O.W.L.s

First Day

Severus woke up early the next day, feeling unrested after a long and uncomfortable night; his argument with Florence was replayed in his dreams and he had reached the conclusion that she knew more about the Death Eaters than she let on.

Fucking frustrating witch!

To make matters worse, as irritating as he found her presence to be, he couldn't stop thinking about her. She was this precious gem, a uniquely cut diamond he felt hypnotized by – he'd never had anything so beautiful and refined so close to him.

Also, he couldn't deny she was a good friend – she had ended up in detention because of him – not to mention, according to all he had learned about her so far, she was friends with powerful families, and that was something that could come in handy for his future plans.

All things considered, Severus made a new decision – overlooking how quickly down the drain the first one had gone just the day before – and he had decided that he would not rule out a relationship with Florence.

He just had to keep his heart closed off from her, and nothing would go wrong in his plan.

Yes, she's gorgeous, smart and well-connected, being seen with her will only help me achieve my goals. He thought, getting up and dressed, feeling pretty confident about it all. I just have to talk to her and apologise for my behaviour yesterday.

So he left the boys' dormitory as quietly as he could and sat in the Common Room, waiting for Florence; she had woken up as early as he in the days since she'd arrived in the castle, so he believed she'd soon be out of her dorm.

Taking advantage of the empty and silent common room, Severus began reading his History notes as he waited for her.

But, as he reviewed The Wizardry Secrecy Code, an hour quickly went by and most fifth and seventh years students were up and on their way to breakfast already, before taking their first test that morning: History O.W.L.s and Potions N.E.W.T.s.

And yet there was no sign of Florence.

Severus gave up waiting for her, he concluded that perhaps she was still upset with him and had gone to the Great Hall by herself, seeing him in the common room but choosing to ignore him.

He pocketed his notes then and went to breakfast.

But Florence wasn't at the Slytherin table having breakfast either.

He worried about her, wondering why she wasn't there, but chastised himself for doing so, Today is the first day of the O.W.L.s, I can't concern myself with her missing status!

He tried to eat his breakfast as if completely unnafected by her absence, but that was only a façade for he couldn't stop himself from thinking that at the very least he needed to know if nothing bad had happened to her; the thought of her being hurt somewhere calling for his help had him about to lose his mind.

Admiting defeat, Severus walked up to the high table to ask Dumbledore about her.

"Good morning, Mr Snape. What can I do for you?" greeted the Headmaster, already imagining what the young man wanted.

"Good morning, Prof. Dumbledore. Would you possibly know, sir, where Miss Delacour is?"

Dumbledore stared at him over the rim of his glasses for a couple of seconds, before saying: "All I know, Mr Snape, is that she received a letter from her family earlier this morning and had to leave for a few hours. I believe she'll be back before the first exam begins at 9 o'clock."

Earlier that morning, Florence had been jolted awake by the sudden feeling of danger, of being watched.

She quickly opened up her eyes, wand in hand, but the darkness of the bottom of the Lake that could be seen from her dorm window told her it was too early and the sun had yet to come out.

With her heart pounding, Florence sat up on the bed in time to see a small house-elf putting a letter on her bedside table before disappearing.

The elegant handwriting that she instantly recognized filled her with dread, it seemed that despite her attempt of hiding from Black and Avery, her father had found her anyway.

She slowly reached for the letter, casting a soft light from the tip of her wand to read it.

Florence,

How are you liking Hogwarts?

I know you were home three nights ago, when you weren't supposed to.

Meet me at your mother's house, 7 o'clock.

It wasn't signed, there was no 'I was worried about you', no 'Love, dad'.

She knew she should've stopped wishing for those things, especially after who she'd found out he was.

Florence got up and put on a dress, going to Dumbledores's office. He needed to know her father had found out she was at the school and she also needed to use his fireplace to go home.

Despite the Merlin-awful hour, when she knocked on the door of the Headmaster's office, she could hear he was in there, already busy at that early hour.

The door opened seconds after her last knock.

"Miss Delacour, good morning! What brings you to see me this early?" greeted Dumbledore.

"He knows, sir. My father wrote to me," she went straight to the point, "He knows I'm here."

Dumbledore stopped what he was doing to give his full attention to her, "Can I see the letter?"

Florence gave it to him.

"Very well," He said after reading the short note, "Will you meet him?"

"Yes. Of course." She frowned, not understanding why she wouldn't.

Dumbledore stared at her, seeming a little worried about letting her meet the most dangerous man alive by herself.

"He's my father, Headmaster," Florence said, trying to reassure him, "I shared meals and a roof with him until four days ago. I'll be back before the History exam," she said, standing up.

Dumbledore slowly nodded, still considerably concerned, "If that's what you want, dear."

Florence didn't reply, she just went to his fireplace and disappeared amidst the green flames after calling for the Delacour Manor.

When Florence walked out of the fireplace of her house, she was surprised to see the living room beautifully decorated, squeaky clean, and organized.

"You've been keeping busy, Tiffany," She said out loud, using a Scougify to clean up the soot from her coat to avoid dirtying the clean rug.

Her little house elf, Tiffany, wearing a pretty dress Florence had conveniently left in the garden for her "to find", walked out of the kitchen looking happy to see her.

"Mistress Florence!" she exclaimed in delight.

"Morning, Tiff," she walked around the living room, looking at all the things in the shelves and sideboard cabinets.

"Miss Florence's father sent her things here yesterday," The elf explained, a hint of apprehension in her voice.

Florence stopped walking, realising why she was recognising all those pictures and books, those were things she'd left behind in her father's house.

"He's getting here any moment now," she told the elf, "If you want to hide, Tiff, you have my permission."

The elf let out a nervous squeaky sound and nodded, disapparating the next second – Tiffany had never liked Florence's father and she couldn't blame the poor thing.

Florence picked up a medium-size frame from the French-style sideboard and looked at the picture in it. That was the last picture she'd taken with her mother in that house, they were having a picnic under the shade of a tall tree in the backyard, Sophie Delacour was tickling eight-year-old Florence when Tiffany took the picture; she could almost hear her own laughter coming out of that picture.

Three days after that picnic, Florence moved into her father's house and her mother was gone.

She put the picture back where Tiff had set it before and examined the shelves. Apparently, all of her personal belongings had been sent to that house. She felt a mix of relief and sadness, she had missed this house - her mother's house - but she also knew she was going to miss her father's house in many ways, for she'd lived there for the past years and all of her recent memories were from that place.

Suddenly, green flames filled the fireplace and Florence squared her shoulders, gathering all her courage.

"Hello, father," she greeted the tall handsome man that walked out of the flames.

Lord Peverell quickly cleaned up his clothes with a Scouring Charm and walked to the sofa.

"Morning, Florence," He removed his long black coat before sitting down and staring at her with the same green eyes she saw in her own face in the mirror everyday.

She stood beaide the sofa, not knowing what to say; she was outraged about what she had recently discovered of her father's "business", but she didn't know how to tell him so without screaming in fury and disgust.

He looked at her and spoke, his voice slow and soft: "You made me look all over the wizarding world for you, daughter."

She felt the sudden need to apologise but supressed it; he didn't deserve her deference and respect any more.

"Well," Florence said, "I got you letter this morning and I am here now. What do you want?" she finally sat on an armchair, neither too far nor too close to him.

"What were you doing home three nights ago?" he demanded to know.

"What were you doing in that meeting?" she asked back, anger clear in her tone.

Lord Peverell silently stared at her, and she had to admit she was very similar to him – in attitude and looks.

Florence had inherited her mother's magical blood, which made her stand out everywhere she went, but her eyes, hair colour and mannerisms were all from her father.

Plus, with proper training, she could become as powerful as he – and therein laid his fears.

"What is it that you intend on achieving with this little rebellion, Florence?" he asked calmly.

"I want to finish my studies in Hogwarts."

"Under Dumbledore's nose," Lord Peverell didn't hide his displeasure, "I imagine you've told him the truth."

"Yes. And he welcomed me," she raised her chin, feeling daring.

And her father laughed, "Of course he welcomed you! You're my daughter! You're the perfect ally for this Order of the Phoenix group he's trying to create. And he didn't even have to go out looking for you, you just went to him, as if fallen from heaven," he finished in a mocking tone.

"I have no wish to take sides in your stupid war, father!" Florence answered angrily, "I'll finish my studies and find a college to get a degree in Potions or Medicine and just live my life! Far from all this nonsense," She paused, there was one thing she needed to know: "Did mum know about your warmongering ideals?" she asked, holding her breath, afraid of learning that answer.

"You want to know if your mother was of the same opinion as I?"

Florence nodded.

"To some extent, she was," he honestly replied, "Your mother came from a very important French pure-blooded family, Florence. She understood the need to keep muggles away from us, to stop them from contaminating the wizarding world. Muggles must be shown their place."

Florence narrowed her eyes at him, "Which is beneath us, according to you," she huffed, "That's ridiculous, father."

"I'm sorry to see I failed as a parent," He sounded genuinely upset.

"Mum believed in the power of love," said Florence, trying to convince herself her mother would never agree to his resist plans, "She was kind and-"

"Foolish," he added.

"Fool enough to love you!" Florence snapped.

"Sophie was very special to me, even if you don't believe that," he let out a sorrowful sigh, "And I loved her," He leaned forward, trying to make his daughter see the importance of what he was saying: "But power – that's the most important thing in the world. Once you see what influence and money can achieve when combined – you can control everything."

She shook her head: "I don't care about money and influence."

"Of course you don't – you've always had both!" He scoffed, "Your mother's fortune and the veela blood she passed on to you are all you'll ever need to live a good and wealthy life. Doors will always open for you, Florence – those that your looks don't open, your money will."

She froze for a moment, remembering that she had heard Severus say almost the same thing to her just the day before.

Florence didn't reply to her father, for she had nothing else to say to him.

They just looked at each other for a while, their expressions so alike, same hair and eye colours. But they had very different values; no matter how spoiled and out of touch with reality her father and Severus might thought she were, Florence did not condone segregation or the senseless murdering of muggles.

"Let's make a deal, then," she finally said, "I won't take part in this war of yours and you'll let me live on my terms. You won't interfere on my life or my choices. If I want to befriend muggles, muggleborns or half-bloods, that's my business. No more Avery following me around. In fact, I don't want any of your Death Eaters around me, looking out for me or even talking about me."

Lord Peverell looked at her for a moment before replying: "Alright, you have a deal. I'll even cast a spell to make them all forget having ever met you." he stared at her for a while longer before getting up and picking up his coat, "Good luck on your O.W.L.s, although we both know you won't need it. The things they teach in Hogwarts are-"

"Ridiculously easy," she completed, getting up from the armchair.

Lord Peverell was on his way to the fireplace when he suddenly turned to face her again.

"Florence," he sounded very serious, "Never forget you're my daughter. Others might try to use it for their own benefit. Don't trust easily, my dear. And if your opinions ever change, know that you'll always have a place by my side."

She hadn't expected him to keep an open door for her – and she would be lying if she didn't admit she was somewhat touched by his small display of caring.

"Thank you, father," She bowed her head, in respect.

He nodded once and turned around, picking up some Floo powder and going into the fireplace, where he vanished amongst green flames.

Florence released a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding.

"Tiffany, you can appear now. He is gone," she told the empty living room after she blocked the fireplace from anywhere else but Hogwarts.

"Thank you, Mistress Flor," said the elf, softly, as she walked out of the kitchen, "Does Miss want something to eat?"

"Yes. I'll have a turkey sandwich, please," she replied on her way upstairs, going to her room to pick up a dress, shoes and some jewellery for the Ball that she was most likely going to attend on her own.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts now, Tiff," Florence said, walking downstairs, after shrinking a small suitcase and putting it in her pocket.

"Here's your sandwich, Mistress," Said Tiffany, handing her a pink container.

Florence said goodbye to her elf and entered the fireplace with some Floo powder in hand, the green flames taking her back to Hogwarts just in time for her History exam.