O v e r - a n a l y z e
(Victim overanalyzes "small acts of kindness")
About a month went by. I stayed mostly in the room that I'd come to think of as mine, pacing back and forth to use up energy, and occasionally going downstairs to ask Snape for something to read. Snape and I had three other short, vaguely science-y conversations whenever I went downstairs for another book, but nothing major.
I always slept badly, having used up no energy to make me tired during the day. I think I must have gained weight, as I didn't burn energy, but I've never really cared about that sort of thing. It's not like I ever had a reputation or anything. Well, no, I've got friends and stuff; I'm just not part of the "in" crowds that need to be stick thin. My friends like me for who I am.
Um. Anyway. Back to the story.
Belatrix had come to Spinner's End once, and I'd had to remember not to look her in the eyes when Snape called me down. I didn't know if she was a Legilimens or not. I was frightened, but in my fear I realized that she was not nearly insane as she was in book five, which perplexed me until I realized that all I knew of her was through Harry's eyes.
She and Snape talked about potions, Draco Malfoy, and "the Potter boy." It was a surprisingly mundane conversation from what I heard and it was odd hearing adults talking about Wizarding things with such seriousness. Even I never used that tone when I talked about the books.
But I stayed upstairs for the most part.
Snape went to one other Death Eater meeting – I hesitate to call them Dark Revels, because I've never heard them actually called that – and, to my surprise, he came back unscathed. I, from fanfiction, I suppose, expected him to come back shivering from the Crustatus Curse, or bleeding or in pain or something.
But he was just fine, to my confusion.
He had drilled me for information to bring to Voldemort before he had left, but I never told him anything major and, oddly, he didn't push me. I no longer remember what I told him, and going back and re-reading Order of the Phoenix is no help. I believe that the information that I gave him was taken out of my memory and incorporated into the book, and into cannon.
I never knew why he did not bring me myself. I'd like to think now that even then he was trying to protect me, but I highly doubt it. There was some other motive there, but I have no idea what it was. Maybe he liked the power of having a monopoly of my information, I don't know.
One time, perhaps three weeks after I'd arrived, however, he did come back with blood running down his cheek. I knew he'd bite my head off if I approached, so I stayed back, in the hallway and watched as he sat wearily in the chair. I wanted to look away from all the blood, but it was mesmerizing.
"Come out," he spat, "I know you're there."
Timidly, I entered the room. "A-are you alright?" I asked softly.
As mentioned before, he was very hard to predict, and I did not yet know how to deal with him when he was feeling moody, so I feared his anger. He scowled at me.
"You see this?" he growled, wiping away at the blood on his forehead. I nodded timidly and shivered slightly. He was angry, and I knew by now not to mess with him when he was angry. It wouldn't help to talk.
"This is what I get from your precious Order," he snarled at me, surging up and snatching a potion bottle, dabbing some potion on the wound under his hair. "Civilized people don't harm their followers," he growled to himself. He turned to me. "You're dismissed, Muggle girl!" he spat, and I split, racing up the stairs.
The Order of the Phoenix did that to him? I thought in shock, sitting on my bed, he was wounded in an Order meeting, and not in a Death Eater meeting?
That didn't seem to fit, somehow.
The fourth week I was there, he actually came up to my room.
"Pack your bag," he growled, looking with a disdainful eye at my five binders, Latin text book and The Odyssey, which I'd finally remembered, sitting on the floor, "You're coming to Hogwarts."
I stared at him. "I'm w-what?" I breathed.
He flicked his wand, and my stuff slipped into my backpack, which zipped itself up.
"Hogwarts," he snapped, "I suppose you know what that is?" he asked disdainfully.
I nodded. "Are-are you taking me to D-Dumbledore?"
"No," he growled, thrusting my backpack at me. I took it. "You're going to stay in my rooms, where no one can see you."
I blinked. That didn't fit with what I thought I knew of him, but I didn't ask. He'd only snap at me. I took my bag.
He's on his own side, I realized with horror, neither Dumbledore's nor Voldemort's. Or, at least I hoped so, hoped desperately that he wasn't really on Voldemort's side. I did trust him, though. I couldn't help it. He was my favorite character, despite the fact that he was mean. He was still my favorite character, even after all this time, even after he'd snapped at me and snarled at me. Why?
I've no idea. I would like to say that I could 'read' him, that I knew intuitively, because in a story that sounds nice, but truthfully I never know these things and the last time I tried to judge someone intuitively it ended, shall we say, not very prettily. Perhaps I trusted him through habit, or maybe the fanfiction made him someone in my mind that he was, and is, not. I do not know.
So I complied. We floo'd over, which was not a very nice experience. It was like being on one of those spin-y chairs, with the wheels. You know, a computer chair, only there was lots and lots of ash, which got into my hair and eyes and made me sneeze. Harry, in the book, said that he could see glimpses of other fireplaces. I couldn't – I saw only ash, and the occasional light.
Harry also didn't describe that one could feel the other people using the floo whizzing past. It was an unpleasant sensation – I was always afraid we'd crash.
Then Snape's hand jerked, and he pulled me through a fireplace and into his quarters.
The first thing I noticed was that the walls were stone. There were two chairs facing the fireplace, with a rug in front of them, and behind the chairs was a stone wall, and a closed door. It wasn't brick, but cold, gray stone with a bookshelf on it. On the left wall there was another shelf, with bottles of all sizes and colors, and a desk as well as a cauldron. To the right of that was a door which I suspected lead to a bathroom. To the right of the fireplace there was a doorway which led to a bedroom, and by the doorway was a large wooden wardrobe.
Snape walked over to the wardrobe, and opened it. It was empty. He gestured with his wand and the space within grew larger, without stretching the wardrobe itself. He conjured up a mattress and some sheets, and left a bit of the floor bare.
"This is where you'll sleep," he growled nastily.
A wardrobe I wanted to shout, that's worse than a cupboard under the stairs!
But I didn't want to fight with him. I docilely walked over to it and dumped my bag in it. I looked up at him.
"C-could I have another change of c-clothes?" I asked quietly. I had been lucky – I was taking a pair of gym clothes to school that day when I was captured, so I had two pairs, but after a month two pairs of clothes were starting to smell.
Snape harrumphed and waved his wand; a second pair of sweatpants, gray, as well as a gray shirt appeared and fell lightly on the mattress.
"Thanks," I murmured, mostly out of habit. My parents had drilled me in manners and it was unconscious by now.
He nodded, an odd look flickering in his eye before it vanished into the depths of his mind. He gestured again; a small candle holder appeared as well, and a small stack of white candles appeared next to it as well as some matches. I blinked, surprised. Here was a bit of kindness I hadn't expected. I hadn't asked for candles and he didn't even know I hated the dark.
"The wardrobe is warded against fires," he said sternly, as if expecting me to burn it down in my idiocy, despite the spells, "and so is the mattress, your backpack and your clothes."
I nodded. "Thanks," I repeated. There it was again – that odd look. Huh.
Maybe he didn't get thanked that often.
He left me for Dumbledore's office, threatening that should I be seen I'd be in big trouble. I hid in the wardrobe.
And so my stay at Hogwarts began.
-
I remained in the wardrobe for the rest of the day, with the door half-closed, so I could see out but no one could see in unless they came around. It was surprisingly comfortable, my wardrobe. The floor was wood, and there was enough of it for me to pace a little, two steps back and two steps forth, and the mattress was soft and a nice place to sit. It was small and cozy, to my surprise, rather than being small and confining, which was odd, considering that it was, you know, a wardrobe.
I had started by then to read the Odyssey, one of my schoolbooks. I've always loved Greek myths, so it was an entertaining read. I just wished that I was in the class – I would've loved discussing this stuff. But I contented myself with just the book, enjoying every minute of it. I annotated. I suppose I thought I'd be getting home soon enough for the test. I referenced other myths in my annotations, and put little stars next to the cultural stuff. My Odyssey is more annotated than all my other school books combined.
So, while waiting for Snape to return I read my book, humming and underlining and writing little notes in the corners.
I felt eyes on me, after a while, and looked up. Snape was standing in front of me. He thrust a plate at me.
"That better not be one of my books," he growled.
"N-no," I answered gamely, "this is one of m-mine."
"Then why are you always asking to borrow mine?" he spat.
I gave a little one-shouldered shrug. My book had relaxed me enough so that I wasn't a quivering ball of terrified jelly, I suppose. "I was s-saving this one," I said. I didn't really know why I had asked him for his stuff. I suppose I'd forgotten about my Odyssey, or maybe it was just because I, like the crazy girl I am, wanted to interact with him. I closed the book on my finger and accepted the plate of food. "Thanks," I said.
He nodded and was about to turn away when his eyes fell on the title. He raised an eyebrow. "The Odyssey?" he asked. He sounded faintly surprised.
"Yeah," I said. "It's pretty g-good, so far. You've r-read it?"
"Have I read it," he scoffed and turned away. I was prepared to call it rudeness, but he then returned, holding a large green book, which positively dwarfed my small, thick and yellow copy. My eyes widened. He smirked and opened it.
It was a Wizarding book. It had moving pictures – I saw Odysseus blinding Polyphemus, the Cyclops, with a long pole, and Snape flipped to another page – a picture of Odysseus' men going by the sirens, and faint music thrummed from the page.
"W-wow," I breathed. I got up, folding the page of my book over, and walked around to stand next to him, so to see the pictures better. I looked at him for permission, and when he nodded I gently turned the page. The story itself was hand written, but neat enough to read, and the pictures beside it were spectacular. I was amazed, and said so.
"Like ancient myths, then, do you?" He asked off handedly, and I nodded.
"Greek, m-mostly," I smiled at him. He raised his eyebrows.
"You have criteria for them?" he asked judgmentally. I shrugged.
"I don't n-know any others."
He closed his Odyssey and walked over to his shelf. The conversation was clearly over. I returned to reading my book.
The next day I found a book of Chinese myths by my wardrobe.
And so it went like that. Every week or so, I'd find a new book of myths by the entrance of my wardrobe, and I was delighted with each one. Egyptian ones were next, and after that Norse. They were fascinating.
And then school started.
Snape disappeared for the entire day and returned (after briefly showing up at around twelve with my lunch), at around three thirty, muttering and scowling. He threw his outer robe violently onto the hook, and collapsed onto one of the chairs.
"Another bunch of dunderheads," he spat at the fireplace, which obligingly ignited, "not an intelligent one in the lot!"
He seemed to have forgotten that I was there. I fingered my Norse myth book. I thought I owed it to him, to say something nice, especially when he seemed so stressed out. I just had no idea what to say. Taking a deep breath, I pushed my door open a bit.
"L-look on the bright side," I said softly, "you have a n-new NEWT class, right? Surely they m-must be pretty good. And it's your l-last year with Boy Wonder, I think."
He turned to me, eyes flashing. "Get out of there, you stupid girl, and look at me when you speak," he spat.
Well. That was unexpected. I plucked up my courage, and got out of the wardrobe and walked over to him, still holding the Norse myth book. I stood in front of him.
"The year'll end," I told him. "You'll—you'll g-get through it. You will – I've read the book."
"Ah," he drawled, "that's right. Tell me, then, girl – will any of my idiotic students kill me this year? The first years managed to make a simple, three-ingredient brew explode. None of the ingredients were volatile. Their stupidity astounds me."
I chuckled softly. He glared. "Think it's funny, do you?" he spat.
"I think their s-stupidity is funny, yes." I said, still smiling, although my laughter faded. "It's amusing t-to see them flounder, sometimes. Your p-predicament isn't funny, though."
He blinked at me. He seemed startled that I was taking his side. Then, to my shock, he smiled, just a little, more in his eyes than his mouth.
"Yes, I suppose it is. I made a second year wet himself." There was a hint of pride there.
I was on thin ice, I could sense it. Take his side, I thought suddenly, and I'd be there forever. I smiled at him, despite the little bit of sympathy for the poor second-year. "You m-must be the scariest teacher there is here." I told him, still smiling. I was hoping he'd take it as a complement. "You did l-let the poor kid leave, after, didn't you?" I used a jesting tone, very gentle; I didn't want him to take offence.
His smile widened, just a hair. Well done, I thought to myself. I've made an ally.
"Of course," he said airily. "Couldn't have him smelling up my room."
It was the way he said it that made me laugh. A real laugh, too. I'd no idea – he'd taken on the flippant air of a comedian. It startled me. This didn't fit in with the prickly man I'd gotten to know over the last month-and-a-half.
My laughter died down, and there was a comfortable (I was shocked!) silence. He nodded to the book in my hand.
"How are you finding other mythology?" he asked. I beamed at him.
"I love it."
I'll spare you the details, reader, as you might perhaps find it dull, but we proceeded to have an absolutely fascinating conversation about the various myths I'd read, and we ended up comparing them. Strange consistencies in myths from all over the world – I was in nerd heaven. We spoke for hours, our conversation weaving here and there until it was time for him to go to dinner. He left, promising to bring back a plate of food, and as the door shut I leaned back on my chair (I'd eventually sat down) and closed my eyes, smiling.
It was so great to have a full conversation, and an interesting one, no less, after weeks and weeks of tense, awkward words and stiff silence.
He was fascinating – I'd learned that he was fluent in Latin, which I was studying, and he'd known a great deal about Muggle sciences, which was surprising. He'd told me that he'd once built a CRT – a cathode ray tube – inside Hogwarts walls, and it'd worked. CRT's, if you don't know, produce a ray of 'light' that is actually matter. On one side of a glass tube, there's a negatively charged wire and on the other a positive, and when turned on the ray of 'light' goes from one side to the other. If one holds a magnet to one side of the tube, the light bends toward or away, depending on the type of magnet.
Fascinating that it'd worked inside Hogwarts walls, I'd said – Hogwarts was supposed to stop all Muggle things from working. Mr. Snape (I was starting to think of him like that, now) had shaken his head vigorously and said that he thought it was because it was in a tube – the 'light' was in a vacuum and Hogwarts magic therefore couldn't react to it.
I was delighted. I love science-y stuff.
He returned from dinner scowling. He thrust a plate at me and snapped that I should remain in the wardrobe when he was not in the room – what if McGonagall had come in, or the House elves?
Well. Seemed like something happened at dinner.
I nodded, disappointed – I'd hope to continue our conversation. I returned to my wardrobe and ate in silence.
However, that night, before he went to sleep, I called out a "good night, Mr. Snape," which he returned, with what sounded like a smile.
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