Thank you for the review! 3
Anne was not supposed to be a self-insert (I have one here but she's not Anne) but somehow it seems I gave her my mild synesthesia. It was such a surprise to read that, I haven't noticed!
Please guys review more! I'm open to criticism and questions and all your thoughts!
Oh, and it's Rowling's world, of course.
Read on! :)
TN
Chapter 6.
30th January to 11th June 1992
(13)
Transfiguration was still a struggle, hiding at the back of her mind and reaching out to make the semi-cooperative maple wand channel her magic. Watching the world through those imagery windows put Anne's whole mind between her vantage point and whatever she attempted to reach, slowing her down and altering her reactions, even her gestures. It was still easier than bearing her classmates' flaring emotions, now subdued into an incoherent buzz around her. The rabbit turned into a pair of senseless slippers, and she finally got two points for Slytherin for her efforts.
Malcolm winked at her, and she tried to produce a smile.
In the greenhouse, things got pretty awkward because Urquhart insisted on working beside her, and the Carrow girls giggled, seeing her strange looks and slow answers. Anne didn't dare to reach out and ascertain why.
Lunch was a relief in the silent Infirmary. Amelia sought her out only at the end of the lunch break and tried to convince Anne to watch the Saturday match together. It was Ravenclaw against Slytherin, and Anne quickly refused. After that, the Hufflepuff girl kept her distance in Charms class, but Anne was too vexed already to mind her.
She began every day in the library for the whole week but couldn't progress in her research on elemental magic, only confusing herself with every attempt. Then she struggled through the day only to slip away for recreational music played in her side tower. By Saturday, she showed unforeseen skill to function through her whole mental field, never leaving her "little house," and learned to focus like never before to make her maple wand work despite the "distance." She could even join Malcolm to watch the Quidditch match together and only felt the need to escape the crowd when Higgs caught the snitch.
Anne's worries about her problems only took a backseat whenever she spent time with the caretaker. Her tendency to feel physical symptoms got stronger every day, and their infrequent teas together showed her how bad Filch's knees actually hurt. It was almost more disturbing than the frequent breathlessness, followed by his asthmatic coughing. Anne tried to argue against his cigarettes but could only make Filch kick her out of his office. After swiping up the Owlery's floor and dusting off the portraits on the sixth and seventh floor, Filch invited her again with a growl and a shadow of a smile.
She believed her struggles were worth their price until one Charms class Amelia sat by her and whispered as soon as the others got occupied with the new Incendio charm.
"You must be happy now. Where did you gather this new detention with Filch?"
"It's not a detention. I just like to help him," – Anne replied.
"Merlin, girl, I would think you're pulling my leg if I didn't already know you're a pervert! I swear he's worse than Snape!"
"Sssh! – not a word!" Anne looked around anxiously, ashamed of Amelia's rudeness. "The Carrows are watching. You don't want trouble!"
"And what are they to do?" Amelia was annoyed enough for her feelings to radiate through Anne's feeble protections. "Do you mean to ditch me again just to–"
"I like our friendship, but you must stop badmouthing my Head of House!" Anne hurriedly explained. "They don't appreciate it, and neither do I. I'm sorry, Amelia, but that's the truth."
"I wasn't badmouthing anyone! Although if I did, it was just. He is a creepy dark wizard; everyone sees it but your lot. What would Flora Carrow do about it, wash his hair?"
"Stop it, will you? His hair is all right. You just don't get to see it. He is a Potions Master, and he's at work! And you said it yourself that he smelled good, which is ten times creepier than anything he could–"
"You know, just because he's your Head of House, you shouldn't invent facts to defend him!" – Amelia cut her, "and I wasn't even talking about him but about your sick devotion for detentions!"
"I'm not inventing things, and you wrote this yourself. They didn't like it, and–"
"They? What they? Have you shown my letters to your housemates? Maybe even to your brother, did you?!"
"NO!"
Anne really tried to keep their quarrel hushed, but Amelia screeched in her fright and embarrassment. Anne gave up her hiding to search for her friend's feelings and recognized that Amelia would back down if she could, but her alarm about Gavin hearing of her crush on him would never let her. Gods, she really fancied him! Anne was amazed at how much worse it got with time! Unfortunately, Hestia's glee and Flora's animosity also hit her, and she almost felt nauseous from Malcolm's untampered rage.
Anne looked around the classroom to find Flitwick. The tiny wizard turned his back on them, helping some Hufflepuff boy. It gave a chance for Higgs to send a paper airplane with a message to Vaisey, and then both eyed Amelia with open antipathy.
"Listen, I haven't shown your letters to anyone. And we can talk about Gavin, but you'd better stick to your housemates after class," – Anne tried to spare her friend the worst, even if she wasn't looking forward to discussing her brother. Gavin was just a boy, and to think about him as someone who would one day count as a man felt absurd.
"Was that a threat?"
"I am not threatening you. I'm warning you. No one likes you disparaging Snape. You should calm down a notch, or they–"
"They wouldn't know anything if you weren't such a bigmouth!" – Amelia huffed, this time loudly enough for even Flitwick to turn to them.
Anne gritted her teeth in frustration and raised anger. She'd never been a bigmouth, but she knew what to say if she wanted to hurt the Huffs. She knew much more than it would ever be healthy for Amelia's House if she wished to, but she'd learned her lesson on the train and wouldn't go there….
"Amelia, listen," – she began, but the Hufflepuff was through with her.
"Save your breath!" – She cried. "I should have known you would always side with the Slytherins!"
"But I am a Slytherin!" - Anne gasped.
"Oh, yes, you are!" – Amelia finished, grabbed her bookcase and the practice candle, and theatrically marched to the other side of the room to sit with her House. It was impossible to miss the judgment and hatred from the Hufflepuffs' side or the war rage of the Slytherins. It crackled in the air, making Anne dizzy even without her disappointed tears trying to flow. She risked a look up just to see Flora Carrow's satisfied grin. Oh, bloody hell!
"Incendio!"- she forced her magic deliberately through the maple wand, forgetting she wasn't in her safe little house in her head, and her desk erupted in flames that consumed and melted her candle within seconds, rose as high as the ceiling and burnt her robe's sleeve into the skin on her arm.
"Extinguere!" – Flitwick screamed, and the flames subdued, only flickering on Anne's desk, "Aguamenti" – the tiny professor added, and a thick spray of cold water splashed on the scorched desk and on Anne from his wand.
"Focus, Miss Rosier, focus!" – He reprimanded her. "Focus and intent are your two most important tools to control your magic. You can't just wave your wand around like a cow's tail! Will you learn now?"
The embarrassment was hardly better than bearing the mixed emotions, glee, spite, and - pity? Malcolm was watching her. She grabbed her bookcase and ran out of the classroom.
She wanted peace and sympathy; this time, she didn't want to be alone with her hurt. She wanted Filch and his straight-as-a-nail approach to life's difficulties. But her arm hurt so much she needed Madame Pomfrey first.
The mediwitch cleaned and furnished her wound and repaired her robe with minimal questioning. She didn't even push her when Anne failed to answer, only offered a hanky and a pat on the shoulder when she couldn't stop the tears. She heard the end of the period and how the corridors filled with students and then waited for the silence before she braved the castle to sneak into Filch's office. It was quiet and familiar and hosted her ruffled soul with the homely scents of tobacco and dust.
Anne put on the kettle and made the tea ready to Filch's liking by the time he entered behind his cat.
"Aye, lass, my office is not your hidey-hole!"
She produced the parchment with the snakes and finally gave it back.
"I should have returned this sooner, Mr. Filch," – she served him the tea too. "Just a word of thank you for being around."
The old man looked more suspicious than grateful, but Anne wouldn't come out of hiding in her mind again for the world. She had enough "adventure" for a week.
"Your lot got into a cursing bash in the recess," – Filch mentioned after putting away the parchment and finally tasting his tea. "Will you ask who the victim was?"
Anne shook her head.
"As I reckoned," – the old man grumbled. "Have some tea, lass. You look pale."
Anne stared a little owlishly, then she obediently poured for herself too. It was way too hot to drink yet. Just the way the caretaker liked it.
"That Urquhart boy asked about you when your Professor gave him detention," – Filch carefully pushed on. "Aren't you curious who is to discipline the little bastard?"
Anne focused on the little dandelion on the side of the teapot, which was supposed to be yellow but faded with age and use. She found it soothing how now it turned white at spots as if seeds began to cover the petals. Nature won its place even on a Muggle teapot. How strange she had never spotted it was a Muggle service! Of course, what use would a squib have of magical flora ornamenting his knick-knacks? Although he must have had magical parents… she wondered who they could have been.
"He cursed everyone to dance out in the corridors who escaped the Carrows or that Vaisey boy… your Professor Snape was not pleased, lass. Not at all."
Anne swallowed hard and began in a whisper: "I know it was because of me… because I'm a bad friend… Amelia is normal, not like me. She was the only one who cared enough to visit. She took me the homework, and I–"
Filch watched her without blinking. It was unnerving, even with tea.
"She wrote some things… and said… about Slytherin," – she didn't want to mention what she said about Snape. "I wanted her to stop talking… and stop about my brother too. He's almost seventeen, and he just doesn't care. Why would he? Amelia is younger than even me by a year!"
"Urquhart told quite a different story to your Head of House," – Filch said without emphasis.
Anne's jaw dropped. She thought she was embarrassingly honest. "I didn't lie!"
"No one said you did, lass. It's just curious, that other tale. Curious enough for your professor to proscribe me to torture him next Saturday. Well, as much as this leadership lets it anyway… the gods forbid the great wizard to disapprove..." – He let off the unbecoming sneer and panted until he calmed enough to go on with suspiciously curious eyes watching Anne's every reaction: "Your applicant for a bean will scratch the mould from the walls above the kitchen, no matter if he tried to save one's honour, your or some other's… unless–"
So that was where the wind was blowing! Anne realized the old sergeant was fishing for her thoughts on Urquhart and probably whatever the Huffs blabbered about Snape. Well, no luck there, she supposed.
"Just let the mould bury him, Mr. Filch, for all I care!" She had enough on her plate without Urquhart's staring puppy eyes!
"Hmm," – Filch grumbled with a satisfied nod and hid his smile behind his cup, but he didn't ask on.
After a few silent minutes, Filch deemed his tea tepid enough to pour the rest for Mrs. Norris into the saucer and left the fairer, as he referred to the cat and Anne, to their own devices until he took a compulsory turn on the second-floor corridor. His tact and the quiet office were gifts Anne appreciated and used to calm down before she vanished into the Library. Thankfully Madame Pince had no idea about any of the drama and provided her usual prim self as a company while Anne was fussing with the catalogue.
Pince's indignation tempered every other nuisance from the outside world, and Anne only noticed the bushy-haired Gryffindor firstie when she bumped into her shoulder under one of the shelves.
"Sorry," – it was the girl from the train again, now preoccupied with reading through the titles above her head. Had she never heard about a better method for research than reading through a thousand-year-old Library? Anne was tempted to show her the catalogue, but it didn't seem worth the effort or the patience to look after idiotic firsties.
Here! Liedgeselle's Guide to the Ancient Practices of the Elementalist – Magic in its Forgotten Form. The firstie pushed and pulled out the old tomes merrily, and Anne realized she had to report to the Infirmary and take her meal. Snape should already be annoyed enough for a day for what her year had pulled. Liedgeselle had to wait.
By the time she was ready to return to her dorm, it was late enough for the Carrows to be asleep. However, tonight Anne heard giggling from inside even before she opened the door. The Carrow girls hurried to her with cheerful mischief, and Sophie Borgin smirked at her from her bed before she closed her curtain.
"Welcome back, witchling!" – Flora hugged her, and Hestia offered her a sip from her famous almond syrup.
"C'mon, don't make me keep asking. It's good for your hair too!"
The almond syrup was… well, syrupy…. Just like the girls' kindness and welcome.
"Hey, Miles nicked violet liqueur from his great aunt. You want some?" – Flora asked. Funnily, this also coaxed Sophie out from behind her curtains.
"I've never-" – Anne hesitated, unlike Sophie, who quickly assured them she wouldn't talk about the violet liqueur if she also participated.
"Hush, witchling, one cup won't hurt you, and we're celebrating," – Hestia announced.
"What?" – Anne asked with suspicions and naïveté.
"Victory on Hufflepuff!" – Flora roared giddily, and Sophie held out her Cup for a second help.
"Here, here!"
"Drink up, Anne," – Hestia admonished, "you don't want to be the odd one out again!"
"Erm… no, I guess…" – Anne tasted the liqueur, and it felt light and scented. It couldn't hurt, could it?
"Way to go, witchling," – Flora celebrated. "You really scared the hell out of them all; did you know that?"
Anne stared.
"I?"
"Yeah, Fittleworth looked catatonic after I followed your example and Incendioed her desk too!" – Flora laughed.
"Yeah, Flitwick squeaked something about points, but no one heard him because Miles managed to Reducto another desk. This was the first time and he's been trying for ages, but now, it was sick!"
"Oh, and don't forget Higgs with his Serpentsortia! As soon as we were out on the corridor, he conjured a serpent. I swear at least three Huffs peed on the stones!"
"I only heard about Urquhart getting detention for making them dance," – Anne tried to figure out the rest of the story.
"Oh, yeah, Snape gave detentions to all of us! Urquhart has to go to Filch and the rest of us to Hagrid or Kettleburn. Let them hang! It was worth it!"
Hestia poured another round. "Drink up, witchling, it was total victory! Sprout was out there when she appeared at the Infirmary! The state of her robe…!"
"And her smell!" – Flora added, rolling with laughter, "She must have come straight from the greenhouse emitting dragon dung stench and leaving mud and shite everywhere!"
Now Anne also lost her bearings. "No, you cannot mean it!"
"I swear, witchling, I've been hiding at the Infirmary corridor after prep, and Madame Pomfrey," – Flora's voice lost twice in her fits of chuckles before she could finish – "She threw her out!"
"Whaaat?"
"'Tis true," – Hestia repeated, "Pomfrey told her to wash before she next wished to trespass her domain!"
"Justice!" – Flora roared, flinging herself on her sister's bed.
"And if the Huffs ever dare to say a word, we'll just ask them not to trespass on others' domain before washing," – Hestia summed it all up and put the precious violet liqueur away before Sophie could help herself to a fourth round. "Hey, that's my clasp!" – she called at her sister.
"It suits me better," – Flora took it with a shrug and climbed over to her own bed. "So what, witchling, don't you say a word?"
Anne felt confused, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to hide it. "What do you want me to say?"
"Oh, love, I know you were a bit tender after your party, but that's ancient history. You surely did not expect us to take the blame with Snapey anyway, so let's just move on!"
"Malcolm thinks you're too delicate to handle it," – Hestia added, and even Sophie joined in her and Flora's ooh. "Whatever," – Hestia went on, "time you proved you're not a twat. Miles and Terence said you'd come around, but I'm telling you, if that Huff wasn't stopped today, I would have Incendioed your trunk."
Anne stared at her, then at Flora. They didn't make much sense to her.
"Hey, peace, witchling, we're celebrating, remember? You're as cool as your brother," – Flora waved off the awkwardness. "I mean Caleb. That other one's just worrying too much."
"You'd better stay the hell away from my brother," – Anne finally found her voice. "Either of them!"
"Look at the witch! She has claws," – Sophie sniggered.
"No worries, love, my eyes are full of Terence," – Flora tried to soothe her. "Have you seen what he'd done with that snitch he'd caught?"
The rest of the night's talk mainly concerned Quidditch players of various standing, talent, and age, and Anne soon felt sleep a good alternative. However, the Carrow girls waited for her by the Library the next day, including her in every inane gossip and generally behaved like they hadn't been alienated for six months.
It took a double Potions with their Head of House eying them in a strange mood, a lunch in solitude in Pomfrey's office and a Transfiguration class where no one laughed at her before Anne decided to skive History of Magic and asked Filch about the strangest things in her last two days.
"You've stepped in line, tommy," – the old sergeant explained without enthusiasm. "Now you'll go with your troop no matter what. And don't you try to change the world, or they'd beat you down. They have a right to it; they are going where you go."
"Are they, Mr. Filch?" – Anne couldn't help asking. "Are they really?"
Filch snorted wistfully, if there was such a thing, and shrugged. "The way of the world, lass," – he repeated. "I wondered if you'd find your way back here after you landed the place you should."
"I would never forget to visit, Sergeant Filch," – Anne said the title as an endearment. "I love it here. You don't mean to send me away, do you?"
"You'll have no use of me. And that's the way of it."
"But… I didn't use you, Mr. Filch. Mrs. Norris would have warned you… I- I might have my troops, but I need friends too. Won't you be my friend, Mr. Filch?"
The old greyish blue eyes narrowed at her momentarily, and Anne was tempted to touch about Filch's feelings. Before she could reach out for her magic, the old man asked: "Is that what you want, lass?"
Anne couldn't help noticing how ugly suspicion made the old man's features. She liked the other Filch better. The one that offered tea and told stories about the good old days, which usually concluded that those days weren't that good after all.
"I like your company, sir,"- she whispered, averting her eyes. She meant to say needed, but she couldn't utter the word. Also, it was difficult with her family, especially with Rachel, whom she loved, missed, and couldn't grab most aspects of her Hogwarts life.
Only Filch's wheezing snigger made her turn back to him. "I told him you were an odd duck," – he said, not elaborating on who he meant. Still, Anne had her suspicions. "Drink your tea, lass! You know that you're welcome here anytime."
She knew she had made a friend, even if it was silent enough that the old man could deny it. Finally, one she trusted and enjoyed being around.
However, it seemed she wasn't the only one in the sorest need of true friendship. The last Quidditch match of the winter drew near, and most seemed at odds with Snape's sudden flair for being a referee. Pince sent the gossiping Professor Sinistra and a shorter witch, whom Anne suspected to be the infamously strict Professor Vector, on their merry ways when they tried to discuss the issue one evening by the library door. Their voices seeped through the wooden door when Anne helped tidy up after the day's work, and Pince looked outraged at their behaviour.
She huffed and sniffled with lips pressed close together not to label her Professors in front of Anne even minutes after her unusually harsh words in the door. For the first time since Anne knew her, she asked about something that remotely resembled gossip:
"I hope your housemates refrain from such indecorous displays, Miss Rosier. Every professor deserves some credit even for unexpected actions."
It was true that the news had reached the Common Room, and most were just glad to have the referee on their side against the Gryffs, counting the points to get the Cup if Hufflepuff won. It also caused some dilemma among the second years, with the recent war won against the Huffs, but Higgs decided for the rest of them that Gryffindor's win would be even worse. Anne thought this wasn't the kind of answer Pince hoped for.
"Most are just perplexed why the game starts only in the afternoon," – she found something coherent to say. "They will play in the dark. Perhaps Professor Snape is chivalrous with Madame Hooch?" – She offered.
Pince's enigmatic discontented sniff now seemed to carry her amazement. "Well, that's a theory," – she allowed and turned away primly, Anne suspected to lessen the temptation to gossip on.
In any case, Snape seemed determined to have his way, and the castle buzzed with anticipation on Saturday. That made the whole day a nightmare for Anne. She hid in her side tower, and after playing her guitar to boredom, she decided to thoroughly clean the place. When the crowd roared from the Quidditch pitch, she knew the game must have begun, but soon an even greater turmoil hit her ears and untrained senses. She climbed up to the window that looked towards the pitch and saw the players landing and some celebration… she couldn't make out the colours from afar.
Anne was hesitant to join the wild masses just yet, so she gave the rails a good polishing like Filch would have suggested before she braved the lower levels an hour later to see the last of Professor Quirrell when he sneaked out through the main door. The wizard looked around twice before he stepped out into the dusk, which Anne found so peculiar that she hurried back to the first floor and peeked through a window.
"Meow!"
She'd just seen Quirrell disappearing into the Forbidden Forest a moment before Mrs. Norris jumped the windowsill and almost scared her to death.
"Ah, Mrs. Norris, you startled me," – she pulled a hand slowly through the cat's arched back while the feline walked up and down the windowsill doing her utmost to distract her from the view.
"Do you happen to know what Professor Quirrell is up to in the Forest?" – Anne tried to converse with the cat. "I've seen him hurrying inside as if he knew where he was to,…" – Anne started as another wizard strode on the tracks of Quirrell. One that was limping just like Snape since Halloween. "Mrs. Norris, have you seen him? Why would Professor Snape follow Quirrell? Do you think he can also sense there's something wrong with him?"
"Meow!"
"No, Mrs. Norris, down! What are you doing?" – Anne tried to convince the feline in vain to let go of her robe or at least to pull her claws back. "What are you trying to tell me?"
"Hissss!"
Mrs. Norris arched her back as she tried to reach Anne's face and tried to tap around her nose and eyes. Anne abandoned the meagre hiding in her mind to understand the cat and sensed alarm and determination. A gust of grudging apprehension also hit her from behind. She felt Mr. Filch's presence moments before he spoke: "Lass, you'd better have a reason to hold up, Mrs. Norris! We have more to do than play with you, do we, my dear?"
Mrs. Norris finally sat back on her hinds and licked her paw as if she was ready with a task.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Filch, she just climbed up here when I spotted Professor Quirrell. He went into the Forest, and Professor Snape followed- ah,"- Anne froze as a slight figure flew above the branches, "someone else is there too! Look, Mr. Filch! Someone on a broomstick!"
"I don't see a soul. It's too dark out there," – Filch's words contradicted his rising agitation. He didn't even look toward the window. "Come you now! You'd better make some tea instead!"
"I'm sure I saw them," – Anne persevered. "Why would Professor Snape follow Quirrell?"
"That's Professor Quirrell for you, lass. Don't you have some homework? It's too dark to be sure anyway," – Filch tried to stir her away from the window, but Anne was now suspicious and sure she was onto something.
"I saw them clear enough. Professor Quirrell was afraid of him even before Christmas. And even the Hufflepuffs say they have some bone to pick," – she quoted Amelia.
"Gibberish drivel! You know better than to listen to gossip! Come now, you haven't seen a thing!"
Anne opened her mouth to argue only to have it full with a cat's paw while Mrs. Norris' other paw sank a set of sharp claws into her neck. Both the cat and its master radiated alarm and worry. Something in the air around Filch also showed such determination Anne thought it better to fall silent after a painful wail. She gave up and followed her friend.
"Now, that's better, my dears. Why sit around out in the drafty halls?" – Filch kept grumbling on their way to the stairs. "A nice hot tea, perhaps a scone or two, what do you say, Mrs. Norris? The best to forget the night's visions and nonsense…. Nonsense."
Anne felt his care flaring up with bouts of concern and irritation that weren't addressed to her. What did she see she wasn't supposed to? But she only dared asking when Filch led them through the caretaker's office into a small kitchen that belonged to his personal quarters:
"Are you worrying about Professor Snape, Mr. Filch?"
A quick gust of surprise and fear hit her before she heard the answer:
"Nonsense, I say! The professor knows his way around. But I doubt you'd seen him… or anyone for that matter. You'd better forget it, lass, and listen to me!"
"But-"
Filch put the kettle on with so little grace it clanked on the small stow.
"I said you'd better listen!" – He spat angrily, while the air around him carried only agitation.
"I'm listening, Mr. Filch. It was dark," – Anne obliged. "Mrs. Norris was also in the way, and I wanted to pet her."
"Hmm," – Filch let out a satisfied harrumph. "I might have some jam just up that cupboard in that case…."
Anne silently fumbled through the small cupboard. It was the first time it occurred to her that she now perceived more of the world with her "gift" than before. She wasn't yet sure if she liked what she saw; nonetheless, she saw more and could confuse herself more. The whole conundrum reminded her of that strange conversation she'd accidentally overheard, in which Snape had called her a she-devil whom Filch could not protect. Whether he could or not, it looked like the old sergeant was not remiss to try it. Now she only had to figure out from what.
But not that evening. Filch's agitation only grew with every passing minute until about half an hour later, his office door opened, and to Anne's greatest surprise, Professor Snape came straight through to the caretaker's private kitchenette. He only stopped short when he saw her.
"Blast!"
With that, Professor Snape turned on his heel and strode away, his robes billowing, undisturbed by his slight limp. Anne gazed at Filch, a little startled, but the old man only sipped his tea with the same angry face. Only the air around him turned from being worried to being vastly amused.
Anne had little time to contemplate her newest experiences because March came with a new parchment hanging on the Slytherin news board, announcing that the second years should decide on their next year classes, and the task suddenly occupied all her faculties. She wrote a long and detailed letter to Rachel and asked for her advice.
To Transfiguration, Astronomy, Defence, Charms, Herbology, Potions, and History of Magic, now she had to choose from Care for Magical Creatures, which seemed most interesting for its impact on Potions, Arithmancy, which she couldn't really place, Study of Ancient Runes, which had the most allure, Divination, which Ephsos all but recommended, and Muggle Studies, which she had no idea why to choose but Caleb and Gavin suggested she took. Rachel agreed with her brothers.
After two weeks of contemplation, collecting input even from Madame Pince, Anne thought she would choose Ancient Runes, Care for Magical Creatures, Divination, and Muggle Studies to satisfy everyone, which was two more subjects than was allowed. Last year she would have chosen only CMC and Runes, now Divination seemed as important as those were, so she couldn't solve the problem even by disappointing her family. There was no solution. And the others' buzzing about it all day, every day, didn't help at all.
The buzz was always the noisiest in prep periods, testing Anne's ability to find peace within her mind and function at the periphery of her usual self. The most demanding day was mid-March when Binns floated in nonchalantly to supervise preps.
The ghost levitated above his desk for a few seconds, paraphrased an old disciplinary poem, and conveniently left the youth to their Exploding Snap and disputes above their homework. The latter was the more dangerous, for the Gryffindors sided with the Hufflepuffs after the match, and the Ravenclaws were determined to do some actual work. The second-year Slytherins suddenly found themselves alone to fend off smaller hexes and jinxes sent against them from behind books or under benches.
It would have been a pitiful situation had Miles and Vaisey enjoyed it any less. As it was, they gave as good as they got, Flora and Urquhart closing up to Bletchley and Vaisey protecting Hestia, Anne, and even Higgs – because the Seeker had to be covered before the Slytherin-Gryffindor final match of the year. To Urquhart's credit, when the going got rough, he changed seats and sat closer to Anne, despite his devotion to Quidditch. She knew she would hear from Hestia a dozen times about how romantic she was supposed to perceive this 'chivalry.'
Of course, it all came with a tempestuous mix of emotions, and Anne sank deep into her visualization, imagining herself in her peaceful little house. A few minutes into the cursing bash, she didn't bother to mime essay writing anymore. Instead, she closed the door and window of her truest home. The last thing she saw was Malcolm falling by her on the floor with seven even tentacles dangling for limbs; then she also locked the shutters.
Safe haven! Anne was sitting around in her mind's room for a while. It seemed broader, and the ceiling higher with frequent use. When the outside world was less than a memory, it occurred to her how nice it would be to have some light. Until then, she'd only had the windows to illuminate the room. She remembered how the shelf popped up in her head when she needed it to arrange her notes and imagined a chandelier.
The room suddenly lit with warm light. She noticed her more recent studies scattered around the floor and meticulously tidied them. She needed a new shelf for Pagadow, Obscure, Ephsos and Liedgeselle, although she still couldn't comprehend elemental magic and was too impatient now to try. She wanted comfort.
Looking around to unearth some fading childhood memory or a dream she'd forgotten and used to enjoy, Anne's gaze slid onto a small door behind her guitar. How many doors can someone have in their head? Curiosity won out with lightning speed, and Anne stole through the door.
The floor, the walls, even the ceiling bathed in muted colours, which waved in some breeze she couldn't feel, like shadows of giant plants. It looked like a reflection of unexplored magical woods, but she had no idea where to look for the primeval. It didn't matter.
Anne found herself drifting with the coloured shadows, humming Waiting for the Sun, and imagining it reverberated in Jim Morrison's voice. She had the best time ever until that strange, disturbing feeling crept up on her… as if someone was knocking – no! Someone was banging at her door.
Not stopping the music, Anne tiptoed out to see who it could be, and to her fright, her Head of House's voice came through the little house's front door as if he stood right in front of it.
"Miss Rosier!"
The music rolled through the small house through the open door of that backroom.
"Miss Rosier, if you haven't known a life stranger than this, you are into a harsh surprise; however now, it is high time for you to return among the living!"
Anne opened the door ajar and stared at him in a daze.
"What?"
Snape looked like he'd just lost his patience: "Wake up, girl!" – He commanded and stepped back from the door.
As soon as Anne started to follow him, she felt the need to open her eyes. The change from the coloured shadows to the neat Infirmary was harsh, to say the least. Madame Pomfrey stood close with some green potions in a crystal phial at hand, and her Head of House, pale with fatigue but also as annoyed as it came, leaned above her. He now nodded with a mocking substitute of a dry smile.
"Finally! Poppy, we won't need the Wiggenwald Potion. Save it for the ill!"
The mediwitch could only gawp. "But–"
"Miss Rosier, you're ten minutes late for your detention," – Snape went on informing his student, straightened, and walked away.
"Complicated dork!" – Anne thought she heard from Madame Pomfrey, but when she jerked her head, unsure if she heard her right, the mediwitch shook her head.
"I was mumbling. Come, Miss Rosier, I still wish to check your readings before I let you leave." She waved an intricate pattern with her wand, and a row of runes and other signs appeared above Anne in various colours. Madam Pomfrey ran her eyes through them as if she were reading them. "He'd foretold you'd be all right, dear. I have no idea what made you faint again."
She dismissed the signs with annoyance, but her eyes didn't narrow on Anne with her suspicions. Instead, she stared at the door through which Professor Snape escaped her.
"You are lucky, Miss Rosier, and free to go. Unlike your classmates," – she gestured to the row of beds, each holding a second year in various ways of disarray.
Anne recognized Hestia; this was more than what she could say about the witch lying on the next bed. Most were sleeping soundly. Here a wand arm was heavily bandaged, and there a Huff was weeping with a strange scarf on his head… on the other side of the room lay Terence, Vaisey, and Miles, covered with bandages on different appendices, then she saw a pulp that must have been once Malcolm.
Madame Pomfrey must have noticed that her breath hitched because she stood between Anne and the horrible sight.
"Oh, yes, I still have some work to do. When I pronounce you lucky, Miss Rosier, you must know I mean that."
Anne saw about a dozen more second years from every house on her way out. A cursing bash somehow sounded funnier when they swore war against Hufflepuff on the train or when her brothers promised to stand up for her, and she wasn't even wishing for this back then. Now Anne hardly knew how to cope with all she saw… strangely her mind was at peace. She did perceive the suffering, the pain, the discomfort, shame, and lingering anger all around, but it didn't get to her as harshly as other times they would. She still heard the music in her head instead.
As Professor Snape didn't say with whom he assigned her for detention, Anne supposed she was to report to him. She found his office's door ajar in the dungeons and stepped through it after a short knock, as tentatively as possible. It promptly closed on her heels. Snape sat behind his desk correcting essays like last time, giving Anne déjà vu. However, this time she felt more like herself than ever in this room. Her most anxious self, to be precise. Because she could think about a handful of reasons why Snape should punish her, but she had no idea which one he eventually chose.
"You should catch up on Ephsos' meditation technics, Miss Rosier, before you drive Madame Pomfrey to Bedlam with your antics," – Professor Snape addressed her as soon as she sat down.
Anne noticed him throwing his quill next to the inkwell, and it splattered his desk. By the number of stains there, it certainly wasn't the first time, and the motion carried so much finality she was unsure if he'd ever even consider correcting one more essay in his life again. Snape looked relaxed, and the air around him was silent like usual, but she now knew he was anything but calm.
"You still here, Rosier?" – the professor grumbled. A joint moved somewhere higher up his cheek.
"Yes, sir. I found additional reading on elemental magic to understand his suggestions,"- Anne swallowed nervously, "this is my first time reading about ancient magic, and I'm afraid my understanding-"
"So what were you thinking you've been doing?" – Professor Snape visibly put in the effort to be patient, and Anne was ashamed he had to.
"Hiding? Sir?" – she breathed and dared not to go on when his eyes narrowed.
To her surprise, Snape leaned back on his chair and rubbed both eyes with the heels of his palms while he heaved an enormous sigh. He seemed revived and more practical when he next looked up at her.
"Elemental magic is a sufficient way to understand and build a magical protection. However, as you have apparently proved, it's not the only way to avoid life's challenges. Ephsos worked and argued in a day when elemental magic had not yet been forgotten, and his descriptions used to be the simplest."
Anne thought back on the date on the tome and let her eyes fall, not to betray her discontentment. How was she to think with the mind of a seventeenth-century witch?
"The average practitioners are content to learn any way to retreat to the core of their minds," – Snape added, with a hint of challenge in his voice. "Also called psyché, if you bother with older texts," – he offered, the challenge in his eyes now spiked with his amusement. "Average witches and wizards need no additional training, only someone who prompts them to find solace within their minds."
Anne didn't know why she was supposed to need additional training, but she had to acknowledge how painful she would have found it if Snape had perceived her as average. How did he know how she felt? Even she didn't realize it until now!
"It's hard to do magic from the solace, sir," – she decided to share her struggles. "I have to intentionally channel my magic to my wand, and even talking to people or behaving normally is challenging."
"Is that so?" – Snape's brows rose mockingly.
Anne swallowed when she realized she was complaining about being awkward to the least 'normal' wizard of her acquaintance. Snape, his reactions, his speech, even the way he carried himself was odd compared to – the average…
"I–" – Anne caught herself before she admitted to her accidental impertinence by apologizing for it.
Her professor huffed with a grimace that could either be a snarl or a smile.
"Your reactions seem quite normal and average to me, Rosier," he said disparagingly, which annulled any hint of reassurance his words could have carried. "And it is the wand that should pull your magic. Whose wand are you using?"
Anne almost gaped at him. "Excuse me?"
"Your wand. Surely, your father can afford to buy you your own wand, Miss Rosier."
A memory about a smooth wooden box hiding a black wand arose, and Anne suddenly felt disconcerted and unexplainably afraid.
"Erm… yes, sir."
Her eyes met a suspicious gaze again when she looked up.
"Who did you tell about your abilities?"
"No one, sir."
"Not even to Mr. Filch?"
Anne started. "No, sir. He also would never ask."
"And if he asked?"
Anne recalled her premonitions in the first-floor window and Filch being so adamant about not even letting her mention whatever she saw or thought.
"He wouldn't… he is my friend, sir, he wants me to be safe… and also…."
Snape's eyebrows helpfully rose again to nudge her on. "Yes?"
"He doesn't even let me talk about things you… that you followed Professor Quirrell into the Forest. Or that someone saw you from the air. He wants me to believe I don't know what I saw or felt from Professor Quirrell. He also doesn't like him, but he doesn't know…."
Snape stood from his seat and walked around his desk to stand before her. His gaze carried rigour and demanded more than his words.
"What could you perceive of a wizard who's occluding?"
Anne's eyes rounded like saucers.
"Is he occluding? He's nothing like you!"
Snape ignored the backhanded compliment and leaned above her, his gaze prickling the back of Anne's skull.
"What did you perceive?"
"Evil," – Anne breathed, suddenly frightened as if Quirrell could hear her. "The buzz gets dizzy around him… like nausea… there's no air to breathe when he's there because he doesn't want to… He's malevolent and… darker than the curses on the tomes."
Her professor seemed to have returned to his better senses. At least he leaned back and sat on the edge of his desk. "What tomes, Rosier?"
"Those about the Dark Arts… in my father's Library. I can feel the curses put on them. They are not as dark as Professor Quirrell when he looked at the Headmaster at Halloween. There's something ill about him even in class when no one's there he's interested about."
Snape waved his arms together before his chest with a sigh. He looked strangely content with her words.
"Interested about the Headmaster," – he mumbled. "You are not allowed to engage with him in any way," – he told Anne. "Do not look into his eyes under any circumstances! Do not discuss him with your peers or teachers, not even with the caretaker. That's the only way to assure Mr. Filch's safety if you honestly believe he is your friend."
"He is! He really is, sir, and he needs more than my silence; I've already listened as he asked and didn't say anything since I understood!"
"What did you understand?" Snape, this time looked less intimidating. He almost looked friendly as soon as she promised her silence.
"That I haven't seen a thing, sir," – Anne repeated Filch's words. "That he needs help with his knees and enjoys a tea on occasion, and he doesn't need my meddling."
"Madame Pomfrey had mentioned your exceptional worry for Mr. Filch's well-being."
"I can feel his pain," – Anne admitted. "It's in his joints, not only his knees that he's complaining about. And he shouldn't smoke, but he doesn't want me to mention that."
"He has all the magical remedies available at the Infirmary," – Professor Snape repeated what Anne had already heard from the mediwitch, and he was ready to turn away until Anne decided it was her chance to try to push her agenda:
"But does he use those, sir?" – she stopped Snape mid-motion. "Perhaps he doesn't like them, or they don't help him. I heard about arthritis, Professor, it's not common among wizards, and Mr. Filch is a squib. I wonder… I wonder if the potions have the same effect on him… I wanted to research it, but I just never had the time. I don't even have the time to understand Liedgeselle; it's crazy! I can't get down Ephsos without time to understand, but I can't make time for it without his meditations. It's a circle of hell!"
Snape flashed her an uncommonly candid and surprised look, then turned backwards to his desk and pulled out an empty parchment to dynamically scribble rows and rows of letters and numbers with his formerly abandoned quill. The fresh red ink almost glittered, illuminated by the firelight from the hearth.
"His magical status might explain his uncommonly bad response to magical remedies," – he finally looked up when he finished and checked the numbers. "Not at all bad, Rosier."
"And can this help?" – Anne pointed at the parchment.
Her professor touched a fist to his chin and pulled a finger through his lips, deep in thought.
"It just might," – He nodded. "About the time you say you need… have you decided what classes would you take next year, girl?"
"Erm… I have trouble deciding, sir. I wanted to take Runes and Care for Magical Creations, but Ephsos suggested Divination, and my family wants me to learn Muggle Studies… I- is that Arithmancy, sir?" – she added, still looking at the parchment.
Strangely, Snape found her incoherence amusing this time. At least his eyes were smiling.
"It is. Why would Rosier want his children to learn about Muggles?"
"It is a wide family, sir, with various views. My father didn't profess his preferences, but I still have enough relatives to meddle."
Now the professor was amused enough to even smirk.
"Perhaps you also contemplate choosing Arithmancy, Miss Rosier? After this display of its use, without mentioning how advantageous it may prove if you ever pursued Potions as one of your NEWT subjects, you may be even tempted."
For the first time, Anne doubted he couldn't read her mind. "I am, sir."
Her professor knowingly nodded. "Which makes up for all the electives. I understand you will choose all the subjects to study next year."
Anne could only stare. "I would like to, sir, but is that an option? If I found a way around this ability" – she somehow managed not to say a curse - "I still don't know how to study them all."
"We need to make time for your endeavours, aren't we?" – Anne tried to believe it when she saw mischief in Snape's usually well-guarded eyes but couldn't. "Make your classwork a priority, Miss Rosier, and do as good on your end-of-term exams as last year, and I believe I can help you with your problem."
"Sir?"
"You will sign up for all the elective courses and prove your worth in your exams. You will shut your gob and not look the evil in the eye. Am I understood?"
Anne was surprised, but she didn't hesitate. She saw that Snape had a plan, and although it was a novel way to get reassurance, it was nonetheless efficient. "Yes, sir."
"You will not have any more detentions this term, and you will refrain from causing havoc."
"Yes, sir."
Snape nodded, and his office door popped open on his wave of a hand. Anne tried to cling to the tiny spark of optimism he gave her when she said goodnight. She was already at the door when she thought to hear Snape's last question.
"The Doors, Rosier?"
She let herself be impertinent enough to shrug before she stepped out to the corridor, nourishing the measure of hope she finally had. It didn't occur to Anne until she reached her dorm that she had apparently got away without fulfilling any actual detentions. There was no work required from her. She wasn't even berated, Snape only wanted her to talk, and for the first time, he also got what he wanted.
Sophie was probably out with her third-year friends, and Flora and Hestia were yet to return from the Infirmary, so Anne had the whole dorm. But instead of celebrating her unexpected freedom, she could only sit on the edge of her bed and stare into the air before her. Snape wanted to talk. To her. He only wanted to talk and seemed even content with what she had to say! Sweet daring Nimue from the world of forbidden Arts! She'd just had a friendly chat with freakin' Professor Snape! Well, as friendly as it would get, she supposed….
Anne threw herself back across her bed and tried to laugh it off, but something stopped her. Yes, Snape seemed content because she'd given him honesty. Also, information, which was even more surprising. Filch all but forbade her to talk about Quirrell; now her observations were taken under advisement, and it felt… it felt like an achievement. Feeling useless and lame troubled her all year, and now she finally proved herself useful for no other than Professor Snape! It was nigh unbelievable and had its evident perks; Snape planned something for her. He mapped out a road for her and promised help with her struggles.
If she shut her gob… Anne lamented the chosen words for a while, sensing something crucial in them. Snape never used such language in class, mostly not even when talking to upper-year Slytherins in the Common Room. He was more at leisure with Filch, and now, as it seemed for a moment, with her. An achievement in itself.
Also, she should avoid Quirrell, but that was hardly a chore. She was determined to avoid him anyway.
And she should rock the end-of-year exams….
Anne silently growled with frustration. She knew the marks and evaluations she received over the year were never as important as her exams, and last year she was top five percent after helping her brothers with their OWLs, but her strained limits frightened her now. The room will probably be abuzz with others' anxiety and hysteria, and she will need to hide at the back of her head, although apparently not hiding too far away to lose control of her surroundings. It was probably unwise to lock the shutters on the windows of her little house… she should be careful about that, no matter how nice that backroom proved to be.
She tried to work up the courage and the will to work her way through the rest of the term peeking out of those windows she kept envisioning, doing all the homework, hiding in plain sight, avoiding trouble, and Quirrell, and complaining, and fainting, and…. she realized she was most afraid of the practical use of magic when she thought about avoiding burning down her desk. That was a mistake, too, she'd been too worked up to notice she came out of her hiding, and the force with which she focused gave needless power to her wand.
Whose wand are you using? Your wand should pull your magic.
Did Snape mean she overtasked herself by channelling her magic deliberately through her maple wand? Anne jumped to her trunk and searched for that wooden box… when she finally had the black wand in hand, her courage faltered. She shouldn't try channelling her magic through this one. The safest bet was returning to the back of her head and trying a spell or two without the usual deliberation. That way, the worst thing to happen was to devise a failed charm.
Yes, that will do….
She retreated to her safe little house, careful not to hide too deep, and looked through the window. The world was now distant. She imagined short-sightedness could be similar in a way. She looked at her pillow and aimed her black wand.
"Engorgio!"
The pillow obediently grew without her putting any effort into the charm or focusing on her wrist.
"Reducio!"
The pillow returned to its average size without effort again.
Anne tried to focus on her wrist like with the maple wand.
"Engorgio!" – she breathed with intent, and the pillow grew the size half of her bed before it blew up, scattering feathers all around her in the dorm room.
"Hey, good evening to you too. Is it snowing again?" – Sophie walked into the room at the worst possible moment, and Anne had no patience for her amusement.
"Reparo!" – she tried without adding additional force, and the feathers pulled back into the pillow, which reknitted at the edges and shrunk to its normal size. "Yesss!"
"I'm glad you're happy about it. We don't appreciate the basics enough," – Sophie noted, laughing at her enthusiasm.
"Hi," – Anne finally returned her greeting with a shrug. "I'm only… you know…."
"Being stupid?" – Sophie readily offered.
"Yeah, I guess. How was the Common Room?" – Anne asked awkwardly just to deflect attention.
"If you mean if all are laughing at your year's inane little vendetta, yes, most do. But since Warrington received a howler, it's old news already."
Anne smiled at Sophie. She didn't like taking sides, something she'd always appreciated about her. "Thanks."
"No problem. Hey, let's make it snow!" – the third-year girl grinned, pulling her wand and sending a Reducto into the nearest pillow. Ann was right on cue, and although she'd never attempted a blasting curse before, with good humour and intent, she got down the basics for the third try. Soon the whole dorm was covered with fluffy white feathers as if the winter had returned to say goodbye, and the girls laughed at each other's looks with fluff in their hair and robes.
Tidying up the mess and repairing all the pillows when Flora returned from the Infirmary was less fun, and Sophie quickly ducked into the bathroom to avoid her bad mood, but Anne couldn't mind anything. She hadn't left her hiding in her head once, not even to have fun, and the black wand worked like magic! She rather saw than felt Flora's grumpiness too, which added to her newfound optimism even if she was unsure whether her luck would persist when the music would eventually stop playing in her head.
But it shielded her until late the following day, and she still could use her ebony wand well. Anne spent the next few days in an exceptional mood. After her many struggles, now facing one less, she put effort into her homework and studies.
The prep periods were still useless to her, but she could write her essays in History of Magic and in the early hours in the Library while others had breakfast. She almost got used to missing at least one meal daily, which Madame Pomfrey wouldn't approve of, but what could she do? Anne picked up the habit of carrying some readings to lunch and dinner at the Infirmary, and Gavin sought her out less and less every week to let her finish with her books. Now she also had the good sense to write longer, more fulfilling letters to Rachel. Sharing her enthusiastic approach to the exams was finally something her aunt understood and praised.
By the Easter Holiday all began to look upwards, Anne even counted that the points she had lost for Slytherin in the autumn, she now replaced and won additional five points in Charms. It came naturally, for she attempted to exclude the Hufflepuffs from her mind by focusing on her charm work, and Flitwick enthusiastically approved of this approach. The ebony wand also helped. Apparently, by struggling with an imperfect wand, she somehow learned more about focus, intent, and channelling magic than anyone else in her year.
Her revisions were slow because she still needed her 'music therapy' up in her side tower, but at least she proceeded, unlike for months before. Anne's only woe was the growing traffic at the Infirmary. One of the Gryffindor firsties managed to wound his hand in a way that gave Madame Pomfrey a pause and left him bedridden for almost a week. His friends' chatter in the evenings chased her out to nick a sandwich from the house elves instead, and Anne worried if Snape would mind her abandoning her place.
He didn't mention a thing. Nor did Mr. Filch, not even when Anne asked about the deepening worry line between Professor Snape's brows. In hindsight, she was unsure what she expected. She already knew she wasn't supposed to discuss her observations with anyone… still, all around the castle, the buzz somehow changed, as if something was brewing, and it became harder to avoid Quirrell's gaze.
On a Monday in May, Anne returned to the Common Room to see it upside down in celebration, and Gavin even caught her by the waist and span her around.
"We won the Cup!" – he roared, and the crowd cheered, answering him. "Have you heard?"
Anne shook her head, dumbfounded.
"Gryffindor lost one hundred and fifty points!" – Someone was ready to chime, and Anne even saw a bunch of fifth years cheering their butter beers for McGonagall.
"Their own Head of House gave us the Cup already. There's no fucking way they could scrape this much together in a month!" – Gavin laughed and continued with a savage battle dance between Caleb and Phil.
Anne watched them laughing as long as she could without feeling the need to throw up by the sheer volume of their emotions radiating in the air. Then she escaped to her tower and cheered herself with the memory of those ten minutes she could weather without fainting or showing herself a fool. Noteworthy improvement, if not what she would hope for. She was increasingly ready to hear more about Snape's plan.
Alas, her professor looked too preoccupied to even coax a complete sentence from him when she handed in her request for the elective classes, and only Filch supported her nerves through the week of exams.
A few days later, it ran through Slytherin like wildfire that no one was advised to approach Snape in his foul mood. Some even spread gossip about his change linked to Harry Potter's sudden illness. Anne knew enough about that because she saw the boy in the Infirmary when she ate her meals. Madame Pomfrey sometimes mumbled about curses, and 'that poor kid,' who 'had suffered enough,' and the Ravenclaws were convinced that Quirrell disappeared because Voldemort attacked the Boy-Who-Lived through him.
Even Mr. Filch confirmed that Professor Quirrell had died in disgrace and advised Anne not to think much about it. It might have been sage advice, but she couldn't take it. Someone was killed at school! She hated Quirrell, but this was none of what she expected! Sophie and Flora agreed that Harry Potter might have killed the Dark Arts Professor, and they called Anne a killjoy when she pointed out how unlikely that sounded.
Whatever happened, everyone had their version and opinion, but the fact was only that Quirrell was dead, and Harry Potter was injured at the Infirmary. The whole school was humming like a beehive, and Anne spent every minute up in her tower or walking by the edge of the Forbidden Forest, waiting for the term's end and her exam results.
Six straight 'O'-s and an 'A' for Astronomy! She felt at the top of the world!
Anne ran to knock on Professor Snape's office door to find out more about what he'd planned for her, but she didn't find him. She ran on and popped into the Library to hug the astonished Madame Pince instead, thanking her for what she called simply her job, accidentally dismissing Anne's joy with her gratitude. No matter, she was happy to share it all with Mr. Filch, and she sneaked into the caretaker's office, only to hear voices from the kitchenette:
"…horsefeathers!" – Filch finished what sounded a longer thought. "He's dead. He'd fallen. I've had enough trouble swiping you up together as it was! Don't you get started again!"
"She died, Argus, the Dark Lord just vanished. I owe her, I–" – it was just like Professor Snape's voice but gentler… shaky with emotion. It made Anne so curious she left her hiding in her head to touch the air, which now resonated with the pain she so frequently sensed from him. It was heartbreaking. A hopeless black hole of agony, so tormenting she teetered by its force.
"You owe her a fig!" – Filch grunted roughly. His anger hit Anne in the chest, and soon Snape's temper rose to match it:
"I loved her, goddamn it! I still do!" – he cried, and soon his words were followed by sobs, his breath hitching for air.
"That doesn't mean you have to–"
"You know what I promised!"
Filch's conciliatory tone made Snape's voice a notch more reasonable, but his emotions still blew wide around, even in the small office. It was a whole different level of gloom, and Anne tiptoed back against the door to escape it.
"I need you Argus, I can't protect her son alone, and he will return. He tried now, he will try it again, and he will never stop until he gets what he wants, he never had!" – Even Snape's voice betrayed his devastation, and Anne was grateful for Filch's gentler tone:
"Rus, listen to me! Look at me, lad, c'mon! …now, when have I deserted you, huh? Dumbledore may rot by me. I'm here for your sake, remember?"
Someone sniffled, and it was disconcerting to know it was probably Snape.
"Don't let him hear you, old man!"
"I won't. Now, you need to sort your priorities, lad, for I don't stand that kid, and the other one is worth a thousand times more."
"They must not learn she exists, Argus," – Snape's voice was so low Anne had trouble understanding his words. "Either of them, or she'd be doomed like I am."
Mrs. Norris ventured out from the kitchenette with her tail held high and looked straight at Anne. She swallowed nervously, knowing how unforgivable her eavesdropping was, and slid out the door before the cat could warn her master. Just to get far enough before they discover she'd heard them! As far as she could!
She ran out of the castle and hid at the edge of the Forest until nightfall, restoring the feeble protections on her mind. Snape should never learn she'd heard him cry! Gods, he would destroy her, he would– Suddenly, the question of who they had mentioned that should be hidden hit her like the Knight Bus. They mentioned two kids, one Filch approved of and another he didn't. It would have been so nice to believe herself important enough to be the girl the old sergeant had mentioned… alas there was no proof, and she doubted she would like that hovering doom Snape feared.
Anne packed her worries into an imagined box and closed the lid. She hid in the back of her mind and braved the dormitories where all still debated the Headmaster's nastiness that took the House Cup from Slytherin. Hestia believed he must be the devil himself, and most seemed to agree with her. Anne surely did a day before, but now everything was dwarfed by the weight of the discussion she wasn't supposed to overhear.