Severus Snape and The Natural

by Helia Revelio

What if Severus Snape found another Natural in mind magic at the dawn of the second war? What if she was a dark witch with a Time Turner? This is a dark tale of the Wizarding Society, and of a forbidden romance. A tale of a Slytherin girl attending to Hogwarts since the year before Harry's arrival. Slow burn, EWE, Positive Filch! Rated M and i mean it!

7. Chapter 7

Hi All,

So when that great shiny globe landed on my rooftop I was yet to suspect aliens. But then they opened the bottom of that orb, made of unknown metal, and the purple lights suggested supernatural. I admit I was afraid when the light passed through me, and even more frightened when it sucked me into that strange globe, which promptly shook and swirled, and I felt weightless for a few seconds. Then I felt the presence of an otherwordly being, who pushed me through some portal that seemed to be waving, and proved to be wormhole. I will not bore you all by explaining my adventorous and challenging escape from the neighbouring Galaxy, its enough that I eventually found some helpful Morgorosks who lent me a ship that moved with jumps and sounded like sloshing water, and I finally made it back here. Although time slipped away while I strived to get back to you, I'm happy to finally present the next chapter. Please be forgiving for the lateness, and try to enjoy!

Oh, and HP belongs to Rowling in other Galaxies too. Would you have thought? Of course you did. We all know that.

---

TN

Chapter 7.

Summer

(almost 14)

My Dearest Anne,

It seems lately we're only discussing your education. It would be nice to spend more time together to catch up. Well, I won't begin with the boring beeswax about missing you, darling; I understand you are a young lady with a life different from mine. If wishes were horses… I only thought to tell you that I love you, my dear, that's all. Perhaps I'm finally getting old.

Back to practicality, your exams show your natural talent and a disturbing lack of regular learning. The good news is that you still scraped the bare minimum, which keeps you in the Muggle system. Your best scores were in English and History, and your worst was in Geography and French. Surely, a single world map wouldn't go amiss in your school trunk; how are you planning on understanding History if you don't even know where it all happened?

I'm not complaining, mind you. I appreciate your efforts, and it's abundantly clear that you put those in solely for my sake. But listen to me, child, you will one day be happy about having a choice. As much as I perceive that I have disappointed you by failing to run to your mother's rescue last year, I've seen enough to recognize the problems in your subculture. Your normal education may offer you an escape. I can't know, of course, whether you'd ever need that or not. I wish we could discuss your thoughts in person someday.

I'm also writing to congratulate you on your exceptional achievement in your magical exams. Your grandmother pointed out that I was remiss when I didn't mention this but believe me when I say I am proud of you. Finishing in the upper five percent of your school two years in a row is not something to escape my notice, even if I was preoccupied by chastising you when you spent your days with us.

I hope to see you again at our leisure, too.

Love you dearly,

Rachel

*/*/*

To Miss Anabella Rosier,

Don't flatter me, lass, by sending me letters! I'm not used to it, and I shouldn't be spoiled. In my position, receiving owls from a young witch is either unseemly or shows I'm getting way too old.

To answer your question, even an old coot enjoys Brighton for a week or two, but there's no need for anyone to know that. I'm not even alone all the time, but I'd better not brag – especially not to a young lass like you are.

What else to add? Shouldn't you write to your peers instead? Wars should be fought outside of your own rows. What makes you think a Gryffindor brat and his House or a Hufflepuff witch is outside of that? Not that it's not the way it goes, I'm only meditating with abandon just because I can.

Take good care of yourself and stop writing to me.

Mrs. Norris is sending her regards too.

Yours sincerely,

Argus Petronius Filch

*/*/*

Dear Miss Rosier,

Thank you for your kind inquiries; I am having a moderately pleasant holiday despite the weather. Please accept my best wishes for a satisfactory time with your friends and family in return.

Reflecting on my previous encounters with some of your peers at Lite, I sincerely hope those will not include your attending the Festivities. I know you one with more grace than that, Miss Rosier; doubtless, you can wait your time.

Your notion about playing music with family is undoubtedly lovely. I cannot brag about any similar experiences. Nonetheless, I greatly appreciate the thought.

Until we both return to Hogwarts in September,

With kind regards,

Irma Pince

*/*/*

Hello Anabella,

Thanks for the notes; your brothers told me those came from you. Have they told you how usable they are? If I make it into the Charms NEWTs, that's partly due to your OWL revision schedule. If you care to make some money next year, I might have some tips for you. I'm not the only one expecting a workload over her head, and your handwriting is neat enough to do us some research.

See me in September if you're interested! We'll figure out a way that works for everyone.

Miranda Fawley

*/*/*

Hey Witchling,

How did you make friends with Miranda Fawley? She's a prime witch among the sixth years; if I knew you were connected, I wouldn't have teased you that much! Well, water under the bridge. I'm sure you know your place by now, and you need to learn to use what you have anyway.

Talking about what you may have… can you imagine how many times Urquhart mentions you a day? Come to Lite, and I'll make sure you have some time alone!

Have more fun than you usually do,

Flora Carrow

*/*/*

Dear Anabella,

Anne,

Hey,

Sorry, I've never written to a girl before, but my gran says it's alright if your father approves.

I'd like to take you out sometime in Hogsmeade; should I ask your father's permission? I know it's a bit old-fashioned, but I would rather ask him than your brothers. Anyway, no big deal. I'm just trying to play it on the safe side.

How is that guitar of yours? I noticed it worked for Transfig. You are a very nice girl, by the way.

I've seen the World Cup, have you followed the Finals? We travelled all the way to Transylvania, and it was worth every Knut! You should see the beater in the Romanian League; she's amazing! I will tell you everything in Hogsmeade! That is if you agree to come.

Anyway, have a nice summer,

Bests,

Malcolm

*/*/*

Anne folded her summer correspondence and put the four most tale-telling letters on top. She'd already answered Urquhart that her father, unfortunately, disapproved of her receiving letters from boys, which was a stretch but very handy. She hoped her father would never face such a question in public and planned to explain to him if she had to that she only followed his wishes about the Malfoy heir. Who thought the little boy would come this usable one day?

She knew enough about the Sacred Twenty-Eight to recognize why a Carrow would notice if she was friends with a Fawley; that didn't mean she liked Flora's approach. Although it was funny indeed to know that her classmates recognized their abysmal dealings with her for most of the last school year. There was no way to use this in her favour, though. And she was unsure if she wished to do others' research to make money. She knew some people did that. It was quite common in Slytherin, but she didn't need additional funds… well, she should wait and decide.

The fact Pince even replied to her letter made her feel warmer. Maybe she would make as good a friend as Mr. Filch. She felt strongly about this strict witch, the only one at Hogwarts resembling Rachel's disposition. She eased her loneliness. Maybe she could ask to help out in the Library the coming year… she didn't believe she would ever be having teas with Madame Pince. However, she wouldn't have believed it about Mr. Filch just a year before. And to receive an owl from him was an achievement in itself.

This success should have given her the self-confidence to approach Professor Snape with an owl and get oriented about his plans for solving her problem. Alas, she didn't dare to write in July, and now, already by the end of the second week of August, Anne had to admit defeat and wait for the beginning of the next term.

Not that losing the feeble remains of her lacking self-confidence was foreseeable. No, actually listening to Rachel and joining a Muggle Music Camp should have enhanced her poise; at least her mum and Rachel thought it would. 'Because she played well enough. Because she should get some friends outside of school. And experiences.'

Oh, yes, she had all of those, especially the last one.

When Anne sat on the Muggle bus with a bunch of kids she'd never met in her life on the last days of July, she had been planning to hide in her head for ten days as deeply as she could, but not so much as to faint. She'd thought if she'd managed to play, too, that would only be an additional benefit. And she'd needed practice. In mind magic, not with her guitar. She'd already had that in their garden with her mum for weeks.

Caleb and Gavin both had been supportive, Caleb had added to his letter that she should enjoy everything she could before their wizarding heritage caught up with her. This year's internship in the Ministry of Magic had taken its toll on them both, with Gavin beginning to brood and Caleb spending all his free time scampering around Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade with his friends. The Apparition License made the world smaller for Caleb, and Anne suspected he wasn't always sober, but their parents were not the kind who minded such an approach to life as long as his conduct didn't reflect poorly on his father's work. She worried more, but no one asked her opinion.

The first day in the camp had been better than she'd expected. Playing her guitar and listening to music had always helped against the noise of others' emotions, and now she could use this to conceal her hardships. Also, the praise had been flowing, which had surprised her. It'd seemed she had practiced enough for Mrs. Wilkes to choose her into her group along with fifteen and sixteen-year-old kids, two pianists, a drummer and four others playing guitars. Oh, and there had been those three girls playing the violin and one the flute, but they had not been her roommates. Anne had said she was a year older to fit in, and soon the "almost fifteen" lost the "almost" just for convenience's sake.

Her first mishap had been profanely un-magical; she'd insisted on addressing Mrs. Wilkes with the respect she was used to and had been afraid to call her Mabel like others so effortlessly had, making the older kids laugh. But then Judy Silversmith had come to her aid, explaining that it must have been because she attended a boarding school like her brother, and she'd taken her under her wings. It'd felt nice to be defended. Also, it'd felt nice that Judy's care gave her two more friends, Laura and Amy. Soon they even had matching friendship bracelets, and Amy's brother introduced them all to his friends.

One of those was a boy called Christopher, who was almost sixteen. Chris Jones was tall and had the darkest blue eyes with the longest lashes, chestnut hair that hung under his ears, which he could tie into a ponytail when he played football in their free time. He never tied it up when he played the piano or when he tried to make out some notes on a music sheet, not that it reminded Anne of anyone in particular…. especially not with him being so ready to laugh and joke. He was, without a doubt, the hottest boy Anne had ever seen, and she'd had the best eight days of her life staring at him – just to realize on their last day that she would probably never see any of them any more.

That afternoon, Judy found her at the edge of the campsite, crying under a blackthorn old enough to have a trunk like an ash tree. She could see the field from here and pity herself while watching Chris score a goal.

"Hey, Anne, Mabel's worried; what are you doing? We need to finish before we get ready for the End Festival."

Anne sniffled, still looking towards the field. "He's so cool!"

"Mark? Yeah, I guess. I will–"

"No, Chris! I meant Chris."

"Oh!"

Judy sat by her, and they watched the boys for a while.

"Well, Amy was here last year, and she says that the disco after tonight's fest will get us what we want… I mean… I'm sure I'll make a move on Mark; you should try too."

"I've never…" – Anne hesitated to show how perplexed she was, but it seemed Judy already understood her.

"It's no big deal; you can do it! Laura will give you her lip gloss, and you can borrow my liner. You'll look your best. I even give you my pink tee; I want to wear the blue one. What do you say?"

Anne could only giggle. "That tee shirt is a size too small even for you; it would never fit!"

"That's the point, Cinderella, you'll show off your tits! They're already bigger than mine, make sure you don't grow them still, or you'll look like a stuffed duck. But it's good enough for tonight."

Anne was torn between being scandalized and excited. Her breasts had always been a bother; could they have some use for a change? Is that the way to make Chris like her? She hoped he liked her; he sometimes joked with her, and once he'd asked if she'd slept well….

She asked back if Judy really meant it, and when she learned she was first kissed in that top, the whole idea began to sound better. Then a bothersome memory arose about Malcolm giving her wand back with a formal bow in class, and she shuddered. She definitely needed better memories.

"Okay."

Hours later, after the evening's performance, Anne sat in front of a mirror and stared at herself after Laura fixed her. Her hair was half-up, the concealer hid the traces of her usual anxiety, the eyeliner made her look older, and the turquoise eye shadow made her warm brown eyes pop out. The problem was the lip-gloss that made her lips so big she wanted to wipe it, but Amy reminded her that she wished Chris to notice them. Well, she guessed he should if he was to ever kiss her….

The last was Judy's pink tee that showed off her waist and half her navel no matter how hard she tried to pull it down. If she didn't reach above her head, she could probably preserve some of the decency that was so crucial in the wizarding world. But this was the Muggle world, and Chris was a Muggle. She was determined to adjust, whatever the cost.

While the others tittered, getting ready, Anne pulled back further into her mind, trying not to lose her connection to reality while doing so. She had to do this. She won't see Chris anymore, which was good if it didn't work out and bad in any other sense… now her tears began welling up, and Laura hugged her.

"Hey, Annie, what's wrong, girl?"

"She's only anxious; she's never done it before," – Judy explained in her stead.

"Well, Chris has, I'm sure," – Laura consoled her. "He's a lucky prat to have you tonight."

Anne stared. "Is he?"

"Sure, have you seen yourself?" – Amy stepped closer and took her hands. "If it is your first kiss, you can practice with me," – she smiled, and Anne only heard the two other girls giggling behind her.

"Wha–"

"It's easy," – Amy whispered, still smiling, and leaned down to put her lips on Anne's. They felt soft, and Amy's perfume bothered her a little, but not as much as when her lips moved against her.

Anne's eyes flew open, but Amy's were closed, and she held her hands firmly in place. After a few seconds, it felt nice enough, but then Anne gasped when Amy licked into her mouth. For a second, she thought she must have made a mistake, and everyone would laugh at her for letting Amy's tongue touch hers. Nobody laughed, and Amy's tongue slid over hers, caressing, tickling. It was so ticklish, Anne smiled. She didn't even realize when she moved her tongue, only when Amy's breath hitched, and she let her hands go, half turning away. "See?" – She asked with fake nonchalance. "It's easy; you know how to do it."

Laura and Judy were tittering around them about everyone practising with Amy, and Anne felt the girl's embarrassment and some sparks of wistfulness even withdrawn into her mind. She wished she knew what to say. Amy was such a kind girl and beautiful too. She couldn't help it if she was more interested in Chris, which Amy must have also known. It felt humiliating to apologize, so she eventually just mumbled she thought she kissed very well. Amy's face flushed hot red, but when she turned away, she smiled.

The "disco" was nothing spectacular, only loud music in the big tent and all the kids from the camp. Anne couldn't see Mabel anywhere, and nobody missed her. Judy flirted with Mark until the boy agreed to dance with her, then she all but jumped him… Anne gulped her Coke and looked the other way. She needed to be careful not to pull back too deep into her mind, but letting all the flying emotions get to her was also impossible.

Surely, Snape should have known better than to leave her alone with three bloody books and a half-promise; what was he thinking? He must have been fifteen once… well, thirteen for one more month, but did it matter? Blasted tits, if they didn't grow so quickly, she could at least pull this damned tee sh–

"Hi," – Chris's voice almost sounded timid when he stood beside her. It was so cute!

"Hi," – Anne breathed, struggling to look cool. She knew she failed when the boy grinned.

"Erm… nice top…." – Chris mentioned with a peculiar expression on his face that prompted Anne out of her hiding in her mind to test the air about him if he was mocking her.

He wasn't. She felt his embarrassment, excitement, anxiety, and something more… something warm she didn't recognize.

"Thanks… erm… it's Judy's."

"Is it?" Chris grinned again. "It suits you better."

His embarrassment seemed to grow, and Anne had no idea why or how to help it. They stood in silence for a few minutes.

"D'you wanna dance?" – Chris gabbled then.

Anne quickly nodded. "Sure."

They walked some steps toward the crowd before Chris took her hand. Anne began to feel like she was in a fairy tale, and she smiled for the first time since they arrived here, but then the song suddenly stopped, and Wet Wet Wet's Goodnight Girl started. Chris rolled his eyes and pulled her closer. Above his shoulder, Anne saw Amy by the DJ's station, grinning at her.

Dancing was easier than in the wizarding world, with Chris only stepping from one foot to the other. His hands descended on the small of her back, and Anne could sense his emotions changing between nervousness and that warmer thing. After a while, she also sensed his anticipation, then he leaned above her and smelled her hair. Anne almost giggled, but she was glad she didn't betray herself when his excitement flared up, and he hid his face into the hollow between her neck and shoulder.

Warmth and uncertainty radiated from Chris, Anne hoped warmth meant good, and she stepped closer to mirror his moves and lean her head onto him. Of course, her blasted breasts had to get in the way, and they caught on the boy's chest, but he didn't mind that. On the contrary, his breath hitched, and Anne felt a spark of want shooting through him like electricity. Then he stepped back with sudden embarrassment.

She didn't want him to step away, so Anne did what she could and moved closer again, and on the next touch, she could almost hear him cursing in his head while his desire filled the air in waves. Anne began to feel the distinct tickling under her navel that showed her that seventh-year boy's longing for her girlfriend in the Common Room at Halloween. This time she was unsure if it came from Chris or her. The way her nipples rubbed against the boy's shirt was a peculiar sensation she had no time to contemplate because he finally looked at her!

Chris's blue eyes had never been wider, his pupils dilated almost twice their size, and finally, he leaned closer. Then he swallowed. Then he stared some more. Anne could sense his anxiousness, and she touched her nose to his cheek, encouraging him, and his lips finally touched hers!

The first she felt was the sweet taste of success, then soon other things also came to mind… fuzzy warmth radiated from him, and she basked in it, and the smell of sweet mint in his breath that covered the alcohol. Her heart beat rapidly and her stomach warmed up. She remembered Amy's lesson and moved her lips against his. It worked instantly like a charm, and Chris's lips parted to receive the tip of her tongue.

Then hell unleashed. The emotions she had sensed from the boy got frantic like a storm, and Chris kissed her abandon with his tongue caressing hers, his hands pulling her impossibly close until she could feel the buckle of his belt uncomfortably pressing into her belly and also up into her stomach… What? Shite -Anne wanted to scream with the realization, but it came out as a squeak and only spurred Chris further. It wasn't his buckle! Well, not the lower one! And Anne felt stupid and trapped, and her mind ran a mile a minute for not thinking of this before!

Suddenly the kiss felt like a prologue for something else she didn't bargain for. Not yet, not at…

"Come, let's take a walk!" – Chris breathed in her ear and kissed a trail down her neck. That still felt good, even if ticklish. She was unsure if she wanted to feel good anymore. "C'mon!" – Chris pulled her outside by a hand, and Anne didn't dare to look around.

His face looked flushed even in the dim light, and his eyes shone brighter than any time before. He was beautiful aside from that almost predatory grin, and he leaned down, now confidently, for another kiss. It wasn't cute anymore. It was coveting and hungry, and all his exuberant feelings were sparkling in the air around them, hitting her chest from the inside with mounting force until Anne wasn't sure which of them felt what.

Then his hand slipped up on her waist and touched a side of a breast, making her lightheaded with pleasure she was unsure if she wished to feel. They were heading somewhere she was afraid to go, but she didn't want to hurt him. What to do? What to do? Her thoughts came slow and jumbled, and Chris's palm touched a nipple. She'd only known the shadow of that feeling, and it would have been nice to have some time to adjust. Her belly fired up with some need, profoundly earthy, and that finally frightened her out of her socks.

Without conscious thought, Anne's earliest memories kicked into action, and she disappeared on the spot, slipping out of the embrace.

Chris gasped and then cried out in shock. Anne's unprotected senses could well recognize his panic. It was pathetic, really, standing two steps from the nicest boy in the camp, invisible and confused, while she could feel his hysteria and lingering desire. She suddenly pitied him. Or herself… Well, both.

Chris shouted incoherently until his friends ran out of the tent, all their emotions heightened to the point they made her queasy. No one understood a thing, and fright, panic, hurt, doubt and hysteria consumed the air, which she couldn't breathe anymore.

She ran. The gates were closed, and the blackthorn was her only refuge; she panted with unsatisfied need, fright, and shame until she finally could break down sobbing, giving out all her confusion and pain about the night.

The road home the following day was also an hour of shame, but at least she wasn't hiding behind her invisibility since dawn. It wore off like it usually did within an hour after she calmed. The girls didn't understand a thing, and she couldn't explain it. Chris pulled far from her and talked to his friends, who all eyed Anne suspiciously and with distaste. It didn't matter. It was her first kiss, and her stupid magic ruined it. Damn Snape, damn mind magic, and damn being a witch and all the Muggles!

Hanging around at Rachel's and helping her grandmother around the house was enough after all the experiences she managed to gather. There was no reason to share with anyone what had happened to her, not even if Rachel assured her of her care and discretion. What to say anyway? She wasn't supposed to mention mind magic to anyone! And it was because of being a bloody empath, wasn't it? Was it?

The last two weeks of August were barely enough to calm down. At least her Muggle relatives were static in their feelings. Nothing impulsive, nothing surprising. She could cope. The only hard day was when the boys came to visit, complaining about the Ministry's newest idiocy to raid old pureblood households, searching for dark artifacts. What nonsense would make them do that? Those were mostly just old heirlooms and dusty tomes with bad habits! Anne suggested that maybe the whole issue could be linked to the gossip about Quirrell being somehow connected to the Dark Lord, but Caleb thought it was just nuts and no one should look for logic in the Ministry's dealings.

Her brothers were supposed to take her to Diagon Alley to gather her school supplies and celebrate Gavin's shiny new Apparition Licence. Their father wouldn't let them side-along Apparate Anne, but that didn't mean they couldn't celebrate. It was late for shopping, being the 29th of August, but Caleb assured her that it was for the best.

The boys talked endlessly about a fair-haired moron with pathological narcissism signing his books every day of the previous week – about house pests! Of course, there were some more they compared to Hestia's paperbacks, but the thing was, most witches from around the country had already done their shopping just to meet him. It sounded so funny; Anne finally laughed. She was glad to accept her brothers' not-so-tender nudging to go out to Fortescue's. The ice cream was also lovely.

She only bought the textbooks for Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, which made their trip shorter and easier to bear the crowd. Anne assured her brothers she was happy with the hand-me-down books for every other class and reminded them that most of the notes were in her hand anyway. Gavin was patient enough to even wait outside Madame Malkin's until she bought the necessities. The good Madame offered a specially tailored robe to accommodate her budding hourglass shape, but Anne thought back on the Muggle camp and refused, saying she didn't want to impress anyone. She didn't add she thought she'd learned her lesson.

Three days later, they all stood alone at Platform Nine and three-quarters because their father believed his seventh-year sons were trustworthy enough to deal with their own business. However, he worried about their mother's safety after the Ministry raids. Anne shook her head because it didn't make sense at all, but Gavin only sighed, "Father," – and Caleb nodded as if that was reason enough. She couldn't make either of them explain it.

The long, dull ride to Hogsmeade was spent with her classmates fuming at the Headmaster's betrayal of all sense and decorum when he took the House Cup away from Slytherin at the end of last year as if the summer months hadn't gone by them.

Malcolm was keen to sit beside her and was the loudest of the boys: "I say if it was a war on the Huffs last year, then now we have our debts to settle with the Gryffs. This is simply infamy! My gran even wrote to Dumbledore!"

"Your gran, who was an Avery?" – Flora promptly asked back. "I wonder if he'd even read it with the Ministry's idiocy and all… I heard that the Weasleys are in it, and you know what they're saying."

Anne looked around, and Vaisey seemed as lost as she was. "What do they say?"

"Well, my aunt thinks that the Weasleys were the closest to Dumbledore, with the Prewetts, who we know openly disgraced their name. And I'm certain the Weasleys had no one nosing around in their home."

Anne tried to catch up. Vaisey was still lost, but the rest of her classmates were nodding. She knew Flora talked about the war and the Sacred Twenty-eight, implying that the Ministry did what was for the Headmaster's benefit against the old families who used to support the Dark Lord. The Rosiers were also on the list; she was safe as long as her mother's identity remained a secret.

Was that reason enough for their father to send them to Hogwarts without as much as a farewell? He might not have had the time to escort them, and he dared not let their mum come. She wondered what was going on in the Ministry that neither of her brothers wanted to tell her but avoided asking, not to key up Flora and Malcolm. Higgs surely knew, but it was hard to hold her composure even without further contemplation.

"Potter's friends with a Weasley," – Higgs told them. "I know because they were always around the Quidditch pitch. It wouldn't be too hard to catch them."

"Yeah, and then to spend all year in and out of detentions. Again." Vaisey shook his head. "That's a bad idea, Terence; I've already told you."

"Easy to talk when Arthur Weasley wasn't in your house, turning it upside down. Your parents are only–" – Hestia began vehemently, but to everyone's surprise, Urquhart took Vaisey's side.

"It's not our place to go against our families," – he stated. "I talked about this with my gran too. And yes, she is an Avery and a Black by her mother," – he nodded to Flora. "So I would say that her opinion counts."

"So what does your precious sacred blooded grandmother suggest against the Headmaster's lapdogs?" – Hestia asked back, mocking him with the syrupiest sweetness and a smile.

"She calls it tactic. Wait, observe, attack. What do they love the most?"

"Quidditch,"- said Terence promptly.

"That strange girl running around them," – offered Hestia.

"Snapey said breaking the rules; I heard him last year," Vaisey said.

Anne felt Flora's eyes on her and could only shrug. "I've only seen that girl with them in the Library. She cannot use the catalogue."

"Well, that's bloody useful," – Flora rolled her eyes.

"It is," – Malcolm came to Anne's defence. "Pince likes you. Can you arrange she doesn't get to learn it?"

"Sure, I guess," – Anne shrugged again. A lot were lost in the vast Library, and Pince didn't show any signs she cared last year.

"That's one. Then we could do something about Quidditch,"- Malcolm nudged them on.

Higgs pulled his mouth into an ugly grimace. "Well, don't look at me then. I went hunting with my uncle, and the older Malfoy showed up. He waxed about his son's talent and some Ashwinder eggs in Knockturn, and then my uncle sat me down to talk me out of even going to the try-outs," – he explained.

"What? You won't play this year?" Malcolm asked, astonished.

Terence shook his head. "My uncle will take me to Zaire to hunt for tebo in the winter break if I behave."

"There's a funny spell, Densaugeo. I can teach it to the second years; they have classes with them," – Vaisey offered.

"Is that the one that makes your teeth grow?" – Terence asked, and he nodded.

"That girl already must have run into one," – Hestia laughed. "Good one, Vaisey. Bring more, guys!"

By the time the trolley witch showed up, they had a few more ideas, like informing Snape whenever the Gryffs were up to something or raiding the Gryffindor try-outs and conquering the Quidditch pitch so they wouldn't be able to practice. Later they also discussed their summer owls that appointed both Flora and Terence as tutors for the coming first-years and Malcolm for two second-years. Flora dearly hoped she would tutor someone ambitious in Quidditch, and that would give her access to the House Team again, now that she couldn't rely on Higgs' involvement. Of course, Terence pulled up his nose at that….

Anne felt bored, and fiddling around in the rooms in her head was sorely tempting. She dared not experiment for months since no one knew about her situation. Perhaps in Hogwarts. Just a few hours more.

In Hogsmeade, she looked for her brothers in the crowd, but Urquhart cried out for her, holding the door for a carriage. Anne joined him and Vaisey with practiced obedience and regret. When he tried to bring up the Hogsmeade weekend, she quickly asked him about the Quidditch World Cup and leaned back in her seat when the boys enthusiastically discussed Transylvania and the Final.

Anne looked for Professor Snape as soon as they entered the Great Hall, but he was nowhere to be seen. It only began to bother the people around her when the new batch of firsties ventured in, and the Sorting began.

"Where's Snapey?" – Flora nudged her arm.

"Haven't seen him," – Anne shook her head and looked at Higgs, who sat at the other side of the table. "Have you heard something about him in the summer?"

Terence shrugged and looked around in the Great Hall. "No. But he can't be gone… something must have happened."

"But what?" – Hestia leaned closer. "He's missing the Sorting; what could happen to make him?"

Anne looked along the Slytherin table. All the upper years also discussed Snape's absence in silent murmur until Goozey, the new Prefect, made them shut up. She knew Phil was right.

"Whatever it is, you don't know if he needs the attention," – she reminded Terence, who still kept on guessing. The boy nodded and fell silent.

The whole table was abuzz with mute anticipation for something terrible to happen. Anne hid in her mind and tried to stay calm. Snape had to show up. He simply had to. She didn't know what he could have planned for her and wasn't allowed to ask anyone else. Somehow it seemed impossible to imagine Snape's rules vanishing with him. It was just not the way the world operated.

The Headmaster stood up after the Sorting and said his incoherent words as per usual. The snakes almost hissed equivocally against him. Anne had to consider whether he knew how much he'd hurt a quarter of his school? He seemed unfazed, and the meal popped up before he could return Anne's gaze. She focused on her plate and only noticed that McGonagall had disappeared with the Headmaster when Malcolm whispered to her to look.

Snape walked in from a backdoor behind the High Table a few minutes later, and to say his features looked stormy wasn't even descriptive enough. All the upper years pulled back their necks with experience and practice, and Miranda Fawley taught the new firsties silently that they should behave.

Anne stared. Was she the other new Prefect? A prefect to buy homework? It was hilarious. She peeked towards her brothers, but they both were preoccupied with Goozey and the evening edition of the Prophet. The young Malfoy had a copy too. She nudged Malcolm to show it, and he nodded for Higgs to get one from a second-year.

"Bloody hell!" – Terence whispered as soon as he saw the title, then quickly handed the paper over the table.

Anne saw Vaisey's grin and felt Hestia's gloating before she could even look at Flora and Malcolm. Someone had flown to school in a Muggle car, breaking the Statute of Secrecy and showing off to Muggles.

"Potter's missing," – Vaisey inclined his head towards the Gryffindor table. "So is one of the Weasleys, Flora," – he added with a grin.

"Justice," – Flora Carrow cackled as loudly as she dared, which was not much with Professor Snape looking down at them. "Now they should both be gone. Time the Headmaster learn what his pets are!"

"Don't be nuts, as if he would care," – Terence replied.

"What do you mean, they broke at least half a dozen laws and whatnot," – Vaisey asked, still reading.

"We'll see if those apply to Gryffs, too," – Malcolm deemed, looking up at the High Table.

The Headmaster just returned there, jovially sitting down as if nothing was amiss. Anne noticed the small smile he sent in Professor Snape's direction and also Snape's answering expression moving above his jaw.

"He's angry," – she mumbled absently. Although she couldn't sense the Professor's emotions, they were hardly mistakable at this point.

"Are you surprised?" Higgs gave back the paper to the second year. "He probably knows what happened, and Dumbledore doesn't seem to mind it at all."

"McGee is still missing, though,"- Hestia pointed out, and the rest of the meal was spent guessing before they all left for the Common Room.

With her name and two seventh-year brothers, Anne managed to land herself an armchair for the first time, and she would have lied if she denied that Slytherin's traditionalism did have its perks. The social ladder looked definitely better when viewed from the upside, and the headrests nicely filtered out some of the noise.

Either it was because she now felt more comfortable or Professor Snape had fewer duties before he could appear this year, but this time his robe edges billowed through the portrait entrance surprisingly soon. He didn't waste much time with the upper years either, and he did use the parchment Goozey handed him after his welcoming words, reminding them of the rules' importance and their supposed decorous behaviour. The upper years understood it as a comment against the muffins with that flying car, and the younger ones would learn.

Anne had a good vantage point to observe him from the depth of her armchair without calling the Professor's attention. He was still livid. Not as much as about an hour ago, but enough for a hint of pink at the edges of his parchment-like face and to make him breathe through his nose. The worry line between his eyes never relaxed either. She could only imagine what she would have thought about him if that was the way she'd first seen him.

Three years ago, Professor Snape seemed fun, if not funny, young and powerful, with a sense of humour hidden behind an acerbic front, which was easy to peek through for anyone who cared. Now his age hadn't progressed much, but he didn't give off the vibe of a younger teacher. His remarks cut deeper, and his patience wore thinner. If this was the fault of those insane Gryffindors, she was ready to cross them at every turn.

"The Prefects will introduce you to the House's tutoring system, and my schedule will hang until Friday on my office door. Mr. Goozey, you are responsible for making Mr. Norton use it. Hughes, Goyle, and Miss Neal, you are supposed to report on my first open appointment to discuss your remedial courses for the year. Miss Rosier, to my office, now."

Anne started. She was unsure if she'd heard him right, but Caleb and Gavin looked at her like Flora, Hestia, and Malcolm, so they must have had the same hallucination.

"Everybody else, retire to your dormitories."

With that, Professor Snape strolled out of the Common Room, with his robe's ends floating about his legs like usual. Anne jumped and hurried after him before anyone could stop her with questions.

She didn't know she was angry at him until she sat again in that silent office, watching Professor Snape warding his hearth and vanishing a tray from his desk. He did both with such blatant disgust on his face most would have reached for cover; however, for her, it only gave one more reason to glare. That was when she realized she was almost as angry as Snape was. And she couldn't care less about anything else.

He finally walked to his desk, unlocked a drawer and fished out a parchment and a box.

"Your scheduled classes for the year, as we previously agreed," – he handed her the parchment. "Have you finished with Ephsos?"

Anne lifted her chin. "No, sir."

She felt suicidal satisfaction when that gave him a pause.

"No, sir?" – her Professor repeated. "And yet you are as collected and unabashed as it comes, Miss Rosier. Perhaps you got obliviated in the summer and would spare me the further effort or found a way around mind magic yet undiscovered, in which case we'd better–"

Anne lost her patience for his mockery. "I did none of those things. Sir," – she overemphasized the honorific.

"Then what made you so blatantly impertinent, disregarding our arrangement, and obviously losing your better sense, girl?"'

Anne couldn't help the small sarcastic smirk creeping on her lips. As if that bloody arrangement helped with Chris Jones or the Muggle kids!

"I did as a good little Empath should. That was all, Professor."

"All," – Snape repeated again, this time with dangerously narrowed eyes, visibly close to exploding. "So what should such a good Empath do in your expert opinion, Miss Rosier, if I may ask?"

"I suffered, sir," – Anne told him, with chin held high, glaring him in the eye. "Just like you told me I was supposed to."

It was so quick she could hardly see him move, and the parchment flew back onto Professor Snape's desk while his office door popped open.

"Don't let me stop your efforts then," – he gestured toward the door.

Anne stood, still half-justified in her anger and hurt, but now also worried about that parchment. She'd never seen this face of Snape; he didn't look only emotionless; this was more. She finally saw the power again she'd felt in him on her first day at Hogwarts, and it made him look stone hard and stone cold. Vicious and evil like a face of an enemy.

"I will need my schedule, sir," – she told him, a part of her wishing to continue talking to him and explain all that she felt, but the stone didn't melt, and another part of her was still full of hate and frustration.

"You will need much more but deserve none. I won't waste any more time on spoiled brats' stupidity. Get out!"

This time his voice was harsh, and Anne almost reached the door before she thought better. He would have had his way if he'd said anything else, but she wasn't stupid, she was hurt, and it was time for him to notice! She wasn't spoiled, and she wasn't time wasted!

"I didn't fly in a bloody car to school, Professor! I didn't lose a single point since last March! I am hiding in my oh-so-stupid head, making into the five percent as you'd wished while I can't figure out a way to even breathe around people! And I still went along with all the bloody socializing my relatives thought out because you forbade me to tell! Yet you want me to make do with three bloody books, older than Gringotts, which I'm so very stupid to not even understand! Then you send me on my merry way, now for the second time, offering no help, so what arrangement?!"

Her tears were of anger. No wonder the Professor gave them no heed at all.

"How convenient! Don't let anyone pull you out of your self-pity, Rosier; you have everything to cry for. Especially earning detention for a lifetime! NOW, GET OUT!"

Stepping out onto the dimly lit corridor and hearing the door shut behind her was again like stepping through a portal. However, calm and reason were on the other side of the door this time. Anne blanched, thinking about all she was shouting inside there, and to Professor Snape's face of all people!

Not that she'd said anything that wasn't true, but she wasn't that angry or devastated. Yes, she did curse him and mind magic and all the world, but she'd always known she would be already an inmate of the Jannus Thickey ward since last Halloween if he hadn't taken the pains to step in and offer a straw.

That straw was everything she had had these last months to grab onto and keep hope. And now that she had finally met him, she shouted in his face!

Anne's hand trembled when she turned the doorknob; she didn't dare to knock, not to offer a chance to get sent away. Snape stood among the remains of what must have been his chair and a clock; the wand in his hand didn't look encouraging.

"I'm sorry, sir, truly," – she began timidly. "I don't know why I said what I did. I shouldn't have… I know I was struggling, and it's frustrating, but nothing like what I've said, I–"

Professor Snape raised his head, and she finally could look into his narrowed eyes. Anne tentatively stepped closer, and her hurt returned.

"But I put my head down and did the hard work! I researched, I practiced, I was hiding in plain sight and kept my mouth shut!" – Anne cried, not missing the moment when her Professor's gaze hardened again. "It's so unjust, I–" – she felt livid enough to just walk out on him and shut that blasted door herself. So she turned, took a step… and instantly regretted her words.

"Sir, I think something's wrong here," –Anne breathed and froze, not daring to move anymore.

It might have been her incoherence or her tone, whichever, Snape didn't bother to say. But, absurdly, his voice was almost calm as he asked:

"What do you sense, Miss Rosier?"

Anne touched into the air, leaving the rest of her hiding. She realized she hadn't been too deeply withdrawn. She couldn't feel any emotion from Professor Snape; there was nothing new to that. But as soon as she left her 'house,' her anger returned.

"I'm so angry with you, I could–" she began, almost gagging, and felt outraged when the Professor's hand touched her shoulder, pushing her out onto the corridor. She had to catch a wall to straighten herself, and Professor Snape stepped after her, eying her with suspicion, wand in hand.

"You were saying?"

Anne touched around for calm and a full breath. "I don't know what happened. I sat down, and it hit me… anger… I was so frustrated, but… I know I'm not! And other things… I wanted to… but I don't want to, sir," – she looked up at him, confused. "I am frustrated, but not like that! And I'm not angry, just worried and impatient, maybe… I appreciate all you'd done for–"

"Enough!"

When he returned to his office, and the door closed, Anne thought all was lost. But a moment later, he walked out to her again, parchment and box in hand, and led her into one of the classrooms, gestured for her to sit, and warded the door.

"Since how long can you sense the imprint of former emotions in a room, Miss Rosier?"

Anne tried not to gape at him. Did he just admit that his room was full of anger, hurt, frustration and untampered hatred? The last one she even tried to omit just a moment ago!

"I don't know, sir, I have never noticed it before…. I'm– I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what, Rosier?"

"F-for yelling? For pitying myself? Or saying bad things about your books, which I like? I- I'm sorry that those emotions are in your office, sir."

Until her last sentence, her Professor seemed only surprised, then as if a shutter closed in front of his face.

"Mind your own business, Rosier. Now that we know that you were not entirely yourself… we have a discussion to finish."

Anne glanced up with hope, just to see the Professor putting down the box between them and holding out the parchment. She took it before he could think about it twice.

"Erm… excuse me, sir, but would you mind explaining what happened?"

"You were there, Miss Rosier; I believe you can recall it all."

"But–" There was no good way to put it, her bafflement, shame, and dismay… and all the better emotions, respect, regret, and eagerness to finally do it right. Anne had no idea it all was written plainly on her face, and so she couldn't understand why Professor Snape was yet to send her away.

"Ephsos," – she mentioned, and made sure her Head of House was willing to listen before she went on – "he says there are sub-branches for an Observing Legilimens, such as an Empath, either discerning emotions, physical symptoms, or their surroundings, a society, or a group. I haven't-"

Snape finally sat at the edge of a desk and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Wrong," – he sighed. "He distinguishes Intuitive Empaths while telling the reader that all Empaths can discern emotions and physical symptoms. It seems you have been unaware of your ability's intuitive side."

Anne stared and stared some more. Was she? She'd spent time with her mother in a daze, taken by music and the summer. Later she'd enjoyed the stability with her grandmother and Rachel, she had strived when Rachel wished for achievement, laughed with Gavin even when she'd felt miserable, and brooded with Caleb because that was all so natural… effortless… like thinking about Chris among girls who were preoccupied with boys. She didn't think about him lately, only about her fright and incompetence.

"Oh, shite…."

"Language, Rosier," – reminded Professor Snape, this time obviously amused. "Or I'll be forced to put you through the detentions I've already promised."

"Sir, if an Intuitive Empath was put in a room, say with teenage girls who were into not much else but dating and-"

"Miss Rosier, are you absolutely sure you want me to know about what you're preparing to ask?"- her Professor interjected the question. Wisely, Anne had to admit.

She swallowed and tried to rephrase. "When I feel others' emotion or physical … symptoms…" - she knew she should think about Mr. Filch's arthritis instead of a Muggle boy's desires, but she still felt her cheeks warming up – "they are as easy to distinguish from mine as others' voices when talking. But I have proof that it's not the case when I feel lingering emotions; those are a jumbled mess and have no identity."

"That would explain why you haven't yet noticed this side of your abilities," – Snape acknowledged, making her feel better.

"Then help me, please! Sir, I need to know if my feelings belong to me or just leftovers from others!"

"One way would be to calm and empty your mind, Miss Rosier, as Ephsos suggests. So you would know that nothing belongs to you of what you discern."

The reprimand didn't escape Anne. However, it wasn't that simple, and Professor Snape had to know that!

"Sir, you do have emotions too; you only hide them – well, most of the time… There must also be another way. And- and why would be such emotions in your office? I thought I'd be safe there!"

Oh, he didn't like to hear that; she knew it already! The way he breathed deeply through his nose and closed his eyes when turning his face away… it wasn't looking up, and Anne began to regret the question.

"There might have been… others in my office before you, feeling the same way as you did, Miss Rosier; you just happen to be more forward, maybe more honest in expressing yourself."

"Why would someone hate you so intensely?" – the words just stumbled out from Anne although she knew he wasn't yet finished.

Strangely, Professor Snape looked only surprised. "Why not, Miss Rosier?"

"Well…" – Anne's lips moved, working for coherence, but it took time for her to come up with an answer. "Because it's unjust?"

"Why would it be unjust?" – Professor Snape asked her, not less perplexed.

Anne thought hard about how to put it in a way that wouldn't hurt too much.

"Because of the measure, sir. It cannot be deserved."

To her horror, Severus Snape then smiled. It was a sad smile, admittedly. A little bitter, maybe even pitying. He hung his head, and she could only see his eyebrows running together.

"Read your schedule, Rosier!" – she heard from under his hair.

She did.

Monday, first and second periods, Charms and Herbology. Then again: Monday, first and second periods, Arithmancy and Muggle Studies. Lunch. Monday, third and fourth periods, Double Potions. Prep period. Tuesday, first and second periods, Double Transfiguration. Then again: Tuesday, first and second periods, Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies. Lunch. Tuesday, third and fourth periods, Double History of Magic. Then again: Tuesday, third period, Divination. Prep period. Wednesday,…

"Sir, how am I supposed to do almost all periods twice?"

Professor Snape – now reassuringly his usual self again – mutely opened the lid on that box.

"This device is a Time-turner. It is in the possession of the Ministry of Magic, kept and lent out by the Department of Mysteries for each year's most over-achieving student in Hogwarts. We don't always have a student signing up for all the courses the school can offer, but from time to time, it happens. As for you have applied for all elective courses, which no one else did from your year; this time, you may use this device to turn back time for your benefit."

Anne knew she probably stared as if the Professor suddenly grew elf ears and a halo above his head, but she wasn't aware that she even gaped.

"Now, the rules are: You can turn back time by a maximum of five hours or less, which is more advisable. You have to choose a location where no one can see you disappearing or showing up, and you must not meet your other self under any circumstances. This is no joke, Miss Rosier; I would appreciate it if you stopped smiling and gave your utmost attention."

Anne checked her features; it was surreal, but she was ready to be serious. Almost ready. "Sorry, sir."

"As logic would suggest, if you turned back time to attend your elective classes, your former self would be attending class in another room at the same time. As I have said, your different selves must not meet. The Ministry relies on your circumspection and maturity to handle such an extraordinarily expensive and dangerous device, which you may only borrow after one of your professors vouched for your character."

Anne's eyes widened, and her Head of House nodded.

"I would not suggest you make me regret it, Miss Rosier. For my own character in case of such a disappointment, I wouldn't vouch."

"Yes, sir," – she swallowed twice. It was probably the most severe threat she'd ever heard, and she was mature and serious enough to realize that, at least.

"The Ministry also made a point about forbidding the device's use in any kind of non-academic endeavour."

"Yes, sir, of course, I understand."

"Good," - Snape nodded. "Because that is the rule that we are going to bend."