X. Reason #47492 I Hate Snape

The mirror was on my mind for days. Why did Harry and Ron get such clear answers from their reflections? Harry's family, Ron's Head Boy badge… What did me having brown eyes mean? Did it mean I sacrificed my soul to the creepy mirror? I knew that was a bad idea.

What Harry told Ron and I that evening in the common room didn't help me solve my dilemma.

"Dumbledore said it shows your deepest desires," he explained. "I want my family back, Ron wants to stop being overshadowed by his brothers' achievements, and Sadie, you… you want brown eyes, I guess?"

"Not really," I said. "I like my eyes."

"Then you can take that up with Dumbledore," he suggested.

I stood up from the couch. "I will, then." With that, I stormed off to Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore must have been wrong about the mirror, unless there's some hidden message I wasn't receiving. Harry's and Ron's reflections didn't have a secret meaning, so why would mine? Do I just want brown eyes but don't know it? Maybe the mirror's wrong about me.

I arrived at the office only to find the stone gargoyle in my way. "Password?"

I remembered what Dumbledore had used to enter his office before. "Acid Pops."

"You password is incorrect."

I sighed. He must have changed it. "Can't I just knock?"

"Your password is incorrect."

"Incorrect!" I guessed.

"Your password is incorrect," the gargoyle repeated in its gravelly tone.

"Well, screw you too," I muttered, racking my brain. If I were Dumbledore, what would I make people utter every time they want to see me?

"Dumbledore's the best," I guessed again, sure I was correct this time.

"It's 'Albus is the best'," a voice corrected from behind me, "but I appreciate the compliment."

I turned to find Dumbledore facing me. "No offense, but that's kind of narcissistic."

"You said it first," he said with a shrug. "So, you wanted to see me, I assume?"

"Oh, um, I was just wondering about something," I said in the most not-suspicious voice I could, leaning against the wall. "Let's say there was—hypothetically—a mirror that could show you your deepest desires, and a hypothetical person saw themselves with brown eyes, but they actually had blue eyes, or green, or purple—I mean, no one has purple eyes, haven't met anyone who does, but just hypothetically—what would that mean? I mean, if they liked their eyes as they are, what would their deepest desire be? Hypothetically, of course."

Dumbledore stared at me blankly. "I'll tell you two things," he said. "Firstly, you're a terrible liar. Secondly, perhaps this hypothetical person could hypothetically look inside themselves and figure out what they hypothetically want on their own. They might be misunderstanding this hypothetical mirror."

"Firstly, I know," I admitted. "Secondly, what if this hypothetical person has already hypothetically tried that?"

"Then they should hypothetically try harder," he suggested with a knowing glint in this eye.

"Hijo de puta," I muttered as I began to head back to the common room.

"I speak Spanish, you know."

I walked faster.

I knew exactly what my "deepest desires" were. For the wizarding world to realize I'm not a threat. For the Malfoys to at least pretend like they want me. Front-row tickets to a Panic! at the Deathday Party concert. What did any of that have to do with my eye color?

The day before the new term began, Hermione arrived back at Hogwarts with exciting news.

"I did it!" she screamed with excitement. "I figured out who Nicolas Flamel was!" She took a deep breath before launching into a lightning-speed explanation. "Your letter, Sadie, reminded me that I had checked out this book for some light reading." She pulled a thick book out of her backpack with a worn cover: What They Don't Teach You in Alchemy Class.

"We have two very different definitions of light," Ron muttered, staring at the enormous book in front of him. Hermione shushed him and flipped to a page she had bookmarked with a red ribbon.

"'Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone'!" she read.

"The what?" Harry, Ron, and I said.

Hermione sighed and opened her mouth to read:

"'The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

Flamel's discovery has been deemed, in fellow alchemist Albus Dumbledore's words, "dangerous if it is to fall into the wrong hands." Many books and classes on alchemy have omitted any mention of Flamel or the Sorcerer's Stone to avoid its misuse.'"

"I knew Dumbledore was hiding something!" I exclaimed. "Just our luck that nobody's supposed to know about Flamel. No wonder we couldn't find him anywhere."

"But don't you know what this means?" Hermione said impatiently. "That dog must be guarding the Stone! Dumbledore must have moved it here to keep it from 'falling into the wrong hands,' and now—"

"Snape's after it!" Harry finished, unable to contain his excitement. "Of course! Who wouldn't want to be rich and immortal!"

"But wouldn't you get sick of living after a while?" I pointed out. "I mean, you'd have to watch all your friends die."

Ron shrugged. "That's why it's perfect for Snape, he hasn't got any friends."

Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of someone crashing through the portrait hole. We rushed over to find Neville wriggling on the floor like a beached whale.

Hermione gasped, alarmed. "What happened?"

"Malfoy," Neville said with a quiver in his voice. "Leg-Locker Curse."

"I'll do the counter-curse!" Seamus offered, raising his wand.

"No!" Neville shouted. "The last thing I need is for you to set my bloody kneecaps on fire!"

"Locomotor Liberis," Hermione recited, allowing Neville to regain control of his legs and stand up. "You have to report Malfoy, Neville."

"Tell Professor McGonagall!" I urged.

Neville shook his head. "I don't want more trouble."

"You've got to start standing up to people, Neville," said Ron.

"No need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor. Malfoy's already done that."

Harry pulled the box of Chocolate Wands I'd gotten him for Christmas from the pocket of his robes and gave one to Neville.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry comforted. "The hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? Slytherin. He's the coward, not you."

"Thanks, Harry," Neville said, blinking through tears. "I think I'll go to bed now." He bit off a piece of the Chocolate Wand and sulked away to the boys' dormitory.

The next afternoon, I still hadn't figured out the mirror. Dumbledore knew exactly what it was trying to say, but simply refused to tell me. I'm so glad I can count on my teachers.

As per usual, Harry's news didn't ease my frustration at all.

"Snape's refereeing," he announced, grabbing our full attention. "He's never refereed before, and I doubt he volunteered because he just felt like it."

Hermione shook her head. "Don't play."

"Say you're ill," Ron suggested.

"Pretend to break your leg."

"Really break your leg."

"I can help with that!" I offered.

"Please don't," Harry said, taking a step back. "I have to play. There isn't a reserve Seeker, so if I'm not there, Gryffindor can't play at all. Besides, it'll really wipe the smirk off Malfoy's face if we win."

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," Ron muttered.

Meanwhile, Snape's hatred for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I seemed to be increasing exponentially. He would take points from us whenever possible, criticize our every move, and call on us to answer all the trick questions he could think of. He and his class inevitably became unbearable, and soon enough, I couldn't walk the halls without him haunting me.

"Silverwood?" Snape called one day in the corridor.

"Yes, sir?" I said, using the overly polite tone I saved for when Lucius was angry with me.

"Do something against school rules," he ordered.

"What?"

"I need a reason to give you detention." So he's admitting I've done nothing wrong—recently, at least—yet he still wants to give me detention? This guy.

"Why?"

"Detention for questioning my motives," Snape declared. "My office after dinner." Without any explanation, he strolled off, leaving me alone in my confusion.

"Is it just me, or is Snape getting meaner?" Harry asked in the Great Hall that evening.

"Tell me about it," I muttered. "He gave me detention today."

Fred spat out his water. "Detention?!"

"I thought we raised you better than this," George teased.

I put my hands up in defense. "I didn't do anything! He just came up to me in the hallway and gave me detention because he felt like it."

"You should tell Dumbledore," Hermione suggested.

"Get him fired!" Harry encouraged.

"I've already tried talking to Dumbledore once today," I said, "and I don't think my sanity can handle doing it again."

"Then have fun at your detention," Fred teased before leaving with George.

Ron lowered his voice. "Reckon Snape knows we know about the… Philosopher's Stone?"

"Philosopher's?" I asked.

"It'll be our code word," Ron explained. "The American transfer student won't have a clue what we're talking about!"

"Brilliant," Hermione said with an fake tone of approval. "But how would Snape have found out?"

Harry and Ron shot me a pointed glare.

"What?" I asked.

"If you could've come up with a better lie," Ron complained, "Snape never would've gotten suspicious."

"Well, what would you have said?" I demanded. Harry and Ron fell silent. "Exactly," I finished. "Now, I'm going to go to my detention before I can do any more harm."

I walked through the empty castle corridors with a guilty feeling in my stomach. My plan was to never get detention throughout all seven years of my academic career, simply to spite the people who wanted me expelled, but now I've already failed.

Maybe it was just my anxiety speaking, but I found this whole situation a bit suspicious. Everything about Snape was suspicious. One minute, he's threatening Quirrell at midnight, and the next, he's giving me detention for no reason? I had plenty of questions about him, and I planned to get some answers this evening.

I knocked on the door to Snape's office as politely as I could. If I wanted to do as little work for him as possible, I had to show as little anger as possible.

Snape let me in and slammed the door shut as soon as I stepped through. The room was small, and mainly consisted of his desk. On the desk were stacks of papers, staplers, tape, and other office supplies with labels taped in front of them. The bookshelf was filled to the brim, and not a single book was slanted out of place.

"So, what can I do for my favorite professor?" I offered in my trademark kiss-up-but-not-so-much-of-a-kiss-up-that-anyone-else-can-tell-I'm-being-a-kiss-up voice.

"We both know that's a lie," Snape said coldly. I didn't deny it. "As for what I called you here for, I want you to answer a question."

"Is that all…?"

"Yes."

I stared at him, confused. "What's the question?"

His lips curled into the first smile I had ever seen on his face. "What do you know about the Sorcerer's Stone?"

I froze.

Ron was right. Snape found out that we knew about the Stone, or at least that I knew about it. But if I denied it enough, maybe I could convince him otherwise.

"The—the what?" I asked, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

"You were researching Alchemy, a subject you don't take, during the holidays," he pointed out. "I believe you know very well what I'm referring to.

My heart pounded. "I'm afraid I don't sir."

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure of that?" He began to pace back and forth in front of me. "Because, I have more than enough evidence of you disrespecting me to get you expelled, and I know Lucius Malfoy isn't necessarily fond of you." My eyes widened. "And Filch said he nearly almost caught four students out of bed one night sometime ago, and I know a particular group of four he might have seen. We wouldn't want them to be exposed to Professor Dumbledore, now would we?"

I stared at him in disbelief. He was blackmailing me.

I couldn't go back to the Malfoys. Of course I would have to for summer break, but I couldn't deal with them for longer than that. Not after learning that life could get so much better.

"Maybe I've… heard of it," I reluctantly admitted.

"Go on."

I looked down at my feet, ashamed of myself for giving in. "Nicolas Flamel made it… it produces the Elixir of Life and stuff… and it's at Hogwarts now. That's all I know."

"How do you know it's at Hogwarts?" Snape inquired.

"It's a long story."

"We have time."

I didn't want to risk telling him about Fluffy. Sure, he already knew we had snuck out past curfew, but he couldn't know we visited the one room that was strictly off-limits. We would get detention for the next thirty years.

"Well, we—I saw Hagrid bringing a stone-sized package here," I lied, "so I just put two and two together." I decided to take all the blame instead of throwing the others under the bus with me.

"You just figured it out?" Snape laughed skeptically. "You just assumed a random package contained the Stone?"

Not knowing what to say, I simply nodded.

Snape scoffed. He didn't believe me. "Do you know how to get past it?"

I furrowed my brow at him. "Get past what?"

"Hagrid's beast, of course."

Fluffy. "I don't know." I wasn't lying this time.

"You academic career is on the line, Silverwood," he mocked. I glowered at him in frustration.

"I really don't know, sir."

He stared at me for what felt like eons, considering whether or not I was lying, until finally accepting my answer. "I suggest you stay away from the Stone unless you want me to tell the headmaster everything I know about you," he threatened. "And it'll serve you well to show me some respect in my class from now on."

"Yes, sir," I mumbled.

"That'll be all, then." He gestured to the door to show that I was free to go.

I started for the door, but then I remembered my plan to get some answers myself. But the shock of what had just happened forced all of my planned questions, and I could only think of the most simple thing to ask.

"You're after it, aren't you?"

Snape glared at me. "I shouldn't have to tell you anything," he said. "We both know what sides we're on."

Unwilling to say another word to him, I hurried out of the office.

After that detention, Snape and Lucius became one and the same to me. Snape had blackmailed me, threatened me, and manipulated me for his own benefit, all things Lucius had done my whole life. The thought of going back to Potions class made me sick: one screw-up, and I might as well kiss Hogwarts goodbye.

I arrived back at the common room to find Ron, Harry, and Hermione engrossed in a wizard chess tournament.

"How was detention?" Harry asked with a taunting grin.

"Yeah, what did the creep want?" said Ron, who was too focused on his chess game with Harry to even look at me.

I couldn't tell them the truth. How would they react to me telling them I had spilled our secrets because I didn't want to get to expelled? It was selfish of me, but I knew I couldn't go back to the Malfoys for longer than I had to. A part of me believed that I made the right decision, but a nagging voice in the back of my head told me otherwise. I forced myself to suppress my guilt.

"He just wanted someone to sort papers for him," I lied. "Nothing too bad."

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"You're shaking."

I always shook when Lucius was angry with me, knowing what was to come. Snape reminded me of him so much that I was still trembling from detention.

I slapped my hand to make it stay still. "I'm fine," I assured Hermione.

"And you're really pale," she worried.

"I said I'm fine."

"You should go see Madam Pomfrey—"

"I'm fine, Hermione," I insisted.

"Someone's not fine," Harry mumbled.

Potions class inevitably went from unbearable to torturous. I couldn't walk into the room without fearing that it might be the day I push Snape's last button. Every moment was spent in constant panic, and the worse part was, Snape took advantage of it. He'd single me out in class, criticize every mistake I made, and sometimes just stand behind me, breathing down my neck as he watched me for a solid minute. I was just as scared of him as I was of Lucius.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked one Potions class.

I looked up from the wiggentree bark I was attempting to cut and pointed my knife at him. "If you ask me that one more time, I swear to Merlin I'll finish what my father started."

Harry threw up his hands in defense. "Okay, okay, sorry."

"You just seem really… on edge," Ron said.

Hermione looked at me with concern. "We're worried about you, Sadie".

I sighed. "For the last time, I'm fine."

"Then why have you been shaking for the past week?" Ron asked.

"I've just been cold," I mumbled. "For seven days."

I reflexively sat straight up in my chair as Snape's footsteps approached our table. "Sharp side, Silverwood," he scolded before walking away to chastise the next unlucky student. I flipped over my knife, trembling so much I cut my left hand in the process.

"Sadie, please just tell us what's wrong," Harry worried.

"I'm bad at cutting things, okay?" I defended.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure you know how to use a knife correctly," Hermione said. "Just tell us what's going on."

"Honestly, just drop it," I said through gritted teeth. "As I've previously stated, I'm fine. In fact, my mental health's at an all-time high right now. I'm completely, one hundred percent fine."

I was not fine. My worry about Snape refereeing the Quidditch match had tripled since the worst (well, only, but still worst) detention of my life. Ron, Hermione, and I managed to get one more chat with Harry in before the match, but we wondered if it would be the last time we ever saw him.

"Don't worry, Harry," I comforted. "We've been practicing the Leg-Locker Curse in case Snape tries anything."

Hermione raised her wand and aimed it at Harry. "Yeah, see? Locomotor Mortis." A jet of purple light flew from her wand to Harry's chest, and his legs were bound by an imaginary rope.

"Hey!" he shouted, bouncing to stay upright.

Hermione snickered to herself. "Sorry. Locomotor Liberis." Harry's legs were freed.

"That was unnecessary," he mumbled, stumbling to regain his balance. "What if you get in trouble though? What if it doesn't work?"

"You'll be fine," Ron consoled. "Even if we do get in trouble, he'll be too busy dealing with us to hex you."

"Better we defend you and get detention than you fall and get your head split open," I said nonchalantly.

Harry grimaced. "That's reassuring." Oliver Wood called out to him and waved him over to Gryffindor's side of the field. "Well, I better get going. See you guys after the game—hopefully." He went to join the rest of the team.

"Remember," Hermione began as we approached the Gryffindor stands, "you have to make that backwards J motion with your hand—"

"We know, you just demonstrated," Ron said through gritted teeth. "Wait, is that Dumbledore?"

Ron pointed towards a man in the teacher's stands with a long, wispy beard, spectacles, and purple robes. There was no doubt about it: Dumbledore was watching.

"Yeah!" I exclaimed. "There's no way Snape would try anything with Dumbledore here!"

"I've never seen Snape look so angry, though." Ron pointed out into the Quidditch field. "Oh, look, they're off—Ouch!"

Someone had hit Ron in the back of the head. We turned around to see, of course, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"Sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there," Draco taunted. "Wonder how much longer Potter can stay on his broom this time? Anyone want to bet?"

I glowered at him. "I wonder how long you'll stay on this balcony if you don't shut up—"

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" he rudely interrupted. "It's all people they feel sorry for—Potter, who's got no parents, the Weasleys, who've got no money—you should join the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

Neville turned around to face Draco, his face bright red, but without a hint of hesitancy in his voice: "I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy."

Draco laughed in response. "Longbottom, if brains were gold, you'd be even poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

Draco's constant bullying of Ron filled me with rage, and all it took was one look at Ron's teary eyes to push me over the edge. "Stop it, would you?" I clenched my shaking fists, resisting the urge to knock him unconscious.

"You should join the team, Sadie!" he suggested. "You've got no family who actually wants you!"

Something possessed me to pull my wand out of my pocket and direct it towards him. "I said stop!"

All of my anger poured out of me and flowed into my wand, taking the form of a purple light and hitting Draco in the chest. Suddenly, his legs stuck together, and he had to hop just to avoid toppling to the ground. Ron and I couldn't help ourselves but to laugh, but Percy, who had been watching the whole time, didn't find the situation that funny.

"Break it up, you two," he said, putting himself between Draco and I. He quickly performed the countercurse on the former. "First of all, stop being an arse. Second of all, take yourself and your fellow idiots back to the Slytherin stands." He waited until Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had left before addressing me with wide eyes. "Okay, how did you do that?"

"Do wha—"

"Do you not just realize the skill required for what you just did?" Percy marvelled. "I mean, it was against school rules, so, uh, five points from Gryffindor, but it was amazing."

"And what exactly did I do?"

"You cast a non-verbal spell!" he exclaimed. "You don't start learning about those until sixth year… even I can't do one… just… please tell me your secret."

"I didn't mean to," I said. "I just got angry, and… things happened."

"He's caught it!" Hermione suddenly squealed.

"What?"

"Harry's caught the Snitch!" she sang. "We've won!"

"The game's over already?" I asked. "What did I miss?"

"Weren't you watching?"

"Sorry, I was too busy doing amazing things five years too early."

"Whatever that means," Hermione muttered. "Come on, let's go find Harry."

After a few minutes of searching, we finally found Harry heading back inside, separated from the rest of his team.

"Harry, where were you?" Hermione asked. "We've been looking all over—"

"Nevermind that now," Harry said quickly. "Let's find an empty room, I've got something to tell you…"

He shut the door to the abandoned Charms classroom and explained everything.

"We were right," he declared. "Snape's after the Sorcerer's Stone, and he's using Quirrell to get to it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy—and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus'—there must be things guarding the Stone besides Fluffy, loads of enchantments I reckon, and Quirrell probably did something that Snape needs to get through—"

"So the Stone's only safe if Quirrell stands up to Snape?" I worried.

Ron sighed. "It'll be gone by next Tuesday."