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Severus followed Lisander, Harry and Willow up the stairs, grateful that Flitwick was coming. He had been unsure that the professor would be able to get away from Hogwarts and was relieved to know that he had gotten away. Headmaster Dumbledore had been most displeased to see him, even after he explained what they had found on the Hellmouth. It didn't seem to worry the headmaster at all that they had an untrained ambient mage running about, open to all kinds of influxes of powers and would be masters.

Her actions that afternoon alone left him shaken to the core. She was powerful, scarily so. And it frightened him to be exposed to it, it drew him in. With one hand, she could compel all the magic in the United Kingdom to come to her. And she didn't understand the danger in that, she just used it freely. He certainly hoped that the headmaster would change his mind about the importance of this visit when he heard about this.

Glancing up at her from the corner of his eye, he tried once more to read the source of her magic and was frustrated that it escaped him. It was something that he knew, that he recognized…but he couldn't quite hold onto the quicksilver thought.

But something else about her caught his eye. There was something different about her physical appearance that diminished her somehow. Making sure that both she and Potter were resting, he then made his own way into the room Lisander showed him.

Another thought shoved its way into his already crowded mind-what had the Dark Lord wanted with both students anyway? Surely, he could not suspect the nature of Willow's powers…then again, that was one of the reasons he had been so eager to have him in his ranks at such a young age.

And kept forgiving his betrayals of him, though Severus was now kept on the outer edges of the ranks.

Shrugging off his thoughts as he rested on his bed, he figured that he'd shape it out in his mind later. After a little nap and a talk with Filius, he'd be much more aware.

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When Willow opened her eyes forcefully, there was a man sitting at the end of her bed. His presence startled her so much, she almost wished she had the energy to fall out of the bed. He had a shock of white hair and twinkling eyes. He also appeared to be rather short-though the power he wove around himself was heady. She tried not to do it but the weariness of her body compelled her to yield and she eventually drank it in.

"Ah, you are right, Severus. Quite a handy little ambient mage, isn't she?" His voice was squeaky but not painfully so.

"That's what I feared," he sighed, rubbing his forehead. She pulled magic from him and it left him weary. "Is there nothing to be done?"

"Oh, don't worry about a thing, my dear boy, she'll be fine. You should stop that before you give me a wizarding migraine from the drain," he advised, facing her again. But it was still in that gentle voice of his.

"Sorry," she pulled the covers over her head. With effort, she pulled back and locked herself down.

He laughed happily, gently pulling the covers back down so that she could see them. "I like to see the people that I'm talking to and there was no harm down to us, my dear child, you couldn't possibly know what you could happen. I shall introduce myself. I am Professor Filius Flitwick, while you are Miss Willow Rosenberg. Come along, let's get some meat on those bones, you are practically skin and bones like Severus here. Not healthy for either of you. Furthermore, you need it after today's happenings. From all I've heard, you had quite an adventure with Mister Potter."

Rising slowly, she was dismayed by the slight swaying of her body. "What?" she asked, looking at them in uncertainty.

Professor Flitwick took her arm with a clucking sigh. "I'm afraid that you shall do no magic for a while, child, you've quite drained all of your reserves. Until we find out from whence you draw your powers, you will be quite unable to use any of it."

"But isn't magic just magic?" she asked him, puzzled. It seemed odd to think of different sources for enchantments. "Doesn't it just come from within you, then you guide it by a wand? Or from all around and directed by a staff or a wand?"

"No. All magic has sources, roots for anchoring. Wand cores take their powers, their essences from other sources-not just the wizard. That is why it must resonate, it must call to your inner core. Any power from an outside source can be drawn from any source. But, and this I must stress, every mage has a specific source, it can be anything from the wind or water, from which to draw upon and renew its energy." Flitwick explained as they walked down the stairs and towards the dinning hall. "Few people realize that I am an ambient mage myself because I have been very careful not to take advantage of it in such a way as to draw attention to myself. I draw my energy from plants. Severus here has access to water magery, which is why I was able to recognize what he was. Though I will admit that I was blinded by the strength of his power, his extends much farther than mine."

"What of my wand?"

His head shook, knowing what it was she truly wished to ask. "Without much within you to balance off of right now, it will do you more harm than good."

"You've seen it then," she sighed.

"More like I felt it, child. It was hard to avoid the way it screamed its presence to me. As I represent life, the wand you possess represents an absence of life. Or life as we acknowledge it," he corrected himself with a chuckle. "But that is not the only reason I counsel against using it, I would not allow Severus to do so once I knew what he truly was."

Severus followed silently, musing about the way things stood with them now. How was he to explain to Giles what happened to her, how he'd failed in his promise to keep her safe and yet, brought her to the brink of death? On the positive side of things, he had figured out what was different about her. Thankfully, she was not vain. They'd have a hard enough time keeping Potter quiet about it without setting her off.

Thinking of that boy, where was he at the moment? Lupin's words about the boy's changing view of him greatly distressed him. Studying him closely, he began to see what the werewolf had been talking about.

It was…creepy.

That the Boy Who Lived would see in him a mentor of the father variety was dismaying. He was not a cuddly, encouraging type. His world contained the harsh angles and definite lines of squares, full of certainties. Not circles of possibilities and warmth.

And yet, against all odds, the boy seemed to cling to him.

Was it possible that his actions backfired on him? He'd always tried to treat him as though he was a normal student, though he would admit to being harsher to him than times had called for. But he never crossed the line he'd set for himself, for all that he threatened to do so. Though labeled a monster by the world, he was not one in truth.

Contrary to popular belief, he did have his own line of morals that he would not violate. Potter was just like any other child-even if his name was more known. He needed to have limits set for him, needed boundaries or he'd become to dangerous. He needed to know how far he could push those limits. Severus Snape was more than willing to provide them.

And maybe that's where he went wrong with Potter.

As galling as the thought was, may be he should have ignored the chance to vent old hatreds and just let the boy be. If he'd ignored him or treated him like anyone else, they wouldn't be in this mess of a situation.

As it was, they were both trapped by the circumstances and he didn't have a clue on how to regain his footing on this most uneasy ground. Dealing with Lord Voldemort had been easier than this. However, Potter needed him to continue to act in the same manner and to train him for what was coming.

As much as he hated it, Headmaster Dumbledore was correct. He was the only one who could for none other had such an intimate knowledge of the Dark Lord's mind. Nor the workings of dark magics, which Potter would need a base in if he was to combat that thing on equal ground.

But how long would this balancing act go on before Sirius Black realized what was occurring?

If his merely being on speaking terms with Potter's father sent that mangy mutt into a mindless rage that almost cost Lupin his freedom and him his own life, how would this new situation between him and the boy affect Black?

He shuddered, grateful that it went unnoticed.

Harry came out of the room, a smile on his face that faded when he focused on her. Green eyes widened in disbelief and he shook his head, puzzled. "Merlyn's bones, Willow, what did you do to your hair? I know you're into freedom of expression but really…doing that to yourself?"

"What?" Willow paled, turning to face Severus. "What's he talking about?"

He sighed, must refrain from killing the boy. Before he could reply, Flitwick beat him to it. "I don't see what the problem is, surely you've seen her hair like this before."

"She's a redhead, Professor. Not a Malfoy double," Harry replied.

"Malfoy?" she mouthed. Running over to a window, she looked at her reflection. Her hand trembled as it touched the strands that floated by her face. "Where did my color go?"

"I would imagine that your reserves are kept in your hair. When you expended it all over the place, it began to bleed away. I suspected as much when you came back from Knockturn Alley and the color seemed to be leaving at a rapid rate. This has never happened to you before," Snape surmised, "therefore you did not expect it."

But she wasn't really focusing on his explanation. Without the color of red framing her face, she give the impression of being a vampire. "My hair? What happened to my hair? How does Draco stand this? There's no definition here. I look like I've just risen from the grave."

"Its not all bad, it brings out your eyes."

Scarily true, it was a thought they all shared. The vibrant jade of her eyes stared out at them, shocking in that pale, white face. It was like the sign of the Death Eaters, floating in that white face. They shivered at the thought, wishing that it had never come to mind. "Will this happen all the time?" she asked.

Flitwick approached, "not at all, if you learn to control yourself. Severus used to have a lot of problems himself. His problem went a bit deeper in the beginning since none of us could properly tell what he was, magically speaking. It wasn't until he began throwing up silver tinged blood that I realized what was wrong."

"Silver blood?"

"Ambient mages have magic in their blood that calls to magics outside of them. If those magics are called and not used, they become solid and try to fill up all available space-hence the silver in the blood." Flitwick told her, nodding sadly. "We nearly lost him."

"Filius," he warned, not wanting to go into that again. He'd made a mistake but it hadn't been deliberate. How was he to know that a recessive gene in his family would've emerged in his own magical abilities and alter his own signature?

"Why couldn't it just go away?" she asked, desiring not to have another outburst from Professor Snape that might lead to an argument. Plus, she admitted to having a slight bit of curiosity about her nature as well.

"Called magic cannot leave of its own violation. They must be used or sent back by conscious order of the mage," Flitwick explained. "You see, once they become intertwined with a source, they become a part of that source. Though the magics were originally free, they became part of another source and thus are no longer a free entity."

"I see," she mused softly. "How long will this last?"

"Considering how much you've been doing, I would imagine a week."

"A week!" she shrieked, cutting Severus off.

He glared at her and she looked down at the ground. "Miss. Rosenberg, please refrain from acting like a fishwife. If you are going to be so careless as to toss around magic as though it was rainwater, then you must accept the consequences of such actions. A week at most. Given how much power you've shown an inclination for in the past, I would hazard a guess that it will return in a day or two. Mind you, this does not give you the right to go back out and throw it around. You must learn caution."

"Yes, professor," she whispered.

"Severus, be nice," Filius scolded him. "You must remember that she is new to this-and you were much the same way with your own power."

"But I was younger than she," he reminded his colleague.

"That is not an excuse, Severus. Miss. Rosenberg has not lived in our world and been even lightly trained. You, on the other hand, have had the benefit of several centuries of others' experiences to teach you. Moreover, you have learned all about magic at home and in school."

He bowed his head, accepting the rebuke with surprising grace. "I apologize for my harsh words but I do not take them back."

"I understand, Professor Snape. I will try harder in the future to remember that this is not the stuff of fairy tales. This is real and as such, has its own limits and rules," she whispered, keeping her head down.

Harry had stood the entire time, watching this with wide and confused eyes. When his professor apologized, he openly gaped. "What is going on?"

"Mr. Potter, kindly recall the lesson Mr. Malfoy taught on our travel through the Crenna, that there are two branches of magic. There is the one in which most of our world dwell in This is known as academic magery-magic that comes through learning. Then there is another one, lesser populated branch of artifice-that of ambient magery, called magic. The three of us are ambient mages. You will notice that, though there are a few exceptions, none of us actually us spells when we do our work. There is no need. Of course, there is a third branch that does not actually apply to our world at all because it comes from a much older source. You will learn more about that if you continue your studies under a teacher far more suited than Professor Binns."

"How do you know you're an ambient mages?" Harry asked curiously. They made their way towards the table where Lisander had laid out a substantial meal, though the thought of eating made Willow feel slightly ill.

"There are signs. Uncontrollable magic. Power that comes from no obvious sources. Sickness with no discernable indication of illness. Being able to do really powerful spells without a wand or use of words. Spells that are more than simply growing hair out to avoid embarrassment. Or trapping one's cousin behind a plate of glass in a zoo," he slyly said.

He flushed, "you said the magics are called. If that's so, why aren't they more common?"

"A remarkably astute question, Mr. Potter," Snape remarked, somewhat surprised by it. The boy may have a brain under all that hair after all, he thought. "The Witch Trials had a lot to do with it. During that time, many learned to shunt that power, with the result that it dwindled and became a lesser branch of magic."

"Does it make you more powerful than other wizards?"

"In one way it does. But in others, it's more trouble than it's worth. If you do not know about it, you do risk strangling yourself on the magic itself. For an ambient mage, magic is alive and has a will of its own-one that it will use. Greater strength must be called upon to keep it in control, sometimes one must have a stronger person to help contain and guide the magic. Of course, it does have the habit of making your emotions act up, sometimes to the extremes."

"Like Headmaster Dumbledore's insane cheerfulness?" Harry asked.

Severus bit his lip to prevent from smiling. It would never do for the boy to think that he thought he was humorous-even if he did agree with the assessment. "That is one example, though neither Professor Flitwick or I have seen any sign that he is like us."

"But he is powerful?"

"There is no denying his power, Mr. Potter, for he is powerful. I am just saying that he could not be an ambient mage. His power lines run through another source, an inside source. Through his learning though, he may have figured out a way to borrow the strength that he needs to do what is necessary to serve and protect our world-even if his methods are questionable. Without depleting himself or the basis he tapped into." He raised an eyebrow, watching as Harry packed away his food. "Hungry?"

"Busy day," he replied.

"Please, I do not need to see your food once it's in your mouth."

"Sorry, sir." He didn't look repentant at all though, a small smirk twisting his lips. Every once in a while, he enjoyed playing up to his professor's image of him as a spoiled brat with no manners. Though more and more he was beginning to realize that he may be mistaken in what his professor actually thought about him.

"Miss. Rosenberg, I realize that you do not want to eat but you must. Try the soup first, start small and build up. Never let your eyes get bigger than your stomach, I always say," Flitwick advised her, a small amount of food on his plate.

"Not going to be a problem, sir." She reached out for the potato soup when she felt something. Tensing, she recognized the strange tingle in the air.

Poof!

"Severus, Filius, Harry, good to see you here. And you are?" Headmaster Dumbledore had appeared in the middle of the table, startling Willow and sending her across the room. Twinkling blue eyes watched the girl as she stared at him, wide eyed. Wide, green eyes.

"Oh, my," she whispered.

"Willow, stop that. This is Headmaster Dumbledore. Headmaster, this is Willow Rosenberg," he introduced them. "If you kindly recall, I told you about her earlier."

"Ah, so you did." He studied her, a cheerful smile on his face. Something about her puzzled him though, just as Ollivander had said. Those eyes were quite distinctive and he knew he'd seen them someplace before.

"Hi," she shyly waved at the tall, bearded man twinkling down at her.

"Hello. May I call you Willow?"

"Okay," she whispered, still standing by the wall.

Harry smiled widely, this scene amused him as little had lately. Just when he thought the American couldn't do anything else to shock him, she went and did something like this and reminded him that as powerful as she was, she was a kid like him. He found it reassuring.

The Headmaster climbed down from the table and sat between Harry and Severus. Though he wasn't looking at her, she got the oddest feeling he was still staring at her. "Please, don't let me disturb you. Come back to the table and eat. I promise you, I don't bite. That's a job I leave to others more qualified than I."

She laughed nervously, slowly returning to the table. This was the second person in this world that absolutely unnerved her, the first being Ollivander. The redhead wasn't sure how she felt about it. All she felt was an intense desire to get back to what she knew. This place frightened her. She wanted to go back to what was normal for her.

Well, as normal as the Hellmouth was.

"Stop cowering from the headmaster. I assure you that the scariest thing about him is that infernal twinkle that he cannot seem to loose. No matter how many people plead and beg him to do so," Severus snapped.

"Severus, stop being so unkind to the dear child," Albus scolded him.

Harry hid his smile this time.

After all, smiling about Willow's error was one thing. Laughing at Professor Snape outright was quite another thing entirely. This was the second time in less than an hour that he got to see his stern professor taken to task. He liked it. Other than glowering at the Headmaster, Professor Snape did nothing. "What are you doing here, sir?" he asked, wondering what had brought the headmaster out of the school. "Is it Voldemort?"

"Ah, Harry, no. I'm not here because of Voldemort. But thank you for reminding me that I have yet to tell you why I'm here without warning you," he turned to smile at the Gryffindor and it hit him. Harry's eyes! Lily's distinctive, one of a kind green eyes! "Merlyn's Beard, that's it! That's where I've seen your face before. You look remarkably like Lily Evans Potter-except for the hair, of course. Hers was red. But those eyes are definitely unmatched."

Harry paled, his spoon dropping from numb fingers. "But her hair usually is red."

"Of course! He thinks she's her," Severus muttered. "I am such an incompetent idiot. I should've seen it right away. How ignorant and blind I've been."

"Her who?" Willow asked, watching them and trembling.

Professor Flitwick patted her hand. "No need to be so afraid, child. It is a dear friend of ours."

"Is this something I should be sitting for?"

"But, you are sitting," Filius said with a baffled smile.

"That's good because I think I need to be," she mumbled.

"She was my mother," Harry softly said. "Lord Voldemort-the dark wizard who tried to get us earlier today-killed her in an attempt to get to me. There's this prophecy that says that Voldemort will chose and mark his own rival. That this rival and he will battle each other-and only one will emerge victorious."

"Not one of those things," she groaned.

"You have experience with them?" Filius asked her, since no one else seemed particularly desirous of the task.

She snorted. "Oh, yes. There was one in my sophomore year that predicted the slayer's death."

"Buffy?" Harry guessed. He'd only met the blonde girl once but it had been comforting to know that he wasn't the only one shoved into an unwanted and painful destiny.

"Yup, by the master's hand. Following after a child, she was lead unto her destruction. He did. She died. She came back. They fought. He was defeated. Another did get called, thus there are now two slayers. It made for a very interesting year for Buffy," she recapped quickly.

"She died?" Harry exclaimed.

"That's what I said."

"How?"

"The Master bit and drowned her."

"Master? The founder of the Order of Aurelius?" Severus asked. "But we were lead to believe that he was trapped."

"Well, he was but slayer blood and some sucky prophecy freed him," she said.

"He's dead? Are you quite sure of this?"

"Yes, he was pounded into pemmican before us earlier this year. Well, at the start of our school year," she replied, puzzled. "Didn't you know that, professor?"

Snape shook his head, "Lord Voldemort will be most displeased to hear of this. That particular vampire was one he hoped to bring into his forces."

"But what is this you were saying about prophecies?" Headmaster Dumbledore redirected the conversation back to the topic at hand.

She blinked at him, startled, then remembered what they had been talking about. "Oh, right. Uhm, where do I start? Oh, yeah, I know. Doing some independent study of my own-cause I have that kind of time on my hands-I realized that most prophecies are vague and impotent until something happens to alter that. It is my humble opinion that prophecies mean nothing until they are believed to be the absolute truth. When that happens, they take on the power of that belief and become somewhat irrefutable."

"Wait," Harry stopped her, an incredulous look on his face. "Are you telling me that none of this would've happened to me if someone hadn't believed that Professor Trelawney spoke the truth?"

"Yes and no."

"It's either one or the other," he growled.

"Well, I…" she trailed off, unable to come up with the words to explain herself.

"I believe I see what you are saying," Severus spoke up. "Not in the wizarding world, Harry. Magic is infinite here. It is real and lives in everything. When those words were spoken, belief in divination's truth was already an established fact."

"Belief gave the words power of its own," she interrupted with an apologetic smile. "Thus, it was able to grow with every person who believed in it. You survived death, thus placing the ultimate seal of authority on it."

End, Part Six.