[That awkward moment when your chapter title is your own made-up and probably incorrect Latin phrase... For those who don't recall, from like three months ago, I intended this to mean something like 'which may be socially onerous' - in reference to taking on the patronage of a muggleborn client.]

Saturday, 15 January 1994

Old Dueling Arena

This was a Bad Idea, Mary thought, sizing up her opponent.

She was at least eight inches taller, had a correspondingly longer reach, and probably had eighty pounds on the slim, five-nothing seeker. That hardly mattered in a magical fight, of course, but she couldn't help taking it into account, because it was intimidating. The older witch, at seventeen, or nearly there, looked like a bloody adult, confident in her abilities to take her smaller opponent without breaking a sweat. Smug, even. Physically or magically, Mary was certain she was going to be swatted like a fly.

A very Bad Idea, she revised, but she really had no choice. She could hardly back out at this point.

After the Quidditch match – which Slytherin had won by a fair margin, even with Draco seeking instead of Mary – Sandra Bletchley had interrupted the celebratory atmosphere in the Commons to accuse Dave of stealing a rare book from her family and demand satisfaction from Mary as his Patron.

This wasn't a complete surprise – Mary had known that the blood purists in the house had to be planning something – but that didn't mean she reacted well.

Dave, of course, denied it, but the younger Bletchley, Travis, the conniving little worm, had stolen Dave's bag and retrieved it triumphantly after a suspiciously short search – no doubt he had planted it there himself, probably after Sandra had charmed it Unnoticeable for him.

Mary had suggested this sequence of events to explain why Dave might have had possession of the book. Elder Bletchley had asked whether Mary was impugning the honor of the House of Bletchley by implying that she and her brother were liars, and Mary, her smart tongue getting ahead of her brain, much as it had had a tendency to do with Dudley, had quipped that she was – if Bletchley was impugning the honor of her client by calling him a thief.

After that, things had gone downhill quickly. The blood purists in the house had rallied behind Bletchley. Mary's supporters – Lilian, Blaise, Theo, Daphne, Alex and Nora, Morgana and her boys, Envy, Sadie, and Blake – stood up behind her. Sean and Artie, the younger Seran, had stepped up beside their siblings after a moment, and Turner had joined her boyfriend. Most of the house had watched with bated breath, anticipating a free-for-all as the sides shouted at each other. Madden and Carpenter joined in on Mary's side after a few minutes, not for Dave or herself, so much as against the rhetoric the other side was spouting.

Flint, whom Mary had half-hoped would interceded on her behalf, as he had at the beginning of the year (and half-feared, since the favor she had owed him after that intervention was awful), lurked on the sidelines with Chess, Farley, and the sixth-year prefects – with Quidditch players on both sides of the fight, the best he could hope for was defraying the tensions before they erupted into actual violence. The prefects were under orders to keep the peace in the House, but they were clearly loath to get in the middle of an argument that needed to be had, lest it continue to simmer, causing tensions indefinitely, especially when two of their number had very clearly already chosen a side. The prefects didn't like fighting amongst themselves where the rest of the House could see, any more than Slytherins in general fought amongst themselves where the rest of the school could see.

It was Thane Rowle, a sixth-year blood-purist and a traditionalist of the first order, who managed to announce into a relative lull in the shouting on both sides, that the proper thing to do when there was a question of Honor at stake would be to call for a duel over the matter – rather than letting the situation devolve into a brawl like mudblooded Gryffindor heathens.

If Mary hadn't already been facing down a horde of angry upperclassmen, she might have taken more offence to his use of the m-word, or to the implication of Gryffindorishness. As it was, she was momentarily distracted, and somehow found herself being volunteered to fight on behalf of her Client by Morgana and Envy. While she couldn't very well say it wasn't the right thing to do, and it was, in fact, a responsibility that she had expected to have to fulfill at some point, she hadn't quite expected that point to occur so soon. And she definitely hadn't expected the whole House to sneak out to the old dueling arena that had been re-opened for the Dueling Club's use in order to watch her get her arse kicked by a much larger and sturdier sixth-year.

She suspected that she'd been set up.

This was exactly what Bletchley had wanted when she demanded satisfaction in the first place, she was sure of it.

And she had walked right into it.

She tried to surreptitiously assess her surroundings and simultaneously avoid giving away how nervous she was. She doubted that the sixth-year would do anything permanently damaging to her, but given the potentials of magical healing, non-permanent covered a lot of potentially very painful ground.

Fuck! Focus, Potter!

The dueling arena was a large, round platform with runes carved all around its edges. There were tiered seats surrounding it, not unlike the scene Tonks had shown Mary and the Grangers over New Year's. The match-up wasn't so different, either, what with Mary being smaller, younger, and magically outclassed by her opponent – Bletchley was a bloody NEWT student, for fuck's sake! – but unfortunately, unlike Tonks, Mary didn't have a knife and years of training in using it. If she closed the distance between herself and Bletchley, she didn't doubt that her opponent would simply punch her in the face with her longer reach and greater physical strength.

She only had – what? A few months' practice dueling? Bloody hell, she was going to die.

No. That's unproductive.

She had speed. She was fast – much faster on her feet than probably anyone else in Slytherin, including Bletchley. She was good at dodging and not too bad at Shield Charms, but she only knew the most basic Shield and Blocking Spells, and they were easy to break. Creativity? She had picked up a lot of good ideas at the Dueling Club, but Bletchley probably had as well. She couldn't do spells silently, so the sixth-year would probably have the advantage on her there. If she was trying to embarrass Mary, all she would have to do would be land a spell that stopped her from talking – a tongue-lengthening jinx, or the like. If, on the other hand, she was trying to hurt Mary – and from the look in her eye, there was no reason to think otherwise – her options were damn-near unlimited.

Running seemed about her only viable strategy, which was, honestly, a fucking embarrassing tactic, and abandoning this fight would completely undermine whatever respect the House of Slytherin had for her as its Heir – unless… well, that was an idea. It might serve as a distraction, at least, if she could find the time to cast the spell without getting hexed into oblivion in the meanwhile.

Before she could come up with a better plan, Matthew Bannan, a seventh-year who had not taken sides in the common room, was giving them rules – no permanent harm, and they would go until one of them yielded or was unable to continue. Bletchley bowed before Bannan could call for it, elaborately and obnoxiously, smirking openly at Mary's gob-smacked expression: if anyone could claim to be the offended party here, it was her! She glared, and gave the older girl a two-fingered salute before following it with a sneering nod.

Bletchley cast something silently before she had even straightened her head, but Mary had anticipated it, and spun away, shouting Serpensortia as she did, thankful that this was a spell where her aim mattered relatively little. She dodged two more spells and had to cast a Lumax to get enough of an opening to instruct the snake to :attack!:

The older girl tried to vanish the snake, but her spell missed, as she was forced to dodge Mary's stunner.

When the snake got close enough, the sixth-year tried to stomp on it, simultaneously sending jets of fire at Mary, but the third-year ducked and Accio'd her opponent's shoe, and the snake's fangs sank deep into the older witch's other leg.

The bitch didn't fall, but she did scream, and sent a wave of icy-blue light sweeping across the entire floor, unavoidable. It ripped through her shield as though it didn't exist and knocked her off her feet. A sickly bruise-brown light hit her while she was down, though she couldn't tell what it did. By the time she staggered back to her feet, Bletchley had managed to vanish the snake, though Mary could see blood pooling around her now-favored leg.

She sent a retaliatory piercing hex at the older girl, overpowered with the intention to stab, for whatever that brown spell had done – she was sure it wasn't harmless, and she needed to end this fight before Bletchley got the upper hand again and completely took her apart – but the older girl blocked it with a simple Protego and a taunt – "That all you got, little girl?"

Mary didn't bother responding – she didn't know what she would have said, and she was too busy ducking out of the way of a series of vicious orange-red curses. She avoided the first three, but the fourth caught her, and it felt as if every inch of her skin being pinched and burned at the same time. She was slowing down – she could feel it. An ache and chill in her muscles, tensing them against her will, making her reactions just a little… too… slow.

The third-year rolled painfully to her feet, ignoring the sixth-year's bragging taunts and the burning and tingling that was slowly working its way deeper into her skin, and hoping it wouldn't have a long-term effect. It seemed to be wearing off, anyway. She conjured another snake, which nearly exhausted her.

When she realized what was happening – about the time the snake appeared with a crack – Bletchley started flinging curses at Mary. Mary did her best to dodge, foregoing a shield in order to give the snake its marching orders – slithering orders? – oh, her mind was wandering – that was a bad sign. Her hands were shaking, too – her whole body, actually. And she couldn't move fast enough to dodge a purplish slicing curse – it ripped through her robes and the left side of her chest, beneath them. She could feel blood beginning to ooze down her skin moments later, cold and wet, but she couldn't pay it any mind – she had to distract Bletchley from the snake.

She sent a series of weak cutting, piercing, and tripping jinxes of her own at the older girl – ridiculously low-level, under-powered things, but she was shaking so hard, now, that she could hardly aim, and she didn't have the strength for anything more. Plus they looked just as dangerous as they would if they were fully powered. Bletchley, she noted blearily, was starting to waver, as the puddle around her feet continued to grow. She shielded against most of Mary's spells, but a tripping jinx got through, causing her to stumble and slip with her bad leg on the bloody stage. The snake struck at her wand-arm until she dropped the weapon, then rolled it away with a strong swipe of its tail as it maneuvered itself so that it was poised over her throat (:bite the foe, take the magic stick, but don't kill her:).

:What now, Speaker?: it hissed, but Mary was beyond responding, either in Parsel or English. She had fallen to her knees – she wasn't sure when – and couldn't even bring herself to accept Bletchley's fearful, "I yield, Potter!"

The last thing she saw before the world faded out was Bannan vanishing the snake. Then he turned toward her, and she heard someone (Dave?) yelling her name. Then there was nothing. She was fully unconscious before she hit the floor.

Monday, 17 January 1994

Hospital Wing

Mary groaned as she opened her eyes. The hospital wing, again. It was the middle of the night, and she was freezing. She reached for the table where Madam Pomfrey tended to put her glasses and wand, but stopped in mid-motion as she heard a familiar voice saying, "No – don't try to get up, it will set off the wards."

Hermione's bushy hair and the blur of her face appeared suddenly, hovering over the apparently empty visitor's chair.

"Maia?" she asked thickly. "What happened? Is there tea? I'm cold."

"No tea, but I can heat some plain water for you," the Ravenclaw offered. Mary nodded weakly, and her friend obliged, setting the Invisibility Cloak aside and handing her a slightly steaming transfigured mug a moment later. It was too hot to drink, and she stared at it morosely, using it as a hand-warmer. "You're pathetic," Hermione informed her, though not unkindly, digging through the blankets – there was quite a pile of them, Mary realized – to cast warming charms on the hot water bottles buried within.

"What happened?" Mary repeated herself.

"Well, from what Lilian and Snape tell me, you got in a fight with Sandra Bletchley over some book Dave Rhees definitely didn't steal, and it turned into a full-fledged honor duel. She hit you with a Blood-Cooling Curse after you set a conjured snake on her," Hermione explained drily, clearly unimpressed with the Slytherins' antics.

"Blood-Cooling Curse?" she remembered the rest of it fairly well. She was even quite certain that she had won, since Bletchley had yielded to her second snake before she passed out.

The older girl tisked. "Yes, apparently the upper-year Snakes are very impressed that you managed to keep fighting despite it for nearly five minutes. Lilian and Dave were near frantic. Half your House was here Saturday night, bringing the two of you in."

"Were you?" It sounded as though the older girl had been there in person.

"I was unfortunate enough to be in Snape's office when Madam Pomfrey floo'd him. He was… not pleased. I don't know whether your finally being awake will make up for your contribution to the blatant stupidity running rampant within his House. I'm paraphrasing, here. He ranted on in that vein at length."

Mary groaned, then realized: "Wait – finally? How long have I been out? And what happened to Bletchley? Can I at least say she got the worst of it?"

Hermione snorted. "Not hardly. She was bitten a few times, and fairly badly, but conjured snakes aren't poisonous, so she was only here Saturday night, blood replenishing and simple wound-knitting. You had a massive wound from a cutting curse, your core temperature was verging on hypothermia, and you were magically exhausted from fighting while instinctively resisting the Cooling Curse. Snape says the only reason you survived the cutting curse was that the Cooling Curse had already slowed your bodily functions considerably. You won't be able to regulate your own temperature properly until sometime tomorrow, and Pomfrey wasn't expecting you to wake up for another six to twelve hours. It's Monday, now," she added, then checked her watch. "Nearly Tuesday."

"Fuck." Mary didn't know what else to say about the situation. "How is Dave? Lilian didn't say if Slytherin's giving him any trouble, did she?"

"Dave's fine. Lilian says that she doesn't think anyone is going to challenge your patronage of him outright again. In her words, they're calling it a draw, but seeing you use Parseltongue in a duel and making it a draw with a bloody sixth-year is intimidating enough that the House is cowering in fear of the Heir. But really no one in Slytherin is giving anyone any trouble. From what I understand, Snape is threatening to ban the entire House from Hogsmeade come February if anything like this happens again. You – both of you – nearly died, and the whole house just watched." The Ravenclaw twisted her fingers together for a moment, and bit her lip before adding, "I thought you were dead, when I first came in here. You were so pale, and your skin was like ice… I think it was more touch and go than Snape's admitting. He was here most of yesterday. Threatened to castrate Professor Lupin if he wouldn't get out of the way and let him work. And then Professor Lupin was here with Lilian and your minions after dinner today until Madam Pomfrey chucked them out. Everyone else has been stopping in between classes."

"And you?" It sounded like Hermione had been here almost the entire time.

She shrugged. "Time turner."

Mary nodded. "So what have I missed?"

The older girl smiled slightly. "Oh, well… besides Snape threatening the whole of Slytherin into submission, and your reputation being made in your absence? Let's see… you should probably talk to Dave when you get out of here, because he looks like he's blaming himself whenever he looks at you. As I said, everyone's been leaving him alone, so he's fine aside from that, but… yeah. Greengrass was saying something about a party you missed, so you might want to talk to her as well."

The Slytherin groaned. "Being in hospital should be a plenty good excuse to miss that stupid tea party."

Hermione laughed. "Well, I think so, but what do I know about that sort of thing? Anyway, I'm not sure, but I think you might be in for more detentions with Snape. I do know that he was angrier with Bletchley than you, because she's older and obviously picked the fight, and you were hurt worse, but he was saying that the two of you needed to have a long talk when you woke up. I'm actually under orders to fetch him if you woke up when he wasn't here. So, you know, fair warning."

Mary rolled her eyes, but nodded. "Thanks."

"No problem. Lilian will have all of your homework assignments, obviously, except Arithmancy, but you can borrow my notes if you like. Professor Lupin says he did find a boggart to practice with, but we're not starting Patronus lessons this week unless Madam Pomfrey declares you completely healed, otherwise she'll help Filch string him up by his toes – that's a direct quote. Flint told me and Lilian to tell you that you're excused from practices for two weeks, but that you'd better be ready to rein in the Firebolt after that, and stop hurting yourself, because he's not going to miss out on the opportunity to rub Wood's face in the fact that Slytherin has such a nice broom on the field come April."

The younger girl chuckled slightly. "In Flint's terms, that's like, I love you, get well soon."

"I'll take your word for it," Hermione said doubtfully. "I haven't told Mum and Dad about what happened yet – I figured you should have the joy of your own cat-girl confession. But Snape probably has. He seems much more on top of that sort of thing than Professor Flitwick. Oh, and speaking of Professor Flitwick, he's threatened to disband the Dueling Club if he hears of any more honor duels or any duels at all held unsupervised. None of the Slytherin upperclassmen are allowed to supervise anymore. He warded the arena closed again. And he'll probably want to have a talk with you as well, I'd imagine, though he didn't say so."

Mary winced. Out of all the professors she didn't want to disappoint, Professor Flitwick was definitely near the top of the list. Especially since he had been so helpful and willing to start the Dueling Club. It would be a shame if it lasted less than a year because of stupid Slytherin House politics. And the idea of admitting her stupidity to Emma and Dan was daunting, especially with the way Dan had been so uncomfortable with the idea of her learning to fight. "Anything else?"

Hermione shrugged. "Professor McGonagall was here before breakfast and after dinner, checking in. She didn't say anything where I could overhear, but she talked to Madam Pomfrey for a while, and when I went to talk to her about whether there was anyone in the castle who could teach me about scrying – you know, the useful and teachable aspect of Divination – she was obviously preoccupied."

"Wait – what?" the Slytherin yawned. "Why were you asking her that?"

"Oh, um…" Hermione flushed slightly. "I had Divination today, you see, and you know how Trelawney makes a habit of 'predicting' all sorts of horrible things happening to people in class? Well, she told me that I was in imminent danger of losing one of the people closest to me, and I walked out."

Mary stared, shocked. "You just… walked out?"

Her friend's blush intensified. "I might have, erm… called her a useless baggage, first. And a sherry-soaked old hag of a fraud."

"Maia!" Mary was struggling not to laugh. "She's a professor."

"She's a drunk who's not fit to teach creative writing, let alone Divination, and she was playing on my fear of losing you just to make a bloody impression on the rest of the class! She deserved every word! Honestly, if I hadn't needed to keep the class to keep the time turner this term, I'd've dropped it ages ago. It's not as though we've learned anything all year. The book goes on about feeling your way with your magic, and opening yourself to be receptive to the patterns of the Universe, but Trelawney herself hasn't done a damn thing to help us figure out how to actually do that. Unless you're just supposed to suffocate yourself with patchouli incense until you can't tell magic from hallucinations anymore," she scoffed.

Now the younger girl was laughing, despite herself. "I can't believe Hermione Granger walked out of a class."

Hermione nodded firmly. "I did. I dropped it officially with Professor Flitwick, too, and then went straight to Professor McGonagall and reported her for unprofessional conduct, as well, though I doubt anything will come of it. That's when I asked her about scrying. She says there's no one who specializes in that – not since Dumbledore became Headmaster and Professor McKinnon retired to go work for St. Mungo's."

That struck a chord in the Slytherin's memory. "What about Snape?"

"What about him?" Hermione sounded genuinely confused.

Was it possible that Mary knew more about some aspect of magical theory than her Ravenclaw friend? She grinned, absurdly pleased with herself. "He told me… oh, ages ago, that Mind Magic is like Divination mixed with Dark Arts. I don't remember exactly what the Dark Arts part was, but the Divination bit is kind of like scrying, I think. And we both know he's brilliant at Mind Magic, so he's got to know at least a bit about scrying, right?"

The bushy-haired bookworm was dumbstruck. Her jaw actually went slack for a few long seconds before she said, "I'm an idiot. Why didn't I think of that?"

Mary sniggered. "Too much information trapped in your head, not enough time to think about it?" she suggested.

"Oh, shush, you," the older girl chided, but Mary just grinned more broadly.

"So you'll ask him, then?"

"Of course I will! I should probably go now, actually, seeing as I have an excuse."

"Wait – what? It's got to be past midnight!"

"I'm still supposed to come fetch him if you wake up, remember? Besides, it's not as if he ever sleeps before three. He'll be in the lab or his office," she said confidently. She stood, then bent to kiss Mary's forehead, as though she was a small child. Her lips were ridiculously warm against Mary's cool skin. "I'm glad you're going to be okay," she said, relief obvious in her tone.

"Me, too," Mary agreed, resisting the urge to ask for a hug, partly because she was still cold, and partly because she wanted something to hold onto at the moment. She set her now-tepid mug aside and gripped the older girl's hands tightly instead. "Thanks for staying." It meant more than she could say that Hermione hadn't let her wake up alone.

"It was nothing," the older girl said, squeezing back. "Sisters, right? But I really should get Snape sooner rather than later. He gets snippy after half one."

The older girl's matter-of-fact commentary on the fearsome Head of Slytherin broke the solemn mood that had seemed to be developing a few seconds before. "Snippy?" Of all the words to describe Severus Snape, snippy wasn't the first that came to her mind. She wondered fleetingly what had happened to the Hermione Granger who had, less than a year before, been convinced that the snarky Potions Master hated her, and needed Mary to translate Snape-speak.

"Don't tell him I said that," Hermione said sternly, then grinned. "But yes."

"All right. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Of course. I have a free second period. I'll come then." She swept the Invisibility Cloak around herself, and Mary heard her silence the door before she opened it. "See you later," she called quietly, and Mary waved as the heavy wooden panel swung closed.

}{-}{-}{-}{-}{

Despite Mary's best efforts, she fell asleep before the Potions Master arrived. She would be willing to bet that he had been delayed by Hermione, begging for tips on scrying, but she probably would have fallen asleep regardless, given her bone-deep, curse-borne exhaustion.

She woke to a quiet baritone murmur – Snape speaking softly to himself. At a guess, he was complaining about her: "All the worst qualities of both her parents – reckless, foolhardy, trouble-seeking, thinks she's bloody invincible – oh, I'll just go duel a sixth-year! That sounds like a bloody excellent idea. Too noble by half, letting herself be provoked. I don't even know how many times this is, now, that she's nearly died under my supervision. Four? Five?"

"Erm… I think it's more like nine or ten," Mary mumbled. "But at least half of those were Quirrellmort."

"Ah, I see you are awake after all," the professor drawled.

She nodded. "Did you tell Maia about scrying?" she asked, her mind still a bit muddled from drifting off.

Snape snorted. "As though Miss Granger needs a way to obtain even more illicit information?"

"Weren't you the one who sent her to the Restricted Section?"

The wizard scowled, just a little. "I hope that none of your other friends are aware of that little… arrangement?"

"I haven't told anyone!" Mary defended herself. "And I don't think you should be angry at Maia, either. She has to talk to someone. You know she has nightmares about that stuff, right?" There was an unintentional, unexpected edge of anger in her tone.

He nodded. "In all honesty, at this stage nightmares are a good sign. It's the ones who sleep soundly knowing the sort of things she now knows that one should truly worry about. But I am not here to discuss Miss Granger's sleeping habits."

"Why are you here, then?" Mary asked warily.

"Why do you think, insolent child? It couldn't possibly be that you nearly died on me, again. And not through the efforts of the Dark Lord or one of Miss Granger's hare-brained schemes, but through sheer stupidity, challenging a bloody NEWT student to a duel! I don't know the last time I saw something so bull-headedly Gryffindor! Why didn't you just pay the little bint off, and then exact your revenge later, on your own terms?"

Mary felt herself flush deeply. "Because I didn't think of that," she admitted.

"Obviously," Snape said scathingly.

"I didn't mean to get into a duel! It just sort of happened, and then I couldn't back out without losing either way!"

"And I suppose you had to escalate the fight to the level of semi-lethal spells?" he glared at her forbiddingly.

She couldn't hold his gaze. She let her eyes drop to her blanket-covered knees. "Sending snakes after her was the only strategy I could think of besides just running, and running wouldn't have helped me or Dave – not in the long run."

Snape was quiet for a long moment, and when Mary looked up, his eyes were closed, and he was pinching the bridge of his nose. Eventually he spoke again. "Be that as it may, I expect you to be able to judge when you are out of your depth. Slytherins do not escalate against an enemy who has us outmatched – we bow our heads, take our licks, and survive to fight another day."

"I did survive, though!" Mary defended herself weakly. "And Maia says Lilian says I haven't lost face, even if I didn't really win. I still have the respect of the House."

"You. Nearly. Died. In a duel over a bloody book. I cannot express to you how unacceptable this is."

"It wasn't about the book," the teen pouted. "It was about them framing Dave for something he didn't do."

The professor sighed. "Oh, to be young and stupid again. That is what Bletchley and the rest of those sodding morons wanted you to think. Framing your client, the Muggleborn Snake, is the level they wanted their little drama to play out upon. But you had the power to refuse to acknowledge it. By recognizing Bletchley's claim as legitimate, you legitimized her power to affect you and your client. If you had dismissed that level of the game, refused to play by their rules, you could easily have avoided the vast majority of the conflict, pulled the rug out from under them, so to speak. But instead you played right into their hands, behaving as expected, defending Mr. Rhees in the most straightforward way possible, as you have done at every opportunity since he has entered the House."

The third-year scowled. "What should I have done then?"

"For the record, I cannot believe I am saying this," Snape sneered, "but you should have acted the part of the wealthy and entitled Heir Ascendant to House Potter! Given that you have consistently failed to do so, it would have thrown Miss Bletchley and her compatriots completely. Had you lost the duel, which you were almost guaranteed to do, you would have been required to pay restitution for the insult to House Bletchley anyway, so it would have saved you a great deal of time and trauma to simply throw money at the problem in the first place. Dismissively telling the girl to send a bill to your solicitor would have effectively pulled the teeth of their little play, trivializing the attack and minimizing the interest of your peers. Then, if she had pursued the drama, you would have been well within your rights to appeal to a higher authority, as she had refused your offer of restitution.

"If the book was truly rare and valuable, as Mr. Rhees claimed that Miss Bletchley insisted it was, there is a very good chance that the elder Bletchleys are unaware that this so-called rare book is no longer in their family library, because any book rare enough to cause serious damage to yours and Mr. Rhees' reputations by its theft is also far too valuable to be sent to Hogwarts. Therefore, if offering to owl her parents to negotiate the return of the book and restitution directly didn't cause her to back off, threatening to take the issue to myself or the Headmaster for arbitration most certainly would have done, given that any truly rare and valuable book is likely Restricted, Banned, or Anathema, and thus would be subject to confiscation at best and destruction at worst.

"If it turned out that Miss Bletchley lied about the value of the book, which she might well have done, it would have been cause for her to lose face, obviously catching her in a lie and a set-up, accusing the two of you under false pretenses, and she would have been punished by myself or the Headmaster for attempting to frame a fellow student for theft, which is, in fact, a more heavily punishable offence! Foolish child," he scoffed.

"They made it seem like it was a matter of honor," Mary grumbled, feeling every bit the fool he named her for not having seen at least some of that in the first place. Not that she had known about rare books mostly being illegal, but she should have thought to involve a professor, like with Creevey. But she never would have considered throwing money at the problem – no one had ever told her that was an option!

"Honor gets people killed," Snape retorted sharply. "After all that, regardless of how it played out, when the immediate situation was resolved, you would have been free to pursue your revenge for her scheming at your leisure, with absolutely no call to risk life and limb over a childish plot to embarrass you and your client in the Commons!"

Mary sighed, and squirmed fitfully under his stare – it wasn't a glare. For the first time since he had begun his rant, his look seemed to hold more concern than scorn, as though he thought she really would choose the direct conflict, if she had a choice. "I'm sorry! Okay? They put me on the spot! I didn't think of any of that!"

"Mary Elizabeth," her Head of House said, in a tone deadly serious. "I shall tell you this only once: You have many, many enemies. Being the Girl Who Lived in Slytherin House; claiming the title of the Heir of Slytherin and bucking many of the expectations society held for its golden girl before your reappearance; and making it clear that you plan to have a voice and use your position in politics – yes, I heard about your appearance at the Wizengamot meeting – all of that puts you in a unique and dangerous position. Being put on the spot is no excuse for acting rashly and without thought for your own safety. Your first instinct cannot be to protect your honor or your client's or anyone or anything other than yourself, because if you die, or are incapacitated, those points are moot. You cannot save anyone else if you do not first save yourself. Do you understand?"

Mary nodded, shamefaced. She knew all that. She did, really. Hadn't that been how she survived the Dursleys for all those years? She had just got… overconfident, she supposed, since coming to Hogwarts. "Yes, sir," she muttered to her knees. "Does this mean I have detention again?"

Snape sighed, leaning back in the visitor's chair and crossing his legs at the ankles, straight out in front of him. "I don't know. Do you think more detention would teach you not to act like a reckless dunderhead? I had thought that you had taken the lesson to heart last time, but now I confess I am uncertain."

"I thought last time was about ethics and not doing illegal things to other students and not trusting people more than I should," the girl pouted, reminded of her disillusionment surrounding the idea that Snape was ultimately trustworthy. She still trusted him as her Head of House, of course, but she had long since given up on the idea that he thought of her any differently than the rest of his Slytherins, regardless of his friendship with her mother, and his claim that she ought to have been his goddaughter.

"It was also about not getting caught up in the moment, rushing into dangerous plans without thinking them through!" the wizard pointed out sharply, though his tone softened as he added, after a pause, "I have been meaning to talk to you about your Final Paper. 'I learned that I can't trust allies or even friends with everything. I did not believe you would poison me, even to teach me a lesson, and I was obviously wrong,'" he quoted. "Would I be correct in thinking that there has been a certain coolness toward me following that first detention?"

Mary felt the all the blood rush to her face (which was especially strange without the accompanying flush of heat). She still didn't know why she had been so candid in that last detention. Probably potioned again, she thought cynically, but she had no idea how or with what. "I – After… you know… the end of last year, when you invited me to be informal, and after, well… Quirrellmort, and everything, I thought that… I know it's stupid, but I thought you cared about me. For Lily's sake," she hastened to add, not daring to look up at the man who was surely going to laugh at her.

He didn't. Instead, he sighed heavily. "I care about all of my students," he said, too evenly.

"You know what I mean, sir," she muttered to her blankets. "You said you should have been my godfather. I didn't realize what that means to wizards until over the summer, and then I thought – but it was stupid. That was if things were different, and they aren't, so I shouldn't have expected you to treat me any differently than anyone else. It was presumptuous of me."

"Tell me, do you think I would demonstrate the Patronus Charm for just any student?" Mary could practically hear the eye-roll in his acidic tone. "Do you think I would spend hours giving you tips on patronage and colluding with your ridiculous Ravenclaw friend to find an explanation of your misadventures with the Dark Lord, or go out of my way to answer your questions if I didn't care for you, in your own right? Would I be visiting you, here, now, in hospital, worried for your safety and the sanity of your future choices, if I did not care?"

She risked glancing up, and looked away again almost at once from the raw vulnerability on the stern Potions Master's face.

"For Lily's sake, I would have protected you," he continued, ignoring her fleeting look. "I would have done everything in my power to save you from… Quirrellmort and keep you out of the hands of the Death Eaters, even if you were the second coming of James Potter and I could see none of her in you. But I offered you information and informality on your own merit, and the strength of the secrets we share.

"I meant all that I implied, when I told you that Lily might well have made me your godfather, once upon a time. I was remiss in my duties to you over the course of your childhood, and for that I am sorry. My only excuse is that I am not accustomed to having such responsibilities as familial ties, and considered you better off wherever Dumbledore had hidden you away, without my presence interfering in your life. That may have been a mistake.

"Regardless of whether it was or was not, I cannot publicly favor you over any of the other students any more than Minerva may, and in the case of your punishment for that ridiculous conspiracy, I would not have done, even if I could. It was in your best interests to learn those lessons, harsh though they may have seemed at the time. For that I will not apologize, because, as you recognized in your essay, I am your teacher, first and foremost. I have a duty to prepare you for the world outside of Hogwarts as best I can, and the world outside of Hogwarts is not a kind place."

"Oh." Mary didn't know what to say to that. She got it. She really did, when he put it like that, comparing his actions to Aunt Minnie's. Of course it made sense that he couldn't or wouldn't treat her any differently than anyone else. But she didn't think she could say that, and then explain why she had felt so lost and betrayed by his actions in the first place, at least not any better than she already had. It was such a long time ago, and so much had happened since then.

She realized suddenly that the silence was stretching between them, and scrambled for something, anything, to keep the conversation going. "What should I call you, then? As my godfather?" she finally asked, looking up again, genuinely curious. This had, after all, been a major preoccupation for her, over the summer.

Snape huffed out a little laugh, and smirked slightly. "I believe the customary familiar address for one's godfather is Uncle, though you will find that many of your peers use alternate languages to denote the distinction between their parents' brothers and their godfather. I personally have always been fond of the Greek: Theíos. Theía for your godmother."

"Alice Longbottom," Mary noted, avoiding addressing the confession of… affection (?) that seemed to hang heavily between them. "I tried to visit her over Christmas. It didn't go so well," she admitted ruefully.

"Both Frank and Alice Longbottom still reside at St. Mungo's, do they not?"

The teen nodded. "I scared her, I think. Madam Longbottom and the healers… well, they said she mistook me for the witch who attacked them. Bellatrix Lestrange. Madam Longbottom even dug up a picture for me. It was…" she trailed off.

"Uncanny?" Snape suggested.

She nodded again. "Yeah."

He sighed. "Well, I won't say I don't see it. I didn't know her when she was your age, obviously, any more than Lady Longbottom would have – we were in the same year. But yes, there is a resemblance. You inherited the Black cheekbones. And the hair. And the smirk. But then, there are worse things to have inherited from the Blacks. The Weasleys seem to have got their penchant for chaos, for example," he made a face. "Much as I do hate how you seem to have got the full measure of your father's nobility and your mother's hot-headed impetuousness, you did at least miss out on James' entitled arrogance and Lily's callousness, and the Black madness and the Dark Lord's sadism, which were all traits Bellatrix shared. Rest assured, the resemblance is only… superficial."

Mary couldn't help but laugh slightly at his put-upon tone, relief bubbling up from somewhere inside of her. She hadn't realized before he said it how much she had been wanting someone – anyone – to confirm that she was nothing like the Death Eater she so resembled, at least in personality. "So really I'm like, two for four, on acceptable grandparents?"

"More like zero for three. Harrison is an unknown quantity, and both Charlus and Dorea Potter contributed to the spoilt pureblood pain in the arse that was James. He bore a striking and frankly disturbing resemblance to the young Draco Malfoy in personality, but with more of an inclination to cause trouble, and without the pureblood supremacy rhetoric."

The girl winced at the comparison. "What about Lily?"

Snape gave her a funny, almost-nostalgic sort of smile. "Lily was very intelligent, outgoing and charismatic, but she had a very strong vindictive streak, a bad habit of gratuitous manipulation, and a rather weak sense of self." Mary raised a questioning eyebrow at that. "She tried instinctively to be whatever she thought you wanted her to be in the moment," the wizard explained. "She used to tell me that the Lily I knew was the witch behind the masks, but I don't think she ever spent enough time alone to know what she was like when she wasn't playing off of someone else's expectations."

"You make her sound like a boggart," her daughter observed, suppressing a giggle.

The wizard gave her a crooked, genuine smile. "I suppose it's not an altogether inappropriate comparison, if a boggart reflected the things you liked best about yourself, instead of your deepest fears. Though as far as I know, there was no legilimency involved."

"I wish I could have met her," Mary sighed. "Both of them, really, but the way you talk about Lily, I bet we would have been friends."

"You probably would have been," Snape admitted. "Miss Granger reminds me strongly of her in some ways, and Miss Moon in others."

The teen tried to ask exactly how her mother and her Head of House had met, but she was interrupted by an enormous yawn.

"Go to sleep, Mary Elizabeth," he said gently, renewing the warming charms on her blankets without being asked, and far more strongly than Hermione had done.

She almost instantly felt as though she was melting, her body relaxing into the heat she hadn't even realized she was missing, overcome with drowsiness. She wondered idly if this was how snakes felt about sunning themselves, and if so, how they managed not to go into rhapsodies about the subject at every opportunity. She couldn't imagine how cold she would have been come daybreak if Hermione and Snape hadn't been here. She suspected that it would have been miserable.

"Thank you, Theíos," she mumbled sleepily.

"You are very welcome, Anipsiá. Sleep well."

She was fairly certain that she was unconscious before he reached the door.

[My overuse of hyphens is now being curbed by the beta-editing skills of the fabulous badgerlady. All remaining typos, mis-used words and Americanisms are of course my fault, but I think she's done a fairly awesome job catching most of them, and I cannot thank her enough for doing so ;)]