Hi guys! Apologies that this has taken so long, health and work have been a bit intense. But I'm happy to say that I'm now in remission and doing well, so I should be back on track and publishing more frequently.
Anyway...TWs for physical and psychological abuse.
Please let me know if you enjoy this and thanks for bearing with me.
Now updated thanks to the lovely beta-ing of The Edge of Night.
The next morning, Sal awoke slowly, to the smell of cooking bacon. He snuggled down in the warm blankets, wrapping himself into a cocoon, pushing out the world and its endless demands, for just a few more precious moments. There was a quiet shuffling sound outside his door, and Sal forced himself up and out of bed and towards the smell of food. Just outside his door, there was a small tray with a plate of toast, bacon, and mushrooms, and a goblet of an orange liquid. Sal glanced down the corridor, but couldn't see any sign of who had left it; he wanted to tell them that they'd got the wrong room, that Professor Snape's was down the corridor, but no one was around. He stared at the food in confusion; his stomach groaned plaintively, reminding him that he had not eaten the night before. He couldn't hear the professor moving about the chambers. A terrible thought crossed his mind. Perhaps no one would notice if the food just…went missing. Sal took a deep breath, and his stomach growled again, making its opinion clearly known. Thinking "sod it", Sal grabbed the tray, retreated into his room, and started stuffing the food into his face as quickly as he could, before he could stop to think about what he was doing and regret his actions. When he was finished, he sat staring at the plate and the evidence of his theft. He moved the cup, only to send a thin sheet of parchment floating to the floor. As he bent over to pick it up, and there was a quiet snap behind him; he spun around and the tray had disappeared. He picked up the parchment, suddenly worried that he had intercepted some important message for the Professor.
He froze in panic; the Professor had trusted him enough to let him into his quarters, and Sal had betrayed him. He didn't know what he was meant to do. He stared down at the note in his hand and contemplated just handing it over to the professor. If Professor Snape was anything like Filch, then Sal would have a beating coming his way. He shuddered and grasped the note tighter. Perhaps he could just pretend that he'd never found it? But then that might get whoever had left the tray in trouble and that would undoubtedly be a house elf. Sal winced and felt his conscience at war with his sense of self-preservation. He thought for a long moment, but ultimately he couldn't do it; he realised that he couldn't let someone else take a beating on his behalf, he would not do that to a fellow slave. There was, after all, always a chance, however small, that Sal might be shown mercy; the Professor had been kind to him thus far.
Taking a deep breath and steeling himself for whatever Professor Snape's reaction may be, Sal made his way out of the chambers. Finding the man's office empty, he decided to look for the professor in his classroom, and quickly made his way up to the Defence Against the Dark Arts room that he'd been sweeping only the day before. He cautiously knocked on the door, and a minute or so later it was wrenched open to reveal Professor Snape's scowling face. Sal flinched back and grasped the note tightly in his shaking hand. He went to speak, but was startled when the professor gave him a small nod of approval.
"Good, you found my note," Professor Snape told him, and ushered him into the classroom, with a curt wave of his hand. "Follow me." Sal obediently followed the Professor through the classroom and into another office, heart pounding. The professor pointed to a cauldron that was set up on a bleached wooden table, and Sal's mind went blank with sudden relief. Somehow, miraculously, he had inadvertently done exactly what the professor required of him. His knees went weak with relief, as Professor Snape busied himself casting a large amount of venting charms. Sal suspected that this office was most definitely not a space meant for potions brewing, judging by Snape's surreptitious glances back into the classroom outside. But Sal had agreed to help Snape brew and therefore he would put up with whatever illicit circumstances that would entail. He felt weak and shaky with relief and felt his hands shake. He clenched them into fists and willed for them to stop; he could not brew with unsteady hands.
He felt the professor's eyes watching him closely, and he forcibly pulled himself together, to listen closely to the list of potions that the man required for him to brew, and answered quickly and precisely as the teacher snapped a few questions about potions theory at him. Sal was unutterably grateful to find that his brewing knowledge would be sufficient for Snape's requirements, as the professor again rewarded him with a short, approving nod. Sal was beginning to feel more confident in the task that he had agreed to, until Professor Snape presented him with a list of instructions for the various potions. He stared blankly down at the incomprehensible words, praying that they would sudden unravel themselves and reveal their meaning to him. The professor was halfway out of the door before Sal mustered up the courage and muttered, cheeks flushing bright red, that he couldn't read the list. The professor raised an eyebrow and looked at the note that Sal had brought up to the office, now abandoned on the side of the table. Sal flushed, and stared at his feet. There was a long moment of silence.
"You don't know how to read?" Professor Snape asked quietly, his face an emotionless mask.
"N-no, sir," Sal had replied quietly, staring at his feet, entirely convinced that he was about to be thrown out of the room on his ear for wasting the man's time. Professor Snape regarded him for a long moment, and Sal felt his skin crawling from the scrutiny. Sal felt his chance at an education slipping away in front of him. "B-but…I'm…" Professor Snape crossed his arms, as Sal spoke. Sal quietly weighed his options, before deciding to Hell with it. He had already defied his master's orders by agreeing to study with the professor; Sal doubted that he could make anything worse by confessing to his other attempts to educate himself. He confessed. "But, I'm t-trying to learn, sir." He swallowed heavily and chanced a look at Professor Snape's face; Sal could swear that there was the hint of a smile on the teacher's lips.
"Indeed," Professor Snape replied, and the trace expression turned into a full on smirk. "And I suppose that this has nothing to do with why Potter and his little friends have been hovering around you?" Sal froze, and an icy dread began to gather in his stomach. He gulped and tried to think of some excuse to get the students out of trouble. "No, don't answer that," Professor Snape told him with a shake of his head, "I don't want to know." Sal barely dared to breathe as the teacher continued. "I will be checking up on your progress to ensure that you are not wasting your time with Potter. At the very least, keeping that boy occupied will prevent him from being any more of a nuisance to me than he normally is." Sal was not entirely sure what the professor meant by that, and thought briefly of mentioning the language barrier issue that he was currently experiencing, but thought better of it. It sounded like Professor Snape was planning to continue to teach him, and he very much did not want to do anything to wreck the fragile chance that he had been given.
"Yes, sir," he replied meekly and chanced a small smile in response to Professor Snape's wry smirk.
"Good." Professor Snape huffed quietly in approval, and Sal felt a strange warmth in his chest. He suddenly wanted very badly to prove himself to this man, who was going above and beyond anything any adult had done for him in the past. "But that still leaves us the issue of the instructions," the professor sighed and shook his head slightly, in consternation.
"I can remember them, sir," Sal promised quietly. "I have a really good memory." Professor Snape watched him for a long moment, before reeling off the instructions for two or three potions. Sal was grateful to realise that he had brewed the pain-relieving potion before, although the other two were unfamiliar. But he was true to his word, and was able to recite the instructions back to the professor verbatim. Professor Snape looked at him closely for a moment and then nodded, and stalked out of the office, leaving Sal to his brewing.
Later that evening, and with a large number of potions stoppered and stored in the vials that the professor had left for him, Sal extinguished the fire under the cauldron and started tidying away. He had not realised how late it had become, as he had been brewing away by himself for a good number of hours. He had always found brewing potions therapeutic; they reminded him of the few happy moments of his childhood, tucked away in the cottage with Isolda, learning how to make salves and ointments, hiding away from his mother and the rest of the world. The brewing process had always helped to calm his turbulent thoughts. There was a method to follow, chopping the ingredients, adding them one by one, and rhythmically stirring until they were ready. He felt like he could see tangible results of his mind and his labour- more so than looking at a floor that he'd cleaned or a pile of wood that he'd chopped. He smiled to himself as he cleaned up the office, happy with a productive day of work. Not long after he had finished wiping down the bench, Professor Snape arrived and cast a judging eye over the vials of potion.
"You need to watch the heat when you are adding ground ingredients, or they won't dissolve sufficiently. The potency of these will be slightly weaker than I would normally expect," Snape declared, and Sal felt his stomach drop. "But they are sufficient for the headmaster's needs."
Sal hung his head in shame. He couldn't believe that he'd fucked up something so simple. The professor had saved him from Dunstan's violence and the tedium of continued toil under Filch. He had promised him an education, and hadn't even cared that Sal was too stupid to even read basic instructions. All that the professor had asked in return was for Sal to brew a few potions. A few simple potions that Sal had managed to fuck up. Sal was sure that the professor was going to cancel their evening's lessons, having realised how incompetent and unteachable Sal truly was. He hunched his shoulders and waited for the terrible words to come.
But they didn't.
"I assume that you will not be eating dinner in the Great Hall?" Professor Snape asked quietly, startling Sal out of his self-condemnation.
"No, sir," Sal shook his head quickly. No, he was not going to eat in the Great Hall with all of the students and teachers, in full view of his betters. He knew his place very well, and it was decidedly not there.
Professor Snape sighed deeply. "In which case, I will continue to have your food sent down to my quarters; I trust that you can find your way back there?" Sal nodded obediently and quietly thanked the professor, unsure what was causing such continued care and consideration from the older man, and considerably relieved that he hadn't stolen the other man's breakfast, especially after he had shown such concern to Sal. "Then I shall see you later this evening for our first lesson." Professor Snape told him curtly, and turned to leave.
"Sir?" Sal called quietly, and the other man half-turned back to him to acknowledge the question. "What should I do until then?" Sal wasn't exactly in the habit of brining more work upon himself, but he felt like he owed more to the professor than a few butchered attempts at potions and his cursory obedience.
"I believe that I told you that this time is yours to dispose of as you wish." Professor Snape replied with a sneer, and stalked out of the office without another word. Sal was left standing awkwardly in the dark office. He shrugged to himself and tried to ignore the professor's strange behaviour, as he made his way back down to the quarters.
He pushed open the door to his room to find another tray, this one with a bowl of stew and a roll of warm, buttered bread, waiting for him. He could only assume that Snape had asked one of the house elves to provide some food for him, and he felt that strange warmth rise in his chest again. It somehow felt a like very different gesture than the plates that Filch had set in front of him with a scowl. Those were a reminder of the nuisance that he was to the irritable caretaker, and a reaffirmation of Sal's inferiority. Professor Snape's provisions were also far superior to the scraps and leftovers that made their way down to him in Lord Gryffindor's hall. Sal ate quickly and washed the plates in the sink, not wanting to seem lazy and ungrateful to the house elves, before he made his way up to the library.
Sal had promised, the day before, that he would meet Lady Ravenclaw again, and his heart was pounding in anticipation. But when he got there and stood waiting among the tall bookcases, he felt a calm wash over him. He found himself genuinely looking forward to the promised conversation. He wasn't sure what he could contribute to any discussion with the great Lady Ravenclaw, but he was more than happy to just listen to her and Lady Hufflepuff talk again. There was something incredible in the way those two spoke, a power that drew everyone around them into their thrall. Sal smiled to himself, and trailed his fingers along the books; he found himself searching for the book that he'd seen yesterday, but he couldn't remember where it had been. He huffed in irritation and glared at the ancient bookshelves in frustration. He tapped his fingers idly against the wooden shelves, and forced himself to calm down.
A few minutes later, and he was feeling restless again. He smoothed down his clothes and winced at the obvious holes and stains in his shirt. Sal ran his hands over the front and willed for them to repair themselves, but to his extreme lack of surprise and to his great irritation, nothing happened. He cursed again, and combed his shaking fingers through his knotted hair. The strands felt greasy between his fingers, and he wished that he'd thought to wash it before he'd come up to the library. It was heavy with sweat of a full day of work, and from the fumes that had gathered from brewing endless potions in a small room, the effect of the professor's ventilation charms aside. He wished he'd thought of washing, but it wasn't something he usually had to concern himself with too much. But he thought that he probably should have made an attempt to improve his appearance, and that that was the sort of thing that one was meant to do before meeting ladies - even if one were attending an illicit meeting. He shifted his weight a bit, and peered around the corner of the bookshelf, but there was no sign of either of the women. He frowned; they were late. He shuffled back in between the tall shelves and glared at the titles again. The minutes ticked on. As it grew later and later, he began to realise that they probably weren't coming and cursed himself for an idiot. Of course they weren't. He didn't know why he had ever thought that they'd want to talk to the likes of him. They were probably just being polite yesterday, and he, scum as he was, had not understood the intricacies of etiquette and had thought that they'd actually intended to meet with him. He was so stupid, and he was clearly getting ideas dangerously above his station. He cautioned himself to be more careful in future; if he didn't remember his place well enough, someone would be certain to remind him of it.
Grabbing a book from the shelf and stuffing it under his shirt - without glancing at the title - Sal desperately tried to ignore the prickling in his eyes. If he hurried, he told himself practically, he could be back in Professor Snape's quarters with time to stash the book, before the professor's promised lesson. He didn't know what text he'd picked up, but he hoped that it would be sufficient for Hermione's plans, and unimportant enough that no one would notice that it was missing from the library. Hermione had promised him that no one would notice a book missing, particularly from an obscure and underused section of the library, but he was still unsettled about taking a book. They were priceless items in his time, despite how ubiquitous they seemed to be in this time. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and he shoved his humiliation and hurt deep down in his chest. They were not useful, and he needed to focus if he was going to secrete the book back to Snape's quarters without getting caught.
A few minutes of extreme stress found Sal, the book, and his pounding heart- safely back in his room in Professor Snape's quarters. He carefully removed the book from under his shirt and placed it with reverence under the covers of the bed, smoothing the blankets down so that the shape of the object wasn't visible on first viewing. He hoped that it would be sufficient, and that Professor Snape would have no cause to suspect him, or to check his room. It was not a moment too soon that the book was safely away, as seconds later he heard the main door to the chambers open, and the professor's voice call out to him.
"Yes, sir?" Sal asked, leaving his room and waiting obediently for Professor Snape to address him further. The professor paused in the entryway to the comfortable sitting room that he had pointed out the night before. He cast his eye over Sal and his mouth quirked in a mixture between suspicion and amusement, but did not say anything further. Sal quietly let out a breath of relief and followed the professor into the room.
"I assume that you wish to begin the lesson?" Snape asked him coolly, as he sat down on one of the large, padded chairs and gestured for Sal to sit in the other. With a flick of his wand, the professor lit a fire in the stone grate, and raised an eyebrow at Sal. Sal hurriedly rushed to sit, and nodded his head in agreement. He was pitifully relieved that the professor was still willing to keep his word.
"Your verbal agreement would be preferable," Professor Snape told him archly.
Sal jumped and scratched out a muffled "Yes, sir."
"Then we should first attempt to discern your level of magical education," Professor Snape began, and Sal nodded with relief; this was familiar, it was what he had done with Colin, after all. "I shall then decide in which areas you require the most assistance." The professor paused, and studied Sal closely; Sal felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. "Yesterday, it was suggested that you have some previous experience with magical education." Sal's blood ran cold. He sternly reminded himself that the professor was already aware of his sordid past, and that he was still taking the time to teach him.
There was a long pause, before Sal nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir," he choked out, and stared determinedly at his feet.
Snape regarded him for a long moment and then let out a sigh. "I trust that this is your only experience of magical education, then?" he asked offhandedly, and Sal tensed again.
"N-not really, sir," he replied slowly, and risked a glance up. Professor Snape raised an eyebrow in curiosity, gesturing for him to elaborate. "Well…b-before I learnt some herbs and s-small charms," Sal admitted carefully, keeping the further education that he'd received in pagan magical rituals to himself. He knew well enough than to admit to heresy; he'd already risked being burnt at the stake once in his life.
"Indeed?" Professor Snape acknowledged with a short nod. "Then you shall be starting from a stronger position than many of my students do." Sal sighed softly in relief, wondering if, perhaps, he wasn't a complete lost cause.
"I had originally thought to give you some textbooks to read, but I see that I will need to alter my plans," Professor Snape continued, and Sal felt his stomach plummet.
"Yes, sir," he acknowledged quietly, and stared at his feet. "Sorry, sir."
"I think it is best if we revise some of your basic theory," Professor Snape sighed. He then he began to rattle off incantations, asking Sal to identify those that he recognised. Sal surprised himself with how much he remembered, and by how much he had picked up from observing Lord Gryffindor and the others. But to his dismay, there were still far too many spells that he hadn't even heard of. Sal hung his head and admonished himself for his own stupidity.
"It seems that you have a rudimentary grasp of charms, although your transfiguration could do with a lot more work," Professor Snape told him, finally, leaning back in his chair. Sal felt himself blush under the professor's criticism and tried to remind himself that he needed to know his flaws in order to learn from them. He was far too prideful, he knew that, and reminded himself that he should be grateful that someone was taking time to correct him. But he had never been able to feel grateful whenever someone tore him apart with their words, or knocked him into his place with the back of their hand.
"Yes, sir," he replied, staring at his feet once again. "Sorry, sir."
He tensed as Professor Snape tutted in irritation, and he flinched when the older man suddenly stood up.
"I am not blaming you, you foolish child," the professor hissed in irritation, and Sal flinched again. Professor Snape took a deep breath and seemed to be consciously reigning in his irritation. "It is abominable that your education should have been thus neglected. That is why I am aggrieved. Do you understand me?" He turned and waited patiently until Sal looked up, and then met Sal's eyes squarely. "Do you understand me?" he asked again, and Sal gave a tentative nod in return. It seemed, contrary to all of Sal's previous experience, and against all logic, that the professor was genuinely irate on Sal's behalf. Professor Snape waited for a long moment, watching Sal keenly, before he nodded briskly, and sat elegantly back in his chair. "Then there is another matter that I wish to discuss."
Sal sighed; he knew what was coming, but he was loath to discuss it. He waited for the professor to continue, but when he was met with silence, Sal couldn't help but acknowledge the unspoken subject lying heavily in the air between them.
"My apprenticeship, sir?" Sal asked quietly.
"Indeed."
"What- what is it that you'd like to kn-know, sir?" Sal whispered; he was glad that he'd only stuttered the once. He did not think that he could get through this conversation if his words decided to leave him.
"Everything," Professor Snape replied. "Who taught you, what did you learn, and why did that egregious man think that you had been learning 'evil' magic?" Sal flinched with every question, and felt his heart start to pound in his chest. It took him a few minutes of carefully controlled breathing to find his words and answer. The professor waited patiently.
"I... I was injured, sir," Sal began, thinking it best to start at the beginning. "I was hurt and lost in the forest, and then he f-found me."
"The wizard who apprenticed you? The one that Lord Gryffindor killed?" Professor Snape interrupted sternly.
Sal nodded. "Yes, sir. He healed m-me, as best he could, and let me stay with h-him while I healed. I…" Sal swallowed heavily, "I had n-nowhere else to g-go snd I stayed too long. I wasn't meant t-to see him p-perform magic, b-but I d-did. I th-thought he was going to k-kill me, he was so ang-angry. N-no one was meant to kn-know." Sal felt his mouth go dry and he closed his eyes against the memories that drummed obnoxiously at the back of his mind.
"So he forced you to stay with him," Professor Snape prompted, and Sal realised that he'd fallen silent, "so that you wouldn't reveal his secret?" Sal paused for a moment and considered how to answer the question; but, he ultimately decided, Professor Snape had been good to him so far, and therefore was owed the truth.
"N-no, sir," Sal replied with a self-deprecating smile, "I b-begged him to let me stay. I wanted him to t-teach me."
"And he agreed?" The professor sounded hesitant, as though it was morbid curiosity that compelled him to ask the question, but unsure if he truly wished to know the answer.
"N-not at first, sir," Sal replied with a wince, "B-but, eventually…" Sal had lingered around the man's home for weeks, begging him endlessly to be taken on as his apprentice. Sal had taken the curses flung his way and returned the next day to beg again. He'd even taken to doing small tasks around the land - mending fences and feeding the chickens - to prove that he wasn't some idle, useless child. It had taken a while, but eventually the man had agreed. Tentatively. Sal had been told to continue the chores that he had taken upon himself, and he had been informed that he would have to fend for himself as far as sustenance went. But that had been nothing new to Sal, and he'd agreed immediately.
"He taught you?" Professor Snape's question interrupted Sal's thoughts, and he nodded quickly. "What was it that he taught?"
"All sorts, sir," Sal replied, hunching his shoulders defensively. "A f-few charms to use around the house, some p-potions, a small amount of transfiguration. He even showed me how to b-better channel my magic th-through my hands, so that I could d-do more magic. On a few occasions, he even l-let me use his wand." Sal tried not to look too happy as he reminisced about his old master. He wasn't supposed to have enjoyed any of his time with the man, and Sal was supposed to hate his former master for having exposed Sal to the magic of the devil and thus made him to forfeit his immortal soul. But Sal had never been one for sermons, and the man had taught him a great deal, even if it was often at the end of a sharp curse, or a beating. But he had tried to teach Sal, and Sal had enjoyed learning.
"And the 'evil magic'?" Professor Snape asked, with an arched eyebrow, and Sal felt his heart plummet.
"He wasn't... he wasn't a v-very good man, sir," Sal admitted quietly, "he was angry a lot of the t-time. He wanted to hurt p-people. I th-think, no, I kn-know, that he enjoyed hurting them. He kn-knew a lot of ways to make his magic d-do that." Sal closed his eyes and clenched his fists, using the sharp pain of his ragged fingernails cutting into the callouses on his palms to ground himself in the present. His own screams rang in his ears, a terrible harmony to the tune of a low chuckle and the repeated hiss of "Crucio". Sal knew intimately just how badly that man could make other people hurt.
"And he taught you this magic?" Professor Snape asked, quietly and intently, cutting through Sal's panicked thoughts, and bringing him sharply back to the present.
Sal nodded, eyes still firmly shut. "Some, sir," he admitted, and he hunched his shoulders, waiting for the inevitable blow. When it didn't come, he slowly opened his eyes and saw the professor regarding him calmly and impassively from the other chair. Bizarrely, Sal didn't see any disdain or condemnation from the other man, and that (more than anything) compelled him to continue. "Some of it I j-just…ob-observed." The professor shot him a knowing look, but Sal did not elaborate. He did not want to go into the intricacies of what had been done to him and what he had seen done to others.
"And did you like it?" Professor Snape asked quietly, conspiratorially. Sal felt himself startled by the unexpected question.
"Of course not, sir," he replied, aghast. The hideous things that such magic could do were utterly repulsive. He'd spent countless nights curled up and shaking in terror at the thought of what his master could inflict with the flick of a wand and a breathed word.
"But you did like the power," Professor Snape told him confidently, and Sal felt the breath fly from his lungs. He shook his head desperately, in denial, but the professor only studied him with a terrible, knowing look.
"I wasn't, I d-didn't," Sal stuttered in terror. "I swear, sir."
Professor Snape clenched his fists on the arms of the chair, and Sal shrank back in panic.
"You liked the feeling it gave to you. The knowledge that you could hurt people, hurt anyone, if you wanted to." The professor pressed on mercilessly, and Sal let out a sob. He was going to be killed, he knew it. He shook his head desperately, searching for the denials and words of fear that always stuttered out whenever he was asked to speak about his previous master and the magic that he'd been taught, but Sal couldn't find them. "You hated feeling powerless. You wanted to be strong," Professor Snape continued, "and he showed you how." Sal shook his head and cowered away from the professor, hugging his shaking hands tightly against his chest. "You hated what it did, what he could show you how to do, but you loved what it meant," Professor Snape leant forward in his chair and met Sal's eye with a look of grim understanding. "It meant that you were something, that you were someone."
Sal flinched violently, as another sob wracked his body. Professor Snape sat back in his chair and waited for Sal to compose himself.
"How did you know?" Sal croaked out, half-terrified and half-awestruck that he had just admitted his deepest, darkest, most hideous secret, and that this man somehow, miraculously, seemed to understand.
"Because that's why I learnt the Dark Arts," Professor Snape replied grimly, looking older and wearier with the admission. "I wanted to stop feeling powerless too."
Sal hardly dared to breathe, but he couldn't help the desperate question from spilling out from between his lips. "Did it work?"
The polder man looked at him, his mouth twisted in an ironic smile. "Not at all - in fact, it only made things worse."
Sal nodded in understanding. His master's magic hadn't helped him when Lord Gryffindor's men had arrived, wands raised and curses ready for the dark wizard and his student. It certainly hadn't helped Sal when he'd stared at the tip of Lord Gryffindor's sword, his master's body cooling mere feet from where he knelt, his lifeless hand holding his precious wand tantalisingly out of Sal's reach. Sal had thought that he was going to die, he had prepared himself for the blow that would end his life, and then he'd been spared. No curses or malignant spells had been of any use to him since then either. Sal stared at his hands for a moment as he wondered how to pose his next question, before he took a deep breath.
"D-does that mean, then, that you- I mean, are you a-" Sal couldn't get the words past his lips, and he looked down at his hands again, forcing himself not to shake.
"A Dark Wizard?" Professor Snape asked with a snort. "I suppose I am, but that is not what I will be teaching you. The Dark Arts are both elusive and addictive. But they are not all-powerful, and they are not an answer…or a solution."
Sal frowned at his hands, feeling a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. "Yes, sir," he whispered, unsure of how he was meant to react and hoping that obedience would please the other man.
"Look at me," Professor Snape hissed suddenly, and Sal snapped his eyes up to meet the professor's, his heart leaping to this throat. "I will help you, and I will teach you, but I will not teach you this." Sal felt like the man's gaze could pierce his soul. "Do you understand me?" Professor Snape asked again, his voice like ice. Sal nodded blankly, feeling shaken to his very core. The professor sat back in his chair, and a silence fell over the room.
Sal didn't know what he should think. The professor had just confessed to using evil magic, the type that Sal had been told he was going to Hell for having ever even contemplated using - the type that only evil, monstrous people wanted to use. But the professor had just confessed that he too had used them, that he too had wanted to use them, and he didn't seem like he was tortured by the inevitable fate of his immortal soul. Nor did the professor seem evil or cruel; in fact, he'd been kinder to Sal than many of the adults in his life had ever been. Professor Snape also seemed to regret using such magic, or at least didn't seem incapable of anything casting anything other than hideous, evil spells, spells meant to hurt and to humiliate. Sal didn't know what that meant, and his head and heart both hurt with the uncertainty.
"My master says," Sal began quietly, looking at his hands, and hoping that his voice stayed steady. "That magic like that, like what my old master t-taught me? That it corrupts the soul. He says that I'm g-going to Hell." Sal spoke in a quiet voice, not daring to look up and see the professor's reaction.
"And what do you think?" Professor Snape asked in a voice that wandered dangerously close to sounding gentle.
Sal shrugged helplessly, unable to voice the sheer terror he felt that, maybe, Lord Gryffindor might be right, and that Sal really was a hideous, evil, damned creature who would be damned to an eternity of torture without respite. He did not know how to express the breath-stealing dread that crept upon him on his worst days, when the world felt so black and so hateful and so fucking exhausting that it took the threat of the whip to rouse him from his bed and to his tasks. Or how to explain the debilitating horror of the possibility that he'd fucked himself over so completely, done something so evil, that he had no hope of redemption beyond a lifetime of drudgery and forced servitude; beyond a fate that he balked more at and shied farther from with every passing day. He took a deep breath, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"The headmaster would tell you that it is not what we have done in our pasts, but what we choose to do with our futures that defines us," Professor Snape began slowly and hesitantly. "Perhaps he is correct. Perhaps you need someone to show you another way?" Sal glanced up, but the professor was looking aside, the very picture of discomfort.
"And you, sir?" Sal asked after a long moment. "Did someone show you?"
The professor's face twisted painfully for a moment, and Sal felt like he had intruded on something intensely private. The older man's hands twitched and fidgeted briefly, before he folded them together in his lap. Sal looked away.
"She tried," Professor Snape replied quietly, after a long moment, his voice little more than a whisper. His words were so full of emotion that Sal regretted having asked. Sal nodded quickly, and kept his gaze firmly on his feet.
The silence lay heavily over the two of them, the weight of terrible secrets revealed pushing down on the space between them, like the pressure before an oncoming storm. But Sal did not feel disquieted, instead he felt somewhat shriven, as he imagined one ought to after confession. He wondered if the professor felt the same. Sal shifted and stared deeply into the fire in the grate, watching the patterns flicker in the twisting dance of flame and shadow.
Finally, Professor Snape seemed to shake himself out of whatever thoughts had been preoccupying him. He seemed to have assembled himself back into a terse and professional demeanour. Sal tore his gaze from the hypnotic blaze and forced his attention back to the teacher.
"I think it would be prudent to continue with our lesson," Professor Snape bit out, and Sal nodded emphatically in agreement. "I wish to see your practical wandwork." Sal tensed in anticipation as Professor Snape drew out his wand, but the other man did not point it at him. Instead, he summoned a small paperweight from his office, and placed it on the table in the middle of the room. "Cast a levitation charm on this, if you will."
Sal paused, before frowning in concentration. He pushed his magic down to his palms and tried to will the paperweight to float. He whispered "Wingardium Leviosa" and prayed that the damn thing would listen to him and float. He waited desperately, but nothing happened. Sal sighed in resignation; the paperweight was a damn sight heavier than anything he normally managed to levitate, and it was apparently beyond his magic to do so.
The professor glared at him for a long moment. "And now with your wand, you idiot child." Professor Snape growled at him in irritation. Sal flinched and dropped his eyes to the floor.
"I…I d-don't have one, sir," he replied quietly and flinched sharply at the professor's hissed command to speak up. "I d-don't have one, sir," he repeated. "D-Dunstan said yesterday."
"A wizard without a wand?" Professor Snape sneered contemptuously, and Sal flinched. "I had assumed that the odious man was being deliberately antagonistic," he spat out. Sal flinched again. The professor's mouth turned up in disdain. "Well you can hardly use mine."
Sal started in surprise; he had not thought that that was ever in question. "N-no, sir." He coughed out, forcing down the shocked laughter that threatened to jump out from his errant chest. "I'm n-not allowed to use a wand, sir." He stated simply, as Snape turned to him in askance.
"You're not allowed a wand?" he asked in a voice as dry as dust. Sal swallowed nervously and shook his head. "I take it this is an edict from Lord Gryffindor?"
"Yes, sir," Sal nodded hurriedly. "My master thinks it is t-too great a t-temptation."
Professor Snape scoffed and fixed Sal with a look that looked almost indignant. "Does he indeed? I shall discuss this with the headmaster; perhaps he may persuade the esteemed Lord Gryffindor otherwise."
"Please d-don't, sir!" Sal begged, almost shrieking in terror. "Sir, p-please, I can't, my master- he can't…" Sal trailed off, losing his words as his chest tightened painfully, cutting off his breath. Professor Snape looked at him for a long moment, before nodding slowly.
"Very well, I will not involve your master. I promise you that. But I will speak to the headmaster." The older man spoke softly, but firmly, and Sal didn't dare let out the moan of distress that pushed against his lips, which he held firmly pressed together. "Honestly," Professor Snape continued, muttering to himself as he stalked around the room, "of all the ridiculous…" The professor swept out of the room with a curt "dismissed".
Sal let out a deep sigh of relief, trying to calm his unsteady nerves, silently relieved that the lesson was over for the evening. When he felt somewhat steadier and less light-headed, Sal quietly left the sitting room and retired to his bed. As he lay down in the dark, mind began replaying the night's events; his head pounding and stomach churning with all of the terrifying emotions that had been brought up over the past few hours. Eventually, after tossing and turning for what felt like hours, he sank into a sleep. His dreams were filled with the flashing lights of spells and the chorus of screams.
The next couple of days continued in much the same form, with Sal brewing potions all day for Professor Snape, and then joining him for lessons in the evening. Thankfully, none of their further sessions were as revelatory as the first; instead, they focused much more on the theory of intention and power in the different branches of magic, a concept that Sal had never even contemplated. Sal cast as well as he could through his hands, and was pleased to see that the professor's instruction helped him improve what little he had previously been able to achieve. The professor had not raised the issue of wands again, and Sal had not dared ask him whether he had spoken to the Headmaster. Illicit magic lessons against his master's express wishes were one thing, but using a wand, let alone owning one… Sal shuddered as his mind conjured terrible images of what his master would do to him when he found out, and he always found out. It was dark thoughts such as these that preoccupied him as he worked on the potions for Professor Snape, and in the moments before he fell asleep.
It was also what distracted him, as he wandered through the dungeon corridors early on Wednesday morning. Professor Snape had left for breakfast, and Sal had needed a few moments to clear his head. There had been a breakfast tray left outside his room once more, but it was only the voice inside his head that balked at wasting food that had made him eat. Someone had been delivering his meals to the professor's quarters, and Sal did not want them to think that he was ungrateful. He had not yet seen whoever was delivering the food, as much as he had tried to catch them in the act. He really wanted to thank whoever was looking after him so attentively; he had never eaten so well in his life. But not even the sensation of a full stomach or the lingering taste of creamy porridge and sweet honey was enough to distract him from the terrible images flooding his brain.
Sal took a deep breath of the cool morning air, and tried to push his thoughts back onto a happier subject, but the threat of his master's wrath hung like a dark cloud over his head. He shook himself and turned to head back to the professor's quarters, intending to get in some reading practise before another day of brewing, when someone grabbed his arm and started dragging him along the corridor. Sal yelped and froze, flinching. He was forcibly spun around, and found himself face to face with Draco Malfoy.
"You're coming with me," Draco told him firmly, tightening his grip on Sal's upper arm and steering him away down the dungeon corridor. Sal flinched and tried to tear his arm away from the other boy's grasp, but Draco had a surprisingly strong grip.
"What's g-going on?" Sal asked quietly.
"Not here," Draco hissed at him. "You'll find out soon enough."
Sal's stomach dropped to his feet, as his mind – anxious and weary with thoughts of punishment – convinced him that Draco must be taking him back to his master. Sal's rudeness and errant behaviour must have been noticed, and the other boy was doing his duty to the school by bringing Sal to face the consequences of his actions. Or perhaps Snape had spoken to the headmaster, and Sal's master had demanded his presence to confess to his crimes. He found himself shaking, and he stared firmly at his feet to avoid tripping up as he was dragged along.
Draco steered them deeper into the bowels of the dungeons and closer to the warmth of the kitchens, driving Sal away from the busier corridors that were beginning to fill with stumbling, half-awake students. Sal swallowed around the lump in his throat, with great difficulty. Perhaps, he thought, he was not being taken to his master after all. His master wouldn't dream of setting foot in the dungeons, unless there was someone of suitable note being kept down there. The thought of Sal ever being worthy of such attention was beyond laughable. But that didn't mean that he had no reason to worry; his master's servants were an entirely different matter. They had no qualms about forcing Sal into dark cells, Dunstan in particular. Sal was not stupid enough to fail to recognise that he was being taken somewhere quiet, with fewer witnesses; he knew what that meant.
Finally, Draco stopped in front of an unassuming looking stone door. He knocked on it in a series of raps that sounded like a carefully rehearsed pattern, and it was opened by one of the largest people that Sal had ever seen. The boy behind the door was huge, at least six foot tall and made of pure muscle. Sal flinched back from Draco and tried to struggle away, but the other boy just shot him a strange look and pulled him inside.
Behind the hulking troll of a man, the room was almost empty. There were two plush-looking green armchairs and a small wooden table on the far side of the room, arranged around a roaring log fire, but there was no other furniture. Draco immediately dropped Sal's arm and made his way over to the fire, warming his hands in front of the blaze. Sal backed slowly away into the corner closest to the door and concentrated very hard on being as small and quiet as was humanly possible. Draco didn't even acknowledge him; instead, he shot a vicious glare at the boy who had opened the door.
"You couldn't have cast a heating charm on this place, Goyle?" Draco complained loudly, as he shivered extravagantly in his robes. "This fire is not nearly magically powerful enough to heat the whole room." The other boy blinked once and then scowled in irritation. Sal closed his eyes briefly and tried very hard not to think about how it would feel to be struck by one of those huge arms.
"You can do it yourself next time," Goyle grumbled and closed the door. He leant awkwardly against the wall and slowly crossed his arms. "Didn't have time," he grumbled. "Took me bloody ages to do those chairs. You know I'm shit at Transfiguration."
"Yes, well. Good work, Goyle," Draco muttered through gritted teeth, blushing slightly, as if the words had cost him a great deal to say. "You can leave us now."
Sal looked up, surprised at the dismissal. He hardly thought Draco would be concerned about being alone in a room with him; Sal knew he was no physical threat whatsoever, and the limited magic that he could do without a wand would be laughable against Draco's years of training with a proper magical weapon. That was even if Sal was able to even think about seriously launching an attack against anyone, without freezing and starting to shake with terror. His master had gone to great lengths to make sure he was properly trained. But, nevertheless, Sal was still surprised that Draco wanted to be alone with him; he had thought that the other boy, the monstrous giant of a wizard, was there to beat the shit out of him. If Draco wanted him gone, did that mean that he was going to just use straight magic against Sal?
The ogres eyes darkened and he stepped forwards; Sal flinched back even further into his corner, but that terrifying look was focused solely on Draco.
"You know," Goyle said tersely, "You've been acting like a right dick lately, Draco. You might want to remember who your friends are once in a while. Vincent and I were talking and we're getting a bit pissed off. You've been ordering us round like bloody house elves since we came back from summer!"
"Friends, Goyle?" Draco raised an eyebrow at the wall of muscle and smirked. Sal wasn't sure if the other boy was downright suicidal or just very, very quick with a wand. "How touchingly sentimental. You'd do well to remember just whose orders I'm following this year." Draco smiled thinly and the other boy took a step back, running a hand over the back of his neck. "Of course, I'm sure our Lord would be just thrilled to hear how difficult you're finding all of this. How hard this is for you both." Goyle took a further step back and flicked his eyes over to the corner where Sal was cowering.
"Yeah? Well I'm sure he'd love to hear how focused you are on his orders. How you aren't letting anything distract you?" Goyle shrugged his shoulders, and Draco's eyes flickered over to Sal and then back to the fire.
"Goyle…Gregory...I." Draco faltered for a moment, before squaring his shoulders and pulling himself up to his full height, as if readying himself for a fight.
"Ah, save it Draco," Goyle said, looking suddenly weary. "I don't want to have a bloody fight with you. Just maybe remember that we're your bloody friends every once in a while." He wrenched open the door and stormed out, the resounding crash of the slammed door echoing in the silence behind him. Sal had no idea what to make of the whole scene, but it seemed as if Sal's presence, or at least Draco's interest in it, was causing some contention amongst the two friends. He had originally assumed the hulking boy to be some kind of vassal or servant, but the way that he spoke to Draco was far more familiar than that.
Draco took a moment to gather himself, rubbing a hand over his eyes, and wringing his hands loosely, before he shook himself and gestured for Sal to sit in one of the large arm chairs. Sal did so with a great amount of trepidation, unsure what the other boy intended from him. He eyed Draco warily and perched on the edge of his seat, ready to run at the first sign of trouble.
Draco regarded him superiorly, peering at Sal down his nose, no sign of the nervousness that he had displayed only moments ago creeping into his expression. Sal shifted nervously under his gaze, and the other boy smiled predatorily, folding himself graciously into the other chair.
"So…" Draco leered, leaning forwards in his chair. Sal fixed his eyes very firmly on the other boy's hands. "Sal." Draco said his name with a sneer, twisting the word with derision, spitting the letters from his mouth as if they were poison. Sal glanced up at Draco's face, and the other boy smirked widely. "Or as I should call you…Salazar Slytherin."
Sal lowered his head, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. He had hoped that the other boy had forgotten his ridiculous delusions, or that Sal's attempts to manipulate Draco would have convinced the other boy to just leave him alone. Sal sighed and stared at the fire wearily; he should have known better than to think that anything in his life would be that easy. An awkward silence fell over the room as Sal waited for Draco to get on with whatever he had brought him there for. As the minutes dragged on, Sal began to suspect that Draco did not how to progress the meeting any further. He sighed and risked another glance at the other boy's face. Draco was looking at him like a cat views a trapped mouse. He shivered and Draco lips quirked minutely.
"I have realised," Draco began quietly, "that you are not the man that our history knows as the greatest dark wizard of all time." Sal sighed in relief, and shifted in his chair, hoping that this whole affair would soon be over, but Draco fixed him in place with a look. Draco let a smirk spread over his face, held up a single finger for a long moment, and then continued with a simple, carefully pronounced word: "Yet."
Sal grimaced in confusion, and Draco huffed in irritation. "I find myself, however, currently inclined towards philanthropy," Draco admitted, learning forwards and twirling his wand airily. Sal flinched back, and kept his eyes firmly on the weapon, unsure of what the delusional and obsessive young man might do to him. "I'm going to make you my next project," Draco continued, and Sal felt his eyebrows shoot up, despite himself. He had no desire to be anyone's project, let alone this ridiculous child's. Draco continued obliviously. "You clearly don't know your own potential, so I shall teach you. You made a masterful attempt to convince me, but I saw through your pitiful machinations. You could do so much better, and I am going to show you how." Draco finished his speech with a pompous nod, his smile a fraction too forced to look comfortably self-satisfied. Sal kept his focus on Draco's wand as a reminder not to open his mouth and say something stupid. He liked to think of himself as a relatively intelligent person, and Draco had just shown him that he was evidently not as clever as he had thought. That was a little humiliating. There was another long pause, before Sal realised that Draco was waiting for his reaction.
"Sir," he said quietly, not sure what he was meant to say. Draco scoffed and twirled his wand again, clearly expecting a different response.
"This is why you need my help," Draco announced imperiously. "You clearly do not appreciate the opportunity that I am presenting to you." Sal slowly took in, and then released, a deep breath. Draco swept his wand down, and Sal flinched violently, but Draco did not cast at him. Instead, he fixed Sal with a serious look. "I am offering you power," he said quietly, and Sal's eyes snapped up to meet the other boy's. "I am going to show you how to act like a proper pureblood wizard, and I am going to show you the legend that you will become. I am going to show you how to be Slytherin." Sal met Draco's eyes and saw nothing but ardent sincerity, and a touch of desperation, within them. He took a deep breath and nodded briefly. Draco's face split into a brilliant smile, showing - for a brief moment - the child that still lingered beneath his performance of adulthood. "We start after the holidays," he told Sal firmly. He then nodded at Sal, and waved a magnanimous hand in dismissal. Sal took the opportunity and left the room as quickly as possible. He rushed back to Snape's quarters and tried to focus his thoughts on his book, forcing himself to do something constructive with the few remaining minutes of his free time before he began his work for the day. It did not work, and he found himself even more confused and disgruntled than before.
Sal did not know what to make of his meeting with Draco, or quite what the other boy expected to achieve with him. He puzzled over it for the rest of the day, running Draco's words backwards and forwards through his mind, as he stirred batch after batch of Strengthening Solution. He had known that Draco thought he was some kind of mythical wizard, but he had thought that the other boy had long since realised that Sal was nothing more than some pathetic slave and decided to leave him be. Sal had not seen much of Draco over the past few days and had allowed himself to grow complacent. But Draco had not seemed entirely ridiculous. He had promised to teach Sal more about etiquette, after all, and that would be important if Sal ever wanted to be more than some gutter-snipe bastard. Draco had also promised to show him how to be powerful. Sal did not know how to be powerful without physical strength and destructive magic. The type of magic that he'd sworn to Snape, after that first lesson, that he wouldn't try to learn. Perhaps, Sal slowly concluded, it might be to his advantage to listen to what Malfoy had to say. Sal sighed at how complicated his life had suddenly become, within a short space of time. He turned his attention back to the potions and lost himself in the rhythm of the brew, glad that some things, at least, were still simple and logical.
Later that day, Sal found himself stood in the Headmaster's office, armed with only tray of potions vials and a nonsensical password to explain his trespassing. He had been sent to deliver the Headmaster's daily dose on behalf of a severely busy and extremely irate Snape, and his hands shook with fear at being somewhere that he shouldn't. Upon walking into the room, Sal had nearly cried with relief that the Headmaster had not been present and wanted nothing more than to just place the tray on the desk and escape back to the dungeons. His atrocious luck, however, took that precise moment to make itself once again known. With a sudden flash of light, the fire roared and flared a deep green. Sal jumped in shock, knocking into the table and sending the numerous trinkets rattling. He desperately tried to steady them, as a figure stepped out of the flames. Sal left the ornaments, hands trembling, and backed slowly towards the door.
"Oh, it's you," the figure said in pleased surprise. Sal froze in shock, startled, as he suddenly realised that it was Lady Hufflepuff standing and brushing embers off her robes in the middle of the office.
"M-m'lady," he stuttered out, heart pounding wildly. He sketched out a quick bow, and tried to compose herself. He stared blankly for a long moment, but there was a single thought running through his mind that demanded his attention. "You were in the fire!" he exclaimed, before immediately slapping a hand over his mouth. He flinched, cursing himself for being an idiot and allowing his mouth to run away with him.
Lady Hufflepuff only laughed in delight. "Isn't it wonderful?" she asked him, eyes sparkling with excitement. "They can travel by fire here, did you know? They call it floo powder." She finished dusting off her robes and fixed Sal with a wide grin. Sal slowly straightened up from his bow, watching her warily as her smile slowly faded. He wished that she would dismiss him, so that he could return back to the dungeons. He did not want to tempt fate, and his master could step out of the hearth, or through the door, at any moment.
"I am glad to chance upon you," Lady Hufflepuff told him merrily, and Sal froze. It was never good when anyone showed any kind of interest in him, especially not when he was somewhere he really oughtn't to be.
"M'lady," he said quietly, and then fell silent. He didn't know what to say; he could ask her to let him leave, and anything else might be seen as an affront. But he didn't want to stay in the office any longer than necessary. If someone were to walk in on them, to find him in the headmaster's office, and alone with a lady… Sal did not want to know how that situation would end. Lady Hufflepuff looked at him with concern, as her smile dropped completely from her face. Sal cringed further towards the door.
"This is a fortuitous meeting," she told him quietly, and he flinched. She frowned at him and then she continued. "I should take this opportunity to apologise for the other day. Lady Ravenclaw and I were most remiss." Sal squirmed in discomfort and confusion, unsure quite what he was meant to do with that apology. Lady Hufflepuff smiled again, gently, and he dropped his eyes back to his feet. "We made an appointment that we failed to keep." Sal looked up in shock. They had meant to meet him? He hadn't misconstrued the situation? Lady Hufflepuff sighed gently. "I would explain the reasons for our absence, but any excuses would be impolite, and no academic adventure of Rowena's could truly absolve our rude behaviour."
Sal frowned again, it sounded as though the ladies had truly meant to meet him in the library the other day, and that they had really wanted to see him. He didn't quite know what to make of that.
"M'lady," he replied warily, and she sighed again.
"Perhaps this is not the best place to speak," she acknowledged quietly, and Sal forced himself not to roll his eyes at the obviousness of such a remark. It was not his place to question her.
"No, m'lady," he agreed again, hoping that she would let him leave.
"Then you will join us in the library later," she told him with a beaming smile, as if the idea had just come to her and she were pleased with her own genius. Sal frowned in confusion and continued to stare at his feet. "Lady Ravenclaw and I shall be there, and we can continue our discussion of the other day." He looked up in shock. She rolled her eyes and shot him a wry look. "Rowena spoke to the headmaster, and he confirmed your theory about the castle's magic interfering with our ability to understand language; she is most interested to pick your brains further on the subject." Sal frowned and tried not to panic. That theory was entirely Hermione's, and it was also the single most complicated piece of magical theory that had ever deigned to pass through his brain. He was not sure what more he could possibly contribute, and did not think that he would be well received when that revelation came out. But Lady Hufflepuff had not asked him to meet with them, she had told him to. He could not ignore an order from anyone higher in station than him, let alone a lady's companion. He closed his eyes in resignation and nodded his agreement. Lady Hufflepuff clapped her hands in delight and beamed. "Oh how wonderful, Rowena will be thrilled." Sal highly doubted that, but bowed regardless, casting a longing glance at the door that led away from the office and the ever increasing possibility of discovery. "But I'm keeping you from your work," she gasped in dismay. Sal added the "again" in his head, but merely bowed in response and tried not to sob with relief as she ushered him out of the door, with a reminder to be at the library that evening.
Sal had spent the next few hours in dread, anticipating the upcoming meeting with a heavy sense of doom. He tried to remind himself that he should be excited to meet with these two outstandingly intelligent, dynamic women - these two women who, for some ridiculous reason, thought that he might have something interesting to say to them- but he couldn't. His brain kept reminding him of the sick sense of self-loathing that he had felt the last time that he had stood in the library, waiting fruitlessly for a meeting that did not occur. But he squared his shoulders regardless, and forced himself to make the walk up to the library, hoping against hope that he wasn't setting himself up as the fool, yet again. To his intense surprise, not only were both women sat at a table in the far corner discussing summoning charms, they were both waiting for him. He quietly sat down and listened in awe to their conversation, which they seamlessly reached out and brought him into. He had nothing at all to contribute and so sat quietly, listening. He nodded vehemently when Lady Ravenclaw turned to him for support when Lady Hufflepuff disputed her theory, and looked ponderous when the conversation turned to something esoteric. He sat with them for an hour, understanding barely anything that they said and loving every minute of it. Eventually, sensing that he was going to be late, he extracted himself from the conversation, with a promise to meet them again the next day. He left the library, delirious with pleasure at having been so casually treated like an equal (like an academic equal) by two such incredible women, and practically floated through his evening lesson with Professor Snape.
As such, by the time that Friday rolled around, Sal felt like his head was going to collapse with the sheer amount of knowledge that he had crammed into it in such a short period of time, but it was a good feeling. Instead of feeling daunted by how little he knew, and how behind he was compared to others of his age, he felt the thrill of a challenge. He could do better, and someone was finally showing him the way.
His good mood was reflected in the school around him. The halls were decorated in bright baubles and thousands of floating candles floated in the corridors, filling the air with a heady, spicy aroma that made Sal's head ache. The whole castle seemed to shine with the anticipation of a holiday. Sal had been surprised to learn that students had such a long time away from their studies, but he rationalised that they must have long journeys back to their homes, and that they need a large amount of time to travel such distances. They were due to leave the school the next morning, but that was not the topic on everyone's minds. Instead, the students were all buzzing with excitement over some kind of party that was happening that evening. Sal had thought that it was a festival for the whole castle to participate in, and had not been looking forward to the evening. Feasts and other holiday celebrations were never times of relaxation for him, and he did not want to spend an evening serving hundreds of students and avoiding the drunken attentions of his master's staff. He was not a favoured slave who might be granted freedom at such a time of year, and Dunstan delighted in reminding him of that fact with a good beating. Thankfully, Sal discovered that the party was only for a select few students, Harry, Hermione and- Ginny included. Harry did not seem at all excited about the evening, and although Sal was silently very relieved, he made sure to look sufficiently sympathetic whenever Harry lamented the exclusive party.
His unexpected escape from what he had thought would be an evening of drudgery was not, however, the only thing that caused his good mood. His reading lessons had also been progressing much more productively since Hermione's suggestion to bring another text. It hadn't mattered, in the end, that he'd just grabbed some random book off the shelf. Hermione had enough knowledge of what she called 'Old English' to help him and Colin piece together a lesson plan that actually worked. He always left the room with his head throbbing, and the taste of that terrible leaf brew that they insisted on drinking lying heavily on his tongue, but he felt like he was improving. His progress was slow, of course, but it was progress nonetheless.
There was not much time to spare before the others had to get ready for the party. Sal made his way up to the seventh floor as quickly as possible after he had left Lady Ravenclaw and Lady Hufflepuff in the library. As it was their last lesson before Colin and the others left for Christmas, they spent a quiet few hours revising what Sal had already learnt. He was thrilled to realise just how much he could remember, and Hermione and Colin went gone to great lengths to encourage him that he was learning particularly quickly. Colin also brought – alongside the usual pot of disgusting stewed leaf drink – a plate of sweet 'mince' pies. Sal had never eaten anything so sweet and delicious before, and he was disappointed to see how quickly the plate was devoured. He didn't dare ask for another, after Harry had been kind enough to put one on his plate in the first place, but he dearly wished that someone had offered him another. But, Sal thought to himself, it might be that they were a delicacy for the Christmas festival; if they were, then it was very generous for them to share with a mere slave in the first place.
Despite Sal's adventures with confectionary, the evening passed merrily, and Sal found himself feeling, for want of a better word, content. He realised that he would miss this odd group of students and the irrational care that they showed to him. As he bid them good night and wished them the joy of the season and luck on their journeys home, he felt a sharp pang in his chest and a sense of wistfulness overcame him. He was not one to dwell on what could be, as opposed to what was, but he couldn't help but think, as he meandered his way back down to Snape's quarters for their evening lesson, that it would be very nice indeed if he could stay here, in this time. If only he could spend all of his time learning and discovering the potential of his magic with similar minded people. If only he could stay here with people that treated him almost like an equal, with people that encouraged him and cared about his opinions or desires.
He paused for a moment as he felt his eyes start to prickle. To his horror, he felt a sob rising in his chest. He hurriedly ducked behind the nearest suit of armour and took a few deep breaths, composing himself and chiding his thoughts for leading him astray. When he felt like he had a little more control of himself, he ducked out from behind the armour and started to walk, as briskly as he dared, back to Snape's quarters. He hoped that he had not made himself late with his foolish fancy. The fact of the matter was that he was not free to do as he pleased. He was a slave, and no amount of hoping and wishing was going to change that. This was a brief moment of respite in his otherwise extraordinary and pathetic life; a miraculous moment, but one that would surely end. He knew better than to hope for the impossible. Yet, as he turned the corner and paused at Snape's door, rubbing his eyes clear of any stray, rebellious tears that might have lingered there, he sent up a silent prayer to a God he wasn't sure that he believed in that, just this once, he might be allowed to keep such a good thing.
That's all folks... Please let me know what you think. Next chapter should be out soon, and Sal and co will get a few questions answered.
Nerdy notes below the line:
It was common for masters to free favoured slaves on certain high days and holy days. Unfortunately for Sal, that's not really on the table for him.
