xxv. eye of newt

Sooner than anyone expected, the holidays arrived at Hogwarts.

Severus both loved and loathed the Yule time; the miscreants returned home to their doting families, leaving the castle blissfully silent, but he rarely had the opportunity to enjoy that silence between resupplying Pomfrey's infirmary and dealing with the Headmaster's well-meaning—and unwanted—Christmas cheer. Severus would languish in the lab, frozen through by the highland winter, and his hand would inevitably ache to the point of distraction. Dumbledore would ask "How are you, my dear boy?" and Snape would snarl, bitch, and most likely drink too much at the yearly feast just to sleep through the night.

He didn't expect this year to be different—not until Prefect Farley flounced into his office the afternoon before the train was set to head to London and handed him the list of students staying behind.

Slytherins rarely lingered for the break. The occasional N.E.W.T student would remain, intent on escaping irascible relatives and utilizing the school's quiet to study, and both Slytherin and Snape would have difficulty prying them away from their books long enough to stuff food into their mouths. One name was hastily jotted on the list this year, as if the writer had done so unwillingly, looking over their shoulder to see if the other students were watching. Severus recognized Harriet Potter's untidy scrawl.

The parchment bent and twisted under his fingertips. He pushed the roiling mass of dread into the back of his mind and refused to acknowledge it.

Severus saw her the next day. He stood by a drooping Sinistra in the entrance hall as the little monsters flocked through the castle's doors dressed in Muggle-garb and dragging their luggage. The sun managed to break free of the winter clouds and spilled upon the stone floor, glittering in the bits of snow drifting on the morning breeze, the smell of fresh rain and pine disgustingly refreshing. The brightness burned Severus' eyes and he rubbed at them, aggravated.

Potter was one of the only students wearing school attire. She came out of the dungeon corridor with Granger and Black, the latter pair dragging their trunks, the Granger chit talking much too fast if the speed of her moving mouth was anything to go by. It was the only time of year Muggle-borns could return to the Muggle world thanks to that ridiculous law passed by Gaunt, so Severus knew where Granger was headed, but he didn't know where Black was going, why she was opting to leave her supposed friend alone for the holidays.

Why the hell is the girl not going back to Petunia for the break? He'd asked himself the same question in his office. It kept bobbing up in his head like flotsam after a storm, the "why" like the incessant dripping of a leaking faucet over a sink that wouldn't drain. Why, why, why—drip, drip, drip. Severus had an answer—one of many, he told himself, one of many—and it threatened to come into focus at every turn, but he ignored it, buried himself in his own Occlusion, because the general consensus among the staff was students who remained during the holidays weren't typically happy at home. Severus didn't want to think about why Potter might not be happy at her own.

You're a freak, Lily! A freak!

"Long night, Severus?" Albus asked as he came to stand by the Potions Master. The light blue of his robes reflected the soft color of the sky visible through the shredded clouds and snowflakes made of threads coalesced along the wide sleeves, dripping and dissipating only to repeat the action again and again.

"Your robes are ridiculous," Severus grumbled in lieu of answering. By the doors, Granger jerked Potter into an strangling embrace and Black followed suit before they made for the exit with the rest of the departing mass. Potter waved goodbye, glum. Severus' gaze drifted through the hall and came to rest on another remnant who would be plaguing the corridors this holiday.

"Tell me Longbottom isn't staying," he said, glaring at the idiot boy as if his stare alone could burn through him. Longbottom stood with his Weasley cohort at the bottom of the marble staircase, leaning on the newel post, and neither were dressed to leave. When Dumbledore didn't reply, Severus had to bite back a groan. "For Salazar's sake—."

"Molly and Arthur Weasley are out of country visiting Charlie and so their other boys are remaining with us for the holidays. Neville expressed worry to Frank over his friend and asked to stay behind," the Headmaster explained with an idle shrug that only further pissed Severus off. "It's a noble sentiment, Severus."

Snape didn't unleash the verbal tide of swear words churning in his gut, but it was a near thing. "He's a wretched, arrogant brat, Albus. He has a team of Aurors watching his home and enough wards to satisfy Gringotts; why remain, especially after that debacle on the Quidditch pitch? For Weasley? It's not as if he's in danger."

"It can be difficult to leave behind those we care about. Impossible in moments of crisis, and sometimes wholly irrational, but who are we argue against the sentiment? All we can do is watch over them and ensure their safety."

Severus' attention flickered back to the girl. She still stood watching the backs of her friends dwindle into the distance and he felt a fresh stab of anger toward Black, because if Neville fuckwit Longbottom could stay behind for bloody Weasley, why couldn't Black remain for the girl? She was alone in the dungeons and if Voldemort had an agent in the school, someone intent on the Stone, someone intent on Longbottom, was it possible some fragment of the Dark Lord's twisted mind would recognize her? Realize the truth—?

Slytherin came sauntering out of the underground passage and Severus sneered, ducking his head so his hair swung forward and obscured the direction of his sight. The Defense professor paused by the Potter girl and Snape felt more than saw Albus stiffen, a sudden rigidity falling over the older wizard when Slytherin scrutinized the short, strange girl with her wild hair and haunted eyes, and brought his fingers together in thought. He said something to her, something lost in the distance and din of running feet, and the girl stirred, blinking as she looked up at her Head of House. Slytherin spoke again and Potter made her excuses, dashing off into the dungeons once more.

It was difficult to tell from the angle, but Severus thought Slytherin looked…curious.

"Forgive me if my worry doesn't extend to Longbottom at the moment," he drawled, leaving his place by the wall. Albus said nothing.

xXxXx

Ten students in total had been left in their charge during the Yule holiday. It was a simple task to count them during lunch, scattered at their respective tables as they were, the House of Lions making up half that number. Three Weasleys sat clumped with the Longbottom boy and made a disproportionate amount of noise, earning several pointed looks from Minerva and one scolding rebuff from the remaining Weasley, Percy.

At the Hufflepuff table, first year Susan Bones sat affably chatting with third year Randy Twilfitt. Severus guessed Bones' aunt was too busy with the Ministry and Twilfitt's father was probably inundated by end of the year orders. The friendliness exhibited by the Hufflepuffs didn't extend to the neighboring table; the two seventh year Ravenclaws, Wendell Henge and Felipe Sanders, sat at opposing ends of the hall and shot one another bitter, harried looks, both slumped over open texts, hands grubby with dust and ink. The pair exhibited the stereotypical competitiveness that plagued Filius' house and Severus imagined they'd come to blows like a pair of tired Muggle thugs before long.

Finally, there was Potter, of course, sitting on her own and picking at her sandwich, gazing morosely at the delicate decorations that had sprung up in the castle only that morning. Pitiful sight that she was, Potter attracted the notice of other professors aside from Severus. Pomona leaned nearer Minerva and he heard her mutter. "Poor dear. Black and the Granger girl didn't stay? Why didn't her family have her come home?"

Minerva pressed her lips into a firm line and she surveyed Harriet—who not so subtly dropped part of her sandwich into her lap for that invisible snake of hers to eat. "They must have been busy."

The Herbology professor hummed around a bite of potatoes. "I still remember her parents well. Tragic thing, what happened. Who did their girl get left with after 81'?"

"Relatives of hers."

Pomona frowned, the look unnatural on her well-mannered face. "I didn't know James had folk about still."

Then Minerva quickly tucked into her soup and changed the conversation. Pomona would know any relatives of Lily's to be Muggles and that was not something Dumbledore or those who had even the slightest inkling of what really happened that Hallowe'en so long ago wanted others privy to. The girl had been left with Petunia—with Muggles—despite the law prohibiting such arrangements for her own protection. The Dark Lord's influence ran deep in the very bones of Wizarding society; Lily's daughter wouldn't have lived through infancy had she remained in the magical world.

Slytherin watched the girl, too. Selwyn nattered on in his ear about some petty grievance and Slytherin didn't even bother to nod; he ran the tip of his thumb against the tips of his fingers over and over again, then touched one of the ubiquitous books he seemed to always carry, the formation of dastardly thoughts churning like thunderheads amassing on a horizon, threatening an oncoming storm. Severus had watched one too many Slytherin students succumb to the man who wore the name of their House like a smiling mask; he wasn't about to watch Potter run headlong into the hurricane.

He shoved away his cold plate and stood.

"Finished, Severus?" Minerva asked, eying the wasted food.

"Yes." Severus paused "Potter has a detention to serve."

"A detention?!"

Severus didn't give an explanation. He gathered himself and strode from the dais, walking into the midst of the Great Hall instead of leaving through the side chamber. Potter didn't notice him until he snapped her name and the snake darted for cover under her robes once more. He felt stupid for not noticing the creature sooner; it looped itself about her shoulder and gave the scrawny girl an odd, moving hunch.

"P-Professor?"

"Come with me, Potter."

She did as told, scrambling up from the empty table, leaving behind a plate of food just as full as Severus' had been. She trailed after the Potions Master as he strode out of the hall and made for the dungeon corridor, his left eyes aching in the sudden—and severe—shift in temperature. He rubbed at the scars, irritated, and tried to think of what to do with the brat now. Minerva would verbally flay him later. His immediate plan had been to remove Potter from Slytherin's sight; like the symbol of his Noble House, the man had an indolent disposition, a propensity for snatching things dangled in front of his nose before hunting for bigger, juicier prey. Slytherin wouldn't put the effort into searching for Potter if she wasn't in his immediate vicinity.

Severus wondered if Albus would protest him giving the girl detention for the rest of break.

"Professor Snape? Am I…in trouble?" she asked, the words coming out small and nervous, like Severus might turn around and start screaming. He rolled his eyes—and immediately regretted the motion when his left began to throb again.

"No," he retorted as they entered the Potions classroom. He pointed at one of the tables near his desk, told the girl "Sit," and she did so. "The infirmary requires new potions to be brewed and I would rather not waste my time with menial prep work. Since you have nothing better to do…."

Defiance sparked in her, a brief flicker of irritation behind tired eyes, and Severus waited for her to take exception to his tone— but then Potter looked down and nodded without protest. Odd.

Severus flicked his wand toward the storage cupboard and waited for the needed ingredients to come zooming out, settling a cutting board, a knife, and a sizable clutch of different roots on the table before her. "These must be cut to specification. Watch carefully." He diced one daisy root and one stick of yew, then sliced a Gurdyroot, showing the girl how each needed to be prepared. "Do you think you can manage that, Miss Potter?"

"Yeah—yes, Professor."

"Good."

Severus retreated to his desk and retrieved the proper cauldrons needed to brew Pomfrey's potions. Silence descended over the dungeon, broken only by the small noises arising from their separate motions: the quiet scuff of Severus' shoes on the floor, the screech of metal cauldron legs sliding on wood, the slow but steady thud of the knife cutting through plant matter. Potter concentrated on her task, nose wrinkled against the smell of split Gurdyroot. Her potion making abilities weren't as clear as her Muggle-born friend's, but she had a spot of talent in handling ingredients and properly measuring materials—not like Black. Every cauldron Black touched seemed to collapse in on itself.

They worked without exchanging words for an hour—well, Severus worked without exchanging words while the girl hissed from the corner of her mouth and made a mockery of subtlety. He could hear the serpent whisper in return as they carried on a conversation. Every sibilant word hit his ear like a sledgehammer, images of the Dark Lord flashing through his recollection, memories of deadly vipers spilling through the man's white, white hands and stirring around their ankles, Death Eaters trembling in fear as pythons thicker round than grown wizards slithered through the room.

Severus sat down with a heavy sigh and rubbed at his sore eye as his iron cauldron continued to simmer. Why can't anything ever be simple?

"Professor Snape? Is your eye okay?"

He froze, then jerked his hand away from his face. Shit. "It's fine," he snapped, leveling a fierce glower in the nosy chit's direction, daring her to question it again. Not many students knew about his eye, not anymore. Those who'd been in school when the incident occurred had graduated, leaving their younger siblings and friends with nothing more than rumors and speculations—rumors and speculations that proved to Severus the uncreative idiocy of his students over and over again.

"Sorry, sir." She didn't sound sorry. She sounded irked, and Severus guessed he deserved that for dragging her to the bloody frozen dungeons and telling her to chop roots. What other excuse could he give? Stay away from your Defense professor, he's an ill-defined, maliciously clever, nefarious duplicate of the same Dark Lord who killed your parents? He regularly bends the minds of children to accept his potentially deadly ideology? Slytherin would read that in Potter's head like he was perusing the Daily Prophet and Severus would probably be dead in a week.

"Potter…." Severus paused, then stood to inspect his cauldron again. "Why did you choose to stay for the holidays?"

The knife's steady thud stuttered. "Err—what?"

"Are you deaf, girl?"

"No, it's just—why do you want to know? Sir?"

Severus quirked a brow as he stirred, counting the ladle's revolutions through the thick concoction. No, Potter had no subtlety whatsoever, but for a moment, he saw a glint of Slytherin evasiveness in the girl. Being eleven, it was unrefined, the childish misdirection of a girl used to lying to idiot Muggles, not practiced deceivers like Severus—but is was there, and likely part of the reason she ended up in the House of Serpents. "That doesn't answer my question."

"I'm not deaf." She poked at the daisy roots, shredding the messy ends, staining her fingertips green. "My, err, relatives work."

"Yes, everyone works, Potter. Does that work actually interfere with you returning to your home?"

She thought about it. Severus saw her trying to come up with some answer beyond 'my aunt's a bitch,' like little cogs clicking behind the face of a clock. "Yes."

"In what way?"

"I dunno. Just does." Potter furiously chopped at the roots again and created a mess of useless pulp. "I ruined these, I think. Sorry, professor."

Severus scoffed at her purposeful destruction, but allowed the subject to drop for now. "Never mind. Move on to the yew." She did so, and he removed the ladle from his cauldron, careful to not unduly disturb the base mixture. "And what of Black? Surely her caregivers could spare her for the holidays. Why did she not stay?"

The stiffness leached from the girl's shoulders and she stopped massacring the roots. "Oh, um—." Severus winced when she brought the knife too close to her face, using the hand to adjust her glasses. "Elara's uncle's been sick and she's a bit worried about him, so she decided it'd be best to go home."

Uncle? Severus took a moment to pore through his knowledge of Black's family lineage; her wretch of a father only had one brother, Regulus, and he'd been presumed dead since before Potter or Elara Black's birth. Marlene McKinnon had no brothers and only one older sister who died with the rest of the McKinnons in the fire. Black had no uncle—unless she meant great uncle. Severus knew through Narcissa's scathing comments that Cygnus was still alive and still not speaking to the Malfoy family after they quarreled years ago. Perhaps he was the one who took Black in.

Potter kept talking. "She's also hoping to find out more about her parents, since her uncle didn't really know them, I guess. He doesn't even know her mum's name and it's been hard getting information while at Hogwarts."

Severus stilled. "…does Black know who her father is?"

"Yeah—I mean, yes. But she doesn't really like to talk about him."

Ah, he thought. So she does know about him. The students are quick enough to call her the 'Madman's Daughter,' so I shouldn't be surprised. "Her mother was Marlene McKinnon."

The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board came to a stop yet again and Severus lifted his gaze from the cauldron. Potter stared at him in astonishment. He scowled.

"You will keep the source of that information to yourself, Potter!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

Severus glared and the girl returned to her task. She prodded a Gurdyroot with the tip of the knife and lunged forward to grab it before the spherical root could roll off the table. Potter's friendship with the Black heir still grated on Severus, so he found himself speaking before he could think better of it. "It doesn't surprise me Black dislikes speaking of her father. He was an abominable human being and a very dangerous wizard. Most Blacks are."

Potter glanced up and caught his eye. She'd heard the implicit hint in his tone. They stared at one another as Potter passed the Gurdyroot between her small hands and her thoughts churned inside her head. Severus wasn't fool enough to think she'd toss Black's friendship aside on his accusations, but he hoped the sentiment sank in somewhere in thick skull. Even he hadn't suspected Sirius Black of being a traitor; he wouldn't see Potter's spawn fall into the same trap.

"It doesn't really matter though, does it, sir?" she said slowly. "I mean, whoever her dad is or was, it doesn't matter. Most kids don't grow up to be like their parents. Not really, anyway."

Severus looked at Potter for several seconds, expression inscrutable, then spoke. "No," he said. The cauldron hissed and bubbled, and the flame cast an eerie light through the cold room. "They don't."