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The Accidental Slytherin: Chapter Two
Away from the taunts, Cécil shifted her weight awkwardly from foot to foot in what appeared to be a small sitting room. There was a cozy fire in the grate and she wished desperately that she could feel as comfortable as the warmth obviously meant for her to.
"Wait here just a moment," McGonagall told her. It was a struggle not to cry once the professor was out of the room.
What had just happened exactly? All of this was so new, she could hardly begin to wonder. Up until she'd received her letter, Cécil's life had been about as magical as a rock, and everything related to it equally unspectacular. She'd only been able to purchase her school books just days before the start of the semester, and that had been a feat in itself. Only when she'd had a chance to read them would she be able to claim any kind of knowledge of this new world, and given her reading skills that could very well take weeks or more.
She sighed, letting herself plop into a nearby armchair when she was immediately on her feet again. The door to the great hall swung open, and McGonagall returned with several other professors.
"Do you think it was wrong? Has the hat ever erred before?" asked a very short man Cécil hadn't noticed before.
"Not as long as I've been here, but I can't possibly imagine..." McGonagall trailed off.
Cécil locked eyes with a tall figure standing near the doorway. He was dressed from head to toe in black robes, with hair every bit as dark. Silently, he stepped forward, and she felt herself shrink under his gaze like she had in the great hall under the accusing stares of the legions of students.
"What's more," he seemed to hiss, "I don't know how I'm going to keep the other Slytherins from tearing her apart." He articulated each word carefully in a way that frightened her, and she took a faltering step back.
"I guess I should just... go back home..." she volunteered quietly when no one said anything else.
"What?" The dark haired professor who's name she didn't know yet asked, "Go back to being nothing but a muggle? How exciting."
His tone was mocking and she blinked back tears of embarrassment.
"I'm sorry I just thought..." She started, but was saved the trouble of explaining when the headmaster swept in. Finally, someone was smiling at her.
"Ah... why so grave everyone? We should be ecstatic! It would seem that the discrimination of Slytherin house has been lifted with time."
"More likely this girl is unclear of her parentage," the dark professor remarked.
Professor Dumbledore's face fell as he seemed to recall something.
"I guess that is possible... Cécil?" he asked, "You live only with your mother, correct?"
"Yes Sir."
"And on your application your mother writes that your father is dead, correct?"
"Yes Sir," she nodded, afraid of disappointing him. "But... really, I can't imagine my father..." she trailed off, not about to get into her past with a group of strangers. The truth was, she knew very well who her father was, and that he very well wasn't dead, but it was still a stretch to imagine him as magical in any way.
"So there's a chance then," Dumbledore smiled. "What I think we should all take from this is that... Slytherin house is changing whether she's muggle born or not. You say you've never had any kind of magic in your household, child?" he asked her.
She shook her head no.
"I thought not, and that proves it. Students chosen for that house, as we all know, are those that have been surrounded by magic since birth. Whether they realize they are a witch or wizard until they get their letter makes little difference, though they usually do, the point is that they are aware of their magical abilities and seek them. I think this calls for celebration."
"Do you really think that would be wise," the dark professor asked him, sounding annoyed. "I have a mind to think her very life in danger."
The headmaster sighed, "I suppose there is that possibility...but between us, I think I'm going to have an extra nightcap before bed. Now, the students are waiting to start the feast... perhaps Madam Pomfrey wouldn't mind sparing a bed tonight, and you can explain to your house that she is a half-blood. Then, tomorrow morning she can move into her regular dorm and attend classes regularly. As you have already mentioned the danger, Severus, I think it would be best to conceal any other possibility at this point. Otherwise I'm not sure she'll be able to attend. Not here anyways."
…...
It was an awkward trip to the infirmary. The cheerful Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the very short man who's name Cécil never learned had all returned to the great hall to begin the feast. Now escorting her entirely alone was her unfriendly head of house, Professor Snape.
At least I know his name finally, she thought for a brief moment, figuring she would be able to ask if she needed something. She squelched the thought as quickly as it had come, realizing quickly that she would sooner die of fright than ask him anything at all. It was just as well; he said nothing either. She struggled to keep up with his long stride and stumbled several times on the stone floor when she couldn't help herself from looking wildly about at all of the artwork and strange decor that filled Hogwarts. She was constantly stopping to gape at something amazing she had never seen before, and then having to run to catch up with the Professor again. She might have wondered at his not noticing, but could see that he certainly did, he just wasn't going to stop for the amusement of some muggle-blood whoever.
Almost to their destination, Cécil felt a tickle on her upper lip. She put her hand up to itch it, but brought it away again when she touched a cold wetness. Her fingers were red and she stared at them, no longer walking.
Snape scowled inwardly at the ridiculous little first year trying desperately to keep pace with him. He was going to take her to the infirmary and return to the feast, the end. There was really no way she could join the other Slytherins in the great hall that night. Not with so much animosity towards her, while they knew she was a muggle-born. He wasn't even sure they would believe him when he told them later that night that she was a half-blood, he could barely believe it himself; but then again, the only thing more unbelievable would be the hat actually admitting a muggle-born into Slytherin at all.
He had to keep himself from scoffing aloud. How ironic, he thought. If only this new development had begun thirty years earlier, how different his life would be...
He shook himself from the idea when they reached the infirmary.
"This is where you will be staying for tonight. See me after class tomorrow to receive further instructions concerning your sleeping arrangements. Madam Pomfrey will be along in a few hours. I trust you'll manage on your own until then." He was about to turn and leave when he realized he was speaking to an empty hallway. His brow furrowed; he'd heard her footsteps only moments ago. Figuring one of the ghosts of the castle had frightened her or she was absorbed in something else new to her eyes, he returned to the previous hallway.
"Miss Zydel," He snapped, angry that she was already complicating his evening more than he had anticipated, "I'm not sure what they taught you in muggle school, but I can assure you that here-" he was silenced by the sight of her lying in a heap at the end of the hallway.
His first thought was that she had somehow died suddenly as he ran over to her crumpled form. He turned her limp body on her back to see if she was breathing, and even though her nose was bleeding and her half open eyes looked vacant and bloodshot, she was. Figuring she had just fainted randomly, he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way to the infirmary.
"Uhhehy" she mumbled against his arm.
Snape set her down on one of the beds near Pomfrey's office, and filled a glass of water for her. She stirred and he put the glass to her lips, ordering her to drink. She took a small sip and pushed it away, still closing her eyes.
"Not interested," she murmured, and he wondered if she was even awake.
He put the glass on the bedside table.
She was sitting up strangely and he considered if it was safe to leave her there until Madam Pomfrey arrived when she spoke again.
"I've made excuses for you for years," she whispered, cracking open her eyes to glare at him.
"Excuse me?" He raised an eyebrow, feeling the hairs on his neck prickle. He could see she wasn't entirely coherent yet.
"You and your precious little Death-Eater friends," she spat.
"What did you say?"
Cécil opened her eyes sleepily to see the face of Professor Snape contorted in anger.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry, did I pass out?"
Snape said nothing, and she wanted desperately to disappear into the strange bed she was now sitting on.
"I'm sorry, I... it happens sometimes!" she blurted, embarrassed. "I would have said something but... well I was afraid I wouldn't be able to come. Now I'm not so sure I should have come anyways since I've already made a big problem for everyone..." She could hear herself rambling but couldn't help herself. "If you're going to send me back just do it."
Snape stared intently at her and she shifted weirdly, waiting for him to say something, anything.
After a moment, he got up to leave.
"See me after class tomorrow for your living arrangements," he told her.
He left before she could reply.