Remus was checking the Owlery when Snape found him.
Moonlight streamed through the open slats of the tower, casting a net of shadows that played upon Remus' face. He had been standing there, holding the moonlight in his hands, wondering how he'd allowed it to get this far — how wrong he was — how wrong they all had been, once — but now, it was only Remus, only him to remember, to know what had been, what it had become.
The students had all been whispering amongst themselves — how did he get in, not with Professor Dumbledore here, nearly impossible.
(Tell them tell them the truth)
It was all — wrong. Even after all these years, after testimonies and the time that stretched between then and now, it had never felt right. None of them could have ever seen this — and Remus, the biggest coward of them all, still unable to stand up to his friends —
(Tell them the truth)
Friends who were dead. Friends who would have been sick to see the state of the girl they'd left behind, what dangers prowled around every corner for her. Friends who would have looked at him with disgust — Peter — all they found was his finger —
(Tell them about —)
No —
(Something isn't right something something something)
Every second that ticked by was another minute he spent putting that poor girl in jeopardy. She'd been in his office only hours earlier, eyes so wide and unfamiliar but hungry for something Remus didn't know how to give her, had never allowed to give himself, save for —
You knew him, didn't you — my dad —
(about Padfoot tell them about Padfoot —)
A bolt of gold hit the wall just beside Remus' head as he turned.
Snape's presence seemed to curl into the space like fog. His eyes were chips of onyx, glinting with malice and a cold fury that made Remus' blood instantly turn to ice water. This wasn't the Snape that Remus had known since returning to Hogwarts — this was — what James had provoked on a weekly basis — what they'd all expected to find on the battlefield, some day.
Snivellus doesn't deserve to lick my boots — that slimy Death Eater-wannabe —
You don't know that, Prongs
I know enough — I see what he's up to — see what filth he's looking at —
What's it to you?
You've no idea — you lot don't know what's coming —
Remus barely had a moment to react, the sharp instinct to move barely registering before another flash of light, more violent and incisive than the last, seared the air where he had just been. He stumbled backward, his heart hammering against his ribcage. The owls about above their heads rustled their feathers peevishly, several pairs of yellow eyes glaring down at them in annoyance.
The light that followed was a sickly green — not the Killing Curse — but something equally sinister, designed to incapacitate. It grazed Remus' shoulder as he dove behind a stack of crates filled with parchment and ink for the school's owls. His arm went numb before it began to burn, as though a thousand hot needles were prickling at his skin.
"I know it was you —" Snape hissed, his voice as smooth and dangerous as a blade sliding from its sheath. "I fucking knew it —"
"Severus —" Remus tried, wincing as the sensation spread to his shoulder.
"Get up," he swiped his wand at him, sparks shooting out from the tip. "Get up you pathetic dog —"
"Severus, you've got it wrong —" Remus tried to reason, voice ragged but calm, even as his mind raced for a strategy. "This is madness —"
The crates provided only meager cover as another spell whipped past, its crackling energy turning the wood to splinters. Remus wheezed, feeling the sting of debris against him. It paled in comparison as he dove out of the way once more, landing hard on his shoulder, the impact coupled with the numbness making for a very unpleasant sensation. A harsh gasp tore from his throat as he rolled onto his back, the pulsating pain making his vision swim. His breath came in short bursts.
"Madness?" Snape's voice echoed through the room, a venomous sneer lacing each syllable. "I'll show you madness —"
Remus pushed himself up on his good arm, pupils dilating as another spell screamed through the air towards him. Instinct kicked in and he Shielded himself with a hastily conjured Protego that shattered under the onslaught of Snape's attack.
The burnt smell of magic hung heavy in the air, mixing with sulfur and dust. It was a noxious combination that left Remus coughing, eyes watering from the stinging sensation. He struggled to rise, his injured shoulder screaming in protest. His gaze darted around in search of an escape — this was the Snape he'd been anticipating back in August — the one who had nearly taken off James' ear, during Sixth Year. Violent and scathing and brutally relentless.
"How did you do it?" Snape demanded, a manic, unsettling light in his eyes that made the numbness in Remus' arm spread to his chest. "How –"
Remus summoned the strength to stand upright. He knew he would only get one chance to explain. Any hesitation would cost him dearly. "I had absolutely nothing to do with Black getting into the castle tonight."
It was the truth
(Padfoot what about Padfoot)
but it wasn't
(tell him take it from me take it out)
Snape glared viciously at him, his face tight with fury before he roared out another spell. Remus countered with a second Protego , this time stronger than the last. The air shook with the impact, but his Shield held strong.
"Bull shit," Snape snarled, that wildness spasming, his face white as bone. "You let him in — you said yourself that if the girl dug too much, she'd find Black. You were trying to silence her once and for all, you goddamn coward —"
"I did no such thing," Remus said, his voice strained with desperation as he maintained his Shield. The magical barrier glowed faintly, dancing shadows across his face. "I — I swear on my magic —"
Snape sneered, his eyes glinting dangerously under the flickering light. "Your magic," he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "What good is your word when all your life, all you have ever done is lie?"
Remus felt the sting of Snape's words more than he would have liked to admit. His Shield wavered, the once strong barrier flickering like an unstable flame in a harsh gale. In his mind's eye, all he could see was the jagged, frantic tears in the Fat Lady's Portrait, that those marks had been meant for a child.
"That girl — Ariel," Remus began, his voice teetering dangerously close to something — something else. His next words were barely a whisper. "I could never."
"Oh, how noble of you," Snape mocked, his voice echoing across the room. "The wolf pretending to play protector to the lamb. Is that what helps you sleep at night?"
"No," Remus said, feeling his blood cool in his veins, "but not a killer either. You — you have got it all wrong, Severus. Is that how you stomach it?"
The accusation in Snape's eyes remained unclouded. If anything, it continued to build, fierce and untamed. He looked — unhinged.
"You've got your mind so twisted up in conspiracy that you can't see the truth," Remus continued, his voice fierce now. "You're so eager to pin the blame on me that you're ignoring the real danger."
Snape sneered, pointing his wand right between Remus' eyes. "And just what would that be?"
"If Black was cunning enough to escape Azkaban, you don't think he could get into Hogwarts?"
"You knew we'd all be at the Feast —"
"It's Halloween —" Remus said, and there was a quiet desperation in his voice he'd been very good at hiding, been able to shove down down down. "He would have known the castle would be deserted!"
Maybe Sirius had thought it poetic — kill James' daughter on the same night he had murdered her parents. Annihilate what remained of the family, darken the date once more. Maybe forever.
Snape's sneer deepened. "He would never have been so brazen — not now —"
"Would you put it past him?" Remus shot back, his voice steady, but something inside of him was coming, was beginning to break open, and he didn't know if he was going to be able to put it away again. "He wasn't just cunning, Severus — he was daring. He always relished the thrill of a chase."
The room fell silent momentarily as Snape considered Remus' words, his gaze intense and unwavering. When he spoke, and his voice was so cold it seemed to freeze the air between them. "You don't think I know that, wolf? I was your bait — or have you forgotten?"
That thing — Padfoot tell them the truth Padfoot — covered in layers of dust and dirt — buried so deep down down down that as it came into the light, it felt like an intrusion, heavy and unwanted. It had been discarded, for a reason, after all. He almost wished Snape would rip it from him, free him from this —
But it had never been forgotten. How could he ever forget?
"I remember — everything," Remus said heavily.
"Is that so?" Snape whispered. His black eyes were like two darkly polished stones, void of any discernible emotion, now. His wand twitched in his hand, and Remus eyed it cautiously.
"There were — signs, perhaps," Remus said, every word feeling like he was pulling a tooth. "I should have seen them for what they were. But we were too blinded by — friendship."
"Foolish," Snape sneered, his voice lashing out like a whip, keen and dangerous. "Or perhaps more fittingly, just weak-willed."
"You never stopped trying to convince Lily, though."
The words left Remus' mouth before he could truly contemplate them. Snape froze, like he'd be put in a Body Bind. Something in his eyes turned off completely. It was somehow worse than that manic, crazed light — if Snape disappeared inside himself, there was no way to anticipate what came next.
Remus had known Snape had a thing for Lily — everyone had. Looking back on it, Remus had assumed Snape had grown out of it after she'd stopped speaking to him, sometime around Fifth Year, if he recalled correctly. It had driven James nearly to the brink of madness, watching the two of them parading around, Lily sending dark looks over her shoulder when Snape wasn't looking —
But this — this was something else. Snape's reaction, the sudden stillness in his posture and the blank look in his eyes — like his brain had completely clicked off but something else was keeping him held together —
It had been a shot in the dark — using Lily to blindside him. It felt — wrong.
(And did it have something to do with Ariel?)
Whatever it was, it seemed to be the only way to deter Snape from engaging with him further. He didn't even seem to be breathing anymore.
"I — I was to be her godfather. They — they knew I couldn't — with my condition —" Remus' throat was burning, he was burning. "If something were to happen to them, they couldn't risk it. So they asked Sirius, but Lily — she wanted me."
The words fell onto the floor between them, fragile and bloodied. Snape's expression did not change. His black eyes were still, reflecting nothing but emptiness.
When he left without another word — without so much as a backwards glance or callous sneer — Remus collapsed, the numbness in his arm beginning to recede, replaced by a throbbing ache that seemed to reach down to his very marrow.
He sat there, alone in the Owlery, listening to the echo of his own heartbeat as it pounded a staccato rhythm in his ears.
He did not move for a very, very long time.
Ariel had set up camp on Snape's sofa.
She had contemplated staying in her bedroom, but she wasn't going to sleep a wink, even if she wanted to, even if she could turn off her brain for more than thirty seconds. There was something unsettling about holding herself up there with a mass murderer on the loose. Somehow, even from the safety of her bedroom, in Snape's quarters, behind two very heavily Warded doors, it made Ariel feel even more alone.
She'd taken all the bedding off her bed and propped herself on her pillows, folding the coin over and over again in her fingers. It was taking just about every ounce of self-control she had not to send a message through, but Snape was still moving, which meant he must've been fine.
He'd scoured the dungeons for quite a bit before heading up to the main floor. Ariel had begun to get nervous when Snape had reached the Owlery and didn't move for fifteen minutes. Relief flooded through her like a river when he'd begun his descent, lingering in the Great Hall for a while just as Ariel accidentally started to doze off.
She sat up just as the door to Snape's quarter's opened, far gentler than Ariel had anticipated Snape would have. It was half past midnight, now, the shadows long and heavy. He would have scared the living daylights out of her if she hadn't seen him coming on the coin, following his trek through the dungeons and back to her.
Snape stopped in the doorway. His eyes locked onto hers. He looked terrible — disheveled and exhausted, dark, haunting circles under his eyes and robes wrinkled.
His eyes were somehow bright — alight with some emotion Ariel didn't understand — couldn't put her finger on — had frightened her, in the past. Now, it almost seemed to hold her captive, in that place between time, before the next footfall, before her next inhale.
He then walked straight past her, into his bedroom, and closed the door, just as gently as before.
There was the distinct sound of shattering glass.
It was muffled, but it was there, and lasted for a minute or so. Ariel let her gaze fall to her hands and recalled the sounds of the Dursley's, of their ransacked bedroom, and smiled.
After a moment of more — weird — silence, the door jerked open again and Snape stalked out, yanked open one of the drawers in his desk, and lit a cigarette with the end of his wand.
He didn't even look at her. Maybe he'd forgotten she was there.
Ariel sat up on her knees and coughed. Snape continued to smoke like he would die, if he stopped. That was — ironic.
"I'm guessing you didn't catch him, then." she said, crossing her arms at him in an attempt to show her displeasure for being ignored after getting dumped here all alone.
Snape's left cheek spasmed before he rubbed his hand across his forehead tiredly. Ariel couldn't help but feel relieved. She didn't know what was worse — Snape catching Black, or Black catching Snape. If all Black had was a knife, though, she supposed it was probably the former. Snape had sliced off Voldemort's — even if he'd been a memory in a smelly old book — head clean off his neck in a matter of seconds.
"Why aren't you in bed?" Snape muttered — finally. He still wouldn't look at her, though.
"You seriously think I could sleep after all that?" Ariel eyed him for a minute, concern pooling in the pit of her stomach. "You sure look like you could use some, though."
"I don't recall asking for your opinion." he glared down at the picture frame on his desk, his eyes narrowing.
Ariel crept up from the sofa, wrapping the sheets around her shoulders. He looked truly awful — smelt a bit odd, too — like smoke — not cigarette smoke — but that ting of rust that magic had, sometimes. She remembered smelling it in the Chamber.
Snape didn't look at her as she approached — he just kept glaring at the picture of the forest. Ariel stared at it suspiciously, wondering what she was missing, when his dark eyes flickered to her.
"You actually did as you were told, for once." he said, sounding far too impressed for Ariel not to take it as an insult.
Ariel scowled. "I didn't want to get stabbed to death. Seemed sort of anti-climactic, seeing as I killed a bloody basilisk last year."
Snape exhaled through his nose, a trail of white smoke enveloping his face for a moment. "I suppose you've inherited some semblance of survival instincts," he said, his voice deadpan. "It's a wonder you're still alive, after all."
Ariel rolled her eyes at him, but her heart throbbed at the backhanded compliment. "Thanks a lot."
He turned towards his desk again, refusing to acknowledge her attempts at lightening the mood — the great git.
"Maybe you should evaluate your own survival instincts and get some sleep." Ariel suggested flatly.
Snape didn't respond, simply moving papers around on the already cluttered desk. Ariel sighed, stretching her arms as she meandered back towards her makeshift bed on the sofa. As she moved away, she saw Snape twist the picture frame so it no longer faced him. She stopped and watched. He looked — angry — always angry — but somehow — lost.
As Ariel watched him, a pang of sympathy pricked her heart. It was an odd feeling — she'd never felt bad for him, but here he was, the night still clawing at him, gnawing at his present.
She decided to push her luck. Taking a few steps back towards Snape, she cleared her throat again lightly. He still didn't look up from his desk. It was as if he had erected an invisible wall around himself, but Ariel was determined to break it down. She'd take a chisel to him, if she had to.
"I could make some tea," she offered quietly, inching closer to him. "or maybe coffee, if that's what you prefer."
Snape looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers. A flicker of surprise passed across his face before he quickly masked it with his usual expression of detached irritability.
"If I wanted a house elf, I'd summon one." he ground out, taking another drag from the cigarette. His eyes continued to glare down at the picture frame. He'd turned it back around, his fingers lingering on the glass.
"I'm perfectly capable of boiling water and steeping leaves," Ariel shot back. A year ago, Snape would've thrown her out by now, but she had just managed a conversation with him in this — state — that lasted longer than two sentences and didn't end in him losing his head — progress.
Snape simply grunted in response and Ariel took that as a yes. She briskly turned away from the desk, heading over to the small kitchenette that was attached to Snape's office. As she prepared the tea — chamomile, because it was late, and they both needed sleep — she couldn't help but steal glances back at him.
He'd put out his cigarette now and was staring blankly at a spot on the wall, seemingly lost in his thoughts. That was — weird. But Snape was weird in general — all adults were weird. She didn't understand them, most of the time. Hermione thought their word was law, but Ariel knew better.
As the kettle whistled softly, Ariel lifted it with a potholder, pouring the boiling water into two cups. The steam rose, caressing her face and filling the silent room with a soothing aroma. She lingered by the kitchenette for a moment longer than necessary, allowing herself to enjoy the scent, the warmth. She curled her toes into the floor — her feet were icicles.
Snape still hadn't moved. His gaze was still focused on that spot on the wall. Ariel watched him from the corner of her eye, her heart experiencing an odd flutter. It wasn't anxiety or fear — rather, it was something akin to concern — a feeling she'd never associated with Snape before.
She carefully carried the mugs over and set them on the coffee table, climbing back into her nest-bed. She sat there, waiting for him to notice her again. When he did, he looked at the steaming mugs, and then Ariel.
Ariel patted the opposite side of the sofa, right beside her nest-bed.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. He moved towards the couch with a clenching stiffness in his shoulders, as if each step was a conscious effort.
Ariel watched as he lifted a hand, his long, pale fingers hovering over the steaming mug for a moment before he finally took it. Pulling out his wand from the inside of his robes, he gave it a slight flick, casting a Cooling Charm.
He did the same to hers. She smiled.
Lowering himself onto the sofa, he sat as straight as an arrow, glowering into the fire like he wanted to fling the contents of his mug into it.
"So," Ariel scratched at the rim of the cup. "he's escaped again, huh?"
Snape made a noise under his breath. "I didn't think he would linger. The more pressing issue is how he managed to get past the Wards and the Dementors."
She stifled a shiver — please not Ariel please take me instead —
"But the Wards alone — shouldn't they have been enough?" Ariel asked. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if that would ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
"Yes," Snape's reply was curt, his gaze still focused on the flames dancing in the fireplace. "It suggests he had help, or he found a way to circumvent them."
Ariel's stomach churned uncomfortably at his words. She took another sip of her tea, hoping the warmth would soothe her nerves.
"Do you think it's possible someone let him in?" she finally managed to ask after minutes of suffocating silence, her gaze flicking imperceptibly towards the door as if she expected Black to come barging in at any moment.
"Possible?" Snape echoed, finally tearing his eyes away from the fireplace to glare at her. His black eyes were sharp, almost menacing in the dim light. "Almost anything is possible with magic, girl. The question is whether it is likely."
"Is it?"
A heavy sigh — or was it a snarl? — escaped his lips as he ran a hand through his greasy hair in a rare show of frustration. "He left no trace. However, disregarding the possibility would be shortsighted and rather stupid."
Ariel chewed her lip. "What did Professor Dumbledore think?"
"He believes no one in the castle would allow Black inside."
She eyed him hesitantly. "I'd like to believe he's right."
"Then you are as much of a fool as he is."
Snape threw the mug into the hearth, the ceramic splintering as the fire hissed back. Ariel sighed, setting her own mug down as he stalked back to his desk and lit another cigarette.
He fumed silently. Ariel decided to let him cool off and settled back against her pillow, focusing on the heat from the fire again. Before she turned, however, his eyes darted back to that picture he kept bloody staring at —
"What?" Snape snarled down at the picture, startling Ariel so much that she gave a start.
She blinked at him — Black had definitely broken him a little bit. "Who are you talking to?"
Snape's head snapped up so sharply it was a wonder it stayed on his shoulders. "Nothing — no one."
Ariel frowned but didn't press further. Instead, she adjusted the blankets around her and tucked her legs closer to her body, eyes returning to the flickering fire. She could feel Snape's gaze burning at the back of her head, heavier than before.
The clock on the wall behind him chimed once, then twice, before falling back into silence. Its echo permeated the room like a ripple in a still pond.
"I just —" Ariel began, hesitating. She didn't want to make him angrier — push him over the edge. She was very good at doing that — intentionally and unintentionally. She supposed it was a sign that he cared. "I'm okay, you know. We weren't even in the same room together. Black was probably long gone by the time the Feast was over, right?"
She didn't turn to look at him for confirmation. She could hear his footfalls as he stepped closer — one, two, three —
"Your assurance does not negate the fact that he was able to breach the Wards, to step within these walls," Snape's voice was deep, bottomless and empty. She could only imagine the look on his face, right now, but she didn't dare look up again. "He will not breath the same air as you — he will not get so much as a glimpse of the hem of your robes —"
A dense, heavy silence lingered, like a winter night with no stars. Ariel balled her hands into fists so tightly that her knuckles began to burn under the strain.
"I know —" Ariel tried again, her voice sounding small and fragile against the vastness of the silence. "But —"
"You don't need to understand," Snape interrupted sharply. "All you need to do is stay safe."
Ariel would have guessed that was all he'd say about this — all he'd offer, all he'd want to say — but it didn't take away from the fact that deep down, in the stillness and solitude she'd spent the night wallowing in, that she'd been so terrified of the What If — What If somehow had left the Feast early and run into Black, What If she'd wandered off like she'd planned, like she'd done every Halloween, and Hermione or Ron had come looking only to be found by Black — What If Snape had found him crouched in some murky gathering of shadows and struck —
— and it was all because of her — again. Like Ginny —
She swallowed. "I don't want anyone getting hurt."
"You have no control over that."
"But I could — what if —" her voice faltered, lost amidst the weightiness of it all.
"Could what?" Snape's words were ice, a river frozen in mid-flow.
Ariel dragged her eyes up to meet his, finally. Deep obsidian pools stared back at her, a dark labyrinth, swirling with hidden depths and unseen corners. She wondered if any light had ever managed to pierce through. It always seemed to come from within him.
"Nothing," Ariel muttered, shaking her head.
She fell back against her pillows and rubbed at her eyes, which were starting to burn against the strain of the dim light. Snape didn't move, his towering figure a cold monument in the shadows of the room. Ariel could feel his eyes on her, like two shards of black ice boring into her skin.
"Go to bed," Snape said, after what seemed like forever. "There's nothing more to be done about it."
Nodding, mostly to herself, Ariel shifted so that she was facing fully away from Snape, letting the warmth from the fire and the tea lull her into drowsiness. One thought lingered, though. No one in the castle would allow Black inside. Snape clearly didn't believe that. But — why?
Ariel didn't think she wanted to know the answer.
Severus forced down a Calming Draught and a Pepperup before resuming his stare-down with the picture of Lily, who glared mutinously right back at him. He thought about shoving her into a drawer, unable to take the accusation in those green eyes, but he knew he didn't have the strength for — that. Even the baby was upset, wailing silently and squirming in Lily's arms.
He lit another cigarette — this was his fourth. Lily was mouthing something obscene as she covered the baby's ears with her hands.
He was trying very hard to sit still, slouched low in his desk chair as he listened to the girl's light snores. It was a little after three in the morning, now — she'd finally fallen asleep less than an hour ago. How she'd done so, he had no idea, but she was only a child, and they tired quickly, he supposed. He would leave in a bit to check on his Slytherins, make sure the rest of the little brats were safe and sleeping soundly.
There was absolutely no scenario in which Severus would be getting any sleep tonight. He hoped the werewolf was in a similar predicament — haunted by his own guilt — stewing in his bottomless pit of self-loathing. It was utterly pathetic — she wanted me —
Severus shot a dark look to Lily, who was bouncing the fussing baby. He knew it had been all Potter, but he resented the idea of any of them — Black and fucking Lupin — having any sort of relation to his daughter. Thinking they held any sort of claim — she was his, goddammit.
Especially when one was trying to kill her — when the other was complicit.
It was beginning to drive him mad — knowing it was Lupin — not knowing what it was about Lupin — not knowing when he'd strike. Clearly, he had no qualms about bringing up Lily when pushed to it — no qualms about rubbing salt in that wound. It would only be a matter of time before he said something to Miss Evans — he's the one who told me about Death Eaters —
(How long until he tried to turn her from him —)
How had he done it at all — how — how how how —
Not having the answers — all of them — and yet none at all — terrified Severus above all else. How could he protect the girl from any enemy that would not show itself?
Severus closed his eyes, if only to hide from Lily's neverending pointed glare. When he did so, all he could see was the marks on the Fat Lady's portrait, the girl's face white as the students whispered frantically, frightened and confused —
How had he gotten in?
Black
There's no way Black could've gotten inside
Black Black Black
Do you reckon we're safe here
Granger had watched him in the Great Hall. She'd sat up to stare — she'd been watching the doors — when Severus had walked in. Her eyes seemed to be asking him the same questions that were teetering on the edge of his own sanity.
How did he get in
Is she safe
Where is she
Severus had ignored her, of course, but he'd lingered near Dumbledore, spoke loud enough for the brat to hear — to plant the seed of doubt —
It seems — almost impossible — that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed —
Black Black Black
I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it
How how had he gotten in how how how
And then, as though he'd known Severus had been thinking of him, of their earlier conversation — the fucking fool — a voice called through the Floo.
"Severus," Dumbledore's voice said.
Miss Evans stirred. Severus stalked toward the fire. The girl had shifted so that her back was to him, now.
"She's asleep," Severus hissed.
Dumbledore sighed. "We have a bit of a problem."
"What now?" if Lupin had tattled on him, Severus was going to gut him like a fucking fish.
"Minerva would like to know where Ariel is."
For the first time since Ariel had begun her Occlumency lessons (again), she dreamed.
She couldn't see anything but a bright, green light pulsing somewhere in the distance. Squinting at it, she tried to move towards it, but quickly found that her feet would not obey her. At first, she thought herself rooted to the spot, but as she tried to move, she realized she wasn't standing on solid ground at all. She was floating, suspended in the inky blackness surrounding her, the green light glowing like a beacon in the cold void.
The panicked inhale she took was an echoed whisper — absorbed by the darkness.
And then it came — a faint giggle from somewhere near. It sounded like... a child?
The giggle crystallized into clear laughter — happy and free. A feeling of profound longing settled into her heart, the vault sliding open —
Murmurs of voices — voices she knew — voices that bantered back and forth. Ariel couldn't hear what they were saying, but they were familiar. It took her longer than it should have to realize who was there, somewhere in the dark, somewhere beyond the green light.
"I can't see you," Ariel whispered into the void, reaching out her hand towards the light as if trying to grasp onto something — anything at all. There was a flash of auburn hair, like hers, but softer and warmer.
Suddenly, the green light intensified, blinding her momentarily. When she blinked away the spots in her vision, an image had formed in the now radiant glow. A woman was there, her face hidden behind a cloak of dark red hair, fluttering as if caught in an unseen wind. A small child — no more than a toddler, really — sat on the woman's lap, her own tiny fist tangled in the strands of auburn.
Ariel recognized herself in the child, the sight plunging her into a well of forgotten memories. The woman and her warm laughter — the scent of jasmine that always seemed to linger around her —
"Mum?" she called out, voice trembling with trepidation and longing.
Suddenly, she found herself pressed against something warm — the green light was filling her up — and her mum was holding her — she was the baby —
"Lily, it's him! Take Ariel and run, I'll hold him off!"
Oh no — no no no —
Ariel was not floating any longer. She was running — she was being carried — her small face buried in her mother's neck, feeling the rapid beat of her heart against her cheek. The smell of jasmine was suffocating, now.
"Not Ariel, please not Ariel —"
"Stand aside, you silly girl," said a cold, high voice that sent a chill through her, insistent and biting. "Stand aside now —"
"Please no, take me, kill me instead —"
"This is my last warning —"
No — NO —
Then, there was a blinding flash of green light, the same from before — but stronger. It filled her vision, pulsing and consuming everything in its path until there was only darkness —
Ariel woke up with her hand covering her mouth, stifling her shout. She let herself sit absolutely still, let the chill flow through her freely. It was loud and threatening, like a storm in the winter, because it wasn't a dream, not a figment of her imagination — it was her past — a past hidden, concealed in the vault of her heart —
"Snape?" she called, her voice strained.
There was nothing. Snape did not come.
Ariel sat up, blinking when she realized she was not in the same spot. She was somehow in her bedroom now, curled up in what looked like a freshly made bed. Had — had Snape carried her here? When —?
It didn't matter. It was still — somehow — the middle of the night, a little after four in the morning, from what her clock said. Ariel scrubbed at her face and tried to slow her heartbeat. Her chest was beginning to hurt.
This was the longest bloody night of her entire life.
"Fuck," she said, with feeling. "Fuck."
She threw herself out of the bed and marched to the door, flinging it open to demand Snape give her some Dreamless Sleep — or an impromptu Occlumency lesson so make sure — that — memory never came back up again. It was one thing for the stupid Dementors to dredge it up, but to have her own mind betray her like that —
Ariel stopped short when she saw that something was — happening.
Snape had his back to her, stalking around his desk at a clearly absolutely furious Professor McGonagall. Ariel scrubbed at her eyes, convinced that maybe she was still somehow dreaming, but Professor Dumbledore was there too, and he was staring at her with a mixture of trepidation and resignation. Ariel just watched — terribly confused — until she realized she couldn't hear a word any of them were saying.
They were definitely talking — rather aggressively, actually. Professor McGonagall was pointing and gesturing wildly, while Snape's mouth was moving so fast that even if Ariel had been able to read lips, she reckoned she would've had trouble following.
Dumbledore's mouth moved. Snape turned so fast that he knocked over one of the chairs and a stack of papers. The look in his eyes made her hairs on the back of Ariel's neck stand up straight, the crushing feeling in her chest dissipating completely, replaced by a vast emptiness — like the thing that had grown was fleeing at the sight of Snape's face.
Ariel knew when the Silencing Spell had been revoked. The air returned to the room in a gust of sound, like the pressure being released from a corked bottle. Dumbledore, mercifully, managed to smile in that calm, reassuring way that had always seemed to make Ariel feel more at ease.
That was not the case tonight.
"Er —" Ariel took a step backwards, fighting the urge to slam the door shut and crawl back into bed.
"The both of you," Professor McGonagall started in a very, very scary voice. "Had better have an explanation for why in Godric's good name —"
Dumbledore simply held up a hand and she stopped, like she was a telly and he'd just hit the mute button. Snape had gone bone white, so startlingly pale that it almost looked like he was glowing from the shadows behind his desk.
Ariel stood very still, ignoring the surge of embarrassment that washed over her. She felt hot and cold all over, wiping away the sweaty hair stuck to her forehead.
"I — erm —" she felt like a bloody idiot, the way they were all staring at her. It only got worse when Snape shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, like he was equally as mortified.
"It's alright, my dear," Dumbledore said, like she'd interrupted afternoon tea. "In fact, I daresay it's best that you join us."
"Albus —" Snape bit out.
Dumbledore cut him off by holding up a placating hand. His gaze was soft and understanding, but beneath it, there was a firmness that commanded attention. "It would seem that the time has come for certain truths to be unveiled."
Snape's face drained of further color. "Absolutely fucking not."
Professor McGonagall looked just as furious — maybe even more so. If she had looked at Ariel like that, she would've lost all her composure right then and there.
"I want to know right now what Miss Evans is doing in a professor's quarters — let alone a male professor's quarters," her voice was as sharp as a newly forged sword, cutting through the tension in the room. "or Merlin help you all, I will not hesitate to report this to the Board of Governors."
Oh — it was — this again.
Shit.
"That's not —" Ariel tried weakly, but Snape gave her such a severe look that her mouth clamped shut automatically.
Ariel felt like a pawn on a chessboard, caught in between the kings and queens. Her heart thudded against her ribs like a runaway Bludger as Dumbledore and Snape had some sort of unspoken exchange that made her feel only thirty times more uncomfortable.
"Severus —" Dumbledore said, quietly, like a plea.
Snape let out a string of swearing so creative that Ariel's ears started to blister.
"Fine — goddamn you all." Snape snarled. "But I want a Tongue-Tying Hex."
Professor McGonagall went white with fury. "I will do no such thing —"
"What's that?" Ariel asked, cocking her head up at the Headmaster, who was the only one who seemed to realize she was even there.
"It ensures that one cannot discuss more," Dumbledore cleared his throat and shifted his weight. " sensitive matters."
"Oh," she stared at the three of them. "Ron and Hermione don't have a Tongue-Tying Hex."
"Go back to your room, Miss Evans," Snape snarled, nostrils flaring dangerously.
"She will stay here, " Professor McGonagall retorted, her voice like a whiplash in the suddenly stifling room. "Until one of you demonstrates even a mite of honesty as to why I was not privy to the whereabouts of one of my students while a mass murderer was traipsing about!'
"Yes, she will," Dumbledore intervened before Snape could, the twinkle in his eye gone. His voice now held a gravity it seldom possessed outside of grave matters. "Minerva is right, Severus — this has gone too far, and I will not let it go any further."
The room seemed to draw tighter. No one moved or spoke, a tableau frozen in time. The tension wrapped around them like Devil's Snare, squeezing the air from the room until only silence remained.
"Well?" Professor McGonagall demanded coolly. "Out with it, then,"
Snape's eyes narrowed into thin slits. Ariel watched as an array of emotions flickered in his eyes, and she held her breath until Dumbledore finally spoke again.
"Severus is Ariel's biological father," he said.
Professor McGonagall's composure faltered, like she'd taken a misstep. Ariel watched the Headmaster's words settle into Professor McGonagall features, settle into the space behind her eyes, watching the tension in her face melt away as shock overtook her. Ariel supposed she must've looked something like that too, the night she'd read Mum's letter.
Ariel stared at the floor as the quiet overtook them all. It had never been stated so bluntly before — they'd talked circles around it, sure, but she didn't think she'd ever heard it stated so clearly, like Mum had done. There was something about speaking it out loud, stringing the words together and feeling their gravity that felt — overwhelming.
Professor McGonagall just — stared at her. And then she began to shake her head. "That's impossible, Albus."
"It's true," Dumbledore continued calmly, as though this was the most casual, normal topic in the world. "You were partially correct — Severus has indeed taken uncharacteristic interest in Ariel. Its purpose, however, is not nefarious. I would never allow such a thing to stand as long as I am Headmaster."
Ariel snuck a glance at Snape, that hot and queasy feeling back. He looked — strange — but she could see what was really happening — she knew it because of their lessons. He was Occluding so deeply, so fiercely, that he looked almost carved from stone, his face a mask of blank indifference — but Ariel knew better. She could see the way his hands clenched on the arms of his chair, knuckles bleached to an opaque white.
"Show me," Professor McGonagall commanded, but her voice wavered slightly.
Snape was the first to move. He lifted his wand, curling it across the space like an arch, and whispered something fast under his breath — a spell Ariel couldn't make out. A brilliant, nearly blinding, thread of blue-tinged silver erupted from the tip of his wand, curling into some undefinable shape until he lifted his hand and took hold of one end.
His black eyes settled onto hers. There was an emotion in them that made Ariel's throat go tight.
Almost instinctively, she held out her own hand. The thread stretched and wove itself around her pointer finger before settling into her palm, the light intensifying, and the thread almost sizzled and turned into shimmering gold.
She didn't need to ask what it meant. The thread felt warm against her skin, like it belonged there, etched into the lines on her hand. It faded after another couple of moments, leaving spots of white in Ariel's vision.
Professor McGonagall then promptly fell into the chair in front of Snape's desk. She'd placed a hand over her heart.
"How long?" she asked in a faint voice.
"I would imagine since the moment of conception." Snape said flatly.
Ariel balked. The look on Professor McGonagall's face briefly lit up, like a fire being stoked with more gasoline. The intensity was short lived, however, the shock quickly dousing it out.
"Two years," Dumbledore interrupted calmly. "It was a surprise to us all."
Professor McGonagall's face pinched together, the hand moving up to clamp over her mouth. She'd gone ashen but something glimmered in her eyes, something that was coming into the light, stepping out from the depths of her confusion and anger.
"And none of you saw fit to tell me this?" her eyes narrowed.
"It is imperative that Tom never learns of this." Dumbledore said quietly, his words holding a new kind of weight, one that they all seemed to lean away from. "It would be catastrophic — not only for Severus and Ariel's safety, but for the sake of the Order."
The Order — Mum had mentioned that in her letter, hadn't she? Ariel wanted to ask about it, but she didn't think now was the time. Ariel finally moved instead, closing the gap to lean into Snape's side as his hand clamped around her shoulder.
"And you — Miss Evans," Professor McGonagall let her hand fall away, swallowing hard. "you've known?"
"I'm the one who told him." Ariel said, jerking his head up at her father, with just a touch of smugness.
Snape made a disgruntled noise under his breath.
Professor McGonagall shook her head. "How? I don't understand. James —"
"He knew," Ariel interrupted before Snape or Dumbledore could. "Mum left a letter. She explained everything — er — mostly everything, but he knew."
"Miss Evans," Snape bit out, but even with all the fury forced into her surname, he sounded defeated.
"Did he now?" Professor McGonagall asked, an accusation in her eyes that went right to Snape.
Ariel felt something tug in the pit of her stomach.
"James understood the risks," Dumbledore said, when Snape seemed to be holding back something, his neck spasming under the strain.
"You mean he accepted them." it was not a question, as Professor McGonagall's stern gaze landed upon Dumbledore, her words echoing with a bitter resonance. "That is not the same thing, Albus."
Dumbledore sighed, a weathered hand rising to his forehead, pushing back the silver strands of hair that had escaped his half-moon spectacles. His eyes, deep pools of blue, held a touch of sadness. "Perhaps you're right — but that was James' choice."
Professor McGonagall turned to Snape. "And you? You did not know, then?"
Snape paused, his dark gaze meeting hers evenly. "I did not. I would not have asked that of anyone. Especially Potter."
Her eyes hardened. "And yet you benefited from it."
Something twisted in Ariel's belly, dark and ugly. Snape's fingers tightened around Ariel's shoulder, gripping her as though tethering himself to the spot.
"That's not fair," Ariel said quietly.
Professor McGonagall turned her piercing gaze towards Ariel. "Miss Evans —"
"No," she took a step forward, into the middle of the circle. "I'd like to say something, but I don't want it to come across… disrespectful."
Every fiber of my being is for you
Ariel glanced up at Snape. She was expecting him to glower back at her, but his expression had shifted into something that was still tense but — worried?
"Miss Evans —" Professor McGonagall tried again, this time gently, but Dumbledore, who was seemingly the only adult in the room who was giving Ariel the time of day — called for silence with a wave of his hand.
His gaze returned to Ariel, wearing that familiar, patient smile. Snape looked like he'd swallowed a razor blade.
"Well," Ariel began, biting down on her nerves between her teeth. Her mind was whirling, thoughts tangling and untangling like errant threads in a loom. "For starters, I think there's more to it. It's not that — simple."
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. Snape opened his mouth, undoubtedly to object, but Dumbledore silenced him with a look.
"I know it probably hasn't looked or seemed — good," she began quietly, unable to meet their imploring eyes — the worry in Professor McGonagall's, and tried to nail her nerves between her teeth. "but it's not right to assume because he wasn't there from the beginning that he's not —" she swallowed hard, the look on Snape's face causing her hands to shake a bit. "If he had been there, I might've ended up never knowing him at all, and I can't imagine anything worse. Can you?"
There was a pause, thick and solid, like they'd thrown up another Silencing Spell. For a moment, the adults gazed at Ariel in stunned silence. She could see the gears turning, their eyes flickering with understanding and uncertainty. Snape's icy gaze met hers abruptly, his normally unreadable features betraying a flicker of surprise. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in the way that Ariel had learned was his trademark when he was amused or intrigued but trying not to show it.
"And this is," Professor McGonagall shook her head, but there was something in her face that had softened significantly. "what you want?"
She craned her neck up to glance at Snape. His hand went to the back of her head, his thumb swiping at the nape of her neck. Ariel would've thought that was a warning if his eyes weren't so — so —
"He's alright," Ariel said, her mouth slowly stretching into a grin.
Snape then put his entire hand over her face and shoved her behind him. She snickered to herself as he snarled for her to shut up. Something in her chest felt like it had released.
"No one can know," Snape's lip curled as he rounded back on the other professors. "It is imperative that the Dark Lord never learns of this."
Professor McGonagall nodded curtly, sitting up straighter, as though she were stealing herself. "I would never —"
"Save it," he made a sharp, dismissive gesture with his hand. "There's no need."
"I beg to differ."
"I don't want or need your attempts at trying to convince me this is in any way a good idea," Snape's eyes narrowed at Dumbledore pointedly. "But what's done is done."
Professor McGonagall bristled. "I am her Head of House and a member of the Order — I am not some namby-pamby house-elf who can be dismissed at will. Miss Evans' well-being is of utmost importance to me — as is all of my students."
"She's mine," Snape snapped. "and as such, any decisions regarding her whereabouts going forward fall into my jurisdiction."
Professor McGonagall's lips thinned. "If you are to maintain this illusion — keep up appearances — she must be a student first and foremost."
"I like how you're talking about me as though I'm not here," Ariel grumbled.
"Then I suggest you start treating her as such." Snape retorted snidely, ignoring Ariel. "She's staying here until further notice."
"Enough," Dumbledore finally interjected, his voice threading through the tense atmosphere like a cool evening breeze. His cerulean eyes, a lighthouse in a storm, turned towards Ariel. "I see no reason why Ariel should remain here after tonight, Severus. The castle has been searched thoroughly and no imminent threat remains."
"Black knows where she sleeps —"
"He was not able to infiltrate her Tower."
"Not yet —"
"I want to be able to stay here," Ariel interrupted hurriedly. "Not permanently, but maybe — sometimes?"
The room fell into silence (again), three sets of eyes turning to regard Ariel with varying degrees of surprise and scrutiny.
"I see," Dumbledore said, and he was smiling, but it seemed — reluctant. "If Severus can be amenable —"
"The rest of the week, for now." Snape finally said, his voice strained. "As a precaution that is not up for debate."
"Very well," Dumbledore nodded, his blue eyes twinkling like distant stars in the night. "It seems we have reached a compromise. Minerva?"
Professor McGonagall's lips pressed into a firm line, the usual steel in her eyes replaced with a guarded resolve — she still seemed shaken. "If you are agreeable to this arrangement, then so am I," she narrowed her eyes at Snape. "I would, however, insist that I am kept abreast of her whereabouts, given the circumstances. I believe I am owed that, at the very least."
Snape only gave a curt nod before Professor McGonagall stood and left without a word, without so much as a backwards glance. Dumbledore lingered, looking to Snape, who had settled back in his desk chair to fume down at the floor. Ariel felt a pang of guilt — she knew how much this had mattered — this secret — his own vault, locked up tight for her own good —
"Severus," Dumbledore said. It clouded the air like frost on a windowpane. "There is no need to worry. I would not have insisted had I not thought it to be in Ariel's best interest." he then turned to Ariel, his gaze softening. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you, my dear. I will let the two of you rest."
Once left alone with Snape, Ariel felt a tension coil within the room, like an unsprung trap. Snape's eyes bore into her, a mixture of concern and something else, something deeper that she couldn't quite place. His lips parted slightly, as though he was wrestling with words that refused to come.
"Well that was… awkward." Ariel mumbled.
"You damnable girl —" Snape had covered his face with his hand, managing his temple with his thumb. "You foolish, impulsive child."
Ariel shuffled her feet, her gaze dropping to the floor. A silence filled the room, a silence so heavy that it seemed to press against her chest like an iron weight. "I didn't mean to —"
"Why would you say that?" his voice was not unkind, but there was a palpable edge to it, like a blade lying in wait.
She blinked. "Say what?"
"All of it — that—" Snape's eyes flashed. " nonsense. There was no need for it. She will have her opinions — her own beliefs on the matter. Nothing will change that."
Ariel just stared at him. "What — what, you think I was having her on? I said it because that's how I feel — because that's what happened."
Snape stilled, his gaze penetrating through her like a dagger. He looked as if he was wrestling with something within himself before finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he sighed deeply.
"Come here, girl." he said.
Ariel eyed him warily before shuffling closer. She allowed herself to sneak a glance at the picture frame — still a boring, old forest. Why had he been so weird about it before, then?
Her confusion quickly melted away when she realized what Snape was doing. In a slow, hesitant movement, he reached towards her, his dark eyes softer than she'd ever seen them before. His fingers touched her cheek gently.
His dark gaze was filled with a kind of melancholy and tenderness that Ariel had never seen before. It was as though he was looking beyond her — seeing something that wasn't there — something only he could see.
Something hidden in the vault of his own heart.