The remainder of the year was a waking nightmare for Jane. Each day bled into the next, a relentless cycle of exhaustion, frustration, and isolation. With every waking moment she seemed to get worse. Sleep was a luxury she could rarely obtain, stolen in fragments of two or three hours and haunted by nightmares and restless thoughts. The headaches returned with a vengeance, a constant pounding at the gates of her skull. Her once vibrant spirit was dulled to a muted grey, a casualty of the constant barrage of stress and fatigue.

Her friends, once her unwavering support system, began to create distance. Olivia and Eleanor exchanged worried glances, their eyes filled with concern when Jane snapped at them over trivial matters. Lily, ever the loyal Gryffindor, tried to bridge the gap, but Jane's erratic behaviour and unpredictable temper made it difficult for anyone to stay close. Jane could see the confusion and hurt in their eyes. Yet, she couldn't seem to break free from the cycle of lashing out, her actions driven by a storm of emotions she couldn't control.

Jane's existence had devolved into a monotonous cycle of detentions, each day a grim procession of menial tasks under Filch's unrelenting surveillance. Scrubbing floors, polishing trophies, and cleaning up after Peeves became her nightly ordeal. Her body protested the relentless physical exertion, her muscles aching with each passing hour. The unforgiving stone beneath her knees and the pervasive stench of antiquity assaulted her senses, as she found herself trapped in a purgatory of boredom and physical discomfort.

One particularly dreary evening, lost in the task of eradicating a stubborn stain from the trophy room floor, Jane was startled from her reverie by the creaking intrusion of the door. Expecting the familiar spectre of Filch, she continued her scrubbing without lifting her head. Yet, the ensuing sound was not the gruff tones she anticipated, but rather a voice she recognized.

"Jane," Snape's voice, devoid of any discernible emotion, sliced through the stagnant air.

Her grip on the scrub brush tightened involuntarily as she froze in place. "What do you want, Snape?" she retorted with undisguised contempt. The abrasive screech of the bristles against the stone floor provided a fitting soundtrack to her growing annoyance.

"I've been trying to talk to you. But you've consistently avoided me." Snape replied, closing the door behind him.

A bitter laugh escaped Jane's lips. "Oh, really? I wonder why that might be. Perhaps it's because our conversations always end in disaster. And I get detention."

"You need to understand—"

"I don't need to understand anything," Jane interrupted. "Your intentions have been made abundantly clear."

Before Snape could formulate a response, the door creaked open once more, revealing the disgruntled visage of Filch.

"No talking during detention!" Filch barked, his eyes darting between the two of them. "Get back to work!" Turning his attention fully to Jane, he added with exaggerated exasperation, "Another week of detention for you. Unless you want the whips and chains. This is not time to socialise." His gaze then shifted to Snape. "You! Out!"

Snape returned Filch's glare with a look of pure contempt before turning his attention back to Jane. "This isn't over," he muttered as he disappeared out the door, his school robes swishing in the wake of his departure.

The anger brewed within her like a volcano preparing to erupt. She attacked the floor with renewed ferocity, desperate to channel her frustration into the mundane task. The encounter with Snape had only stirred the cauldron of her emotions, creating a maelstrom within her. The icy sting of the soapy water offered a mildly calming physical contrast to the fiery inferno raging within her mind.

"Another week of detention. That bloody bastard," Jane muttered under her breath, barely audible above the rhythmic sloshing of the water.

As the weeks dragged on, Jane's isolation grew. Her friends now seemed to subtly avoid her. She caught snippets of conversations where they expressed their concerns, their confusion, and their sadness over the friend they were losing. The hallways that had once echoed with their laughter now seemed to whisper behind her back.

The Hufflepuff common room was unusually quiet when Jane stepped through the entrance. The warmth of the low, golden light and the gentle crackling of the hearth should have been comforting, but it only made the air feel heavier. She barely had the energy to take in her surroundings after detention, the weight of exhaustion settling deep in her bones.

Then she noticed them.

Eleanor, Lily, and Olivia were waiting by the fireplace, their conversation halting the moment Jane entered. Eleanor's arms were crossed tightly, her expression strained. Lily shifted uncomfortably, avoiding direct eye contact. Olivia was absently braiding a small section of her hair—Jane recognized it as a nervous habit.

Stopping in her tracks, Jane's eyes narrowed slightly. "What?" she asked flatly, too tired for whatever this was.

Eleanor glanced at the others, then stepped forward. "Jane, we… we need to talk."

"Talk about what?" Jane's stomach twisted, but she kept her face neutral.

"Just—can you sit down?" Lily tried coaxing.

Her blue eyes flicked to the armchair Lily gestured toward. The idea of sitting, of making herself smaller in front of them, felt mortifying. She straightened her shoulders. "No. I'll stand."

The girls exchanged another uneasy glance. Olivia's fingers twisted the braid tighter.

"It's just… you've been different lately," Eleanor started carefully. "Really different."

"And distant," Olivia added, barely above a whisper.

Lily took a breath. "And Snape. He's always around you. He's not… Jane, he's not someone you should be close to. He's, well…he's dark. Dangerous."

The room suddenly felt too small, too close. Her defenses shot up as Jane's lungs began to shut down.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

"No, you're not," Olivia said, firm in her words but not unkind. "You've shut us out."

"We found the letter, Jane," Eleanor explained. "The one Snape sent you. The invitation to Yaxley Manor."

All the blood drained from Jane's face. Her eyes went wide, and she quickly suppressed the panic bubbling up inside her. How dare they go through her things.

"What did you do with it?" she asked tightly.

Lily spoke next. "We did the only logical thing, Jane. We took it to the Headmaster."

She couldn't breathe. The betrayal tore through her with its jagged edge.

"You did what?" Jane shook with fury as she took a step forward, eyes as cold as the twelfth circle of hell. "You took it to Dumbledore? How dare you?"

Lily opened her mouth to speak, but Jane cut her off, her anger erupting.

"They're my choices to make, not yours! I don't need you running to Dumbledore behind my back, thinking you know what's best for me!" Her voice broke with the force of her frustration, her knuckles turning white from how hard she clenched her hands into fists.

"We were just worried, Jane. We don't want you getting mixed up in—"

"I'm DONE with you!" Jane screamed, the ends of her hair sparking, the words leaving her mouth like a lash. "I'm done with all of you!"

Olivia looked as if she might cry, but Jane didn't give her the chance. "You think you can control me? You think you can save me from myself? No, Eleanor, Lily, Olivia—I'm done. I'm not your friend anymore. How dare you—how dare you betray me like this?"

Her breath came in ragged gasps, the words stinging in the air like poison. The space between them felt insurmountable now, and the warmth of the common room was gone.

Without another word, Jane turned on her heel, not waiting for their apologies or explanations. She was done.

From then on, days turned into a blur of solitude and fear. She skipped meals, preferring the solitude of an empty classroom to the crowded Great Hall. Every shadow, every creak of the castle, sent shivers down her spine. Her former friends—now traitors—gave her looks of concern that now felt like accusations. Hogwarts, no longer a home, had become a prison.

Dumbledore's office remained closed to her. A growing dread settled in her stomach as she realised he might never summon her. Panic set in as she frantically searched her belongings for the letter of invitation to Yaxley Manor and the portkey, only to find them missing. A cold dread washed over her; they were undoubtedly in the hands of the dreaded headmaster after her "friends" had taken them.

The thought of attending the event was unthinkable;The mere idea of sharing a room with a coven of dark wizards performing an unknown ritual was terrifying. She knew she would never go. But, if she had to be honest with herself, a strange thrill coursed through her. Snape's interest in her was intoxicating; the idea of being sought after, of being chosen, was a heady sensation. Never before had she felt so desired, so special. The thrill of the chase, even if the hunter was a dark wizard, was addictive. It was a dangerous game, but one she knew better to participate in.

The final full day of term loomed large, casting a feeling of uncertainty over Jane. She had finally been summoned to Dumbledore's office and on such a day, it was perplexing, to say the least. The letter had appeared on her bed, stating that she was to meet with him the next day at 6 am before the train left Hogsmeade station and gave the password for his office. As she lay in bed, her mind ran with endless possibilities, each one worse than the last. Why had the Headmaster waited until the final day to call her? What could he possibly want? Was it a reprimand? An accusation? Or perhaps something more sinister? The questions gnawed at her, an insistent throb on her psyche. Sleep was a distant prospect as dawn approached, leaving her increasingly on edge.

As six o'clock approached, Jane groaned and rolled out of bed. A quick spell filled her battered plastic Clangers cup with water. The once vibrant image of the mouse family on the cup was fading with time, but the cold liquid was refreshing. Feeling marginally better, she stuffed the cup into her trunk and pulled on her uniform.

With a heavy heart, Jane began the trek to Dumbledore's office. The castle was eerily quiet at this early hour, the usual bustle of students replaced by an unnatural stillness. As she approached the imposing gargoyle, Jane found herself scratching the inside of her palms as a way to soothe herself. Pulling the small, crumpled note from her robes, she read the password: "Fizzy Spangles."

The stone creature swung upwards, revealing the stairs that led to the entrance to the Headmaster's office. As she stepped inside the office, her breath caught in her throat. Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, his usual twinkling eyes replaced by a strange, unnerving glint. His posture was rigid, an unfamiliar stillness to his normally animated figure.

"Ah, Miss Lewis," Dumbledore began, his words carrying an unusual weight. "Please, have a seat."

There was a long pause as he regarded her with a penetrating stare. The warmth and kindness that typically characterized his demeanor were absent, replaced by a cold detachment that chilled Jane to the bone.

"Professor," Jane replied, sinking into the plush armchair with a tight breath. The room felt off. Fawkes' perch stood empty, and the usual ticking of enchanted trinkets had been replaced by an empty silence. Even the fire in the hearth seemed subdued, its embers casting muted shadows across the room. A prickling unease wrapped around her, tightening with every passing second.

Dumbledore gestured toward a silver tea tray perched on the edge of his desk. "Tea, Miss Lewis?" he offered, as calm as ever.

She shook her head sharply, her nerves fraying at the edges. "No, thank you," she replied, wishing she could vanish into the depths of the chair.

As Dumbledore studied her carefully, the familiar twinkle in his eyes was notably absent. "Do you know why you're here, Miss Lewis?"

A jolt of panic coursed through her, icy and unrelenting. She instinctively grasped for the safety of denial, her words leaving her mouth too quickly. "No, Professor."

The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy as the truth she was desperate to hide.

The Headmaster folded his hands neatly on the desk, his tone steady but laced with something she couldn't quite place. "You are here because I have been made aware of a rather concerning letter. Your friends were kind enough to bring it to my attention."

Jane bristled, the word friends slicing through her like a blade. "They're not my friends," she snapped, the heat of her defensiveness flaring before she could rein it in.

Dumbledore's gaze did not waver, but his silence spoke volumes. It was the kind of silence that pulled at the truth, leaving no place for lies to hide.

"Miss Lewis, that is not what I wanted to hear. Those girls were a large part of why I placed you in Hufflepuff in the first place."

The Sorting Hat was supposed to be impartial, and chose a student's house based on their inherent qualities. The idea that Dumbledore had influenced the process was inconceivable. "You can-can't control where the Sorting Hat puts you," she stammered.

Laughter echoed throughout the room, Dumbledore obviously found her disbelief amusing. Rising slowly from his chair, he regarded Jane with a knowing smile. "You would be surprised what a simple Confundus Charm can do."

She sunk back into her chair. "No."

"Yes, Miss Lewis. I can do many great and terrible things," Dumbledore said quietly. His eyes narrowed as he took another step closer, the swish of his periwinkle robes echoing in the quiet room. The oppressive atmosphere was intensifying, now pressing down on Jane. A throbbing pain began to pulse in her temples, a physical manifestation of her growing fear.

"Why?" was all she could croak, the pain in her head magnifying to an unbearable level.

"There are far greater plans and events in emotions than you can know of, Miss Lewis." His towering figure loomed over her, the hem of his robe brushing against her Mary Janes.

There was no escape.

Nowhere to run.

"Don't worry," Dumbledore soothed with false kindness. "You won't be able to remember a thing." His wand, gleaming ominously, rose towards her head. Tears streamed down Jane's face, her body shaking uncontrollably. Her throat tightened, a desperate gasp for air escaping her lips. Fear, cold and suffocating, consumed her entirely.

All she could do was begin to scream, "No!" But the word was cut short as a blinding white light engulfed her vision.

And then she heard it.

"Legilimens."

For the first time in six years, Jane did not attend the end-of-year sleepover party in the Hufflepuff common room. The usual laughter, pillow fights, and whispered secrets by the fireplace were replaced by the silence of her dormitory. The absence of her presence was keenly felt by her friends, but Jane was beyond caring.

Packing her belongings was a mechanical exercise, each item handled with a detached indifference. The once-cherished objects, symbols of a life filled with laughter and friendship, now seemed like relics from a distant past. The familiar comfort of her dormitory, with its sunny yellow walls and cosy furnishings, had transformed into a cold, empty shell. A heaviness settled in her chest as she realised she was leaving behind more than just clothes and books; she was abandoning a part of herself.

The train journey home was a solitary affair. Seeking refuge from the world, Jane claimed a compartment at the train's end. Pulling the curtains closed, she retreated into a cocoon of darkness. As the train rumbled to life, she curled into a tight ball, her arms wrapped around her knees, her head pressed against the cool glass of the window.

The world outside was a blur of green fields and passing houses, but Jane was oblivious. The rhythmic click-clack of the train seemed to echo in her skull.

Her mind felt besieged by anxious thoughts, a constant barrage of worries. Shadows, once ordinary, now seemed to lengthen and shift, their movements unsettling. A tightness constricted her chest, making it difficult to breathe, and a sense of dread began to creep in. Reality seemed to waver, the edges blurring as fear threatened to overwhelm her.

A sudden, chilling draft swept through the compartment, transforming the enclosed space into an icy tomb. Jane's breath caught in her throat as visible puffs of condensation materialised in the frigid air. Panic clawed at her insides. Her eyes darted towards the compartment door, a dark portal to an unknown terror.

In the dim, ethereal light filtering through the frosted glass, Jane's eyes strained to make sense of the shadowy figures moving outside. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The glass was rapidly frosting over, each icy crystal a reminder of the plummeting temperature. A single word echoed through her mind: Dementors.

Fear enveloped Jane. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to block out the encroaching darkness. Her body shivered uncontrollably and she curled in on herself, desperately seeking warmth and solace, anything to dispel the icy horror that gripped her.

Happy memories slipped away like sand. Time seemed to stand still as Jane huddled unmoving in the corner like a marble statue. Each breath was a laboured effort, a desperate attempt to draw in warmth and stave off the cold.

Finally, the relentless forward motion of the train began to decelerate. The compartment, slowly but surely, began to reclaim its warmth as the frost on the window started to melt, revealing the world beyond. Jane's breaths came in ragged gasps, her fingers full of static as the heat returned. Her knuckles were white, imprinted with the pressure of her own desperation.

The train screeched to a halt, its arrival heralded by the chorus of disembarking students: the slam of carriage doors, the excited chatter, the hurried clip-clop of footsteps, and the rumble of luggage wheels. Jane uncurled slowly, her body protesting the unfamiliar movement. Stiff muscles ached as she stood. The world outside the train seemed impossibly bright, causing Jane to squint just to look at it.

With shaky hands, Jane gathered her belongings, her mind still trapped. Stepping onto the bustling platform, she felt like a ghost haunting the world of the living.

Jane's father stood apart from the crowd of witches and wizards awaiting their children, his Muggle attire making him stand out compared to the flowing robes and pointed hats. He looked pathetically out of place, yet there was an air of quiet confidence about him. When Jane approached him, she offered a weak, one-armed hug.

"How was the train ride?" he asked with his familiar roughness.

Her gaze fixed on the ground, Jane mumbled an incoherent response.

Jane's father reached into the depths of his worn jeans pocket and pulled out an old, mismatched sock. With a casual flick of his wrist, he held out the sock to Jane. Upon grabbing onto the sock, the world around them dissolved. Jane squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the disorienting sensation of a portkey. When her vision cleared, they were standing in the familiar kitchen of their Muggle home.

A profound silence greeted Jane as she stood there. Without another word to her father, Jane dragged her trunk up the ancient staircase. When she collapsed onto the bed, the worn springs groaned in protest beneath her weight. Jane curled into a tight ball and a low, guttural sob escaped her throat, the dam of tears breaking after far too long. Tears, hot and relentless, streamed down her face, each drop a silent accusation against the world. Her chest heaved with each convulsive breath.

She felt utterly alone and worst of all, she knew it was true.

A/N: I am so excited to post the next chapter but alas my Beta has it. So I guess we have to work on book two draft. Also I wrote a 30k SSHG based off the movie You've Got Mail. It's HEA and Snape wears a party hat so maybe check it out. :)