with cold eyes and a cruel smile.

"Help me!" Rook pleaded with the man beside her, but he was gone, replaced by the egret. As she watched, it stretched its long wings and took flight across the bayou, this time to the far side where Stefan Spencer had taken the place of Ryley Casta.

She had woken up after that, and she now hugged her knees where she sat on her four-poster. She knew without checking her watch that she had slept later than she had intended, and she knew that Stefan would be upset with her if she was late to meet him, but she couldn't help dawdling, disproportionately disturbed by this nightmare. Of course, having nightmares about Ryley Casta was nothing new to Rook, but her usual nightmares generally included some absurd dream element that made them somewhat easier to shake off in the light of day. This dream did not feature a statue of a moose whose antlers were a gateway to an alternate universe, or a snobby blobfish critiquing her golf swing technique, even though she hated golf anyway. No, this one felt real, and it seemed to draw a comparison between her boyfriend and Casta. Rook only wished it was an inexplicable comparison, that she could simply write it off as irrational anxiety.

Rook got out of bed and began to dress, choosing to prioritize comfort and maneuverability above all else, influenced by a vague sense of going into battle. She was alone. It was a Hogsmeade Saturday, and the other girls in her dorm all had plans for the day. She and Stefan each had plans as well, though she was quite certain they would not be compatible.

It was easy to spot Stefan in the sparsely populated Entrance Hall. As expected, his face bore all the signs of impatience. Rook tried to look apologetic, but she spent so much time being apologetic that she kind of forgot how to portray it, and she had a sense she fell short of the mark.

"Everyone else has gone on."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"We might as well get going."

"Stefan, wait," said Rook, trying to keep a tremor out of her voice. "I need to talk to you alone before we do anything."

"We can talk on the way. I don't want to wait around anymore."

"Stefan, please… it's important."

"Fine," he said shortly, then led the way to an empty classroom directly across from Great Hall. Rook closed the door after them, steeling herself. If Stefan knew what was coming, he showed no signs of it. He just stood there, looking at her expectantly as she tried to recall the exact phrasing she'd rehearsed.

"Stefan… You were really nice last night, and I know you said you wanted to try to work things out, but I really think it would be better for both of us if we just—"

"Hold on," Stefan cut her off. "Are you saying you want to break up?"

"I just—I don't want to hurt you anymore."

Stefan scoffed. "I'm sure," he said in a sarcastic voice. "This is all about what's good for me! 'Cause having a girlfriend who doesn't even think our relationship is worth fighting for, that's exactly what I need! Thanks."

"It really isn't like that! It's just, we keep getting into fights, and I don't know what else to do!"

"Couples fight, Rosemary! I wouldn't get jealous if I didn't care about you! And I told you last night, it's only like this because I'm stressed about O.W.L.s! Once exams are over, things will be better, I promise. I just really need you to be here for me now, Rook… You can't do this to me now, not when we've come this far." He stepped closer to her and took her hands in his, on the verge of tears as he looked into her eyes. "Don't do this to me. I love you so much, Rosemary."

"I can't…" Rook said weakly, also in tears. She hated herself for wanting out. She felt heartless. "I love you, I do, but I can't do this. I'm really sorry."

She pulled her hands away. For a second, Rook thought he wasn't going to let her go, but then he pushed her away from him and she stumbled slightly.

"What was the point of stringing me along, then?" he yelled, pacing the small room with a furious look in his eyes. "We can snog, but that's it, 'cause you've been saving yourself for Weasley, right?! And the minute I'm not useful anymore—" he grabbed a chair and flung it across the floor, causing Rook to recoil, "—suddenly you 'can't do this'?!"

"Stefan, please—!" Rook pleaded before the door of the classroom opened behind them and Stefan's demeanor changed so abruptly, Rook felt as though she could have imagined the last few seconds if it weren't for the chair laying on its side at her feet.

"Hello, Professor. We were just practicing some defensive spells. Didn't mean for it to get so loud, but Defense Against the Dark Arts isn't exactly the quietest branch of magic."

Snape stood in the doorway, his eyes travelling across the room and lingering on the fallen chair for a millisecond before he said, "I don't know what gave you the impression that I had any interest in your weekend agenda, Spencer. I am here only to remind you that this particular classroom is out-of-bounds. Seeing that Miss Rook is with you, however, this seems like a fine time to remind her that we had an appointment for this morning to discuss her areas of weakness in her Potions work. I just hope we still have time to cover everything today."

Rook was in a daze, not sure whether she had actually had an appointment with Snape, but not much caring in the midst of all that was happening. Regardless, she was grateful for an excuse to leave, and she followed Professor Snape from the empty classroom, not daring to look back at Stefan as she went.

As they walked, however, she started to feel more and more mortified. If Snape had made up this meeting just to help her escape that situation, then he must know that they weren't practicing magic, and her Professor had just been dragged into her relationship turmoil. Then there was the humiliating thought that maybe others had heard Stefan raging at her, making those outrageous, awful accusations. And yet, as outrageous and awful as they were, she couldn't completely discount them, could she? Not when she still had residual romantic feelings for George.

Any way she looked at it, this was all her fault. It could be that if she had been totally honest with Stefan from the start, he wouldn't have these insecurities, couldn't it? On the other hand, if his behavior wasn't the result of her failure to communicate, she had still chosen to date Stefan in the first place.

Also, Snape is hot. Even at times such as these, when the surrounding world is confusing and uncertain, Snape's hotness alone is irrefutable, the last bastion of truth and virtue.

She didn't know what to do. She wanted more than anything to go back up to her dorm room where she could be hurt, sad, angry, relieved or however she felt without worrying which emotion was the right one to feel, but there was no way for her to excuse herself, so she simply followed Snape into his office. He sat down behind his desk, but she remained standing, and he did not insist that she sit.

"I have a confession to make," Snape's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Your mother… I lied before, when I told you I did not remember her."

For the first time, Rook looked directly at Snape, but his eyes did not meet hers.

"Part of me knew your mother had to be Eades," he continued in a subdued voice. "You resemble her, not in looks, but in mannerisms. My interactions with her were few, but I do recall that she was kind."

"So why would you say you didn't remember her?"

"That is because I was not."

"What do you mean?"

"I also lied when I told you I had no interest in the controversy surrounding Casta. It was common knowledge that she had dated Casta in his sixth year, and he claimed she was bitter over being cast aside. In my first year, I helped perpetuate the already popular opinion that your mother and Fakhri were liars. Though I had no direct hand in it, I suspect that her and Fakhri's photographs were removed from the school's records due to their repeated defacement by various students."

"Oh."

"I came to regret my stance," Snape said, and Rook thought she could hear a hint of shame in his quiet voice. "A… friend... helped me to see the other side of the matter. She helped me to see that I was wrong to behave as I did."

Rook stared at Snape. She noticed her breathing had quickened as she slowly registered his words. Even though she knew Snape had been no more than twelve at the time, and even though she knew she probably wouldn't even know who her birth mother was if it weren't for his help, Rook felt a surge of anger course through her. Rook had never been raped, and she had only ever been sexually assaulted twice: once by a stranger on a city bus, and once by an older child in a group home. From what she had heard from other kids in the system, she was among the lucky ones. Girls and boys alike, her age, older and younger, told stories about the horrors they had endured in foster and group homes. Foster parents, social workers, teachers, religious advisors and even therapists preyed on children in the system, telling them to keep quiet or end up homeless or worse, and no amount of adults urging them to come forward changed the fact that people were unwilling to believe "problem children," over their own trusted co-workers, family members and friends.

The injustice of it burned white hot inside of her whenever she thought about it. If she and other foster kids were "problem children," just who was it who had made them that way? Adults who had mistreated them, adults who chose convenience over defending those without the power to defend themselves, adults who could so easily point out kids' problems, yet could not seem to identify their own shortcomings.

She found herself now glaring at Snape. Over the last few months, she had started to forget his cruelty as an authority figure at Hogwarts. She was suddenly struck once more by his immaturity, his pettiness toward the children in his charge, and she hated him for it.

"I don't understand you," she spoke, throwing caution to the wind. "You say you know now that you were wrong about Casta, and you know you helped make my birth mom's life more miserable when she was a student here, but you haven't learned anything from it! You're a teacher now! You could do something to make life easier for kids who don't have the same advantages as other students, but instead you use that power to bully people!"

"If this is about me criticizing your friend Spencer, I assure you, he is in no need of preferential treatment."

"It's about you! It's about you saying you regret what you said about my mom, but you haven't changed at all! Look at how you treat Neville, or-or Harry Potter!"

Snape stood, his furious expression enough to make Rook step backward in alarm. "So you would have me cater to Potter when everyone from the Headmaster to the Minister for Magic humors his every foolish whim, excuses his every illicit exploit?" Snape spoke loudly. "You think Potter, of all people, deserving of even more special consideration than he already receives in every other arena of life? It would seem as though you are as poor a judge of character as your late birth mother."

Adrenaline coursed through Rook at these words, and her voice shook violently as she replied, "You're right… I was starting to think you weren't so bad." She took off as fast as her legs would carry her, flinging the office door open and running through the Potions classroom, then along the dungeon corridor, her footsteps echoing thunderously off the stone walls. When she reached the Entrance Hall, she did not walk toward the grand staircase or the Great Hall. Instead she crossed as quickly as possible toward the broom closet in which she and Madeline spoke before her first detention with Snape and closed herself inside. She sat on an upturned bucket, heart still racing, then buried her face in her hands and started to cry.