Christmas break had become a relentless ordeal for Jane. She spent almost entirely within the confines of the hospital wing. The once sporadic headaches now came in relentless waves, each one accompanied by dizzy spells that left her feeling disoriented and weak. Madame Pomfrey, ever attentive but increasingly concerned, hovered around her with potions that offered temporary relief but did little to ease the growing fear that brewed within Jane.
The hospital wing felt like a suffocating prison, the walls regularly closing in. The antiseptic smell clung to her senses, which only made the headaches worse. Muffled sounds of spells and charms being cast drifted through the air. Sunlight, usually a source of warmth and comfort, filtered through the windows in cold, harsh beams, accentuating how artificial her surroundings were. The walls were lined with empty beds, and since her friends had left for home, she had no visitors. Outside, the castle was undoubtedly alive with the magic of Christmas, but within these walls, there was only a desolate silence.
Her nights were a cloud of terror. In one recurring vision, she stood in a vast, empty chamber, its floor adorned with shattered porcelain statues. Among the broken fragments, a young boy lay motionless, his freckled face frozen in an eternal mask of pain and fear. His hair, a fiery red, seemed to glow in the dim, eerie light. Desperate to reach him, she stretched out her hand, but as her fingers closed around empty air, the statues crumbled further, their shards scattering like icy rain. A scream, silent and desperate, would build in her throat, only to be swallowed by the darkness as she awoke, drenched in cold sweat and trembling uncontrollably.
The days seemed to drag on, filled with unease and uncertainty. The familiar rhythm of Hogwarts, with its regular classes and meals, felt a distant memory. Now, each day followed a monotonous pattern of pain and loneliness. Jane missed the warmth of the Great Hall, the lively chatter of her friends, the delicious smells of meals, and the festive decorations that always transformed the castle into a magical place. The idea of spending Christmas Day in this sterile environment, far from the comfort and companionship she longed for, was difficult to bear.
On Christmas Eve, a particularly harrowing nightmare jolted Jane awake. Her body was drenched in sweat, and a sharp pain lanced through her head. Stumbling out of bed, she made it only as far as the next bed before her stomach rebelled. A wave of nausea crashed over her, and she collapsed to the cold, unforgiving tile floor, her body wracked with violent spasms. The ordeal seemed endless, leaving her weak and trembling when it finally subsided.
Madame Pomfrey found her there shortly after, her face etched with alarm. With gentle, practised hands, she helped Jane back to bed. Her movements were a soothing balm against Jane's trembling body. A potent potion was administered to calm her stomach, followed by another to dull the relentless pounding in her head. As the effects of the potions began to take hold, Jane sank deeper into the mattress, exhaustion finally claiming her. The clock by the door ticked away the hours until Christmas Day.
As the first rays of dawn painted the hospital room in a soft, ethereal light, Jane lay awake, her mind a captive to the melancholy that had taken residence within her. The distant sounds of laughter and merriment, carried on the wind from the Great Hall, were a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of her room. The flickering candles, their flames dancing in the morning breeze, cast unearthly shadows on the walls, amplifying the sense of isolation that had become her constant companion. Tears, silent and bitter, traced their way down her cheeks as the realisation of her solitude on this most joyous of days sank in.
Closing her eyes, Jane shielded herself from the harsh reality of her surroundings. A serge of longing swept over her as memories of happier times surfaced. As she drifted in and out of sleep, the line between memory and reality blurred, leaving her suspended in limbo, stuck between joy and agony.
Hours passed in a tedious blur, the ticking of the clock the only sound to break the silence. Occasionally, an owl would fly past the towering windows, a cruel reminder that life was taking place beyond her walls. Madame Pomfrey made periodic checks, her brow furrowed with unease. She offered a tray of bland hospital food, a gesture of care that did little to quell Jane's growing sense of isolation. A weak nod was all Jane could muster, her throat too dry and sore to speak.
Evening descended slowly, the cold sunshine now being replaced by the dim glow of the bedside candles. A gnawing loneliness crept into her heart as the realisation that she had spent this Christmas entirely alone sank in. A single tear escaped her eye. The ache in her head had dulled to a persistent throb, matching the ache in her soul.
When darkness enveloped the hospital wing, Jane curled up beneath her blankets, seeking refuge from not only her alienation but her thoughts as well. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to block out the silence that pressed in on her from all sides. Her mind wandered to the community of the Hufflepuff common room that she knew awaited her once she could leave this sterile sanctuary.
As the castle settled into a quiet slumber, Jane lay wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, barely able to stop the tears from flowing. As she lay there, she whispered a silent prayer to anyone listening, a plea for healing both physical and emotional. With a deep breath, she clung to the fragile thread of optimism, a belief that tomorrow would usher in a new day, free from pain and filled with the promise of brighter days to come.
That night, Jane awoke with a start, her chest heavy and her limbs sluggish, as though she had been swimming through tar. The room was cloaked in darkness, the faint glow of moonlight barely illuminating the outlines of the hospital wing. And yet, she wasn't alone.
At the foot of her bed stood Professor Dumbledore.
His tall, imposing figure was cloaked in darkness, his long beard catching the faintest glint of moonlight. But it was his eyes—those piercing blue eyes—that froze Jane in place. They weren't warm or twinkling as they so often seemed in the Great Hall. No, they were cold, unblinking, and uncomfortably sharp, like the gaze of a predator assessing its prey.
For several long moments, he simply stood there, staring at her in silence. His presence was suffocating, the room suddenly feeling colder, the air heavy with something Jane couldn't name. Her throat was dry, and her words came out as a hoarse whisper.
"Professor?"
The sound seemed to jar him from his trance. He blinked once, slowly, and the corners of his mouth curled into a faint, almost mechanical smile. It didn't reach his eyes.
"Ah, Miss Lewis," he said softly, his voice lilting yet devoid of its usual charm. "Are you... well?"
Jane hesitated, her head muddled with confusion. Her illness, which had plagued her for days, had left her drained and unfocused. Even now, her mind felt sluggish, as though struggling to piece together why her headmaster was here, watching her, in the middle of the night.
"I—I don't think so," Jane admitted. She was barely audible, the words slipping from her lips unbidden. "I don't... understand. Why are you here?"
Dumbledore didn't answer her question. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze unrelenting. "Have you been dreaming, Miss Lewis?" he asked, his tone low, almost hypnotic.
"Dreaming?" Jane repeated, her mind scrambling to keep up. "I suppose... yes. Strange dreams."
His interest sharpened at that, his expression becoming almost too intent. "Strange, how?"
She tried to answer, recounting vague, fragmented images—dark corridors, whispers in the night, a voice she couldn't place calling her name. Dumbledore listened intently, his eyes fixed on hers, and the longer he stared, the more uneasy she felt. There was something invasive about his gaze, as though he were peeling back layers of her mind without permission.
When she finished, he nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Curious," he murmured, almost to himself. Then, louder: "I see. You've been unwell, Miss Lewis. I imagine it must be terribly difficult for you."
His words should have been comforting, but they weren't. There was something off in his tone, something clinical. Detached.
"I... suppose so," Jane mumbled, her eyelids growing heavier by the second. A strange lethargy was settling over her, thick and inescapable, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. "I don't... understand."
"No matter," Dumbledore said, his tone soft and soothing now, like a lullaby meant to quiet a fretful child. "I'll make you feel better, Miss Lewis. You needn't worry."
Before she could protest or even comprehend his words, a wave of exhaustion overtook her. Her vision blurred, the dim outlines of her room fading into shadow. She felt herself sinking, deeper and deeper, as though pulled into an abyss.
And then everything went black.
Over the next few days,Jane began to feel her illness gradually lifting. The pounding headaches that once incapacitated her grew less intense, fading into a distant ache. For the first time in days, she managed to eat without the relentless nausea threatening to empty her stomach. Her strength returned in small, hopeful increments, allowing her to walk the sterile halls of the hospital wing without the fear of her legs giving out beneath her. Even reading became a solace again, her eyes no longer swimming with pain as they scanned the pages.
Three days after Christmas, the day finally arrived when Jane was deemed well enough to leave the confines of the hospital wing. The journey back to her dormitory was a bittersweet experience. Relief seeped through her as Jane stepped out of the hospital doors. As she entered her room, a pang of sorrow hit her—Jane was three days late. A small pile of gifts sat on her desk, each one meticulously wrapped and adorned with festive paper and ribbons. A mix of curiosity and trepidation filled her as she stared at the presents.
Eleanor's gift was the first to catch her eye: a small, elegantly wrapped box adorned with a bright bow. With trembling hands, Jane unwrapped it to reveal a box of chocolates and a handwritten note. Eleanor's words, filled with love and worry, brought a small smile to Jane's lips. Olivia's gift was next, a cheerful bag filled with crinkle paper. Inside, she found a pair of cosy, mismatched socks and a letter filled with Olivia's signature kindness and humour. The familiar handwriting and inside jokes offered a much-needed laugh.
Lily's gift was a thoughtful gesture. Inside was a beautifully illustrated book on magical creatures. The illustrations moved much like a photograph and each one had its own personality. The intricate drawings and detailed descriptions promised hours of escape.
Her body shrunk in on itself as Jane reached for the final gift, a small and simply wrapped package with Snape's distinctive handwriting on the attached note.
A gift to join the one the Dark Lord sent you. Perhaps it will convince you to reconsider his proposition.
Her hands grew clammy as she read the cryptic message, a chill burning into her bones at the mention of the Dark Lord. Confusion and apprehension warred within her as she carefully unwrapped the package. Jane frowned in disbelief as she stared at the small, plastic ball with a tinkling bell inside.
Then she heard it, a soft mewl. From beneath her bed emerged a creature she recognized—the kneazle from the Magical Menagerie. Its sleek, striped fur shimmered in the dim light, and its large, intelligent eyes held a curious gaze. The creature padded towards her, its tail twitching with anticipation. With a soft purr, it nuzzled against Jane's leg, seeking affection and attention.
Startled, Jane reached out, her skin prickling with unease. The creature butted its head against her palm, aggressively rubbing as its purrs became louder. Gently stroking the kneazle, she felt the creature's rear shift towards her hand, seeking more affection. A small, leather collar adorned its neck, and attached to it was a rolled-up piece of parchment tied with a ribbon. Nervously, Jane untied the note and unfolded it. Her suspicions were confirmed as she recognized Snape's distinctive spiky handwriting.
I knew you wanted the Kneazle and the Dark Lord wants to reward his followers.
Anger and disbelief burned within her, a tempest of howling emotions . How could Snape be so callous, so manipulative? To use an innocent creature as a pawn in his dangerous game was brutally unfair. She felt awful for the kneazle, caught in the crossfire of a battle it could not understand.
With a deep breath to steady herself, Jane stood up, her heart heavy with emotion. She reached down to gently stroke the kneazle's head one last time, as she whispered, "I'm sorry, little one. But I can't accept this."
The kneazle just cocked its head and walked over the corner where a cat bowl and water dish sat. As he ate the food, a shimmer floated over the bowl and it was once again refilled. A sigh came from Jane as she realised to her delight that she hadn't accidentally neglected him.
Determined to break free from Snape's mind games, Jane marched to the owlery with the kneazle nestled securely in her arms. With a sense of dread, she released the creature into the room, the kneazle immediately running off to find something to hunt.
The next day, Jane woke to see that the kneazle had returned, undeterred by her previous attempt to send it away. Before she could even think through the morning fog, the kneazle had curled up next to her and decided to take a nap. Lips pressing into a thin line that could rival McGonagall's, Jane stared at the furball, annoyed she would once again have to walk up the many stairs to the owlery.
As she made her journey, Cat—the name now a resigned acceptance rather than a begrudging label—padded along obediently beside her. She had hoped that by now, the persistent creature would have found another wizard or witch to pester.
But alas, Jane was wrong.
Cat came back.
And Jane walked back to the owlery.
Each time she released Cat into the wild, he managed to find its way back to her, stubbornly refusing to be rid of her presence. It was starting to drive her mad.
On the last trip, the owlery greeted her with its usual chorus of hoots and flutters. Jane lifted Cat onto the windowsill, the creature's large, green eyes staring up at her with an almost human-like expression.
"Please, just go," she pleaded. "Find someone else to bother."
Cat merely blinked, its expression unchanged. He then pawed at her innocently and rubbed his head against her hand, emitting a soft purr that tugged at Jane's resolve. A flicker of amusement danced in Jane as she watched the creature's playful antics. With a sigh, she watched as Cat leaped gracefully down to the ground, disappearing into a pile of feathers.
The next morning, Jane groaned as she opened her dorm room door to find Cat lounging nonchalantly in front, its tail twitching contentedly. "You're relentless," she muttered, crossing her arms and glaring at the creature. "Fine, you win. You can stay, but don't expect me to be thrilled about it."
Cat merely blinked, not much shining behind those eyes. Then, realising he should be receiving attention, rolled onto his back to expose his fluffy belly. Despite herself, Jane couldn't help but crack a small smile at the absurdity of the situation.
Weeks passed, and the relentless pursuit of Snape seemed to fade into the background. As her friends returned from the holiday break, life and light seemed to come back into Jane's life. All three girls squealed with delight at the sight of Cat, showering the creature with an endless stream of affection. Lily, Olivia, and Eleanor took turns cuddling and playing with their new companion, their bright energy filling the common room, bringing a feeling that Jane had been sorely missed. While the girls brought a sense of comfort and normalcy back into her life, a bittersweet undercurrent lingered within Jane.
She watched as her friends revelled in Cat's playful antics, their laughter in juxtaposition to the quietude that had become her constant companion over the holiday. A forced smile graced her lips, a mask she wore to conceal the numbness that had remained after her time in the hospital. She would often retreat to a quiet corner, observing the scene with detached interest as a silent observer in the heart of the lively common room.
Yet, there was a subtle shift within her when Cat was around. The creature's presence seemed to cast a calming spell, particularly during the nights plagued by nightmares. As the echoes of unsettling dreams crept into her sleep, Cat would curl up beside her, its rhythmic purr a soothing balm for her troubled mind. It was as if the kneazle understood her turmoil on a level beyond words, offering silent comfort and companionship in its own unique way.
Five weeks passed since she had received Cat. With a newfound courage, Jane sat down to write to her father, her quill hovering over the parchment. The truth, a tangled web of deceit and manipulation, was too much to bear. One could not tell their Squib father that the new pet was a recruitment bribe from He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. So, she crafted a simple tale to explain Cat as a gift from a friend.
Days later, her father's reply arrived. His words were practical, laced with the same financial constraints that had always been a part of their lives. The creature could stay, he wrote, but only if it earned its keep. There was enough of a local mice population he could hunt at their home.
Valentine's Day approached, its saccharine sweetness overtaking the castle. The previous year's ordeal, marked by Snape's horrid gift and more recent gift from his so-called Dark Lord, lingered in her mind like a dormant threat.
Lily, Olivia, and Eleanor were a whirlwind of excitement as Valentine's Day approached. Their plans for the Great Hall celebration were a symphony of enchantment and romance. Lily was particularly enthusiastic about surprise deliveries of enchanted roses and heart-shaped treats. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she sketched out elaborate plans, her imagination painting a picture of a magical evening filled with love and wonder.
Despite her friends' infectious enthusiasm for Valentine's Day, unease settled over Jane, her paranoia only growing worse. While Lily, Olivia, and Eleanor were consumed by the possibility of romance, Jane found herself consumed by something darker — something that felt more like surveillance.
Dumbledore's knowing eye seemed to linger on her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. Encounters with the headmaster, once rare, had become an unwelcome regularity. It seemed that no matter where she went, the headmaster was nearby.
When Jane attempted to voice her concerns about the headmaster to her friends, they dismissed her fears with a wave. "You must have misunderstood somehow because you were so sick," they insisted. "He's the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. He would never harm a student." Their words were confident, but Jane's unease lingered, growing with each passing moment.
And then there was Snape, his avoidance as palpable as his usual disdain. But his absence was a double-edged sword; while it provided temporary relief, it also heightened her sense of being watched. It was as if she were trapped in an invisible cage, with two powerful figures scrutinising her every move.
Her friends had tried to coax her into attending the Hufflepuff Valentine's Day dance. The success of the Christmas dance had been a distant memory, overshadowed by the events that followed. Snape's actions and the subsequent hospitalisation still left her shaken and distrustful. With a practised nonchalance, she declined their invitation, citing an impending Ancient Runes essay and the comforting presence of Cat as her preferred companions for the evening.
Her friends' protests were swiftly silenced when Eleanor brought the conversation to an abrupt halt. The mention of a potential breakup with Sirius eclipsed the initial discussion about Jane's absence. It was a strategic retreat, a well-placed diversion that ensured Jane's decision would stand unchallenged. The underlying implication was clear: if their friend was on the brink of heartbreak, a simple matter of a missed dance paled in comparison.
On the morning of Valentines Day, Jane awoke to the soft glow of morning light filtering through her curtains. A small, heart-shaped box rested on her bedside table, its vibrant red contrasting sharply with the muted tones of her room. Curiosity piqued, she reached out and gently lifted the box. Inside, nestled amidst delicate pink tissue paper, lay a selection of exquisite chocolates and a heartfelt note from Lily.
At breakfast, the Great Hall had transformed into a blaze of red and pink. Owls swooped and soared, delivering a flurry of enchanted roses, heart-shaped chocolates, and handwritten valentines. The air was filled with the excited chatter of students as they exchanged gifts and shared flirtatious glances.
In the midst of the morning's delivery chaos, Jane's carefully concealed prank for Snape emerged. The owl entrusted with the delivery landed precisely at Snape's table, releasing its unexpected cargo: a wrapped bag filled with used cat litter and a boldly signed note.
Consider this my answer for your precious Dark Lord.
A furious scowl deepened Snape's already stern features as he scanned the contents of Jane's note. A thrill of satisfaction coursed through Jane as she witnessed his reaction and she had to fight down her giggles. It was a childish strike back, a petty revenge for the cruel Valentine that had stung her pride a year ago. But it brought her a fleeting sense of justice.
Then, a grand Great Grey Owl, its plumage shimmering in the morning light, swooped into the Great Hall. Its target was clear: the Hufflepuff table. Its piercing yellow eyes scanned the room before settling on Jane. With a precision that belied its size, the owl landed with a soft thud, its powerful talons gripping the edge of the table. With a delicate release, it dropped a thick, black-sealed envelope onto her plate, startling her from her breakfast. As her classmates exchanged amused glances, Jane's breath hitched.
The parchment was thick and heavy, almost like leather, with a deep, almost black hue. Strange symbols, unfamiliar to her, were embossed in silver, giving the paper an almost inner glow. A single, crimson wax seal bore a crest she couldn't decipher. A knot tightened in her stomach as she carefully broke the seal. The envelope crackled open to reveal an ornate masterpiece of vellum with its surface adorned with intricate silver filigree. Inside, the words were scripted in an elegant, almost archaic font, the ink a deep, mysterious black.
Dionysus and Ferula Yaxley cordially invite you to the Summer Solstice Rebirth and Ball held in honour of the Dark Lord.
Date: June 21st, 1977
Time: 11 am
Day Attire: Traditional White Dresses for the Women
Traditional Tunic and Breeches for the Men
Evening Attire: Formal Wear
Location: The Yaxley Estate
A room shall be prepared for your arrival.
The sense of grandeur and foreboding emanated from the invitation. A small emerald was nestled amidst the folds of the parchment. Inscribed on a second, much smaller card, were the words:
A token of passage awaits. It will be activated on the fourteenth of June.
Rereading the small note, realisation dawned on her. This was no ordinary gem, but a Portkey. Her blood ran cold as Jane imagined the impending journey and the horrors that awaited her at the Yaxley Estate.
With each second, the reality of what this invite was sunk into her. A Death Eater ball, an event steeped in darkness and evil? How dare Snape involve her in such a sinister affair? A surge of fury ignited within her, threatening to consume her. Standing, she surveyed the Great Hall, searching for the source of this nightmare.
Then she saw Snape strolling towards her with an infuriating air of nonchalance. His long strides carried him closer, his face impassive, as if oblivious to the storm brewing within her. He had orchestrated this, a cruel and calculated manipulation, and now he approached her as if nothing had transpired.
She could kill him.
She wanted to kill him.
Before Snape could open his mouth to speak, a surge of adrenaline coursed through Jane. Without a second thought, she raised her wand, the polished wood vibrating in her trembling hand. With a fierce shout, she unleashed a stinging hex, the spell hurtling towards Snape with deadly intent. The spell connected with its target, sending Snape reeling backward, a yelp of surprise and pain escaping his lips. Gasps erupted from the stunned crowd as Jane turned and fled, her heart pounding like rain beating against a window pane. A maelstrom of everything she felt swirled within her—rage, betrayal, and a chilling fear.
Outside the cavernous Great Hall, Jane leaned against the cold stone wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she struggled to comprehend the events that had just transpired. Tears of frustration streamed down her face, in contrast to the anger that had fueled her actions moments ago. She had known what Snape was becoming; she knew he was dark. But his unending desire to drag her with him was becoming too much. She couldn't handle that pressure and with this newest blow, the dam she had built broke. Jane couldn't take it anymore.
Then she heard his familiar, unwelcome voice. "Jane!"
On instinct, she once again fled. She could feel Snape's presence behind her, his footsteps growing closer with each passing second. She rounded a corner, hoping to lose him on the moving stairs.
But Snape was persistent. He emerged from the shadows, his face fixed in distress. "Jane," he called out again. "Please, stop."
Jane halted abruptly halfway up the staircase, her back still turned to him. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her frayed nerves. "I don't want to hear it, Severus," she muttered, each word trembling.
Snape took a stair closer, his movements slow and deliberate. "I understand. But please, let me explain."
Tears streamed down Jane's face as she choked out a single word, "No." Her words were barely more than a breath.
He took another cautious step closer. "Jane..."
Jane's stomach lurched at the sound of him, each syllable a fresh stab of betrayal. Slowly, she turned to face Snape, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening with tears. Her expression was a tapestry of everything she felt - anger, hurt, and a flash of something akin to disgust.
"Explain what, Snape?" she spat. Each word seemed to come laced with venom, a stark contrast to her shaking form. "Explain this elaborate scheme of yours? Did you think I wouldn't see through it? A grand ball to celebrate You-Know-Who? Did you truly believe I'd be so easily swayed, so shallow, to fawn over some empty spectacle meant to glorify a monster?"
A sharp, humourless laugh escaped her lips, devoid of any mirth. "And what of my role in this little charade, Severus? Did you envision me as some prize to be displayed? An arm ornament, a pretty face in a revealing gown to make your Death Eater colleagues gnash their teeth with envy? Dancing with you, basking in the supposed glory while you bask in his favour? Was this to make Vold-Vo-Voldemort want you?"
The last words came out in a choked whisper. Her body shook with a mixture of fury and a deep, soul-wrenching pain. She was just so tired.
He flinched, the pain on his face as naked as her vulnerability.
"No," he rasped. He reached out a hand, then quickly retracted it, hovering awkwardly in the air.
Choked with emotion, Jane spoke with a steely edge. "Then explain, Snape," she challenged, her eyes blazing. "Explain why you'd even suggest such a thing. Explain why you'd drag me into this darkness with you."
Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, the staircase beneath them began to move. It was as if the very castle itself was in motion, the steps ascending with an almost organic fluidity. Jane stumbled, her balance compromised by the unexpected shift. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed hold of Snape's arm, her fingers tightening in fear.
Her gaze darted between Snape's bicep, where her hand rested, and his face. Time seemed to stretch into an endless moment as she grappled with an internal turmoil. Eventually, with a hesitant movement, Jane pulled her hand away, her fingers lingering for a brief second before completely disengaging.
Snape's face quickly became impassive. His dark stare held hers captive, their depths unfathomable. "I had hoped to discuss it with you privately," he admitted, his tone tight with restraint.
Jane was abruptly pulled from the trance-like state, her eyes snapping into focus. "Save it."
Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into the soft skin of her palms. "I don't want to hear your excuses or your twisted justifications. You've gone too far this time."
Before Snape could formulate a response, Professor Sprout stepped into view from the adjacent corridor. Her gaze, stern and disapproving, scanned the tense tableau before landing on Jane. "Miss Lewis," she began. "Come with me."
A cold dread settled in Jane's stomach as she followed Professor Sprout into a secluded corner of the corridor. The woman's expression softened slightly, but the underlying disappointment was unmistakable. "Miss Lewis. You have violated several school rules. For your reckless use of magic and disrespect towards a fellow student, you will serve two weeks of detention with Mr. Filch."
Jane's spirits dug past rock bottom as Professor Sprout announced the deduction of forty points from Hufflepuff. An onslaught of shame washed over her, and she could feel the weight of her actions pressing down on her shoulders.
"Yes, Professor."
"You will report to Mr. Filch's office tonight," Sprout instructed briskly, her tone leaving no room for argument. She turned on her heel, disappearing down the corridor, leaving Jane alone with Snape's intense scrutiny.
It felt as if her whole world was unraveling at the seams. Jane had never gotten detention until this year. She stole one last glance at Snape, her face filled with a mixture of fury and vulnerability. With a defiant stomp, she turned and marched towards her first class, a string of curses directed at Snape flowing silently from her lips.