Severus Snape and The Natural

by Helia Revelio

What if Severus Snape found another Natural in mind magic at the dawn of the second war? What if she was a dark witch with a Time Turner? This is a dark tale of the Wizarding Society, and of a forbidden romance. A tale of a Slytherin girl attending to Hogwarts since the year before Harry's arrival. Slow burn, EWE, Positive Filch! Rated M and i mean it!

4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hi All, little slipped with the update because I had no trustworthy internet after we hit the road with my kids and reached the mountains. Sorry, it's just summer holiday with two small kids but please don't fret, I will try to keep schedule! Also, Recommended for this chapter and the next: ***"A Slytherin's Guide to Hugging Professor Snape" at fanfiction dot net by lastcrazyhorn, huge thanks for the author's permission to use it!***

Of course, Harry Potter, his world and characters belong to J. K. Rowling , thus anything you recognize is not mine but hers, and I make no money whatsoever from this entire endeavour, only playing in her sandbox gratefully.

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TN Chapter 4.

1st September 1991 to 30th June 1992

(13)

As 1st September happened to be a Sunday, Slytherin had little time to discuss this special year before classes began. However, there was a lot to discuss already.

Harry Potter got sorted into Gryffindor for the uproar of many. Most kids from pureblood households received advice on how to behave with the Boy-Who-Lived. Those pieces of advice lacked two crucial pieces of information that couldn't escape anyone's notice: First, this boy was small and scrawny, and nothing indicated any power in his countenance. On the contrary, Harry Everfamous Potter looked frightened and over all a disappointment, at least for the girls, who either imagined a miniature hero or an ominous if tiny dark lord.

The other thing about him was his astonishing lack of social skills. It didn't take an hour after the Hogwarts Express rolled into Hogsmeade for the gossip to spread that he didn't accept the youngest Malfoy's friendship. Instead, he chose to hang out with one of the Weasley kids, which wouldn't have been so baffling if people didn't expect him to act as he "was supposed to." Miranda Fawley had a good explanation. She remembered that the Weasleys were the closest relatives of the Prewetts at school. Anne tried to keep an open mind.

Mainly because the Malfoy heir didn't prove himself even remotely similar to the expectations either. He walked about with his nose held high, no surprise there; the problem was the height that his nose could reach. The boy was tiny. There were no two ways about it. He looked like butterfat and could hardly catch a doorknob. Anne noticed she wasn't the only one who sighed.

When Snape billowed into the Common Room and gave his traditional short speech after greeting the upper years (this year's best of' was Think before you act, and Reputation, truth, and fame are not always linked together), Anne watched the Malfoy boy with mixed feelings. The oddest about him was how much he enjoyed the attention. He smiled at Snape as soon as he'd seen him. There was something about that smile… a deliberate show of familiarity that had Flora Carrow, Miranda Fawley and Sophie Borgin also lifting an eyebrow. Especially when they saw Snape acknowledge that kid with a nod, returning his smile!

Anne's mouth fell open, and she quickly directed all her attention at her shoes. She saw the others saw it too! She could almost sense their shock in the air. The boy was a firstie!

The newly sorted snakes, Bulstrode, Crabbe, Davies, Goyle, Greengrass, Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson, and Zabini, made no more show that evening. Some upper years still lamented their arrival. Harry Potter in the castle, and out of the nine new Slytherins, at least four families had been accused of supporting the Dark Lord. Anne fell into the most profound silence and hoped to all gods that no one recalled she was a Rosier.

Flora's problem was different. She wondered about the familiarity between Snape and the Malfoy boy. How in hell could that tiny brat brag about such a connection? She kept wondering about it until she fell asleep.

Less would have been enough to keep minds occupied on the first day. Small groups discussed all the rumours before Herbology and on the Transfiguration corridor, the first two classes of the day, averting even the slightest attention Anne might have had on her birthday.

By lunch, even the more minor mishaps seemed interesting. Thankfully Amelia's rash decision to make her way through the Slytherin crowd by the Great Hall's door and press a package into Anne's hand was less noticeable than the grey owl that carried such a vast package it was a miracle it could still fly.

Anne didn't bother to look whose owl that could be. She ran up to her dear tower, now sadly covered in dust again, to examine her present. Gliding silver letters announced the title on a small black book: Five-hundred Years of Potioneering, an Everyday Guide for the Brewer, by Philhelmina Salweick, written at the end of the nineteenth century. She laughed with joy and opened the cover.

"Not that I could use it for anything. How does it feel to sacrifice a friend for the bullies in your house?

Happy Birthday anyway.

A."

She cried so long, she almost got late from Charms. And Amelia sat there in the second row. What would that other Anne do? What would Rachel do?

Luckily, the upcoming History of Magic was the surest thing to lure anyone into a coma, which was almost as good as some inner peace. After that, even Anne was ready to socialize and enjoy the sun again with Hestia and Malcolm Urquhart. They ended up by the Quidditch pitch, Malcolm busily contemplating their chances for the year and worrying that Higgs' presence would hinder his dreams of joining the House Team.

"Why would they accept two seconds years? You see, it's nuts! And Terence can be a good player, but he's still not devoted. Not enough if–"

While he drawled on, Anne watched the clouds and tried to decide if the bigger was more similar to a three-legged elephant or a very fat cobra. Hestia laid back on the grass and absorbed the sunshine like the plants. Anne thought the similarities were striking but avoided advertising her opinion because that never ended well.

The three owls came while Malcolm tried to pour his estimation of the chances into numbers.

"Gods, what a huge package!" – Hestia sat up to better see the three struggling owls. "Do you think it's for one of the Huffs or that Gryff firstie who received half his school stuff by the table?" – She laughed loudly, and Malcolm grinned.

Anne did, too, with an inner cringe as she recalled the reddened cheeks of that Gryffindor boy. Heavens, what a dork!

"They're coming this way," – Malcolm warned, and Anne immediately thought through all her belongings, even if there wasn't a chance anyone would have noticed if she'd left something at home.

"Because they're carrying your talent. Your father wanted you a standing chance against Terence," – Hestia laughed.

"My father was a good enough keeper. I would thank you for leaving him out!" – Malcolm huffed while the three owls landed with their package, biting into Anne's robe sleeve.

Her face flushed red, and she first wanted to hide, but she found a letter with familiar handwriting on the package and promptly forgot about anyone else!

"Mum!"

"You never talk about her. What's she saying?" – Hestia grabbed for the letter, and Anne flushed a deeper shade of raspberry. She had to face whatever was to come. Sure, her mother would have the sense not to betray them after so many years. Then she gasped with guilt for being ashamed of her mother. "C'mon, won't you open it?" – Hestia pushed her.

She did.

Dear Anne,

They saY it'S yoUr BirThday, HapPy biRthDay tO YoU –

I can still recall Our Last Summer – I want the world to know I'm happy as can be – Because – You are my sunshine – My Girl –

While My Guitar Gently Weeps – I Want To Hold Your Hand – Imagine – Baby you can…– Twist and Shout – Don't Let Me Down

All My Loving

Mum

PS. Rachel helped me with everything if you happened to wonder. She is a formidable force with these beasts; I am amazed. Also, she sends her love and well-wishes. You know her. Sheets inside. Scream if you need more!

Anne first only giggled, but then - sheets? Music sheets? Anne touched the package with renewed curiosity, and the shape… She squeaked her excitement even before she tore the paper.

"Wow, she sounds a bit of an eccentric!" – Hestia huffed peeking at the letter.

"Anne, what on earth is that?" – Malcolm asked.

"A guitar, silly. Don't you go to concerts?" – Hestia replied and helped vanish the paper before she went on. "It's just looking strange, too wide in the middle. Why would you get this?"

Anne tried to stop grinning, but it was hopeless.

"Well, a guitar is usually for playing it."

Hestia looked amazed. "Do you know the charms for it?"

"What charms?" – Anne jerked her head with sudden alarm.

"You know, the music charms… they are way too elaborate for me. I haven't seen anyone performing them correctly under sixth year!

Now Hestia gaped at her, and Anne stared owlishly. She was pretty sure the music sheets would betray her family.

"Ah, those!"- She hastily improvised. "No. I tell you, but you must promise you won't tell a soul!"

"My lips are sealed,"- Hestia eagerly leaned closer, and Malcolm pushed his head between theirs to listen in.

"I will try the Muggle way," – Anne whispered.

"WHAT?" – Hesta's scream filled the Quidditch pitch, but Anne hushed her.

"You said you wouldn't tell!"

"But why ever would you do that?!" – Hestia asked again, now in a hushed voice.

Anne tried to look embarrassed.

"Because of my wand work. My aunt heard it helps. Muggles use their fingers more, and if you grow up surrounded by magic," – she pulled up a shoulder. "Of course, my brothers never needed this; they played so much outside."

"Oh, you poor thing, is it for Transfiguration?" – Malcolm was all empathy and care.

Anne sombrely nodded.

"A shame they got you punishment for your birthday!" – Hestia protested. "You know what, witchling, I'll make it up for you!" - She ran off without looking back, and Anne had a disturbing feeling at the pit of her stomach.

She risked a shy smile at Malcolm, and the boy seemed to grow shoulders as he straightened.

"You'll be fine. We won't tell anybody. Now, come, I'll take care of you." He gathered their things and did his best to conceal the guitar.

It was hilarious how they all ate up anything remotely connected to Muggle – Anne almost giggled. Although considering Malcolm's attention, she had to admit that the boy was kind. A little too kind. She hesitated before she let him hold her hand until they reached the castle's entrance, and then she let him take charge until they reached the girl's dorm. He made an excellent job of it. Hardly anyone saw them.

When Anne returned to the Common Room, she saw the last of Vaisey exchanging words with Urquhart before he ran through the entrance hole. Malcolm saw her staring, and Anne shyly turned until the boy stopped her with a touch on her shoulder.

"Hey, what if- you know. What if we took a walk? Or som'thin' -"

Anne's brows ran together, and she tried to recall some applicable novel section that could help when one was suddenly called for a walk. However, those paragraphs usually had more preludes, and she was inclined to say politely no.

"Urquhart, is that my sis there, under your filthy paw?" – Caleb's voice was almost friendly. Malcolm still looked terrified and pulled back his hand.

"I only… it's not about… Well, you see, -"

"How very eloquent of you, Mr. Urquhart! May I luck out and hear you explain yourself?"

The older boys erupted in laughter watching Phil Goozey measuring Urquhart with narrowed eyes, holding his shoulders rigidly, and giving airs they all knew too well until Gavin stepped up between them:

"You screwed it, you dolt! Snape would never talk about luck!"

"True, Phil, you overplayed it," – Caleb nodded, putting an uncomfortable hand on Urquhart's shoulder. "And he would never ask if he may. He asks you if you could!"

Now Phil protested: "I remember him at least twice using a 'may.' You bet he does say it!"

"Only in class," – Anne joined in with some weird intent to save Malcolm. Where did that willingness come from? "He reaches for the glass rod or the scraper and says 'May I?' but you shouldn't make him."

More people joined her giggling than she expected; it was strange. She focused on Malcolm: "I think he would rather say, 'Ah, Mr. Urquhart, can you explain what Mr. Rosier's left hand is doing on your shoulder? Mr. Rosier? Neither? I suggest, Mr. Rosier, you keep your hands to yourself then, unless you wish for a double dance class with Professor McGonagall. I can arrange it for you, have no doubts about that! Mr. Urquhart, follow me if you please!""

Phil broke down snorting and sniggering at the half of it, and even Caleb didn't have the presence of mind to hold back the grinning Urquhart before he was far enough with his sister to be relatively safe.

"Hey, Anabella, if you want to go with the wager, you'll have to forego that smile!" – Phil Goozey shouted after her.

Anne stopped. "What wager?"

The upper-year boys came, again, closer, and Malcolm looked ready to flee.

"Goozey bet with a seventh year that his man is better impersonating Snapey than Warrington," – Gavin told them, making Malcolm stop and protest:

"Warrington can't tell apart a quaffle from the snitch!"

"His brother, smartarse," – Caleb cleared it up for him. "Duncan Warrington is actually quite a think tank. And he is in Potion NEWTs, so Goozey here is already short a galleon" – he smacked Phil in the head.

"Not until next Friday," – Phil pulled a face.

Caleb's intense gaze stuck scrutinizing Malcolm.

"Well, good luck then," – Anne hurried to say and slipped out through the entrance. Malcolm had the good sense to follow her, and they ran down the first corridor.

Strangely, he stopped her when she wanted to take the stairs up to the Entrance Hall. "Wait, I want to show you something."

Anne followed him to an empty room at the other end of the corridor. It looked like a classroom from the outside, but why would a classroom be down here?

"Come," – Malcolm pulled her hand with some urgency.

"Why?"

"Come, just trust me!"

"Malcolm, I…" – then she heard Hestia's giggle followed by multiple voices and the whole Slytherin second year poured out through the door.

"Never mind, Urquhart, it's a big deal you could take her even this far!" – Flora laughed.

"Trust me? Man, that was pathetic. This would never work on a witch!" – Higgs couldn't stop snickering.

"Why, what is it that works on a witch, in your expert opinion?" – Hestia wheezed.

Luckily, they got into the room before anyone got hurt. And the sight made all quarrels and mockery forgotten.

There were paper decorations, a picture of a joyful clown on the far-end wall chanting Happy Birthday, and candles floating like in the Great Hall, shining a light on various desserts, chocolates, snacks, and drinks. Anne could only gape, and Hestia suddenly hugged her.

"We had no presents, but everybody came. Maybe we make it up to you next year. So what do you think?"

Anne just stared. She was sobbing for losing a friend just hours ago, and now it turns out she had six all the while?

"Did you put this all together in such a short time?"

Hestia nodded.

"I think you are the best witch ever, and a wizard someday will be way too lucky to have you," - Anne finally answered the question because she was amazed and knew it would make Hestia happy.

And Anne wanted happy people that evening. As happy as anyone might get. Because she never thought she could have so many friends without even knowing it. It wasn't even hard to achieve. She didn't even have to lie, only omit the truth. Well, half the truth only. And lying a little. And to keep to herself. Maybe to shut up instead of telling her opinion. The easiest thing in the world! She didn't have to give up all those things she omitted; she just had to hide them, like the guitar and the Muggle textbooks. And the journals… Anne grinned around with a hint of smugness. It worked!

By the time she finished her private and silent celebration, most had dived into the sweets and pumpkin juice and sat on desks or broken chairs, discussing mainly Quidditch. The noise became louder and louder as time went by. Anne joined them, having fun firing up the boy-who-lived and carefully picking on the Malfoy boy when the sudden silence made her turn – and by the fright of seeing her Head of House, she fell off the desk.

Snape was pretty much as livid as anyone would have expected. The only surprising addition was that they'd chosen the one old classroom across his quarters. Anne knew those were somewhere around but had never thought of them before. Still, this seemed such an amateurish mistake! What was on Hestia's mind?

Anne tried to stand up and sought Hestia's eyes with a questioning glance. It must have been a bad idea because Hestia blanched but then turned and apologized to the Professor.

"We didn't mean to, sir, but this is Anne's birthday, and we all felt sorry for her. We thought she shouldn't be alone… so we came."

Anne stared. Hestia made it sound as if she invited them all!

"How very charming. Mr. Urquahart, you seem as if you had something to add."

Anne turned her head so quickly that her neck twinged, and she could see some uncertainty on the boy's face. Then he looked into Snape's eyes and shook his head. "No, sir."

Anne gasped in vain.

"Should I assume then that Miss Rosier summoned and overtaxed the house elves to present this unoriginal mockery of a feast, alone?" - Snape went on.

Anne watched them staring at Snape, the walls, and the floor. Hestia seemed to examine her nails.

"Miss Rosier, I believe I've asked a question."

"Yes sir?" – She only meant to acknowledge she had heard a question, but even she noticed that it came across as something else. Snape's gaze tickled the back of her skull, as usual when something went wrong, but gave away nothing go by. She gave up. "I'm sorry, sir."

Her Head of House's eyes fired up with displeasure, but it only took a moment. After that, he was back at his maddeningly even drawling:

"All right then. Misses Carrows, you, Messers Bletchley, Vaisey, Higgs, and Urquhart return to your dormitories. As I hear, Madame Hooch requires volunteers to tidy up the broom cabinets and the pitch before the first-year classes begin, and I expect she'll have six pairs of hands ready on Saturday."

"Yes, sir," – they chorused.

"Miss Rosier, detention tomorrow at seven to make you learn the value of a day's work," – Anne's eyes sparkled up - "with Mr. Filch."

When she let her guards slip and openly glared at him, Snape's eyes flashed again with scrutiny. Why would he do that? It was all too dark to see thing there anyway! For Merlin's long white beard, she hated him going there! It was ticklish in all the wrong ways and pushy and… The next moment she saw his eyes again. There was some surprise in them and – disappointment. Why?

He didn't even look at her when he sent everyone back to the dormitories, and Anne felt too betrayed to join the others in the Common Room. She stopped abruptly before the portrait, turned on her heels, and marched up to her tower. That became the first night she spent there, a gamble if she'd ever made one, risking additional punishment. However, she could hardly imagine anything worse to come upon her in her present state of self-pity.

She was wrong.

Dear Mum,

The guitar is nice, but it won't solve anything. Everybody hates me, and I hate them all! Please take me home!

Please, Mum, I can't stay here another day! I will not!

Anne

Returning from the Owlery in the early morning, she encountered an exceptionally livid and unforgiving Professor Snape, who roared at her a tirade about ditching her dorm and sentenced her to two months of further detention with Filch, with the additional threat of the shortest expulsion if she dared to miss as much as a single moment of her chores. He looked paler than average and didn't bother to tickle her skull, much less to ask questions or give place to arguments. Anne watched his robe furiously billowing away on the dim corridor and had the impression that it had a life of its own.

The picture made everything so surreal; she couldn't believe it had happened. So she skipped breakfast to avoid her classmates and skived Defence class just to collect a weekend detention – also with Filch – when she tried to sneak some food from the kitchen instead of her scheduled Charms class. Turned out, Snape could be more livid, and it seemed to defy the laws of nature at this point, but indeed he could.

Arriving at Charms twenty minutes into the lesson with Professor Snape's hand giving a not-so-gentle push to her shoulder from the door, gave the phrase 'falling into pace' a different and much more humiliating meaning. If she'd ever wondered if humiliation had depths and levels, Snape's presence in the corridor at the end of her class, his command to follow him, and the lunchtime she consequentially spent in the Potion classroom to ensure her attending her next scheduled class, provided all the answers she needed.

After Potions, Anne was so hungry she would have risked going to the Great Hall if she hadn't seen the little grey owl with a smiley face-like mark on the back of its head. Singer was her father's owl, and she carried something red…. Anne turned tail and ran blindly through the corridors and passages. She did not heed McGonagall's warning not to run on the halls or the five points she took when she still didn't slow down.

Up to the fourth floor, behind the tapestry, up the wooden stairs, and finally, she could lean panting against the rail just under the oval foyer. The owl took two more minutes to find her, and she dropped the Howler into Anne's hands with a deprecating to-whoo.

ANNABELLA EUPHEMIA, I'M STRUGGLING TO FIND WORDS FOR YOUR ABYMAL BEHAVIOUR! YOUR HEAD OF HOUSE THREATENS TO TAKE YOUR CASE TO THE HEADMASTER. THAT'S POSSIBLE EXPULSION, TO QUOTE HIM, ANNABELLA! NOT EVEN YOUR BROTHERS SHAMED US THIS WAY, NOT EVEN YOUR UNCLES, LET THEM REST IN PEACE, WHICH THEY'D NEVER HAD, NOBODY IN OUR FAMILY'S LONG AND WELL-KNOWN HISTORY HAD EVER BEEN EXPELLED FROM HOGWARTS!

I DONT CARE WHY AND I DONT CARE HOW. BUT ONCE MORE I'M CALLED OUT FROM A VERY IMPORTANT MEETING FOR NEWS ABOUT YOUR HORRENDOUS PERSONAL CONDUCT I WILL TAKE IRREVERSIBLE STEPS, I CAN TELL YOU THAT MUCH.

AND STOP HARASSING YOUR MOTHER WITH DIMWITTED AND THOUGTLESS MISSIVES OR I WILL BAN YOUR OWLS FROM THE PREMISSES.

YOU EMBARASSED ME, CHILD. YOU CAN FORGET YOUR MONTHLY ALLOWANCE FOR SEPTEMBER RIGHT NOW.

Anne stared at the red scrapes of the Howler by her feet for minutes before she could shake her head with disbelief. Was that supposed to be all she could expect? Her allowance?

Nobody cared "why or how," and if Rachel didn't help her leave school last year after Muggle-ing with her for time uncounted, she wouldn't go against her father's expressed wishes now. Mum couldn't help, and honestly, she never could. Anne didn't understand what's gotten into her even to ask, but when she sat to thank her for her birthday present, something completely different came out of her quill.

She didn't believe in those infamous "irreversible steps." She knew her father enough, and such steps would have needed time and effort, which undoubtedly would have shortened his "very important meetings."

So she was an embarrassment lacking a month's worth of her allowance? She could live with that. Snape didn't waste a look at her in class either, so he must be only concerned with her scheduled location. He can have that, so even he would – leave – her – alone!

And with that, finally, her tears began to flow. Anne clambered up to her dusty rug in the foyer and cried herself into slumber. She woke with a start when a touch, so cold it chilled her bones, slid up her ankle. She recognized the Bloody Baron with a shriek, which the ghost most certainly didn't approve of. The Baron hovered above her until she got to her senses enough to notice the dimming light in the windows. When she started down the stairs towards the dungeons, it left her to her own devices. Not that she couldn't imagine a hundred ways for the ghost to punish Hestia and the rest of the lot!

"Gotcha!" – The zealous voice joined with a push so hard the wind knocked out of Anne, hitting the wall behind an armour just steps before the stairs to the dungeons.

"What the hell had gotten into you, sis? Skiving? Leaving the dorms for the night?" – Gavin had never looked angrier… or more confused.

"Listen here, Anabella, I never wanted to talk into your things, but we don't appreciate being pulled into Snape's office to account for you at night." Caleb's voice was calmer than Gavin's, but his usually blue eyes seemed grey now with fury.

"Actually, never," – Gavin readily added.

"True, so never," – Caleb went on. "Also, we didn't enjoy father's letter, not much less than a Howler, with all the imprecations and the loss of our monthly money."

"Even less mum's lines about her worries about you," – Gavin inserted.

"AND ALL THE WHILE WE HAD NO IDEA WHAT THE FUCK WAS UP WITH YOU?!" - Caleb eventually lost all patience. In hindsight, Anne wondered how he'd kept it together as long as he did. She tried to look the other way, but Gavin stood there. She stared at her shoes.

"Was it Urquhart?" – Caleb suddenly demanded.

Anne tried to hide the weeping behind her palms, but eventually, she nodded.

"Him too."

"Who else, A-bee?" – Gavin caressed her arm with sudden empathy, but Caleb almost exploded:

"What did he do?"

Anne sniffed and wished Gavin had hugged her, but he was preoccupied holding back their brother.

"Anabella, what did that fuckwit do?"

"He lied," – she finally managed now between sobs. "He lied to Snape, and I couldn't… I couldn't…."

"I'm going to kill him!"

Gavin jumped in his brother's way and caught him. "Stop! Don't be an idiot! A-bee, what did he lie about?"

Anne couldn't stop sobbing, so her words came irregularly and hushed:

"Me, the house elves, Hestia… they didn't want to celebrate my birthday, they wanted some fun and me to take the blame… and I won't go back to the dorm, I won't talk to them again! I don't want to see any of them ever! Snape was a jerk. He didn't even stop them! I thought he knew!"

Gavin's hand returned to her shoulder. "What did he know, A-bee?" – He asked, but Anne shook her head, unable to answer.

Caleb finally tore his arm from Gavin's clutch and ran to the stairs.

"I'd better go with him, or he'd be hexed too…" – Gavin hesitated. "Calm down, sis, we'll take care of them for you!" – He promised, then and ran after Caleb.

Anne crunched down by the wall, and what hadn't happened since she'd past nine, she turned invisible.

It took about half an hour in silence until she was ready again to face the world, but by then, she heard various voices from the direction of the staircase. Two more minutes, Professor Snape appeared with Urquhart heavily leaning on his arm, limping on shaky legs, and Higgs and Vaisey following with antlers on their foreheads. Bletchley looked the best, only a little green in the face. He closed the procession towards the main staircase. Strangely, the Professor stopped his grumbling and peeked towards the armour. Anne knew she couldn't be seen but held her breath until he thought better and yanked Urquhart along, mumbling about the Infirmary.

She felt grateful for her brothers on her way to the Common Room. There she found all evidence of a battle, tables turned over, a chair broken by the wall, and the lack of people because they must have scurried away. Whether they ran from Snape or her brothers, she couldn't care, but she hoped Caleb and Gavin were all right. With an exhausted sigh, she braved the second-year dorms.

Flora and Hestia fell abruptly silent when she entered, and they both turned away with noses up in the sky.

"Your brothers hexed all your year to splinters," – the third-year Sophie Borgin greeted her instead of the other two. "They won't forgive you for that."

Anne shrugged and closed the curtains around her bed.

In the following days, she presented her unprepared self for classes only to avoid any further discussions of her behaviour. She stayed away from the Slytherin quarters and didn't set foot in the library, so no one could find her but perhaps at the meals, which she also skipped as much as hunger let her.

The only time her whereabouts were clear were classes, nights, and her detentions, and by Friday evening, she began to feel moderately better. Filch was a horror from the seventh hell, so their moods complemented each other wonderfully. Who else to join in hating the world and every inhabitant as enthusiastically as he could? Moreover, he could show new levels of bitterness and dissatisfaction, and Anne was a quick study in both.

She didn't mind polishing old medals and trophies she would never receive as long as she could wholeheartedly agree that the kids all over were only ugly infections on the face of a beautiful castle. She also found perverse pleasure imagining all the tortures the old man listed befalling on Hestia Carrow. She readily added more when the squib somehow missed the whipping from his numerous tortures that evening. To convince Filch she didn't do so by impertinence, she volunteered to clean and oil the handcuffs in his office.

The caretaker's room was dirty, hectic, and silent. There wasn't a chance to encounter anyone on that part of the corridor, even Peeves didn't haunt there, and somehow Anne eased into telling some of her tale.

"You know, Mr. Filch, I am sorry I have misjudged you. It's so easy to misjudge one like us," – she silently said and crumbled down to dust a nail holding the fetters and to free it from the cobwebs – "I'm quite sure now that it is none of your fault, and I regret I was afraid of you."

"Don't try to sweet-talk to me, you brat; I know better than to let you go!" – The old man grumbled but seemed less harsh than before.

"Oh, I wouldn't want you to let me! See, these evenings are nicely silent and in a company that won't lie… You are a good man, Mr. Filch. You don't lie. And a hardworking man. This castle is too huge to do it justice on your own!"

Filch cleared his throat before he spoke. "Well, lass…" – he grumbled some more – "You'll have a chance to clean it for months whether you're ready to work or not. The fourth-floor windows need attention, and the Owlery floor is a mess. Those feckin' Ravenclaws could never do it right."

"No problem, Mr. Filch, I can come back twice a day if you need me," – she chirped, smiling for the first time since Monday evening.

"What's in it fer ya?" – The old man jerked his head up with suspicion.

Anne's smile faded. "It's just… nice that no one knows where I am."

Filch laughed without grace; his yellow teeth seemed to move in his palate as he wheezed.

"The blessed pureblood lass wouldn't mind the cleaning up; just her peers should not know of her shame!"

"No! I don't mind the cleaning but I'm not ashamed of you or that! I just- I don't like them. That is all."

"Ya take me e wazzerk?" – Filch spat into the dustbin. "You're 'ere for werkin' the house elves to get y'usen some goddam'ed party, then fast for desertin' yorn dorm! Yor madness makes no sense, lass. I would never trust ya!"

"But, Mr. Filch!"

"Enough, you brat!" – Filch moved towards her, this time with a threat written plainly all over his face. "Do you know what renegades got in my detail? Imprisonment for life! In your case, two years would be the least. At least you found your way back to duty. But this old sergeant" – he showed his thumb at himself – "from the Seventieth Infantry Division didn't keep his tag by wager, I can tell you that! Looting should cost you at least seven years. Desertion two more. And mutiny your life!"

Anne paled. "No mutiny! I never! I just can't understand– And the looting wasn't me!" – She gave a pause to the old man, and Anne wisely used it to think. A four-pointed red cross came to mind from the old pages of one of Rachel's books.

"Tobruk!" – She blurted.

Filch coughed so hard Anne began to worry for his health before he spoke:

"What would a brat like you know about that?"

"Not much," – Anne admitted regretfully. "It was in 1941. A siege. There was an infantry division, the sixth, renamed to the seventieth, I think… they were already in the Middle East when the Second World War broke out. They did a lot of things but then sieged Tobruk. It gave a chance later for the eighteenths to beat Rommel at Kassedena. And then they stayed and fought on. They ended up in India, but I couldn't follow that part. And they were renamed early for reasons… I think to protect them from spies?

Filch stood spread-legged, and his hand fiddled around one of his pockets. His face deformed into a strange grimace as if he couldn't quite develop a satisfactory snarl.

"Where would ya get that?"

Anne tried to be open without risking betraying Rachel or her brothers.

"I– I read."

She watched the old sergeant's small button eyes flutter from point to point on her face. Filch had never seemed this silent or volatile, but he also looked curious.

"I haven't committed any other offence but deserting, sergeant Filch, I promise," – Anne pleaded in a shaky voice. "And I returned on my own accord in the morning. I was just so sad. I needed time." To highlight her words, a drop of tear readily slipped down her cheek, even if she tried to impatiently smudge it. And this time, the heartless caretaker didn't bark at her to stop the whimper.

"You are to report back here, tomorrow evening," – Filch only told her after he was chewing on his tongue for long enough. "We'll see the rest then."

Anne understood his grumble was conciliatory this time. When she left the caretaker's room, she thought she heard him mumbling: "She says sergeant, the dimwit… wonder when was the last time…. stupid lass!"

Still, he didn't seem to truly mind it.

Rachel's letter arrived with the usual owl post the following day, and Anne wasn't especially surprised to receive another rocket. Her aunt also told her about her mother's surprise and worries and her father's displeasure; the news was not those. It was Snape's involvement. Rachel said he Floo-ed a note for her father instead of owling it, and when Monty demanded an explanation, he was ready to consult. Rachel also mentioned that her father was incredibly proud of convincing Snape not to take the problem to the Headmaster and told Anne to be grateful for the favour.

And this didn't add up with anything she'd ever thought she'd learnt about Professor Snape. If he'd wanted to expel her, he would have. Anne was almost sure about that. He frequently talked to the Headmaster; everyone could see that at mealtime. He could have mentioned whatever he chose at his convenience, and Anne doubted her father could offer anything to convince such a man about what he wished or wished not to do.

That led to further questions about her detention. She first was supposed to clean with Filch for only one evening, but the others had to assist Madame Hooch for a whole day of a weekend! She couldn't be more certain about this by the amount of grumbling around the table or Hestia's pleas in their dorm in the morning! When Snape tickled her mind last year, and she had something to offer, the best days of the spring term followed. Now she stayed quiet in body and mind, and she was to clean the castle. What the hell did this awkward man wish to see at the back of her skull? What were the others' skulls like then? He couldn't just have these gazing matches for nothing!

Anne couldn't ask all those questions of Rachel, but she could ask for reading on the Muggles' Second Great War. Also, as it happened, she could clean up after her brothers, who cheerfully returned from detention for their cursing bash. They praised the groundkeeper, muddied the Entrance Hall, and swore they would receive O-s for their Magical Creatures NEWTs next year.

Keeping her questions about Snape's true intentions in mind, and to mend some fences just in case, Anne returned to the library and at least did her homework for all classes, researching whatever she missed during the week. She cheered herself with the thought that if all else failed, she would try and make friends with Filch. His cat began to warm up to her fairly quickly; at least she hadn't hissed once since Thursday.

The second week began with an uproar in the Great Hall when Harry Potter received a Nimbus 2000. The Slytherin table was abuzz with the injustice of selecting a firstie into Gryffindor's Quidditch team. Well, the lower years were outraged, but not the older students. Phil expected to make a ton of shiny galleons on the new bets, and Anne and her brothers smirked with secret glee when Urquhart openly showed his annoyance. Flint chose Higgs for a new Seeker, and he couldn't get himself a place, not even as a second year.

The various emotions around the table fed Anne's wicked satisfaction but were also tiring. At least she could only fault her experiences in her first class on tiredness. Because this time, when they had to change a beetle into a button in Transfiguration, she had all kinds of strange feelings that didn't seem to belong with her. She'd already had a wrong sort of excitement when she entered that classroom and always faulted McGonagall for that. But now she was also aware of something more, like a prickling sensation on her chest, vibrating with the awkwardly jerking legs around Hestia's button, pulsing with the shaky beetles waiting for someone's next attempt to transfigure them. Anne felt sick with vertigo and wished to run to the hills.

Herbology was better. The plants seemed to curiously resonate too, but on a lower scale; most of the time, it felt pacifying, unlike her classmates who kept gaggling around her whether they were talking or not. Because awkwardly, it felt the same either way. There was no peace and not a quiet spot anywhere in the castle. Even in her usual sanctuary, the library, Anne could sense constant waves of intentions for and against her, others, or even connected to the homework on people's desks. Charms class was similar, and she had just a little more peace at Potions. At least Snape seemed silent as a grave.

In the coming days, Anne fled to her tower with a sandwich she nicked from the kitchen as often as she could. She fiddled with her guitar to suppress the strange feelings; having no better word, she called them in her head a constant noise. Music worked against it, and she felt a modicum better. Good enough to brave the Defence classroom.

She needed courage for the same reason she disliked Transfiguration: she always felt ill at ease in the classroom. However, she had no problem in DADA last year, and this year's readings weren't more frightening than the doxies and their like. Still preoccupied with figuring out how to hold down a G minor, Anne hardly noticed the lack of awkward sensations in the classroom until Professor Quirrell walked in, and the air suddenly felt stilled. The struggling for a full breath had less to do with his garlicky smell and more with– Anne's curiosity recoiled from any further explanation, and she tried to divert her attention by focusing on the textbook.

She was afraid to go to the Infirmary with her problem because she had no idea how to describe it. That she felt ill when she had stayed in others' presence? That didn't sound like a normal thing to say. The sick feeling only relented in Astronomy, a blessing that made her marks a little better, and when caressing Mrs. Norris if she let her. Anne was grateful for the odd cat because she must have sensed when she felt sick and got into the habit of joining her in her tower for some minutes or sitting on her foot while helping Filch.

September wore off with cleaning, studying, and guitar lessons. It proved challenging, but singing the songs she remembered from the summer eased her loneliness, unlike her inexpressive letters, which hardly scratched the surface of her true musings. Rachel had to be content learning about Charms theory and magical pests. Anne elaborated on both of those enough to fill out a parchment, but neither of those provided a chance to receive an informed reply.

Filch came around only slowly, but at least she felt his attention and not his judgment. Not even when she was silently humming when they worked. One night at the beginning of October, the wind splashed the richly pouring rain on the castle's windows, and Anne spent her detention in Filch's office, tidying the filing cabinets.

She found an entire drawer filled with two brothers' misdeeds. She'd heard about the Weasley twins but never believed the gossip – not until now. Another drawer held a massive folder with Slytherin's insignia and only one note on the side in Filch's knitted handwriting, "Dubious."

Anne peeked around, but someone called for the caretaker a quarter an hour before, and she couldn't hear Filch's footsteps returning. Opening the folder, she found a blank parchment with a warning sign attached. It was pristine white, glittering in silver, and she couldn't see anything unusual about it but two wriggling snakes, a taller and a shorter, hugging each other in the upper right corner.

Anne dusted the folders and cleaned the cabinet, thinking about those wriggling snakes. There was something about them – intimacy. It was so unexpected and mesmerizing! As if those snakes wished for this close contact. For once, Anne didn't want to make up a childish tale. This time she wanted to learn the truth about those snakes like she loved hearing out the portraits.

Filch's shuffling steps sounded in the corridor, and Anne hurried to finish. When the old caretaker stepped into his office, she was packing away the duster and rug.

"Bungling idiot!" – Filch sniffed, sitting down. "Oh, lass, my knees are killing me when it's pouring down like that. I don't need such a twit to try and show my place on the top of it all!"

Anne crouched by Filch's chair, watching his painful moves with worry.

"What did Professor Quirrel need this time?"

"In earnest or what he keeps sayin'? I tell you, lass, there's a big difference with that twerp. Ah, these knees gonna' kill me this winter," – he sighed again and looked at the girl as if he was surprised he had someone to talk to.

"I found this parchment, Mr. Filch," – Anne tried to divert his attention. "I'm not sure what it is, but–"

The old man glanced at the hugging snakes; his eyes sparkled with mischief: "Are you perhaps into looting, lass?"

Anne swallowed nervously, but the glint didn't vanish from Filch's eyes. She took her chances: "Only decoding, if you agree, sergeant," – she offered.

He contemplated her for a second before he nodded. "Not strictly against regulations. But you should remember where to return it,"- he warned. "And don't you blame me!"

Anne put the parchment in her bookcase with a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Filch! I will return it!"

Filch sniffled again, then looked around. "You finished?" – He grunted in his usual tone, making Anne glad to have him back.

When the caretaker shuffled into his office, he arrived in a gloomy cloud of dissatisfaction and vengeance, but now he was well-imbedded into the usual fuzzy bitterness he enjoyed the most. Anne was content.

"I put the kettle on for you, sergeant Filch, then I'm off to my barracks," – she said with a twinkle in her eye. Filch only nodded, but fiddling with the kettle, Anne had a feeling he smiled behind her back.

October was gloomier than the previous month in every meaning of the word, and Anne struggled against those sickening feelings more with every passing day. She knew little about the going-ons in the Common Room because she couldn't stand the noise long enough to be around her brothers. The dorm was a punishment where she only entered seconds before curfew and promptly disappeared behind the bed curtains. Classes were also a chore.

She had to ask McGonagall to let her leave the classroom after Hestia attempted to turn her inkwell into a bird. The whole classroom was loud with Avifors, and she not only had the glee of the students fill her but also the confusion and panic of the deformed birds that either had an inkwell for a body or missed a leg or a head. While others found the lesson hilarious, she only felt mounting discomfort to the point she couldn't breathe anymore and almost screamed a Reverso at Hestia's headless dove before she realized she had forgotten the spell in her panic.

Eventually, McGonagall saw her sweaty and pale complexion and let her out to the loo. Anne didn't risk returning before the end of class, gathered her things and hurried to Herbology. That class was still a little easier, but she began to sense something disturbing from a few pots with unknown seedlings that week. Sprout said they would continue with those Mandrakes as soon as the saplings grew big enough to study them.

History of Magic was the best, with everyone gently sleeping all around. The occasional assault from the back rows when someone lost playing Exploding Snap was the least of her problems, unlike Defence Against the Dark Arts, which took a dark turn indeed, at least for Anne, who struggled to breathe evenly and did her utmost to cover her discomfort, especially since Quirrel once noticed, and put a 'comforting' hand on her shoulder. Anne shrieked, and the whole class laughed at her. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of the month.

In Potions, her focus wandered off when Katie Bell's exuberant glee attacked her senses from behind. It happened seconds before Snape took away the Witch Weekly she perused under the workbench. The rest of the period was filled with the girl's loud fuming that strangely didn't bother anyone else in the room.

She hated to be the odd duck. She had plenty of reasons to feel troubled without this absurd illness, especially with her awkwardly growing tits that just couldn't fit into her child bra anymore. At least she could write to her mother about that, and she only had to hide her spectacular blush and the box when the family owl arrived at the Great Hall one morning with a package from Vilhelmina's Secret – Magical Corsetry and So Much More.

The only good that came from her ailment was the speed her musical skills developed, playing her guitar being the only feeble layer that separated her life from pathological madness. Solitude helped, and the music suppressed the noise. She began to use both to her advantage on intention, and scheduled herself a two hours long private music session before she braved the Great Hall to celebrate Halloween sitting with her brothers.

Of course, it couldn't be as simple as that. She searched for Caleb and Gavin in the Common Room for minutes, mixing with her housemates and their bragging and bickering. She bumped into a seventh-year boy ogling one of his classmates and she felt lust when for the first time in her life. It almost knocked her off her feet. She scurried away, utterly embarrassed, just to cross paths with the smiling Phil, who radiated anger against the older Warrington and his smugness. There she finally found Caleb and heard him say he was sorry, while he instead felt gleeful and Gavin amused.

It didn't get any better in the Great Hall. A boy at the Ravenclaw table was homesick, and his emotions spotted the air all around. A Hufflepuff firstie was overjoyed about something. Others were full of anticipation or impatience, with occasionally nasty waves changing the air she tried to breathe. A look at some Gryffindor fourth years made her want to giggle with mischief. Then Amelia's blue eyes found her, and regrets and hurt washed over her. It wasn't what she felt; she didn't even remember what she felt on her own accord because all these emotions were as different from hers as others' voices when she spoke.

Amelia looked at the High Table, and Anne followed her gaze. The Headmaster looked like someone bursting with happy anticipation, but he was worried. McGonagall sat at his side with a measured smile, but she radiated dissatisfaction as she looked at her fourth years. Sprout talked to Flitwick and looked content but felt sleepy, making Anne yawn while the tiny wizard was bored. Snape–

When Anne glanced at him, and he turned his eyes away from the Slytherin table, his face looked smooth and emotionless, but he felt – Anne tried to focus and came up with nothing. Snape felt like a void. There were either no emotions or desires in Snape's heart at all, or she was blind to them. He was an oasis in the tumult of unchecked emotions! He was bliss to look at!

The meal appeared, and Anne dived in with the others, wishing that staring at her Head of House for an entire evening wasn't considered the peak of awkwardness. Anne began to panic, and as if by chance, Snape's gaze turned at him that instant. His eyes looked empty, and his person closed up like those windows she always imagined they were. Those windows were shut and locked. Anne gasped with the sudden realization and focused on the backroom of her skull, imagining that dark house that never revealed a thing – and the noise stopped!

Her face must have turned dull and distant because Gavin asked her if she felt all right, which pulled Anne back into the noisy reality, but finally, something worked! She was just to reassure her brother that everything was okay when the Great Hall's double doors turned to corner on their hinges, and Professor Quirrell stormed toward the High Table with all-shattering excitement, and waves and waves of malice lashing out against the Headmaster with so much force, Anne felt the hair standing up on her arm.

"A troll," – Quirrell shouted and must have added something more that Anne couldn't hear in the concerto of sudden emotion flaring up all around her.

Panic, excitement, confusion, curiosity, and fear filled the Hall – and her. The Headmaster gave some instructions, and Quirrell collapsed. Snape stood up and carried the void closer, and Anne finally managed to focus enough to step into line with the other Slytherins.

"Didn't he say it was in the dungeons?" – Gemma asked someone.

"How are we supposed to return to the Common Room in the dungeon?" – Gavin asked Phil before Caleb took his robe's collar and yanked him next to Anne, and his fear slapped her in the face.

When all queued up to approach the Common Room, Anne recalled the Sorting Hat once claiming that hiding was in numbers and suddenly felt grateful for her brothers holding her arms. She had no idea how pale she looked, or if sweat trickled down her temple, she could only focus on putting one leg after another while her vision began to blur.

It was an agitated sea of emotions, and she was losing herself, drowning. They passed by some Huffs, a pair of Gryffindor boys who strangely felt resolve instead of panic, then she collided with someone – and the world went black.

"I couldn't find any trace of a curse, Severus. Her readings only show a slightly heightened brain activity and an enormous stress level. Everything else seems normal," – said a snappy female voice somewhere close to Anne, but she was yet to muster the strength to open her eyes. "Could her peers tell if she saw the monster?"

"She didn't," – Professor Snape replied calmly.

"I say one of those brats got her with something nasty. Sneaky bastards!" – Filch's voice joined in and feeling the familiar waves of sympathy from the old man, Anne wanted to smile.

"My monitoring charms are detailed enough, Argus. There's no need you question them!" – The first female voice snapped at him. "And you should have left already. The last thing she needs is a fright when she comes around; my sedatives work overtime without students panicking at your sight!"

Filch grumbled something, but Anne couldn't discern his words. So that's why she couldn't feel her face – sedatives… Caleb had once told her everyone got a Sleeping Draught in the Infirmary, and he hated those. Was she at the Infirmary? Her eyes still refused to pop open. Whatever reason, Anne found she couldn't really care.

The room was so silent she could hear Snape's robe ruffling. She had no idea how she knew it was Snape's; nevertheless, she was sure about it. Even his voice came from a little closer:

"Poppy, just give us five minutes, and we will both leave," – he promised.

The snappy woman sniffled with annoyance. "Five minutes, no more," – she said, and Anne heard her walking away.

"Something nasty, Professah, mark my words," – Filch grumbled again. "A parrot among doves, that's what she is, and they'd never let her be."

"I doubt that," – Snape replied.

"I tell you, lad–"

"Ye've a'readeh to'd me, and I 'aven't fo'gotten," – Snape cut him, this time in that more leisurely tone Anne only heard him use last Halloween. "What yoo failed to add was that you came to care, ol' man" – there was a challenge in his voice.

"No need to taunt, lad. I still know a worthy tommy when I see one," – Filch persevered. "'Tis one's like you've benn, naught to judge by the seem."

Snape snorted. "Is that so? Ah gal shows you attention ol' sergeant, aan you vouch fer 'ern a'readeh?"

"Meh? I di'n' say she's fine fer liken' meh, I meant that 'cause she likes ya, Professah!"

Anne was distantly amazed by their friendliness and familiarity. Both were strangely marked by their shared Midland drawl.

"Did she tell you that?" – Snape's voice sounded a bit more serious again.

"She's no snitch like the rest o'em," – Filch replied. "You'll have prob'ems with this odd one aplenteh, but none will be her loyalteh fer sure."

For a while, Anne couldn't hear as much as a hush or a swipe of cloth, then Snape groused:

"Feckin' Huff'epuff shan't be my prob'em!"

It hurt so much Anne didn't want to hear the rest anymore, but strangely Filch wheezed with laughter.

"Pot calls the kettle, lad! Now I know you care," – he said and only wheezed harder when Snape grumbled his annoyance. "Come, she'll come around if you're right about it. I give you a fag, and we'll see to that leg!"

"A moment," – Snape replied.

It didn't escape Anne's notice that he didn't protest when Filch said he cared. She heard a step and ruffling robes again, then long fingers touched her temples and lifted her lashes. Her eyes were too unfocused to see Snape, but his fingers were dry and warm. The light hurt, and Anne was glad when her lashes fell back into place. Then a sing-song voice murmured above her. It was similar to Snape's, just warmer and kinder, and a wash of magic soothed the ache and tension in her skull. She felt his concern in the air above her even after his fingers left her temples and two pairs of footsteps left her alone.

The darkness Anne fell into was so calm and fuzzy she didn't even want to wake up. When she eventually did, she was grateful for that strange dream about people who cared. She still enjoyed the peace of mind that that sing-song voice gave her, and it hit hard how people thought that was just a phrase. Peace of mind was a blessing. A rare gift after two months of noise. When it slowly began to vanish, Anne tried to return to that backroom in her head, and with some hours of practice, she became pretty good at hiding there at will. There she felt safe.

Madame Pomfrey then declared her recovered from whatever ailed her, and Anne tentatively left the room in her head to ascertain the mediwitch's strange expression. Pomfrey was suspicious and uncertain, which probably explained her annoyance.

When Amelia visited an hour later, she was so full of regrets and worry Anne made a hasty retreat to the room in her head. It was hard to talk from that space, but at least Amelia was ready to be friends again.

"Oh, Anne, I was so frightened! You disappeared from class, and I overheard your brothers say after Herbology that you fainted, and no one knew why! They said Snape forbade them to visit you. Can you imagine why?"

Anne shook her head.

"It's good you're feeling better. We have tons of homework," – Amelia went on. "Would Gavin talk to me if I told him I visited?"

The wave of hope and excitement made Anne focus more on that backroom, and she tried to divert Amelia's attention by reaching for her notes. It might have been a mistake.

"A rabbit into slippers?" – Anne cried out, forgetting to hide. "What was McGonagall thinking?"

"Yeah, that's hard. We have already tried. And the theory is murder! See?" – Amelia showed it was two chapters in the book.

"I would take twice as much just have her drop the practice," – Anne sighed. "Can you imagine how a rabbit feels when it gets turned?"

Amelia looked surprised for only a second.

"Well, I guess that just means you should do it right. When it's transfigured, it shouldn't be a rabbit. That's the whole point, Anne."

"Perhaps. But how do you know you did it right? That it doesn't just look like a slipper?"

"You don't," - the Huff shrugged after a second of contemplation. "But who cares? If it looks like a pair of slippers, you get the point from McGonagall. Change it back after if you're so peevish!"

"But slippers shouldn't feel!" Anne argued. "How can you not want to know that?"

"I want the points," – Amelia reminded. "Leave it, Anne, we have no way to make sure anyway, and it's hard enough without being finicky. Slippers don't complain to McGonagall. You just make it even more confusing; no wonder you're pants at it!"

"Well, I'd rather have a P than watch them squirm. You would understand if you'd seen what Hestia had done to her poor bug."

With that, Amelia happily submerged into backbiting the Slytherin second years, and this time the inevitable specks of hurt and viciousness in the air felt almost good.

"Filch was all right, though," – Anne added when Amelia also raged against her detention. "He seems much worse than he actually is."

"Gods, Anne, you and your perverse love for detentions!" – The Huff rolled her eyes. "I swear I would never understand that!"

"You should come for tea once in his office, you would see–"

"Tea in his office?! Are you mad? Merlin, girl, next time you will ask me to comb Snape's hair!"

Anne must have looked hurt because Amelia went on more calmly: "I'm sorry, Anne, but you should hear yourself. It's not healthy. No wonder… hey, have you heard that he hurt his leg on Halloween? They say it happened when he wanted to do something especially nasty!"

"Professor Snape? No, I didn't know. What happened?"

"Dunno," – Amelia admitted. "But people say all kinds of things, and some Gryffindors are even convinced he has a bone to pick with Quirrell!"

Amelia looked scandalized, but Anne could only shrug. "I wouldn't be surprised. Quirrell's a nasty piece of work. He keeps bossing Filch around, and I didn't like what he pulled at Halloween at all."

"Oh, you poor thing!" – Amelia readily returned to her 'visiting at the Infirmary-' tone. "I don't think it was his fault, though. That troll wasn't even in the dungeons, so Snape has no reason to dislike him. I heard three Gryffs caught it in the first-floor girl's loo!" – She whispered. "One of them was Harry Potter!"

"Harry Potter caught a troll? But he's just a firstie! ...do you… do you think he is, you know, dark?"

Amelia shrugged. "Well, he's in Gryffindor, so he can't really be, right? And anyway, I don't think Filch should complain if someone jiggles him. He's the caretaker, after all. And poor Quirrell needs all the help, really. He's actually quite cute if you can forgo that stutter. I swear I haven't seen a grown wizard this insecure. Wouldn't finding him a decent witch and watching him build some confidence be nice?"

Anne tried and failed to look at Quirrell as a cute wizard, and her nose wrinkled with disgust. "Eww! I leave that for you. If I have to pity someone, that would be Filch. Not that he would want that, but his knees are hurting, and there are a hundred and forty-two staircases in this castle!"

"My aunt keeps saying that the back staff is always complaining, and one shouldn't give them too much of their mind."

"Is that the same aunt of yours who believes that goblins have no souls?" – Anne wanted to ask, but luckily Madame Pomfrey appeared by her bedside and sent Amelia on her merry way. She probably saved a friendship with her perfect timing.

After a lengthy check on the magical health scan that the mediwitch kept hovering above Anne's bed, she was cleared from the Infirmary. "You may return to your dormitory after dinner, dear. Professor Snape asked me to tell you that he's expecting to see you on his next open appointment."

Anne couldn't hide her excitement when she eagerly nodded. She wasn't sure if she only dreamt that her Head of House cared, but she wanted to somehow test her suspicions about her detentions with Filch. Snape probably had no idea he did her a favour.

"I overheard you about Mr. Filch, Miss Rosier," – Madame Pomfrey hesitantly said just before she turned away. "Your ability to recognize others' struggles should be praised, girl."

"He's in pain," – Anne repeated her worry, and the mediwitch nodded.

"I shouldn't go into details, but I know about his arthritis, Miss Rosier. I assure you he's got all the magical remedies available he needs. He asked about you too," – Madame Pomfrey added with some surprise.

Anne only smiled and decided to visit the caretaker's office immediately. Unfortunately, she didn't have much time to spend with Filch or his cat in the coming days. Catching up with her studies proved challenging, even with her newfound ability to hide in the back of her head. Staying long in the library during the busiest hours was still too much for her, especially after classes which tired her beyond measure. Even Madame Pince didn't take it kindly when she tried to check out more than four books at once, and she refused to let her shrink them, which made it nigh impossible to have sufficient study time in Anne's side tower.

The prep periods were Hell; after them, she only had an hour before the library closed. Her focus wandered if she didn't schedule enough solitude or music, and often she chose to forgo mealtimes to get some of her homework done in peace. Snape's office hours were taken until Friday, so she could sign up for an appointment only then. She was grumpy and hungry, and the three Gryffindor first years digging through the library rows looking for something that obviously didn't belong to the curriculum drove her mad. One of them was that strange girl she remembered searching for some toad on the train, which reminded Anne of Hestia's laughter, so she tried to avoid them at all costs.

Dear Rachel,

You may hear some news about my mishap at Halloween, please don't worry and tell Mum too that I'm fine. It seems the flu got me, but Madame Pomfrey at the Infirmary was very kind, and I'm already feeling better. The only problem is that I'm a little behind on homework now, so I can't write as much as I'd like.

Love,

Anne

It was feeble, and she knew it. Her conscience even rebelled, but what was she supposed to write? That she felt odd, and nothing seemed to help but a backroom in her head which she hoped Snape would tickle on Friday so she could ask what it was? She hoped to all spirits she wasn't going crazy!

As soon as the owl flew away, Anne attacked her homework. A short essay on doxies for Quirrell – what was so dark about some common pests? – then some reading up on the dealings of the Sardinian sorcerers in the fourteen hundreds. She'd already covered that last year with Caleb and Gavin. Twenty-five lines on the ingredients for a swelling solution and the loathed Transfiguration problem, rabbits into slippers.

Friday finally arrived without losing any more points to Slytherin for missing homework, even if she had to skip most of the meals and spent so much time with her guitar that Gavin stopped her in the Common Room to ask if she was okay. Anne knocked on her Head of House's office door right after her revisions at dinner time in the library and blamed her light-headedness on anxiety.