As the Hogwarts castle slowly emptied, Clara found herself in the heart of the library. It was just her and Madame Pince, the librarian, who seemed to materialize from the shadows as she moved among the towering shelves of books. The atmosphere was one of serene isolation, the hushed whispers of pages and the soft creaking of the ancient wooden floors echoing through the cavernous space.
Clara sat surrounded by books of all shapes and sizes. While the library had always been a place of refuge for her, today felt off. What with a majority of the students going home to their families, the library was the only place to escape the general cheerfulness brought on by the break. As she pored over her books, she couldn't shake the heavy, unshakable feeling of loneliness that weighed on her heart.
She had told herself not to be sad about spending the holidays alone at the castle. After all, in her own time, she had never had a proper family, and she had spent every holiday within these very walls. But this time was different. It was a stark contrast to her past, where she had been surrounded by friends, laughter, and at least the pretense of camaraderie. Now, there were only familiar strangers and future teachers masquerading as peers—and the people who should have been her peers were instead distant figures from a world she didn't quite belong to anymore.
The realization that she was truly alone, cut off from her old life and the people who had once been her confidants, bore down on her like an anchor. Clara sighed, her gaze drifting toward a window that framed a view of the castle grounds dusted with snow. She knew she had to steel herself for the days ahead, to find solace in the solitude she had always known, and to make sense of the extraordinary journey that had brought her to this unfamiliar chapter of her life. But in that quiet moment in the library, she allowed herself to acknowledge the ache of loneliness that had taken root within her, a poignant reminder of the profound changes she had undergone and the challenges that lay ahead.
Clara's heart leaped into her throat as the sound of books shuffling reached her ears, pulling her from her thoughts. Madame Pince was nowhere in sight, and the eerie silence of the library suddenly felt more pronounced. With cautious steps, Clara ventured further into the labyrinthine aisles.
Turning a corner, she was met with an unexpected sight: The Grey Lady, the ethereal and enigmatic ghost of Ravenclaw House, was floating before a shelf of books, her ghostly fingers delicately running over the ancient spines. Clara recognized her instantly, a familiar face from her own time, although she knew that, technically, The Grey Lady wouldn't meet her for another 17 years.
"Good morning, Grey Lady." Clara offered in polite greeting, her voice laced with both surprise and a touch of nostalgia.
The Grey Lady, however, turned to her with an irritated and distant look in her translucent eyes. She regarded Clara with an aloofness that sent a chill down her spine. It was clear that, in this time, The Grey Lady had no recognition of who Clara was. Her look of irritation and contempt lingered even after she turned to leave.
As Clara watched the ghostly figure drift away, a wave of introspection washed over her. She recalled the kindness and guidance The Grey Lady had offered her in her own time, a time that now felt distant and unreal. The encounter left her with a sense of profound uncertainty and wonder.
For the first time, Clara couldn't help but wonder if she was indeed fated to be in this time—that perhaps her arrival here not only meant something, but had already meant something. Had she been here before?
Clara's thoughts turned to the other ghosts that inhabited the castle as she packed up to leave. Memories of past interactions, the quiet moments of comfort they had provided in her childhood, flooded her mind. She considered the possibility of seeking their companionship once more. After all, as spirits of the dead, they held a detachment from the concerns of the living world, making them potential confidants in her unique situation.
Her journey to the kitchens was a careful one, avoiding the Great Hall where fewer students meant a greater likelihood of unwanted questions. After tickling the pears on the portrait near her common room, Clara slipped into the bustling Hogwarts kitchens. The house elves, having already grown accustomed to her presence, continued their tasks with practiced efficiency, barely glancing up as she entered. However, one house elf stood out in the sea of busy workers: Mixey, who had taken to greeting her with genuine enthusiasm.
Her large eyes were bright and eager as she rushed over to Clara as she entered. "Miss Hufflepuff!" she exclaimed in her unique manner. "Mixey is so happy to see Miss Hufflepuff, yes, yes!"
"Hello, Mixey." Clara smiled warmly at Mixey, appreciating the house elf's boundless enthusiasm.
Mixey's ears twitched with delight, and she curtsied in a peculiar way. "What can Mixey get for Miss Hufflepuff today? Anything at all—whatever Miss Hufflepuff desires!"
Clara thought for a moment, her heart touched by Mixey's kindness. "I'd love a sandwich and a cup of tea, please."
Mixey's eyes sparkled with eagerness. "Right away, Miss Hufflepuff! Mixey will make it special." And with that, she scurried off to prepare Clara's meal.
She enjoyed her sandwich and tea while sitting at a small table in the kitchens. As Mixey bustled around, occasionally checking on Clara's meal with a beaming smile, Clara took the opportunity to socialize. Mixey hardly left the kitchen and could be trusted to be discreet.
"Mixey, how long have you been here at Hogwarts?"
Mixey's eyes gleamed with pride as she paused from her tasks to respond. "Oh, Miss Hufflepuff, Mixey has been serving in these Hogwarts kitchens for many, many years. Mixey was born here and has always been a humble servant to the castle."
"And you like it here?"
Mixey's enthusiasm radiated as she spoke. "Oh, Miss Hufflepuff, Mixey loves Hogwarts. It's a good place for house elves, yes. We serve, we help, and we keep the magic alive. Hogwarts is full of magic, and Mixey is happy to be a part of it."
"It seems like you have an important role here, even beyond making delicious meals." Clara smiled.
Mixey nodded, her ears twitching in agreement. "Oh, yes, Miss Hufflepuff, very important. The magic has to be protected—it's what makes Hogwarts safe; What keeps Miss Hufflepuff safe."
—
After finishing her lunch and expressing her gratitude to Mixey, Clara decided to take a walk on the Hogwarts grounds. The snowfall had blanketed the castle and its surroundings in a pristine layer of white, lending an ethereal beauty to the landscape. She knew a warming charm that would keep the cold at bay, allowing her to enjoy the winter wonderland that was Hogwarts in December.
As Clara made her way towards the castle's exit, she had to pass by the Great Hall, where the voices of her peers echoed. Their laughter and chatter filled the air, a reminder of the bustling world she had chosen to temporarily leave behind. Clara kept her head down, walking quietly and hoping to remain unnoticed.
With that, Clara slipped away from the warmth of the Great Hall and ventured into the snow-covered Hogwarts grounds, embracing the solitude and the tranquility of the winter landscape as she cast the warming charm to shield herself from the biting cold.
The lake, usually teeming with life, now lay beneath a pristine layer of ice. She found a weathered stump at the water's edge and settled down. Despite her warming charm, a chill still danced along her skin, making her to shiver.
The quiet solitude of the scene was suddenly shattered as the presence of another person made itself known. Her heart skipped a beat, and she turned her gaze to find Severus Snape standing there, his student robes fluttering slightly in the chill breeze.
His dark eyes, both piercing and inscrutable, met hers with a stark intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. She darted her eyes around to see if he was accompanied by Rosier and winced when she saw he had come alone. And there wasn't a chance this meeting was a coincidence; It was clear that he had sought her out, and his greeting was every bit as curt and cold as she had expected.
"Galen," Snape's voice was sharp, his tone dripping with his signature disdain. "I am well aware that you are not a transfer student from Ilvermorny."
"This again?" She bit out dryly, hoping her voice was steadier than she felt; inside she was shaking. "Really now—it's obvious that Rosier's miserable attempts at intimidation stem from his mediocre potions skills but why do you care?"
"I don't like being upstaged in potions any more than my fellow Slytherin's do but that's not why I'm here." He began ominously. "I know you've been here longer than you're admitting—I happen to be aware of your stay in the infirmary..." Clara's face flushed but he continued on; "I couldn't care less about how you wound up there, what I want to know is: why are you omitting that?"
He spoke matter-of-factly, his dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made Clara feel as though he could see right through her. She stared up at him, anxiety swirling within her, at a loss for words. Snape's presence was disconcerting, to say the least, and his directness caught her off guard. She knew she had to tread carefully, choosing her words with caution. But that was easier said than done.
"I..." Clara began, her voice faltering as she struggled to find the right words. She was drawing blank—no more able to lie to him in his current form than she was his future self. "I... I'm not here to deceive anyone."
His gaze bore into her, seemingly unaffected by her discomfort. "And what exactly is your purpose here, if not to deceive?"
Clara's gaze dropped to her hands, her fingers tracing patterns on the edge of her frayed robe as she tried to gather her thoughts. She knew she couldn't reveal her true circumstances, and she felt a surge of frustration at his relentless scrutiny.
In that charged moment by the frozen lake, Clara was acutely aware of the divide between them, of the gulf that separated the Snape of her past from the student standing before her now.
The silence that stretched between them was palpable, broken only by Clara's measured response. She chose her words carefully, a mixture of truth and vagueness. "I am a transfer student—of a sorts…though, I confess, I have never been to Ilvermorny." Her tone was dry, laced with a touch of sarcasm that matched the uncomfortable situation she found herself in.
As Clara spoke, she noticed a fleeting gleam of satisfaction that briefly crossed Snape's face, only to be swiftly replaced by his trademark glare. His dark eyes bore into her, seemingly searching for any cracks in her story. "I already knew that." he retorted with a hint of vindictiveness, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk that was as fleeting as it was surprising.
The intensity in his gaze, the way he seemed to dissect her every word, gave her the distinct feeling that there was more to this encounter than he let on.
"If you've never been to Ilvermorny, then why lie?" He asked, his tone measured but probing.
Clara felt a knot tighten in her chest as she met Snape's intense gaze. He clearly knew more than he let on; The question was how much he knew. She spoke slowly, her voice steady but guarded. "I have my reasons, Snape. Hogwarts offers opportunities that other schools don't."
Snape seemed to dissect her words, searching for any hint of deception.
"Opportunities," he repeated, his tone skeptical. "And what sort of opportunities do you believe Hogwarts holds for you?"
Clara's frustration grew, but she couldn't afford to reveal anything more. She leaned in slightly, her voice tinged with annoyance. "That's no concern of yours."
A hint of a sneer crossed Snape's lips but he didn't reply. His eyes traced the patterns of her scars with a detached curiosity that offered no sympathy. There was no malice in his scrutiny, but the coldness of his gaze felt like a spotlight on the imperfections she desperately wanted to conceal.
Clara's patience waned and she wanted nothing more than for Snape to leave her alone. "Snape, I'm not obligated to share details of my personal life with you or anyone else. I don't care if Slytherin's are displeased—I hardly care for my own house's displeasure." She made to stand, her eyes never leaving his. "I hope you have a lovely holiday." She said dismissively, a deep glare on her face.
Snape's gaze remained fixed on her, a mixture of suspicion and annoyance dancing in his eyes. "Very well," he conceded after a moment. He stepped back slightly, making a show like he was allowing her to pass.
She scoffed slightly at the show and stormed past him without a glance back. Insufferable, she thought, that boy is incorrigibly insufferable.
A/N: I am really struggling with dialogue for Snape, qq
I hope it's not too bad, though, will prolly revisit this.