Severus found his evenings spent inundated with Miss Evans.
He was surprised to learn that she was not an inherently needy thing — not when she was simply existing and not thrusting herself headfirst into danger. The first few visits, Severus had watched her carefully, waiting for her to find or meddle with something she shouldn't and wreak havoc, but she always came with something to occupy herself with and stayed in front of the fire. She'd claimed the chair closest to his desk and would rarely move, only getting up to retrieve a book from one of his shelves (to which she always asked first, to his even greater surprise) or to ask him a question about whatever she was reading. Lately, however, she'd been making her way through The Hobbit. She'd mentioned casually that Granger had recommended it and had silently spent the lengthening nights making her way through it.
As Severus grew more accustomed to sharing his space with another living thing, he allowed her to sit alone in his quarters while he worked in his storeroom on other projects. The potion he'd been brewing for Miss Evans would be ready by Christmas. He'd know then if it worked — he had enough to last the girl a year, at least. The first dosage would last her about six months, if not more, depending on how frequently she used it.
He fervently hoped that she wouldn't need it at all, but it was better to be safe than sorry. She was to use it sparingly, but Severus could replenish it by the time she ran out. He'd probably had to recalibrate his math to her height and weight anyway — he hadn't taken exact measurements, not wanting the girl meddling and asking questions, but he would do so for the next batch.
The girl was sitting in front of the fire with one of his books one evening instead of her normal rubbish — Umbra Vita Plants. She'd assumed the armchair closest to him, curled up like a cat with her chin propped up on her hand. Severus could see her eyes darting across the page, so he knew she was actually reading, but her gaze was bleary. She rubbed at her eyes tiredly, letting out a yawn.
Severus checked the grandfather clock shoved into the corner. It had been a welcoming gift from Dumbledore his first year of teaching. It read nearly midnight — damn.
"Come along," he Summoned her Cloak and threw it at her. "It's late."
The girl stretched again as she stood. "I was comfortable, you know."
"I don't remember asking."
She rolled her eyes. "You're so considerate."
"No, I'm not," he said snidely. "Get a move on, I haven't got all night."
"You've got a book missing from here, you know." Miss Evans slid the book she'd borrowed back into its spot. "No fourth volume."
"How fortunate I am to have a bookkeeper." Severus said dryly.
She shrugged. "Just letting you know."
"Stop dawdling — when you fall asleep during your Transfiguration exam tomorrow, I don't want to hear it."
The girl grumbled something under her breath but threw her things into her rucksack and disappeared underneath the Cloak. Severus jerked open the door and stalked out, listening closely behind him to make sure he heard her footsteps. As they walked through the castle, their footfalls echoed in the thick silence.
About halfway through their walk, the hood popped off. "I've been doing some thinking."
Severus stifled the urge to roll his eyes. "That's never good."
She scowled at him but kept going. "Hermione mentioned the other day that she was reading about Parseltongue. She said most of the stuff is Dark Arts related because of Slytherin, but she said there's some... Healing properties associated with it. Is that true?"
Severus turned to her, his interest piqued. "Healing with Parseltongue?"
Miss Evans nodded. "Apparently, some snakes have the ability to heal themselves using their own venom. And Parseltongues can harness that power to heal others. Hermione said it's rather difficult but... it's not all bad. I wanted to know if you knew anything about it."
Severus raised an eyebrow and stopped for a moment, thinking. "I don't."
The girl's face fell. "Oh. Well, I thought..."
"That doesn't mean, however, that I wouldn't aid you should you wish to pursue it." the words left his mouth before he could really consider them.
Her face — or rather, the floating head by his side — lit up like a fire from within. "Really?"
"I cannot promise it will work, however," Severus said caustically. "So I suggest that before you get ahead of yourself, that you conduct some more research and come to me with a plan. Make sure that what you're reading isn't a load of hogwash."
"I will," the girl said, beaming.
Severus sighed and shook his head. "Let's not test the limits of my goodwill any further," he muttered as they resumed their walk. "Get that Cloak back on."
She dropped her hood again once they were standing outside of the Fat Lady's portrait. The look on her face told him that she'd been… thinking. Severus did not ask what was on her mind. He never did. He merely stood there like a sentinel, watching her as she gathered her thoughts.
"Bumfuzzle," she said.
He stared at her, blinking.
"Oi," she said, a little louder, and the Fat Lady awoke mid-snore. "Bumfuzzle."
"Hmph!" the Fat Lady sniffed as the door swung open. "A little late to be traipsing about, isn't it?"
"Oh, stuff it." Miss Evans said. She gave Severus a wave and a small smile as she climbed through. "Night."
Severus watched as the door swung shut, the Fat Lady grumbling about manners under her breath.
He told himself that he was imagining the feeling that his quarters felt emptier when he returned.
Ariel's chest felt the lightest it had in weeks after talking to Snape last night.
Luckily, the Parseltongue news hadn't managed to scare off most of the other Gryffindors — only the First Years seemed to be the most terrified, Ginny acting the strangest of all. She'd taken to jumping up whenever Ariel entered a room and leaving immediately. Hermione had managed to talk to her a few times, but Ginny insisted on being left alone. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with the Chamber business, unlike everyone else, who had their own theories.
Ariel didn't blame her. She hated being at the center of it all, knowing that she wasn't responsible for the attacks but knowing that she'd been warned about them before the school year had even begun. It weighed on her mind heavily, distracting her in classes and keeping her awake at night.
Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let anyone in to see Colin, afraid that whoever had Petrified him would return to finish the job. Ron had pointed out that they should have at least been allowed in since they'd all been in the infirmary at the same time Colin had been brought in, but Madam Pomfrey wouldn't budge. Ariel wondered if he was lonely. The thought pulled at her heart painfully.
Until one morning, the calm that had finally begun to settle back over the school shattered. There was a large crowd huddled just outside of the Great Hall, whispering loudly amongst one another in small circles. Confused, Ariel, Hermione and Ron quickly made their way over to Fred and George, who were standing with the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
"What's going on?" Ron asked as they approached, sucked into the circle. Everyone had made their own, giving the others strange, suspicious looks.
"Slytherin's monster attacked someone last night." Fred said in a hushed voice. "Two someone's actually. One dead, one alive."
Ariel's heart seized. "What? Someone was killed?"
Hermione's hands flew over her mouth before Angelina smacked Fred upside the head.
"He meant a ghost." she rolled her eyes. "A student and ghost were found Petrified, not dead. I mean, you can't kill someone who's already dead, but I guess there are things worse than death…"
Ariel stifled a shudder as she looked around. A group of Hufflepuffs were glaring viciously at her, but when she met their eyes, they quickly looked away and tightened their ranks.
"Who was it?" Ron asked in a hard voice.
"A Hufflepuff lad — Justin, was his name, I think." said George.
"Is," Ariel swallowed loudly. "He's not dead, remember?"
"Muggleborn," Hermione whispered. "He's a Muggleborn, just like Colin…"
Ariel gripped at her arm tightly and squeezed. She searched the crowd for any teachers but there weren't any yet. No one seemed to want to step inside the Great Hall yet either and as the volume rose, Ariel realized that someone was missing — Malfoy. She glanced towards the direction of the dungeons just in time to see him waltz into the crowd with Crabbe and Goyle on his flanks.
He hadn't bothered with her since she'd been poisoned, but that was because the other Gryffindors had practically attacked any Slytherin who so much as looked in her direction, and if Malfoy was the Heir, then of course he'd want her dead. She figured it would be too obvious if he continued to antagonize her, and while she wasn't complaining, Ariel knew the game he was playing.
Her eyes narrowed as Malfoy smirked at her as he passed but didn't say anything. His eyes were anything but smiling, though, cold and hard and dark. Ron had speculated that he was jealous the school thought Ariel was the Heir. He was probably dying over the fact that he couldn't claim all the glory for himself —
"Did you see his bloody face?" Ron fumed, catching the look Malfoy was giving them as well. "I'd like to see him laughing if that stinky old monster starts attacking members of his House — I ought to wipe that smirk off his face myself —"
"Don't," Ariel sighed, patting his arm reassuringly. "We've got to be patient. We've almost got him — the Polyjuice will be ready soon."
"Not soon enough," Ron muttered. "He can't keep getting away with it!"
"He won't," Hermione promised. "It can't continue like this forever, anyway, the school will be —"
"Miss Evans!"
A voice called over the low buzz of the crowds, causing Ariel's heart to give a funny little jolt. She craned her neck to try and see who was calling her name but being the smallest student in the school (despite being a Second Year) didn't help.
"Is Miss Evans here?" it was Professor McGonagall's voice. A group of Ravenclaws moved aside so that Ariel, Hermione, and Ron were all directly in her line of sight. She stalked over to them, her mouth set in a flat line as Ariel's heartbeat tripled.
"Miss Evans," Professor McGonagall said stiffly, lowering her voice considerably. "The Headmaster wishes to see you."
The crowd went whisper quiet, like the sound of their voices had evaporated like smoke.
"Me?" Ariel squeaked. "But I haven't done anything!"
"It's out of my hands." she said tersely. "Come along, now."
She sent a look of panic to Ron and Hermione as she followed her, the dark looks the other students were giving her shriveling up her insides. Malfoy's eyes were glittering gleefully as she passed by him, not breaking eye contact. I'm going to stop you, she thought to herself, willing her feet to move forward. I'm going to make sure everyone knows what you really are.
The walk up to Dumbledore's office was silent. Ariel wanted to ask Professor McGonagall more questions, but she also didn't want to incriminate herself accidentally. She'd been with Snape most of last night and had immediately fallen asleep after getting back to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione would vouch for her, if she had to, and so would Snape, but Ariel couldn't mention that last part. He'd have a stroke if he found out she'd told anyone about her having access to his quarters.
Ariel had almost forgotten how long the way was up to Dumbledore's office. When they stopped in front of the stone gargoyle, Professor McGonagall said, "Lemon drop!" and the gargoyle hopped aside.
She felt her palms begin to sweat as she climbed up the spiral staircase, her stomach dropping all the way down to the ground, far below them when she ordered Ariel to wait and left. She wished fervently that she hadn't, the room bringing back a slew of memories she had tried so hard to forget.
The fireplace sat there, unassuming, and ordinary, but Ariel felt her chest roil.
Accio letter
What're you doing — no — NO — no please —
She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her attention to the rest of the office. She dug her nails into her palms and tried to focus on something else — something different.
Her gaze was immediately drawn to Dumbledore's bird, who looked tired and worn out. His feathers were ruffled and dull, his head drooping low and eyes gray beneath heavy lids. He seemed so fragile that she feared he would crumble into a pile of dust at any moment.
And then he did something even worse — he burst into a ball of flames. She screamed and the bird shrieked right back at her. He got brighter and brighter, the heat lashing against her skin —
"You've got to be kidding me right now!" Ariel said, pointing her wand at the bird. "Aguamenti!"
The stream of water flew from the end of her wand and didn't do anything, the water splashing onto Dumbledore's desk instead, getting all over a whole bunch of papers and parchment. Ariel swore under her breath and backed away as the bird became a smoldering pile of ash on the floor.
She stared at it for what seemed like an eternity. She didn't know what was worse — being accused of murdering the Headmaster's bird or Petrifying a student. Probably the second thing, but his bird dropping dead certainly wasn't going to help.
The fireplace roared to life and Ariel screamed again, pointing her wand at it as Snape stepped out, looking like he was on the warpath. His eyes were fathomless and cold, fists balled tightly at his sides.
Snape looked at Ariel, and then the pile of smoldering ash that Had Been Dumbledore's Bird, and then Ariel.
"I did not do that," Ariel said, feeling the panic slamming up to her throat. "That was not me!"
"Ah, I was just telling your father it was about time." came Dumbledore's voice from behind them. When Ariel whirled around, she was surprised to see that he was smiling. "He's been looking dreadful for a while now — Severus was kind enough to tell him to get a move on the other day."
"His timing is impeccable." Snape said flatly. "The dramatics would put Lockhart to shame."
Dumbledore chuckled as Ariel gaped at him. "Fawkes is a phoenix — I believe you met him last spring, after your unfortunate run-in with Voldemort in the Forest. Today was his Burning Day — the day he dies and is reborn from the ashes."
Almost as if on cue, a tiny, wrinkled head poked itself out of the ashes. Ariel watched in awe for a long moment before remembering why she was here.
She swallowed hard and turned back to Dumbledore and Snape. "You — you wanted to see me, Headmaster?"
Snape's eyes narrowed, stalking forward. "What is she doing here?" he demanded, standing between her and Dumbledore.
"I wished to speak with her after Minerva's discovery," he said calmly.
Snape's eyes cut across the room with scathing precision. "It was not Miss Evans," he said in a hard voice. "She was with me until early this morning. I saw to it myself that she made it to Gryffindor Tower and remained there."
Ariel felt her body go cold.
Dumbledore held up a hand, as if he were going to calm him with sheer willpower. "I only asked Ariel here to see if she'd heard anything, Severus. Nothing more."
"She hasn't," Snape said flatly. "I just told you; she was with me."
"I believe you, my boy —"
"Then there's no reason for her to be here any longer."
"I would still like to speak with her."
"About what?" The last word cracked through the room like the phoenix had.
There was some weird stare-off happening between the two of them, and Ariel didn't know how either of them were holding their nerve. Snape looked like he could cut glass with his glare while Dumbledore's eyes pierced straight through the cracking look of anger being thrown at him.
"My dear, I know it was not you," Dumbledore turned to her after a long, tense moment. "I didn't mean to alarm you. I'm sorry if summoning you here did so."
"S'okay." Ariel mumbled, but her stomach was still doing backflips. Snape shot her a warning glare that told her not to say anything more. "I didn't hear anything this time," she ignored Snape, looking straight at Dumbledore. "I didn't know anything had happened until I came down for breakfast with everyone else."
Dumbledore nodded, a small smile on his lips. "Thank you, Ariel. You may go now. I'm sorry for having interrupted your morning."
She gave a small nod, giving one last look at the baby phoenix before turning to the door. She hadn't realized that her hands were shaking until she turned the brass doorknob, closing the door behind her with a gentle click.
Ariel desperately tried to steady her breathing and stood there for a long time, waiting to see if Snape would follow her out. She waited and wished, staring at the door and willing it to open, but it didn't.
I know it was not you — Ariel replayed those words over and over again as she stood there, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she had just been lied to.
As soon as the girl left, Severus let the last of his control slip. He rounded on Dumbledore as he was seating himself behind his desk, collapsing almost heavily into the chair. Under different circumstances, Severus might have found himself restraining his tongue, given that another student had been found Petrified hours earlier, but the look on the girl's face had been enough to strip all of that away.
"What the fuck was that?" Severus demanded, snarling.
Dumbledore didn't look at him, gazing distantly at one of the many portraits on the wall. "I meant nothing by it."
"The hell you did!" Severus spat. "You summoned the girl to your office in front of half the damn school, only weeks after they heard her speaking Parseltongue!"
"I only wished to know if she'd heard the basilisk again." he gazed over at Fawkes, who was doing a pitiful job of heaving himself out of his own ashes. "A second attack… we were profoundly lucky that neither student was found dead."
"Leave her out of this," Severus said, letting the menace leak into every inch of his tone. "I don't want her involved any more than she needs to be."
"Again, that was not my —"
"She will get… ideas." his lip curled. "Gryffindor brawn has no bounds. You give her an inch and she'll take a mile."
Dumbledore's mustache twitched. "You sound as though you speak from experience."
Severus eyed Dumbledore with cold fury. "I speak from observation," he hissed. "The last thing we need is her getting involved in this. She's reckless, impulsive, and naive. It's bad enough that someone already tried to murder her without utilizing a fucking basilisk."
Dumbledore's expression remained stoic, but his eyes flickered with concern. "You don't trust her." he stated matter-of-factly.
"It's not a matter of trust," Severus growled. "It's a matter of keeping her safe."
He turned to leave through the Floo, equal parts exasperated and infuriated that Dumbledore had roped the girl further into this nightmare. The look on her face — the sheer panic — the relief in her thin face when he'd spoken in her defense. Severus couldn't wipe that look from his mind no matter how hard he tried, and so, he stopped and turned back to face the old man behind the desk once more.
"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't suspect her," he said. The tension in his ligaments screamed for release, but he resolved to wait until he got an answer.
Dumbledore did something, then. Something that told Severus everything he needed to know.
He hesitated.
Severus felt the feeling fade in his extremities as he lunged forward, feeling that numbness turn into searing anger. "No — no — you cannot possibly —"
"Severus," Dumbledore held up a hand. "allow me to explain. Please. It would be careless of me not to."
Fury erupted from Severus like a thunderclap, shaking the room around them. "That girl has as much intent to harm another person as I do in a single fucking fingernail! You cannot possibly — she is twelve years old — has barely begun an education —"
"Severus —"
"Or are you assuming that my daughter is a psychotic murderer because she's mine, aren't you?" it was impossible to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "You would never even consider such a possibility if she was Potter's — your golden boy could never have produced the Heir of Slytherin House —"
He stopped when Dumbledore's face rippled, like a cauldron coming to a boil. His eyebrows knitted together. "The Heir?"
Severus smashed an ink pot. "What else would I be talking about, dammit?"
"You don't know," he said quietly, almost resigned. "I was certain you would have deduced it after realizing the monster was a basilisk."
"Know what?"
There was another, long, pregnant pause.
"The Heir of Slytherin is Tom Riddle." Dumbledore opened up his hands to him – an apology, a gesture of submission. "He opened the Chamber many years ago, when he was a student here."
The words fell against Severus' ears like a cold waterfall, a roaring so loud that it almost hurt. "The Dark Lord —" not again not again not again.
"I thought you knew," he said, almost gently.
The room tilted from underneath Severus' feet. His anger was blinding. All he could see was white, heard it, tasted something metal in his mouth that reminded him of blood. Red sparks shot out from the end of his wand, and before he did something he would come to regret, Severus pointed it at a potted plant on the other side of the room. It exploded, soil shooting into the surrounding air like fireworks. The plant caught fire and began to crackle away, bits and pieces flaking to the floor.
"He is not in the school." Dumbledore stood, his eyes darting to the broken foliage, looking a bit disappointed. "I believe him to be controlling one of the students."
It crashed into Severus all together at once. Lucius' threat. The message on the wall. The voice Miss Evans had heard. The victims. With that one shred of information — the Dark Lord's involvement — it spelled Lucius all over it. A way to slide his way into his Master's good graces, if and when he did return. An effort, at best, to continue the work he had set out to do on a much smaller scale without blame.
But children —
Severus hated the little cretins more than anyone, but to manipulate them into attacking one another —
The Dark Lord wasn't going to fucking touch the girl so long as Severus had anything to say about it. And then, he was going to rip open Lucius from bowel to sternum and rearrange his anatomy.
And then another, far more unpleasant thought overcame Severus.
"You think," Severus said in a low, dangerous voice. "that the Dark Lord is controlling her."
"It would be… foolish of me not to consider it." Dumbledore admitted. "After the events of last year… it makes it a strong possibility."
His mind reeled, unable to believe what he was hearing. "That was because of the Blood Wards —"
"It was, but it showed just how susceptible Ariel is to Tom's influence. Given the shared ability to speak Parseltongue…"
"It's not her," Severus snarled, but he'd begun to pace back and forth in front of Dumbledore's desk. "I would know — she has an alibi for every attack. She would be acting differently — she would know if she was under his influence again —"
"She may not be aware of it," Dumbledore interjected, his voice calm but firm. "Tom is a master at concealing his true intentions and manipulating those around him. And Ariel, as you have pointed out, is still young and inexperienced."
Severus clenched his fists, his mind racing with the implications of what Dumbledore was suggesting. It couldn't be possible. Miss Evans was — as much as Severus loathed to admit it — intelligent and fiercely independent. She would not allow herself to be controlled or tricked. Last year was all Severus' fault. He had failed her, and she had paid the price.
And yet, the evidence was staring them both in the face. Dumbledore was right — speaking Parseltongue would undoubtedly be the only way to control a basilisk, but she would never — she couldn't possibly —
"She would tell me," Severus said out loud, not meaning to. He immediately regretted it as Dumbledore's eyes softened. "I would know — I would know."
"I don't think she is doing it maliciously." he said gently. "Nor do I think she is doing it knowingly."
Severus stopped pacing and turned to face Dumbledore. "Her best friend is Muggleborn, for Christ's sake. The night you found Creevey, she was terrified it had been Granger."
"Your best friend was Muggleborn, too." Dumbledore said quietly.
Severus felt the ground shake beneath him, his rage and fear becoming one. He could feel it boiling in his veins, threatening to bubble over and consume him in its wake. It was too much to bear — this thought — this thing —
"What are you implying?" Severus whispered. He tightened his grip onto one of the armchairs, his knuckles turning white. "That is beside the point."
"It's not beside the point, Severus. That's precisely the point. You know more than anyone that the line between right and wrong isn't always clear, especially in times of war."
Severus closed his eyes and fought back the scream building in the back of his throat. "We are not at war. Someone tried to murder her — are you suggesting the girl poisoned herself?"
"I'm suggesting that we need to approach this with an open mind and consider all possibilities."
He could have killed him, right then and there. He recalled the girl's face twisted in pain as she took in a gulp of air — the shadow of resolve that had come over her as she'd stared down at Creevey. The look on her face had told Severus that Slytherin's monster had jumped to the top of her hit list.
But then there had been the night after the Dueling Club —
there's something off
maybe I'm a part of what's going on
what if there's something about me that I don't even know
the Sorting Hat wanted me in Slytherin
No — that hadn't been it — it couldn't possibly —
I won't let him — that's what she had said last year after Quirrell's attack, the shining thread of defiance overtaking the pain in her thin face. Severus had to believe she was good — and she was, that damnable, foolish little girl — who wore her bloody heart on her sleeve and had embraced him as he threw her mother's death in her face. She hadn't even flinched, hadn't voiced her hurt or protested or fought. She'd disarmed him with her yearning for something Severus didn't think he would ever be able to give her.
He knew how to fight for her, though. He was good at that — fighting. He would fight for her goodness, the only thing that kept him sane in the midst of this madness. Being her father — being Lily's daughter — and somehow being a far better person than Severus ever had been and ever would be.
"That girl is far stronger than you think." Severus whispered, and he could hear something he had never heard before in his voice — a reverential hush.
Dumbledore nodded, his eyes shimmering. He smiled softly, a sad and knowing smile that burned itself into Severus' mind. "The truest courage is quite often found in the heart of a child. They know nothing of the darkness of the world, yet still they face it with strength and conviction. For sometimes we find that our greatest power lies not in what we can do, or even see — but our faith in others."
Severus stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. "And yet you have no faith in her. Where is your precious love now? Where is the protection and fortitude it supposedly offered her?"
He stood up, picking Fawkes up from the ashes, finally. He'd managed to dig himself out, giving a pitiful little cough as Dumbledore held him against his chest.
"Love is not a shield, my boy." he turned to look at him, then, his blue eyes as piercing as an arrow. "It is a sword."
Ariel was immensely grateful by the time Christmas rolled around, wanting the castle to be empty so she can get some sort of a reprieve.
(And finally use the Polyjuice, but it still had a few more days to go)
Everyone had been on edge since Justin's attack, carrying around talismans and cloves of herbs that would supposedly keep Slytherin's monster away — or rather, Ariel. Seemingly the entire school had collectively decided that she must be the Heir, the rumors spinning into pointing and hissing as she walked by. Everyone seemed to have forgotten she'd been poisoned, only concerned with themselves and what Ariel could do to them.
Snape had been acting strangely too. Normally, he'd at least spend some time with her in his quarters, meaning that he'd sit behind his desk or on the couch while he ignored her, but lately he had taken to shutting himself in his back room, only appearing at curfew to bring her back to Gryffindor Tower. Ariel had started to wonder if she should stop since he obviously didn't want to be bothered with her, but it hadn't made any sense. He'd defended her in Dumbledore's office, why was he treating her like he was allergic to her all of a sudden?
She'd even brought the few books she'd found on Healing with Parseltongue, but he'd shut himself away, not bothering to give any sort of advice like he'd offered when she'd knocked on his classroom door, wanting his help. He'd coldly turned her away and she'd spent the rest of the night staring at the pages listlessly, not really reading them.
Her little potions side project, however, had taken off considerably. For a whole slew of reasons, nobody knew that Ariel was Fred and George's supplier, which at this point, probably would've killed the entire business in a fortnight. She could only imagine what the school would say — Ariel the Heir is brewing the potions; she'll have us all dead by Tuesday —
As everyone packed the day before the break began, Ariel met Fred and George in a broom closet in the Common Room to swap ingredients and potions — sometimes money, too, but Ariel didn't know what to do with it, so she usually just handed it back and gave them a list of things she needed later.
"That's the last of it," Ariel sighed, handing George a poorly disguised bag of Wiggenweld potions. "No more for now, right?"
"We are officially closed for the holidays." Fred cracked his hands as he hefted the bag onto his shoulder. "You let us know when you're ready to start up again, yeah?"
"And the boomslang skin?" she looked expectantly at a jar George was holding. "Did you get it?"
He handed it to her. "Took a while — they had to source it from a bigger shop. That ate up most of your side of the revenue —"
"I don't care about that," Ariel waved them off.
"What're you using it for, anyway?" Fred asked curiously.
She gave a wry little smile, tucking it underneath her robes. "Other illicit activities."
The twins shared a proud look between them before George pretended to wipe away fake tears. "A progeny in the making."
"Without a doubt the best Christmas gift you could've given us."
Ariel laughed, waving goodbye before making her way up to her dormitory, where Hermione was sitting beside the fire with her homework for the holidays spread out around her. She'd already gotten half of it done, and most of it had only been assigned yesterday.
"Got the boomslang skin!" Ariel presented it proudly, giving a short little bow.
"Brilliant," Hermione grinned, scratching something down on a roll of parchment — it looked like a list. "Just in time, too — we've got to add it on the full moon, and that's in two days."
"Tell me about it," Ariel opened her trunk and placed the jar gingerly inside. "I would've lost it if we'd had to start over."
Hermione made an agreeing sound under her breath. Ariel glanced at the clock — it was almost nine, which was around the time when she'd start heading down to Snape's quarters, but if he was just going to pretend like she was a piece of furniture, what was the point? She'd much rather spend her time up here with Hermione —
— who was also busy. Ron might be up for a game of chess, but Ariel was horrible at chess.
Ariel flopped down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Snape's quarters were loads more interesting than the ceiling —
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked.
Ariel sighed and nodded, not wanting to talk, just lie there and not worry for a while.
"Are you going tonight?" she asked after a moment or so had passed.
"I don't think so."
"Did something happen?"
"No." Ariel rolled over and looked at her. "I just don't feel like it."
Hermione put down her quill and sat down at the edge of Ariel's bed. She Summoned one of her pillows and propped herself up on it. Ariel could feel her eyes searching her face, but she felt so empty and frustrated that she couldn't bring herself to tell Hermione what was wrong — there wasn't a way to put it into words. When Ariel said it out loud, she always felt stupid and small.
"Is it the Heir?" Hermione asked after a while. "Everyone who has more than three brain cells knows it's pure rubbish. Even Pansy does — I heard her in the girl's loo the other day complaining to one of those Greengrass girls. It's pretty clear she's terribly jealous of all the attention you're getting —"
"I don't want it — she can bloody have it!" Ariel snapped, sitting up. "Why does everyone think I want all this stupid attention? Between the Slytherins and Lockhart — gods, I hate it. I hate them."
She looked away. "I don't think anyone really believes you want it — not even Pansy. She just wants what she can't have."
"She wants everyone to think she's some barmy murderer?"
"No, she just hates how much people talk about you." Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm sure Malfoy does it all the time. They're the same, the two of them, always trying to rile you up. They want you to give in to their baiting but it's obvious they've got something missing."
Ariel nodded slowly. "It's just so... stupid."
"It is," Hermione agreed.
"And…" Ariel hesitated. "I'd put much more stock into other people believing the rumors."
"Like who?" she frowned.
"The Headmaster does." The words left her mouth before she could bite them back down. Ariel looked away from Hermione's stricken face and swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm pretty sure the professors think it's me." she wouldn't look at Hermione, trying to memorize the patterns in the bedspread instead. "They think I'm the Heir of Slytherin."
Hermione made a harsh sound under her breath. "Even Professor Snape?"
"He said he didn't — he thought it was stupid to even ask him."
Her breathing deepened before she scooted closer to Ariel. "But you think he's lying."
Ariel shook her head. "No, it's not that. He's ignoring me again, but I can't tell if it's because everyone's ignoring me and I'm just being oversensitive or if it's… something else."
"Can I ask how it's been?" Hermione asked, her voice thick with hesitation. "You don't really talk about him anymore."
Ariel paused. She didn't want to say too much, it felt wrong to talk about Snape, even though Hermione was her best friend. "He's worried about what's been happening, it's not much different than last year, I guess."
Her expression shifted — she looked annoyed, all of a sudden. "What do you mean?"
Ariel sighed. She knew that Hermione would never understand her complicated relationship with Snape — heck, half the time, Ariel didn't either, but she couldn't keep it bottled up anymore. "He's been distant after… sort of opening up, I guess? He hardly talks to me anymore and I don't know what I did wrong."
Hermione furrowed her brows in concern. "Are you sure it's not just his usual demeanor? You know how he can be, Ariel."
But Ariel shook her head, feeling frustrated. "No, it's different. It's like he's avoiding me or something. When Professor Dumbledore asked to see me, Snape was so angry — he told him I'd been with him all night so I couldn't have been the one to Petrify Justin, but ever since then..."
"Have you tried talking to him?"
She snorted. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."
"Why not?"
"Hermione, I don't know what you want me to say." Ariel turned away. Some days all the pieces of Snape would fit together and complete a picture. Other days those pieces were broken, sharp and jagged, cutting her away a little bit at a time.
Hermione put a hand on her shoulder, before moving to her arm and squeezing it. "You don't deserve to wonder. You deserve…" she trailed off, like she was contemplating what she was going to say. "You deserve to be loved."
Ariel felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. She didn't know what it was like to be loved. She'd never been worthy of love before. The idea of Snape doing anything more than tolerating her was almost inconceivable. Every chance he got he tried to drive her away, tried to scare her off, like that night in the infirmary, but there was this little voice inside her that kept telling her to fight. Ariel had been convinced they'd turned a corner, but now —
"I only know what it isn't." her voice quivered as she spoke. "Maybe he can't, even if he wanted to. Some people are just too broken to be loved, you know?"
Hermione's eyes filled with tears, like a leaky faucet dripping. She took a deep breath and squeezed Ariel's hand tightly. "Don't say that. It's not your fault."
Ariel gave a watery smile.
But deep down, she knew that just wasn't it.