Detention was a gruelling ordeal. Each evening, she was subjected to the monotonous tedium of potion prepping under the supervision of Professor Slughorn. Tonight, the task was particularly abhorrent: extracting beetle eyes. The slimy ingredients squelched between her tweezers, making Jane want to gag each time. A low groan escaped her lips as she wrestled with a particularly stubborn specimen. With every failed attempt, her frustration mounted, and her thoughts inevitably turned to Snape, the catalyst for her predicament. Images of his smug, superior smirk flashed before her eyes, fueling her anger.
"He starts the duel and doesn't even get detention," she muttered under her breath, her hands moving with surprising speed and precision despite her growing irritation. The injustice of it all rankled within her, bringing along a persistent determination to finish the task as quickly as possible. With each beetle eye plucked, her gut rolled from disgust.
As she worked, the duel replayed in her mind like a muggle film. Snape's sneering face, his taunts, and the exhilarating rush of magic that had coursed through her veins were etched into her memory. Why did he always seek her out? Why did he delight in provoking her? And why, despite her better judgement, did she always rise to the bait? The questions circled in her mind like a whirlpool, leaving her feeling both angry and confused.
Finally, with a sense of accomplishment tinged with relief, Jane placed the last beetle eye in the small jar and sealed it tightly. She wiped her hands on her robes, the fabric rough against her skin. The ordeal was over, but the lingering taste of injustice remained. Detention had been her punishment, but it felt more like a reward for Snape.
Exiting the potions lab, a wave of exhaustion washed over Jane. Her mind, previously consumed by the intricate dance of ingredients and measurements, now felt pleasantly hazy. The acrid scent of ingredients lingered in the air, and she hoped it hadn't sunk its claws into her curls. She wasn't due to wash her hair for a few more days. Stretching her arms and taking a deep breath of the cool dungeon air, Jane could feel a bit of the tension seep out of her body.
As Jane hurried down the corridor, her mind still reeling from the tedious detention, she nearly collided with Snape, who stepped out from a hidden alcove, blocking her path. The dim light cast deep shadows across his pale features, accentuating the severity of his expression. His eyes, like a blackhole, seemed to bore into her, all light unable to escape them. She felt naked before him as if he could see every inch of her. For a moment, time seemed to slow as their eyes locked.
"In such a hurry, Lewis?" Snape drawled, his words dripping with false nonchalance. His face, however, held a glint of amusement as he took in her flustered expression.
Halting abruptly, Jane's stomach fell. Snape, the last person she wished to encounter. But there he stood, a smirk playing on his thin lips. Her skin prickled from the potential danger as she thought of the best escape route. Her body was highly aware of his movements and how quickly she could draw her wand.
"What do you want, Snape?" she managed to ask, despite the somersaults her stomach was doing.
His inky black hair fell in his face as he stepped closer, his long black robes swishing softly against the stone floor. His expression was calculating, predatory almost, as he studied her. "I've been observing you, Jane," he began. "You have potential, more than most in your pathetic house. But it's wasted on just academics. You have an affinity for other things, darker things. He is interested in you Jane."
Rolling her eyes, Jane hoped he didn't see past her air of disdain and see the apprehension building within her. "I'm not interested in your opinions, Snape. Especially not about joining You-Know-Who, or whatever dark path you're touting," she retorted at the absurdity of his suggestion.
His thin lips twisted into a sneer at her words. It was as if he had never expected that response. "You're foolish to dismiss it so easily. The Dark Lord can offer you wealth, power—anything you desire. With your talents, you could rise far above your current station. Imagine the respect, the fear you could command. A life of luxury and influence is within your grasp."
Crossing her arms, Jane let out a scoff. She could faintly see her warm breath against the chill that seemed to settle in the corridor. "I'm not interested in buying into your delusions, Snape. Unlike you, I have principles. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than listen to your nonsense."
She turned to leave, her patience already exhausted. But before she could take a step, Snape's cold hand clamped down on her wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. Pulling to release his grip, Jane gulped as she realized access to her wand was hindered.
"Don't move."
His scowl became as hard as death and his look murderous before he masked it with a chilling calm. "Principles won't put food on your table or a roof over your head," he snapped, sharpening with each word. "You're poorer than me, Jane. What do you have to lose?"
With a quick yank, he pulled her to him, his mouth now dangerously close to her ear, his nose brushing the shell of it. "Join me."
She started to protest, but his hand swiftly covered her mouth. Jane barely resisted the urge to sink her teeth into him. Her fists clenched, her nails biting into her palms. Anger surged within her, hundreds of violet thoughts of what she could do to hurt him filled her mind.
"Our Lord can offer you a future beyond your wildest dreams."
Ripping her head back, her curls flying, she shot back. "I have a job! I earn my own way. I don't need to bow to You-Know-Who or anyone else for handouts!"
Why did Avada Kedavra have to be illegal?
Snape's face hardened, his tone turning more sinister, the shadows seeming to gather around them. "And who will you side with, then?" He pressed as he pulled her closer. "It's clear you don't trust Dumbledore. I've seen the way you watch the man. So, who will it be, Jane? The Dark Lord or the old fool?" His grip tightened on her wrist as one of his long fingers came out to play with one of her curls before tucking it behind her ear. Her breath hitched, this felt too intimate for what was happening.
Jane tried to turn her head away, but his long, spidery fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his cold, pale face. She squirmed in his grasp, a surge of defiance bubbling up inside her, but his hold was unyielding, as if carved from stone. His thumb pressed firmly into the delicate skin of her wrist, a silent yet menacing warning of the consequences should she push too far.
She knew Snape was trying to provoke her, to push her into a corner. She refused to let him see how rattled she was.
"That's none of your business," she replied coolly, her jaw set with determination. The coldness in her was a thin, peeling mask, barely concealing the anguish that gnawed at her.
"Oh, but it is, Jane," he taunted. "Choose wisely."
With that parting shot, Snape turned and swept away down the corridor, his worn school robes billowing behind him like a spectre fading into the night. Jane stood rooted to the spot, her mouth full of cotton as she watched him disappear from view. The echo of his words lingered in her mind, stirring up doubts and fears she hadn't realised she harboured.
Why now?
Why her?
Did the Dark Lord really want her?
Or would he just kill the daughter of a Squib?
Those questions swirled in her mind like a carousel spinning out of control, each thought whipping by faster and faster until the momentum became unbearable. It all came crashing down, leaving her dizzy and breathless, struggling to piece together the fragments of her unraveling thoughts.
Shaking herself from her reverie, Jane finally turned towards the Hufflepuff common room, her steps heavy with Snape's ominous words. As she pushed open the heavy oak door, she was greeted by the cheerful chatter of her housemates, a welcome respite from the darkness that had enveloped her.
Sinking into an overstuffed armchair by the fireplace, Jane watched the dancing flames, allowing her thoughts to overtake her. Snape's offer, however twisted and malevolent, represented a tempting escape from the uncertainties of her future. But at what cost? She couldn't betray her principles, nor could she ignore the distrust she harboured towards Dumbledore. The allure of power and influence was undeniably seductive, but the price seemed too high. With a heavy sigh, she pushed herself to her feet, determined to put the unsettling encounter behind her. Tonight, she would focus on her friends, on the warmth and camaraderie of her house. Tomorrow, she would confront the darkness that had crept into her world.
As the weeks wore on, Jane found herself descending into a relentless cycle of exhaustion and dread. Night after night, her dreams became more vivid and horrifying. In the depths of her restless slumber, she found herself wandering through murky, twisting corridors of Hogwarts, the air thick with a sense of menace. Snape's spectral figure loomed in these dreams, burning with a ferocity that turned her body to lead.
Each night, the dreams became more real, the stakes higher, leaving Jane feeling increasingly isolated and vulnerable. Sleeplessness shrouded her, blurring the lines between reality and the nightmares. The once familiar world of Hogwarts began to feel alien, as if she was a mire spectator and not a true participant. Paranoia crept into her thoughts, every student, every whisper, a potential threat. The once vibrant tapestry of her life was unravelling, leaving behind a frayed and desolate existence.
Her once bright spirit began to dim, replaced by a growing sense of isolation and despair. The familiar faces of her classmates offered little solace. Her friends tried their best to ignore her frequent outbursts, but even their unwavering Hufflepuff loyalty began to falter under the strain. Their once infectious cheerfulness seemed to lessen, replaced by a growing unease that created an invisible canyon between themselves and Jane.
One particularly exhausting morning in Charms class, Jane's weariness betrayed her. Professor Flitwick stood atop his stack of books, gesturing enthusiastically about the intricacies of the Bubble-Head Charm. Jane sat slouched in her seat, her quill barely moving across her parchment. Her eyelids drooped with fatigue, her notes little more than scattered words and unfinished diagrams.
Across the aisle, James Potter leaned back in his chair, spinning his wand between his fingers as though the class were a mere formality. Sirius sat beside him, lazily doodling something inappropriate on the edge of his parchment.
Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice startled Jane out of her daze. "Miss Lewis, would you care to explain how this charm could be modified for underwater use?"
She straightened in her seat, her mind racing to catch up. "Uh… well, Professor…" She began, but her train of thought derailed almost instantly. Instead of addressing Flitwick directly, her field of vision wandered over to James, who had just leaned forward with a smirk.
"Harry, do you know the answer?" she blurted.
The room froze.
James blinked, his smirk faltering. "I'm sorry—what did you just call me?"
Her heart stopped. Heat flooded her face as Jane realized her mistake. "I—I meant James. Of course, I meant James," she stammered, with each word her voice rose in pitch from embarrassment.
A choked laugh escaped Sirius, who clapped James on the shoulder. "Harry, huh? You got a secret identity we don't know about, mate?"
"Shut it, Sirius," James said, though his expression was still bemused. He turned back to Jane, his brow furrowed. "Who's Harry?"
Jane's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. "No one! Just… it's nothing. A… slip of the tongue," she mumbled, avoiding everyone's gaze.
The rest of the class seemed to hold their breath, waiting for an explanation that never came.
Snape's presence seemed to grow more oppressive with each passing day. He appeared at every turn—waiting for her after class, subtly manoeuvring to sit near her during lessons, and even intruding upon her sanctuary in the library. There, amidst the musty scent of old books and the soft rustle of pages turning, Jane found herself under Snape's watchful stare, studying in desperate silence. His shadow seemed to loom over her at every turn, only serving to grow her paranoia.
The once peaceful haven of the library had transformed into a battleground for her sanity. Jane's fingers would trace nervously over the spines of books, her gaze darting anxiously to the corners of the room, half-expecting to find Snape lurking there. While she rarely saw him watching her, Jane could feel his presence constantly.
Detention was a brief respite from Snape's relentless pursuit, though it was only temporary relief. Even in those moments of solitude, Snape would linger. When she got out, he would offer to walk her back to the Hufflepuff common room, his words veiled in false concern but his intentions unmistakably predatory. Jane quickly learned it was easier to let him have his way than to fight it. The walk back always felt like an eternity, each step a descent into a deepening chasm of dread. He never spoke to her during these walks, but he was there. And with every passing day, the lines between student and tormentor blurred.
All of this only served to harden Jane's resolve. She knew she had to find a way to navigate this treacherous path alone, to resist Snape's manipulations and shield herself from the looming threats that seemed to encircle her. Her determination burned brighter with each breath, a solitary flame flickering against the encroaching darkness. She would not let fear dictate her actions, nor would she allow Snape to break her spirit.
As she entered the familiar confines of the potions classroom, a wash of relief and weariness would come over Jane. Three months into the school year and she was still trapped in Slughorn's purgatory. It was a personal record she hadn't anticipated breaking, and one she hoped never to repeat.
Tonight's detention was spent in Professor Slughorn's absence, grading essays from first-year students.
Each essay seemed to mock her with its simplicity, a drastic difference to the complexities of her own life at Hogwarts. Normally patient and fair when it came to younger students, tonight Jane found herself feeling particularly spiteful. Snape's persistent badgering about You-Know-Who during class had left her nerves raw and her temper frayed. As she scribbled comments and corrections in red ink, her critiques became sharper, her marks more severe. This action was the proxy outlet for her frustrations with the gaunt Slytherin.
The clock seemed to mock her with its slow, deliberate ticks, each second an eternity as she toiled through the endless sea of parchment. Her eyes burned with fatigue, and a dull ache pulsed in her temples. Still, she continued, her wrath never dulling.
Finally released from the dungeon-like atmosphere of the Potions classroom, Jane hurried down the corridor, eager to put distance between herself and Snape's inevitable presence. But fate had other plans. Just as she reached the halfway point, Snape materialised from the shadows, his hand shooting out to grab her arm with a forceful grip. Startled, Jane stumbled, almost dropping her book bag. Her chest tightened as she struggled to maintain her balance.
"Snape!?" Jane hissed.
He had corralled her into the unlit recess with an urgency that sent a cloud of anxiety to rain on her. The darkness was absolute, save for the faintest glimmer of light that outlined his imposing figure. Their bodies were pressed together with an intimacy that was both suffocating and electrifying. She could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against her own, and the heat of his skin was a tangible presence. His oily hair brushed against her curls and she could feel his hot breath on her cheek, his expression impossible to read.
"You've been avoiding me," he bluntly stated.
Jane's teeth clenched, a knot in her stomach began to form. "Whose fault is that?"
Snape's hold on her arm tightened, his fingers biting into her skin. "You cannot simply dismiss me, Jane," he growled with suppressed fury. "We have matters of consequence to address, things that will shape our futures."
Her eyes narrowed, a tempest brewing within. "My future is my own to shape," she countered as she struggled against his unrelenting grip. This only led to having both her arms pinned to her side.
"Release me Snape!"
He ignored her demand, only adjusting his grip to strengthen it.
"You can't hide forever. The Dark Lord has taken an interest in you. You would be wise to listen to what he has to offer." he insisted, his tone almost pleading.
I refuse to speak with him! And I certainly won't be swayed by you, Snape. Release me."
Snape pulled her impossibly closer, their bodies melding as she was now full pressed against him, the jagged edge of his bone piercing into her. His breath was hot against her ear as he leaned in, a low, guttural growl replacing the expected whisper. A shiver ran down her spine, not from fear, but from a strange, unsettling thrill.
The air began to leave Jan'e lungs faster than she felt like she could replace it. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps as panic began to claw at her insides. "Severus, please," she pleaded. "Just leave me alone."
She knew how pathetic she sounded, but she was beyond the point of caring.
He tilted her chin upwards, his fingers exerting a gentle pressure. Where his eyes might be was lost in the impenetrable darkness, yet she sensed their intensity. "Do not address me by that name," he warned. "Your little charade holds no sway over me."
"But-" she began, but his thumb silenced her protest, effectively cutting off her words.
"Don't be a fool, Jane. You know the situation is far from simple. You have no choice in this matter." He rasped. His mouth hovered so close that, in mere seconds, her lips, her neck—everything she was—could be his to claim with his lips.
Shaking off that thought, Jane let her defiance ignited a spark of anger within her, momentarily overshadowing whatever that was.
"Or what, Snape?" She challenged.
A cruel, almost amused sound escaped Snape's lips, but before he could respond, Jane cut him off with a renewed ferocity. "Or what," she repeated, "Do you want me to set your greasy robes on fire again?"
His grip on her arms loosened slightly, his tone shifting to one of suspicion.
"What are you babbling about, girl?" he demanded.
Seizing the moment, Jane wasted no time. As it turned out Snape hadn't learned. With a swift, deliberate movement, she pressed the heel of her shoe against his toes. He recoiled, a low groan escaping his lips as he released his grip on one of her arms. With her free arm she grabbed her wand. Then with a flick of her wrist, she muttered the incantation for incendio, her wand tip erupting in a shower of orange sparks.
A small flame ignited at the hem of his robes, rapidly licking its way upwards. Snape yelped in surprise, frantically batting at the flames with his free hand. The distraction was all Jane needed. With a final, desperate shove, she broke free from his grasp and sprinted down the corridor, the sound of his enraged shouts fading behind her.
Her feet pounded against the cold stone as she raced through the deserted corridors, her lungs burning like fire. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest. She didn't dare slow her pace until f the Hufflepuff common room enveloped her, the heavy door swinging shut with a satisfying thud. Collapsing into a plush armchair, Jane let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline coursing through her veins slowly beginning to subside.
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the girl? Commenter? Who comments on like every chapter five minutes after I post. I just want to know what cocaine are you snorting? I love it but damn. Impressive