The last two weeks of summer had been a relentless descent into a shadowy abyss. The world outside her bedroom window seemed to blur into an indistinguishable grey. Food had lost its appeal and Jane found herself barely eating. Her reflection in the mirror was a stranger's, gaunt and hollowed-out.
In the past years, the Hogwarts Express was a sanctuary, a place where there was nothing but hope for the upcoming year. But today, it offered no respite. Eleanor and Olivia were there to greet her with their usual warmth, but their cheerful chatter didn't quite reach Jane's ears. Their summer adventures, the vibrant colours of their stories, flickered out the second they spoke.
Jane could see the concern in their eyes, the unspoken questions hanging in the air, but the effort to respond felt like climbing an insurmountable mountain. Instead, her gaze was drawn to the ever-changing landscape outside the train window. The world outside seemed to hold more reality than the one within her.
The Sorting Ceremony was a blur of emerald green and yellow. New faces, filled with excitement and anticipation, washed over her, but she felt nothing. The usual thrill of welcoming new Hufflepuffs to their house was absent. Their enthusiasm seemed a distant echo, a sound from another life. Even when a new herbology professor and Hufflepuff Head of House was announced, Jane barely could bring herself to clap.
Dinner was a choreographed affair. The Great Hall, usually a bustling marketplace of noise and laughter, felt like a mausoleum. The familiar comfort of treacle tart, a dessert she'd once savoured, sat untouched on her plate—one bite was all she could manage before pushing the plate away
The announcement of the Hufflepuff service project was met with thunderous enthusiasm that rippled through the common room. Helping the ghosts catalog their life and death histories was a cause that would become close to the heart of many Hufflepuffs, a testament to their inherent kindness and compassion. In past years, Jane would have been at the forefront of the excitement, her heart filled with empathy as she imagined the comfort it would bring to the castle's spectral residents. But this year, the news fell flat.
Jane moved through her days like a ghost, a silent observer of her own life. Classes became a blur of inky scribbles and half-heard lectures. Her once sharp mind seemed clouded, struggling to retain information. The familiar comfort of the Hufflepuff common room offered no solace. Olivia and Eleanor, caught in the whirlwind of their own lives, were oblivious to the storm raging within her. The other Hufflepuffs, absorbed in their studies or extracurricular activities, failed to notice the subtle shift in their friend. Jane's solitary nature, often mistaken for dedication, served as a perfect camouflage.
What they didn't know was how the nightmares had become an almost nightly issue for Jane. A strange, unfamiliar room, its walls receding into an endless void. In the centre, a colossal skeleton lay sprawled, an eerie, skeletal sentinel. And then, the screams—a chilling crescendo that shattered her sleep.
She would awaken drenched in sweat, her heartbeat rumbling and sputtering like the engine of an old car. The dream's cold grip lingered, casting a long shadow over her waking hours. The lack of restful sleep was etching permanent dark circles beneath her eyes and dulling her till she was a shade of grey.
The one constant in Jane's otherwise muted existence was the imposing figure of Snape. While she couldn't say that he was a light in her life in any way, his shadow wasn't as dark as the others. His sneering comments and condescending tone were a sharp sting against her numbed senses. Normally, his behaviour would have ignited a fire within her, a defiant spirit to match his arrogance. But now, her anger was a muted ember, smouldering beneath the surface. It was a bitter taste in her mouth, a constant low-grade irritation that added a sharp edge to her already bleak days.
Every encounter with Snape was a jab to her already bruised spirit. It wasn't just his current demeanour that grated on her nerves but the shackles of the past. The vivid memory of their confrontation outside the Gryffindor common room and his cruel words were welded in her mind. The image of Lily, her friend, her sister, a victim of Snape's venomous tongue, was a constant ache. The way he seemed to derive pleasure from tormenting others was grotesque, a reminder of the sadistic darkness that existed within some people. It all fueled the quiet fire within her, just strong enough to stop it from going out.
Despite everything, Jane immersed herself in her studies. The library became her sanctuary, a fortress of silence where she could escape the turmoil within. Towering stacks of books surrounded her, protecting her like a maiden in a tower. She poured over notes, her quill scratching across parchment with a monotonous rhythm. Spells were memorised with mechanical precision, potions recipes dissected with clinical detachment. Her grades remained exemplary, but the satisfaction that once accompanied academic achievement was absent. It was as if she were a skilled automaton, going through the motions without feeling or purpose.
In Potions, Snape's frigid stare seemed to follow her every move. His sharp comments about her technique or her choice of ingredients were barbed and cutting. Jane responded with curt nods and terse replies, her face an emotionless mask. She didn't rise to his bait, didn't engage in his petty battles. She simply struggled to bring herself to truly care.
Snape's win of the Felix Felicis potion, a blatant display of favouritism, and his subsequent invitation to the Slug Club were events that normally would have ignited a storm of protest within her. But now, they were simply footnotes in the larger narrative of her life, insignificant details in a world painted in shades of grey.
In Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, Snape's presence was equally intrusive. Jane found it harder and harder to concentrate, her thoughts drifting back to their previous encounters. She could feel his eyes on her, as if he was a fly she couldn't swat away.
Jane sat at her desk in Defence Against the Dark Arts, her fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the worn wood. Professor Dawlish, a spindly man with thinning hair and a perpetual air of unease, droned on about the nuances of shielding charms. His lectures were a monotonous dirge, barely a change in his inflection as he spoke. The professor's lack of preparation was evident in his halting speech and nervous gestures, creating an atmosphere of boredom. Jane found her mind wandering, ignoring the dull recitation of theory the professor blathered on about, it was practical application she craved.
Her mind, however, soon was elsewhere—drifting through the fog of yet another restless night plagued by nightmares. The skeletal figure, its empty eye sockets burning into her consciousness, was a persistent specter, often haunting her waking hours. She tried forcing herself to concentrate on Professor Dawlish's ramblings, but the words seemed to wash over her without leaving a trace.
The classroom was beginning to blur at the edges, and a rush of dizziness crawled down her. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. The familiar sensation of detachment crept in, a cold emptiness replacing the usual warmth of her blood. Rubbing her eyes with her palms, Jane desperately pushed through it.
When he finally announced they would be practising the charm in partnerships, Jane couldn't help but roll her eyes at the obvious oversight of not clearing the desks beforehand. This man was completely daft compared to how Professor Lupin used to teach. With those words, Jane blinked the strange thought away. She had never had a Professor named Lupin, just a friend.
The classroom erupted into a cacophony of noise as students hurriedly shoved heavy wooden desks to the sides of the room. Papers scattered, books tumbled, and muttered complaints filled the air. Jane stood off to the side, her arms crossed over her chest, watching the chaos unfold with a detached indifference. It was as if she were observing a scene from a movie—her emotions muted, her reactions delayed.
As pairs began to form, Jane noticed a fellow Hufflepuff approaching her with a tentative smile.
"Hey, Jane, want to pair up?" they asked, their voice hopeful. Jane looked at them blankly for a moment, her mind struggling to process the request.
Before she could respond, a dark figure stepped between them. Snape's imposing presence filled the space, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mixture of challenge and satisfaction. "We already agreed to duel," he lied smoothly with an air of finality.
Her eyebrows slowly rose up in surprise. They had done no such thing, but she couldn't summon the energy to argue. With a resigned shrug, she moved to the designated duelling area. A surge of irritation mingled with a strange sense of detachment as she gripped her wand. She was tired, and she really just wanted to go study. But here she was, about to duel the biggest git ever to exist.
Snape smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "Ready for a rematch, Jane? Or are you still too afraid after ambushing me last year?"
There was a brief flicker of anger before she tamped it down. She simply nodded, raising her wand without a word. The professor, finally noticing the palpable tension between them, clapped his hands for attention.
"All right, everyone! Remember, focus on your incantation and wand movements."
Snape's eyes never left Jane, ire burning in their depths.
"Remember, no permanent harm," he reminded the class with a paper-thin layer of authority over his obvious nervousness.
Barely listening to the instructions, Jane's focus narrowed, ready for the duel ahead. The rest of the class faded into a blur as she took her position opposite Snape. His smug expression was a familiar irritant, a reminder of his superiority complex. A small trickle of adrenaline flowed into her veins, just enough to keep her alert to what was about to occur.
"On three," Professor Dawlish said. "One, two, three—
"Diffindo!"
Snape wasted no time as a bolt of light pink light shot from his wand. Without second thought, Jane shot a Protego. Her shield absorbed the impact, flickering slightly before holding firm. She returned the attack with a Disarming Spell, which Snape deflected with ease.
The duel continued, spells flying back and forth. Snape was relentless, his determination evident in every movement. Jane, however, moved through the motions mechanically, her mind wandering as her body executed each spell. She blocked and countered, but there was no real effort behind her actions.
"Is that all you've got, Jane? I expected more from you." Snape sneered.
Jane's gaze hardened momentarily. "Why do you care?" she snapped back, colder than she felt. This response back at him was second nature after all these years.
Snape's eyes flashed with anger. "Because you humiliated me last year, and I am here to prove it was a fluke."
Jane's grip tightened on her wand, a surge of irritation allowing her to forget how tired she truly was. "It wasn't a fluke, Snape. Maybe you're just not as good as you think you are."
Snape's face twisted with fury, and he launched another hex at her, more forceful this time. Jane deflected it, her shield wavering but holding.
Then there was a cry from across the room.
The duels were called to a sudden halt as Professor Dawlish hurried over to a student who had been struck badly with a slashing charm. There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone watched the injured student being helped out of the room, leaving a trail of blood on the stone floor.
"Everyone, stay here," the professor instructed in a rushed, nervous tone, his words cracking slightly under the pressure. He glanced around anxiously before hurrying after the injured student, leaving the rest of the class in a tense silence.
Face twisting with fury, Snape turned sharply towards Jane, his black eyes glittering with malice. "You think you're so clever, Hufflepuff. Always acting like you know everything."
"I don't have to prove anything to you, Snape," she shot back.
Snape's lip curled into a disdainful smirk. "Oh, but you do. Especially after what happened last year. You owe me that much."
"I don't owe you anything. You're the one who—"
The air crackled with ozone and the acrid bite of burnt parchment as Snape's hex collided with a desk right behind Jane, the spell grazing curled hair that sat around her head like a matted halo. On instinct, Jane shot a hex back at him and with that their duel continued. The once somewhat orderly classroom was quickly turned into a chaotic battleground. Desks were upended, spewing quills, parchment, and inkwells across the floor. A few stray textbooks smouldered, their pages curling at the edges. Scorch marks marred the previously pristine walls.
Snape, his black robes billowing around him, duelled with a cold fury etched on his face. His spells were precise and venomous, like a viper preparing to strike. Jane, in contrast, moved with quicksilver grace. Her wand a blur, she deflected, countered, and disarmed with practised efficiency. To anyone who knew what to look for, it was obvious this girl had been trained to fight for her life and had plenty of experience doing so.
"Pathetic," Snape sneered, sending a jet of crimson light slicing towards Jane. It missed by a hair, embedding itself in a nearby desk and leaving a smoking gash in the wood. A collective gasp rose from the class, but the students remained rooted to their spots, their eyes wide with a mixture of terror and morbid fascination.
Jane gritted her teeth, her anger flaring. "Why are you doing this?" she demanded, momentarily dropping her guard.
Snape seized his opportunity, a cruel smile twisting his lips. He muttered a vicious incantation, his wand tip glowing a sinister crimson. A shadowy blade, shimmering with dark energy, erupted from his wand and snaked towards Jane with malevolent intent. With a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a wave of shimmering blue energy. It collided with the shadowy blade in a dazzling display of light, pushing it back towards Snape. The force of the impact sent him staggering backwards, his smirk replaced by a look of barely controlled rage.
His demeanor shifted dramatically, his face contorting into a mask of fury. A torrent of spells erupted from his wand, each more powerful than the last. Green bolts of energy, red flashes of fire, and blinding white lights filled the classroom. Jane was forced into a defensive crouch, her wand moving in a blur as she deflected the relentless assault. The impact of each spell sent shockwaves through her body, but she refused to yield.
With a final, desperate effort, Snape unleashed a spell of immense power. A blinding orange light filled the room, followed by a deafening explosion. The force of the blast sent Jane flying backward, her body crashing against the stone wall. Pain erupted through her limbs as she slid to the ground, her vision blurred and disoriented.
Fear, cold and insidious, crept into her consciousness. Snape was advancing, his figure a dark silhouette against the backdrop of shattered glass and upended desks. His eyes, twin embers of malice, were fixed upon her. As he crouched, his wand raised, ready to deliver the final blow, a sob escaped her lips. Tears, hot and stinging, streamed down her face, a painful contrast to the icy calm she had previously maintained. She felt pathetic.
Jane's voice, barely a whisper, broke the heavy silence. "Please. Severus. Stop," she pleaded, her body trembling. "I didn't mean to... I'm sorry."
Her apologies sounded hollow even to her own ears, lost in the deafening echo of her fear. She tried to scramble backward, but her body refused to obey. Tears blurred her vision, making Snape nothing but a dark blur. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable impact.
Then the unexpected happened. He paused, his wand hovering centimetres from her. Something in her voice, a raw vulnerability that pierced through the layers of fear and defiance, stopped him. It wasn't just the plea for mercy, but the way she had said his name. Not 'Snape', but 'Severus'. It was a name she had only called him once before, the first day of potions back in first year.
With her body trembling with adrenaline and fear, Jane tried to stand up. Her knees gave out from under her. Wincing in pain, she fumbled for her wand, her fingers shaking uncontrollably. Snape, his expression unreadable, extended a hand towards her. Hesitantly, she accepted his help, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Her legs were jelly, and she swayed precariously for a moment before finding her balance.
Overwhelmed, Jane wrapped her arms around Snape's neck, her face buried in his shoulder. Tears streamed down her face, a silent torrent of relief. Snape didn't move. He stood there frozen as she cried and buried her face even further into the crook of his neck. She noted that he smelled of African Sea Salt and Wormwood. Slowly, his arms found their way awkwardly around her waist, offering a semblance of comfort. None of the other students in the room approached them or made any sounds louder than a whisper. All were stunned by the two rivals.
After what felt like an eternity, Jane pulled back, her words a mere whisper, "I'm sorry," she managed to say.
Her expression then hardened as she tightened her grip on Severus. With a predatory efficiency, she launched her counterattack. Her knee found its mark with surgical precision, connecting with Severus's groyne in a blow that was as sudden as it was devastating. A guttural cry tore from his lips as he doubled over, his body convulsing under the excruciating pain. Seizing the moment, Jane unleashed a second wave of agony. Her heel crashed down on his foot, the bone-jarring impact twisting his toes at an impossible angle. Severus's face contorted in a mask of pain as he stumbled backward, his balance shattered by the merciless assault.
Transforming into a blur of motion, her wand was a lethal extension of her will. Spells erupted from her fingertips in rapid succession, a chaotic barrage aimed at Severus. He danced back, his wandwork a frantic display of counter-magic. Each incantation was a duel of wits, a battle fought in milliseconds. A shield charm here, a disarming charm there, Severus fought to maintain his ground. Yet, for every spell he deflected, a dozen more seemed to fly towards him. Finally, a rogue hex found its mark. A sharp pain lanced across Jane's lip as a crimson line appeared. Her tongue licked away the blood as her eyes burned with the fires of hell. Snape had to go.
With a near silent whisper, she unleashed a war ending spell. "Expelliarmus!" The incantation was a catalyst, igniting a crimson beam that hurtled towards Snape with deadly intent.
He met the challenge with a counter-spell, a desperate bid to deflect the oncoming magic. Their wands clashed in a blinding flash of light, a duel fought in mere nanoseconds. But Jane's spell was relentless, and with an explosive crack, Snape's wand was wrenched from his grasp. The wand arced through the air, moving as if in slow motion before landing with a thud on the stone floor at the feet of some fellow students.
A heavy silence enveloped the room, punctuated only by the ragged gasps of Severus Snape. His wand lay discarded, a useless piece of wood. Before he could recover, Jane seized the moment.
Jane roared, "Flipendo!"
A blinding bolt of light erupted from Jane's wand, a concentrated burst of magic that seemed to illuminate the entire room for a fleeting moment. The spell connected with Snape's chest with the force of a battering ram, sending him careening backwards. His body arced through the air, a human projectile. With a thunderous crash, he landed amidst a tangle of overturned and battered desks, their wooden frames splintering under the impact. Snape lay motionless, his body sprawled across the broken furniture. His face was a mask of shock, his eyes wide and unfocused. The barometric pressure dropped in the room, sucking all sound out with it, only to be broken only by the ragged gasps of those who had witnessed the astonishing display of magic.
A cold, predatory gleam ignited in Jane's eyes as she approached Snape. For the first time in weeks, a surge of emotion coursed through her veins – a potent cocktail of hatred and fury. It was a stark contrast to the emotional void she had inhabited for so long, and while the intensity of the feeling was blinding, it was a welcome change from the emptiness. This was merely the beginning, she vowed silently. As she drew closer, her resolve hardened. With a precise movement, she cast the Carpe Retractum spell, a surge of magical energy binding Snape and pulling him inexorably towards her.
With a feral intensity, Jane launched herself onto Snape, her weight crashing down upon him. Her knee connected with his chest with a sickening crunch, the impact forcing the air from his lungs in a violent expulsion. Her grip tightened around his wrists, bending them painfully above his head. With a flick of her wand, a binding spell secured his arms, rendering him utterly helpless.
Her wand hovered mere inches from his throat, its pulsating tip casting an ominous shadow across his pale skin. Adrenaline surged through Jane's veins, her breathing ragged, but her voice was chillingly calm.
"Do you surrender, Snape?" she demanded, her eyes burning with a ferocious defiance that held his gaze captive. The classroom was frozen in time, the only sound the desperate gasps escaping Snape's trapped lungs. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
His eyes, dark and calculating, met hers. His jaw was clenched in a silent 'no'. She ignored the response, pressing the cold tip of her wand harder against his throat, the wood biting into his skin.
"Answer me!" she demanded with a raw, edged whisper.
It was at that moment that Professor Dawlish burst into the room, his shock and alarm evident. His eyes darted between the two of them, landing on the wand pressed against Snape's throat.
"What in Merlin's name is happening here?"
Not moving, Jane ignored the professor. Her only focus was making Snape pay. Pay for his insults, his terrible comments to her and her friends, for betraying Dumbledore…
Lost in the throes of her rage, it took a minute for her to realize that there was a hand on her shoulder. Slowly the fog of rage slipped from around her leaving nothing for her to feel.
"He attacked first," she managed to croak out. "I was merely defending myself."
The professor's gaze flickered between the two, his thoughts written in large loopy lettering across his face. After a long moment, he declared, "Detention, Miss Lewis. Report to me immediately after class."
Nodding slowly, she lowered her wand. As she got up, her blue eyes locked with Snape's. He lay sprawled on the floor, his spidery eyes filled with a strange blend of resentment and something akin to grudging respect. Professor Dawlish tossed a finite incantatem at Snape's wrists, the spell dispelling the binding magic with a soft pop.
As the tension slowly drained from the room, the other students edged closer, their expressions wide with fear. Whispers rippled through the crowd as they recounted the intensity of the duel they had just witnessed. Snape, his face masked with fury, pushed himself to his feet and stormed out of the classroom, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. Jane just there stood alone, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to process the events that had unfolded.
A/N: Fun fact. I am burnt out and wanting it to be March already so I can skip winter and adulting. So instead i've been prepping for a fanfic fest and drawing silly little fanart for this fic. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!