Once again, I am stuck waiting for my co-authors to finish writing their sections, and once again I have decided to post without them and update later. I hope you enjoy.

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Slytherin

Juliana Prince

September 1, 2007

"Stupid bloody git with his stupid bloody bird," I muttered in frustration as I waited for Drew's steps to fade. His unexpected appearance and all the noise he had caused was a considerable setback. Even though I had gotten rid of him as quickly as I could, it had taken more than a few minutes to hide the augurey. "Aetas caelestis," I whispered, drawing a circle in midair with my wand. Nothing happened. I silently cursed my inability to complete even the simplest charms; my wand—aspen, Chinese fireball heartstring, 8 ¼ inches, completely inflexible—was extraordinary at transfiguration but almost useless in the flowery art of charms. Focusing harder this time, I repeated the incantation. As I drew the circle once more, a floating clock appeared, outlined in orange fire. Murmuring in admiration, some of the portraits nearby began to clap and commend me on a job well done. "Shhh!" I reminded them. The wispy hands displayed 12:06, before quickly fading and leaving the passage dark once again.

I slumped back against the wall, thinking. I had lost almost ten minutes. In my previous years in Hogwarts, I had learned the habitual paths that the teachers took while making their nightly rounds. Yet I had only memorized them to a certain extent…I knew just enough to get me to the Headmistress' office and back within a certain timeframe. Now, due to my lost time, I had no idea where the teachers had moved to.

Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me explain from the beginning.

It was only a month into my first year when Professor Slughorn began to take notice of my talent at magic, especially transfiguration and potions. After one particularly productive potions class, he pulled me aside and asked me to join his club for superior students. I, of course, was delighted. The feeling faded at the fairly dismal first "meeting"—all that Slughorn did was wander from student to student, interrogating them on their background and relatives. I, being a proud pureblood, wasn't worried per se. It was just obnoxious and boring, and I didn't really have any famous or rich relatives. Or so I had thought.

"Ah, Prince," he had smiled, noticing me in the corner at last. "How well I know that name."

I raised my eyebrows, not comprehending. "I don't know what you mean, sir. My family's pretty average." Average in everything, unfortunately. Mediocre wizards with mediocre connections and a mediocre income. Not exactly a breeding ground for greatness.

Slughorn didn't seem convinced. "You're much too modest, Miss Prince! If I were of blood relation to one of the greatest heroes who stood against the Dark Lord, I would be boasting of it to high heaven!" My stupid look of happy confusion was a clear giveaway that I was still oblivious. Chuckling, Slughorn said, "I think I understand. Despite Severus Snape's many valorous deeds, he was still a half-blood. No doubt the Prince family was reluctant to admit that he was of their blood. His mother was Eileen Prince," he explained, realizing that I did not recognize Snape's surname. I knew his mother, though. She had been my grandfather's sister, alluded to frequently by my parents as the blood traitor who I should aspire to be nothing like. "Surely you've heard of him? He was a spy against the Dark Lord who gave his life to help Harry Potter."

"Oh—HIM!" I blurted out, shocked and overjoyed. I had heard of the mysterious double-agent many times in reference to the story of the Dark Lord's downfall. He had even been mentioned in Professor Binns' introductory speech in History of Magic class. "I had—I had no idea—"

"He also used to be a Headmaster of Hogwarts, for a brief time," Slughorn continued. "They say his portrait hangs in the Headmistress' office…" I tuned out the rest of Slughorn's speech, intent upon the information he had just let slip. If he was somewhere in the castle, maybe I could talk to him. My over-zealous imagination took over, envisioning Snape as a confidant, possibly the only real family I had who, like me, did not share the Prince's characteristic blood-mania. Just to think of it…a real hero! I had to see him. I had to speak to him.

One of the things I love about Slytherins is their determination to achieve what they want, and their cunning, clever ways to go about doing so. After spending many an afternoon trying to locate the Headmistress' office, I came up with a brilliant plan. No teacher would ever divulge the location, so who else was there to ask…besides those who had been with Hogwarts since the beginning, those who silently held the school's every secret? The portraits were all too frequently ignored, and surely they would come to love me and trust me if I lavished them with the attention they so craved.

I was right. I quickly came to know the majority of them by name, their likes and dislikes, their dreams. Hoping to gain their trust and admiration, I began helping the portraits with their personal issues, almost like a counselor. I discovered that it was possibly even more effective to thwart their hopes than to immediately gratify them—for example, when the Fat Lady who guarded Gryffindor tower spoke to me of her secret affections for the second-floor portrait of the Duke of Derbyshire, I waited before helping her win him over. That brief period of inaction made her so much more dependent on me, so much more trusting. Call me manipulative, but that's just how we Slytherins roll.

Okay, don't get me wrong. I grew attached to them. Although I once viewed them as mere means of gaining my ends, I genuinely enjoy their friendship and even sometimes come to them for advice. It just doesn't hurt that they make powerful connections, and reveal to me not only passwords into guarded areas but also how to avoid teachers at night. Sometimes, if I'm close to getting caught, they'll even create a loud diversion to help me get away. We're tight.

After a few months of preparations, I finally managed to sneak into the Headmistress' office. The moment I stepped off the staircase and into the round, spacious room, a cold voice greeted me: "Surely, of all the midnight excursions, yours must be the most foolhardy I've ever seen. Tell me, who is your head of house? I need to know who to summon to expel you."

I swung around, and saw the entire wall was COVERED in portraits. Darn, I thought, realizing that it was probably stupid of me to assume that Snape's was the only picture McGonagall kept. The speaker was a sour, sallow-faced man with long, greasy black hair. Lesson one in how-to-save-your-skin, I reminded myself: act like a scared little girl to invoke pity. "Please, sir," I begged in my most hysterical, frightened voice, "I-I was just hoping to meet my Uncle Severus. My whole family hates him, and they won't even talk about him, but I think he's a real hero, I really do, but what'll he think of me now if I get expelled, I'm not even worthy to see his face…" Lesson two: burst into tears. I promptly began crying and wailing pathetically.

Had I known who I was speaking to, I probably wouldn't have even attempted to out-con the con-master. As it was, the mere phrase "Uncle Severus" was enough to wipe the dour expression off his face and replace it with one of sentimentality and curiosity. "Your…uncle?" he whispered, a slight tremor in his voice. "But I'm Severus Snape."

Gasping, I stared into his eyes. He looked remarkably like my grandfather when he was young, in the old photographs my father keeps. I could tell he was thinking along the same lines, picking out the slight resemblance I held: my pale skin, dark eyes, long nose. Suddenly laughing, Snape cut through the silence. "You know, if you weren't family, I would never have let you get away with that whine-and-cry routine. It's so cliché." My nerves relaxed, and I giggled, wiping away a few clinging tears.

Through the next two years, I visited him as often as I could, at least once every two weeks. To him, I could tell, I was more of a daughter than anything else. Now, as I sadly watched the last wisps of my time-teller charm fade, I knew this would be the first meeting of ours that I would have to miss. I imagined him, the only awake portrait in the office, waiting through the wee hours of the morning in the hope that I might appear after our time apart over the summer. With a heavy heart, I headed back to the dungeons.