HP belongs to Rowling, whatever you recognize is her work, I only scribbled the rest. No gain on my part but the fun!

Enjoy!

TN

Chapter 11

From 18th December 1992 to 3rd January 1993

(14)

The blizzard that began the day before covered the castle in thick snow that made all sounds otherworldly silent, and the tall windows of the Infirmary dim with greyish light. When Anne woke up, it didn't feel like a new morning. Her head pounded with a headache, and her eyes felt sore above her puffed cheeks.

Madame Pomfrey moved soundlessly among the beds, and Anne turned her head to the side not to call her attention. Surprisingly, she saw Sophie fidgeting with a breakfast tray on her nightstand.

"Hi," – Anne felt her own voice unfamiliar.

"Good morning," – her fourth-year dormmate turned away from the tray. "I – I took your book bag," – she lifted the bag to awkwardly show it.

Some of the memories about last night returned and Anne hid her face in the pillow.

"Hey, I just thought you wanted to know that Flora didn't tell anyone what she did to you… I only heard her talking to Hes, and..." – Sophie tugged on the blanket to look Anne in the eye, and she reluctantly let her pull it lower. "I went straight to Snape."

Anne threw away her pillow to stare at her. "You WHAT?"

"Shite, you shouldn't hold it against me! I'm the only girl in my year; I grew up with the bloody Burke descendants and relatives like Uncle Luis; if there's anyone to understand Snape's rule about Slytherin not fighting its own, that's me! He had to be posted!"

Anne could sense how guilty Sophie felt, but she couldn't help her anger. Snape was perhaps the last one she would have told about a magical vibrator! He didn't want to be her friend; he maybe was a creep like Uncle Evan and his ilk, like the Carrows with an aunt and an uncle in Azkaban, even if no one bothered to mention them! Her family knew enough about the gossip! But when she tried to sit up, her headache throbbed painfully, and she felt nauseous and weak.

"What did he say?" – she asked with a dry throat and almost lost patience when Sophie looked down at the floor.

"He didn't say anything extraordinary, but you should have seen his face!" Anne sensed the wicked satisfaction before her dormmate finally lifted her face. Sophie was smirking. "He is out for blood, I tell you. Of course, he listed my sins from breaking curfew to playing a snitch and ruining his night. But when I told him I wanted to come here, he only nodded, and with his usual kindness proposed I 'shut my gob and wait for the morning.' And he had that evil glitter in his eye… you know it. He's been here with Madame Pomfrey, and she says he'd brewed this for you," – Sophie lifted a small blue phial from the breakfast tray and examined it in the dim light.

Anne followed her every move and tried to get to terms with what she'd heard. Snape cared? So why he didn't go after Flora Carrow? Although, she had to admit she would have hated it if it all became a loud scandal, if Flora and Hestia were called out on bullying, and she was left to be a victim. As if she was powerless on her own.

"Did he go to the dorms, too?" – Anne asked with fear.

"Not as long as I've been there," – Sophie shrugged. "D'you have any idea what this might be?"

Anne remembered that purple sedative, but this vial wasn't similar. She shook her head and almost reached for the phial before Madame Pomfrey stepped into view.

"Ah, Miss Rosier, you're coming around, I see," – she placed the breakfast tray before Anne. "Now, first, you need something in your stomach; this solution will help you overcome the stress. We don't need anyone guessing your troubles, do we, girl?" – she added with an understanding glint in her eyes.

Anne obediently bit into her toast and swallowed the crumbs with the horrible Infirmary tea.

"Is this some kind of a sedative then?" – Sophie asked, still intrigued by the potion.

"Not exactly. It's one of your Professor Snape's earliest original brews, as I gathered over the years; it's between a mild antidepressant and a strengthening solution propped up with vitamins. It's harmless, but it eases the recipient's mood and encourages fast recovery after… uncomfortable experiences. I recall that he used to call it the Bad Day Potion," Madame Pomfrey explained with a fond yet sad smile.

The two girls shared a confused look, then Sophie shrugged.

"He must have had some friends in a pickle."

"That's one way to put it, Miss Borgin," Madame Pomfrey squeezed her lips together and turned away. Anne was almost done with the empty toast.

"So?" – Sophie encouraged. "Try it!"

Without much confidence, she did. The substance was sticky and sweet with the unmistakable aftertaste of vitamin B that gave Anne a shiver. However, the contours of the objects became somewhat more defined, and the howling self-pity in her chest subdued into a mild outrage and an unforgiving wish for revenge. She felt strong enough to seek it.

"A pity you can't come to Transfig with me."

"So it works," – Sophie laughed. "I'd choose Flitwick over McGee any time of the day; thank you very much! Did you learn enough hexes from your brothers?"

Hexes? Anne thought about her arsenal of offensive spells and could only come up with the Reductor Curse Sophie taught her last spring. The idea was still alluring.

"I'll figure something out," she promised and quickly dressed before the day's first period.

Miles and Terence stood by Classroom 4C with most of the Gryff third years already around them, and they seemed glad to see another of their housemates. Terence only asked about her essay, so Anne was reasonably sure that the Carrows' humiliating gift was not common knowledge. All the same. When Flora and Hestia showed up, they whispered with Malcolm, who chose to sit with Vaisey instead of Anne. Good riddance. They'd discouraged him even if she was sure Flora didn't adhere to the facts.

"Happy alone, witchling?" – Hestia turned the hallway back to gloat.

"Actually, yes," – Anne replied stiffly.

Hestia turned back with a huff, and McGonagall began the lesson. Whatever she'd said, Anne couldn't hear, though; she was too preoccupied watching Flora whispering to her sister and the two girls giggling in front of her.

"So, have you tried it?" – Flora asked when she stood to get her mouse as McGonagall demanded.

Anne's patience suddenly worn out, and the wish for revenge grew into a yearning that filled her up wherever she felt hurt before that blue potion…

"Lapiforse!" – she uttered clearly, if silently. When Hestia screamingly tried to catch the rabbit that remained of her sister, Anne suddenly remembered how McGonagall had told them they should be able to direct the creature's moves.

Anne's lips ran into a satisfied grin before she motioned with her wand to Terence's desk, and rabbit-Flora quickly jumped there, waving her enormous ears against all the noise in the classroom before she unloaded a serving of rabbit droppings on the screaming boy's Transfiguration notes.

Of course, the performance couldn't go unnoticed, and a pretty much worked-up Head of Gryffindor shouted her tirades at the classroom to quiet her cubs' exuberant joy watching two Slytherin boys clambering away from an innocent rabbit. At the same time, Hestia Carrow hysterically demanded that Anne stop being so wicked and horrible.

Anne could feel their horror, their glee, the Gryffindors' gloating over the Slytherin students' incompetence, and the hope of the mice that tried to use the opportunity to break free all over the place. With her usual anxiety sufficiently drowned, it was all hilarious! And Hestia's pleas were bothersome. Really, she should realize she shouldn't badger Anne to release Flora after all they'd done last night! This gave an unexpected idea, and Anne tried a spell on Hestia, she'd only been reading about when she composed the OWL notes.

The badger's unmistakable whickering shouts filled the classroom even after McGonagall reversed the Lapifors on Flora, and after a dizzy moment, the girl jumped off Terence's desk, screaming with reddened cheeks. Strangely, her hysteria didn't bother Anne even if she could well sense it. It was rather satisfying.

"What has gotten into you, Miss Rosier? This lesson is not for mindless spellcasting, even if you somehow managed to perform OWL-level transfigurations! Finite," – she absently turned her wand on badger-Hestia, too, for a moment, so the girl's hysterical form returned. "It is not acceptable conduct in my classroom! Not if you wished to brag, not if you had ulterior motives! Leave that, Miss Carrow; it will wear off within the hour!" – she added, looking at Hestia when she began to cry after noticing her hair was still black and white where she wore the stripes.

Anne giggled, just like Vaisey, and she noticed, also Miles. Terence was too affronted by rabbit-Flora's droppings, and she couldn't be arsed to care about Urquhart or the Gryffindors.

"This is not a joking matter, Miss Rosier! Twenty points from Slytherin for a distasteful display of unoriginal, harebrained–"

Unfortunately, on the mention of a hare, Flora squealed, which made everyone but her sister erupt in renewed laughter. Hence, the old Professor's opinion about immaturity and senselessness was swallowed up in the noise.

*" RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAAACK! ANOTHER ATTACK!"*

Professor McGonagall froze midsentence, then, with impressive swiftness, she hurried to the door. They could hear other classroom doors opening in the corridor, and everyone flooded out to see why Peeves was shouting. Someone loudly accused the Potter kid again, who stood above a second-year Hufflepuff's motionless body.

The whispers of murder ran along the rows of students, and Anne silently thanked Nimue for having a more potent defence on her mind. A boy called Justin Finch-Fletchley lay on the floor beside a peculiar mess, not exactly smoke-like, but also not similar to any other substance, in the shape of… well, it was hard to tell.

Anne felt the other students' emotions changing from excited glee to horror so swiftly she stumbled, but a calming breath, months of meditation, and probably that blue phial of whatever Snape had brewed saved her from the disgrace of fainting. Suddenly revenge seemed exactly as childish and nonsensical as McGonagall had tried to claim it a minute before. When the Professor silenced the crowd and sent them all back to their classrooms, she stayed at the doorframe feeling hesitant and ashamed.

McGonagall said something to Potter, and they left for the Headmaster's office. Anne stayed by the door, mesmerized by the unexpected horror as if she couldn't pull her eyes away from the accident she saw. But it wasn't an accident! She could feel it in the walls; Hogwarts was less welcoming than the years before. There was a threat in the air, she could sense it even without stepping out of the safety of her mind's defences, and somebody wished for that second-year boy to die!

She felt a familiar fraction of emotion appearing on the corridor. It wasn't wholly like what she understood from most people; it was subdued and partially hidden, probably only way too forceful to hide it all: Fright. Worry. Care. They all circled around a void. Anne peered out again, and sure as hell, Professor Snape arrived with his robe swirling by his ankles. He crunched by the second year, examining his unmoving body, then leaned over above the puddle of smoke.

"Sir Nicholas," – a deep old voice stated, and Anne noticed the Headmaster standing beside her Head of House.

"What can damage a ghost like this, Albus?! A ghost, for Merlin's sake!" – Professor Snape didn't bother to hide his horror, which in a way, was more frightening than anything grim he could have said.

"We will find out. Please take them to the Infirmary, Severus. Poppy may be unable to help them now, but that will be the best we can do."

"Yes, Headmaster," – Professor Snape walked around the strange puddle of smoke-like plasma, and after short contemplation, he pulled his wand and conjured a fan. Anne peeped from the classroom door as he tentatively swished above the ghost's remains, and it lifted and floated aside.

"I'll see after our accused bystander," – the Headmaster said then, with a nod, turning towards the staircase.

"Bystander," – Professor Snape repeated, grumbling the world with the deepest dislike. Some flickers of his enmity even escaped into the air around him.

"You have just told me you couldn't fathom what could do this to a ghost, Severus. Surely a boy of twelve–"

"Of course, I don't accuse Potter of this. That doesn't mean the boy isn't a menace!" – Professor Snape burst.

"Perhaps I'll see you in my office this evening, Severus," – the Headmaster politely mentioned, and Professor Snape nodded with a sigh. "You might also order your curious student back to her class," – the Headmaster added with a strange twinkle in his eyes, and Anne realized that in her attempt to hear them, she stepped too close to the threshold, straining her neck to see the corridor better.

The peculiar glint in the Headmaster's eye reminded Anne of Snape's strange rule about avoiding eye contact, and she quickly gazed at her Head of House, gasping when she saw his horrified anger in his hard stare. Professor Snape inclined his head toward the classroom and ordered her inside with a short nod. Anne turned without hesitation.

"Just a bystander," – she heard Snape's smooth voice before the door closed on her heels.

The Gryffindors discussed their house ghost's fate in hushed tones, and the Slytherins were too preoccupied with closing their rows against the hostile stares to argue about the events. Anne could feel that all her classmates were disturbed; even the Carrows radiated more alarm and excitement than the anger she'd anticipated after her childish vendetta. She secretly was glad about that because she had no idea how she would have defended herself had Flora decided to avenge her dare in McGonagall's absence.

The Gryffindor Head returned in minutes, tried to remind her cubs of order in hasty words and returned to classwork – of course, her efforts were wasted. Ultimately, they were dismissed with only reading for homework and severe words of warning to hold together. It was the first time Anne heard someone wondering if the school would close.

As soon as she could, Anne hurried to the Infirmary. There was something to say about Snape's ingenuity in thinking about fanning the ghost's remains there. At the same time, he also kept up a levitation charm to safely transport the Hufflepuff boy's body. She had no idea what anyone else would have done in his stead, so Madame Pomfrey's praises found understanding ears.

"But I'm surprised to see you here again, Miss Rosier," – the mediwitch went on, eying Anne with some suspicions. "Last time, I had the impression that you find the sight of a petrified victim disturbing."

Anne peeked at the Hufflepuff boy, then let her eyes fall.

"I- I do, I just… I think I'm stronger now, Madame Pomfrey, and I felt I had to see them…."

She feared the mediwitch would ask for her reasons, but she didn't need to worry. Poppy Pomfrey stepped aside, keeping a curious, searching look on Anne, and she carefully tested the air around the victims.

The frozen emotions around the boy were less exuberant than around the Gryffindor firstie, and with her defences stronger and Snape's Bad Day Potion probably still in effect, it was less challenging to bear the perverse and profound lack of change.

"To Transfigure is to change," – Anne mumbled to herself, and her cheeks reddened thinking about rabbit Flora on Terence's desk. "I never understood, but He- Heraclitus…."

"Who taught you about Greek philosophy?"

Anne jerked her head up, momentarily confused. "My aunt… she likes… history–"

"Well, there's no shame in that," – Madame Pomfrey smiled, "I thought for a moment that she might also be into mediwizardry. We came a long way from Heraclitus' adage, but even Paracelsus describes the living organism through the flow of various fluids. In our usual understanding, death is the lack of movement, the stop of the flow. What made you recall this axiom?"

Anne swallowed to win time and tried to avoid mentioning all that was forbidden. "He is just so still…" – she observed the obvious. "But if flow and movement are what life is, what is then a ghost?" Her attention turned to the smoke-like mass hovering above one of the beds, and she tried to sense it… there was nothing, but she struggled to find the words. The lack of something must be nothing, but this was the lack of nothing, something profoundly dark that seemed to have frozen in a state of a swirl… like vortex stilled, ominous, and threatening to pull her senses into –

Anne tore her eyes from the strange remains of the Gryffindor ghost with a gasp and shook her head to get rid of the dizzying feeling. She only then realized that the mediwitch was talking:

"… not the supernatural. We all have to know our boundaries, Miss Rosier, and I prefer it a way that they tie me to the living. Even if many would miss their favourite house ghost."

"Can Professor Snape cure a ghost?" – Anne stared at Madame Pomfrey.

"I'm sure he would try," – the mediwitch nodded. "That will probably be the darkest thing anyone attempted to carry out under my supervision here, no doubt about that," – she sighed.

"I- need to go to class," – Anne suddenly remembered, glad to think about something mundane after the disturbing thoughts.

Poppy Pomfrey nodded with a peculiar smile. Anne realized she didn't see her smiling often.

"Maybe Professor Snape's plans about showing you off for the House will have a rare benefit," – she said. "If you're interested in mediwizardry, I am always available for discussions, Miss Rosier."

Anne noticed the strange wording and asked if Madame Pomfrey was also a Slytherin.

"Through and through, girl," – she straightened her shoulders. "Although I doubt many still remember. Irma does," – she added playfully, and this time, her smile was genuine before her features turned solemn again: "But in this profession, that doesn't matter anymore."

Anne doubted that but nodded all the same. To learn about Madame Pomfrey's past and the theory behind mediwizardry was enough to occupy her mind for a while. Was Madame Pince a Slytherin too? She couldn't escape her House, as it seemed.

When she tried to hurry outside to her Herbology class, she bumped into her classmates and learned that it was cancelled because of the snowstorm. Miles Bletchley grinned at her, probably for the first time in their acquaintance, and the Carrow girls stepped out of her way without a word. It was astonishing to sense wariness and something akin to respect from the same kids she used to be cautious around. Miles could take her out in a duel any time of the day, and her dorm mates always seemed only too vicious to mess with, even if it was in her nature. Which really wasn't… what could have gotten into them?

Led by worry for the Mandrakes, Anne braved the snowstorm and assisted Professor Sprout in giving socks to the younglings, then turned back time to read in her dorm so Flora couldn't Incendio her trunk out of spite like she'd once suggested she would. Still, when Hestia came to grab a book she had to return to the Library, she only greeted her with averted eyes and was out of the dorm before Anne could say a syllable of a raccoon.

The mystery was only solved before lunch when she decided to walk up to her tower and turn back time for some additional fun before the Holiday. Care for Magical Creatures was also cancelled, and she was looking forward to reading for leisure and playing her guitar instead, but Miranda Fawley stepped in her way in the Common Room.

"Heard you beefed up your Transfig," – she began with a grin. "Good girl! The Carrows were nicely put to their place. Good for you!"

The Bad Day Potion suggested she keep her chin up even if the gossip was unsettling. The sixth-year Milan Patel stood behind Miranda, and he also grinned.

"They had it comin'" – Anne shrugged, but even she heard how shaky her voice sounded. "Hope my trunk won't take the heat for it," – she added softly, more to herself than to the sixth years.

Milan shook his head. "You have friends, Rosier,"- he informed her. "We have a deal."

"It's your call, Annabella," – Miranda agreed. "And by the by,"- she reached into her robe pocket and pulled out a fat purse. "The remittance. I collected it throughout the term. You made people happy, so whatever else you need…."

Now Anne finally dared to breathe freely. She forgot about the small favours in the deal. "I'll let you know," – she smiled. "Thanks," – she hid the purse in her pocket and left with a nod to Milan.

Gavin's winking at her before she left the Common Room only added to it all. Eventually, she noticed that the Carrows saw her grinning when she took the stairs toward her tower. She only noticed this because their mixed emotions of regret, fear, and hurt reached her through the Entrance Hall. Strangely, it was hard to come to terms with success after so long of struggling and feeling inadequate. And being happy about herself while two kids, a cat, and a ghost lay still at the Infirmary felt nonsensical; she still couldn't escape the satisfaction of her win.

Anne wondered if someone had already written a song about this, feeling good while the world went into doom and gaining elusive power while others suffered. Filch was grieving, the school was a hair from shutting down, Snape might be a true creep even if he helped her, and a mediwitch invited her to help people while she cursed and humiliated others. The world was an awkward place with too much nonsense to ever make heads or tails of it, and she perhaps should accept her wand's evaluation of being a dark witch, living in an imaginary cottage in the depth of a dark forest in her mind.

In that cottage, currently Judas Priest's 'Breaking the Law' was played at max volume, and Anne soon found herself retreating to the music room she envisioned with the coloured shadows of tree leaves playing on the walls around her. Whatever would have been the nice way around it, Flora's spite still angered her, suggesting she might as well accept being a black witch with a black wand. For the first time, evil seemed exceptionally alluring. Empowering.

The Hogsmeade weekend was also cancelled due to the blizzard and the attacks in the school, while the whole Common Room was abuzz throughout the last two days of the term. After Snape's potion wore off, Anne felt less satisfaction over her win and more wariness. Flora acted with almost respect, and Hestia kept to herself. When she shrunk her guitar to sneak it to the caretaker's room and wished Merry Christmas to Filch with some Beatles songs she'd practised, his opinion matched with the sixth-year Slytherins':

"About time you've shown some fangs and claws, lass. It wasn't badly done," – he deemed. "Now, being careful never goes amiss, but if you don't defend yourself, who else would, I ask?"

Of course, Mr. Filch had always had a vicious streak, and Anne still couldn't decide if she was comfortable with her new thoughts and desires.

"But what if I like how it feels?" – she asked instead. "I thought I just wanted to hide, but what if it feels good… What if I want to always be the stronger?"

The caretaker laughed gracelessly, showing his declining teeth. "No one's always the strongest, lass! There's no such thing in the real world! Count your wins and blessings as you can, I say! And think of what you want. Everything has a price to pay; we all learn that the hard way. The question is never only what you want, but what are you ready to pay for?"

Anne had no idea about the price of being a dark witch, even less about what she wanted. Caleb's question in her first year seemed the hardest to answer every time it came up in her life. But travelling home for the holidays, enjoying the rare time with her Muggle relatives, and being reminded of God's light watching those seven candles overshining the dubious sense of achievement in her Common Room suggested she would pay any price for her grandmother and great aunt as well as for her mother's safety, and now Gavin's girlfriend's back in the village.

Rachel repeatedly argued that her Muggle education could one day offer a choice, so she'd gathered the Muggle textbooks into her backpack before she boarded the Hogwarts train in January. She was well-rested for the first time in months and determined to stand up for herself. She thought the worst was to end up living as a Muggle, which had never seemed too much to pay.

She thought.

Until the train arrived at Hogsmeade, and Professor Snape appeared to supervise the students loading onto the carriages. He picked her out from the crowd with short words and strict gaze and made her stand alone on the station in the settling snow. The dusk drew the shadows baleful, and her damp coat and robe let the cold bite close to her flesh. Anne stood in the shadows and waited for Snape to give any explanation in vain even when the last of the students disappeared from sight, and he motioned her into the last carriage, closing the door with a foreboding thud.

"Sir, is something the matter?" – Anne dared to ask in the silence when the carriage gained momentum.

Her Professor's hostile gaze was her only answer, even which she sensed more than saw in the darkness.

Their ride didn't take her to the Entrance Hall, but instead behind the castle's east side, where the invisible horses pulled away from the snow-covered skeleton of some bushes after her Head of House urged her to move quickly. They hid a short wooden door. Anne understood she was supposed to be quiet by a gesture of her Professor's hand, and with mounting unease, she followed him mutely through a low-ceilinged corridor to the backdoor of what proved to be the caretaker's private quarter. The only painting on the wall was covered by a black curtain, but she had no time to look around thoroughly.

Snape peeped out to Filch's office from the kitchenette door and cast some spells, which Anne could sense but couldn't hear, probably for privacy, before he showed a finger onto one of the chairs around Filch's kitchen table and warded the small room before he spoke:

"What did I promise you would happen if you ever broke the rules, Miss Rosier?" – He turned then and asked.

For seconds, she couldn't gather the wits to even try to form a reply.

"Sir, I didn't; I–"

"Answer the question!"

Anne struggled to remember what kind of deathly sin she could have made, or whatever could Professor Snape misunderstand to such a level, but she didn't dare to deny the answer.

"You said you would have your hands off of me, but, sir –"

"What made Madame Pomfrey believe you were a born Healer?"

This time Anne gawked. It was almost an acknowledgment; she would have appreciated hearing that herself, even if she had doubts.

"It's nice of her, but I don't think–"

"Answer the question, girl! I don't have the patience for your games!"

"I'm not trying to play games, Professor," – Anne's newfound sense of standing up for herself tried to find a way to argue. "All I can think of was her being impressed when I quoted Heraclitus after Transfiguration class. I was trying to understand what kind of curse could freeze emotions around the petrified, and–"

"What business did you think you had around the victims?" – the Professor demanded.

Anne began to feel the beginning of hysteria creeping up on her, making her stomach churn and her breathing erratic. Snape had never been more frightening nor more unreasonable.

"I – I just like Mrs. Norris! I miss her dearly! And the others… even a ghost! What can do such a thing? I needed to see them! I had to try and touch them, but there's no one to touch!"

"You were deliberately seeking out the victims of an unknown curse, so you could exhibit your talent in mind magic, which I have clearly forbidden!"

"No! I've never told–"

"What were you doing on the second-floor corridor on the Friday before the holidays?"

"Excuse me?!" – Anne honestly couldn't follow. Snape must have gotten mad, or maybe drunk, or-

The Legilimency shot through her eyes with unexpected ease, catching the utter lack of coherence lingering within the trees of her projected forest. She knew very well that she had betrayed her surprise, but Snape's sharp presence didn't do with that feeling. Anne felt him searching for a way through the woods and sensed his impatience, determination, and fright, which was the most curious thing and entirely unexpected. What could he be afraid of?

The last thought made Anne so curious that it became a force which breached her Professor's grey eyes. They were unprotected in his eagerness to find his answers, and Anne caught a glimpse of the Headmaster's form among the fast-moving dark waves of his projected ocean. The next moment she found herself knocked back on her chair with a pounding headache while her Professor cast Legilimens again without missing a beat.

The Headmaster's image stuck within Anne's thoughts but couldn't breach the protection around her mind. What the hell could the Gryffindor devil do with any of it? Now curiosity was again stronger than fright, and Anne remembered that all her better experiences with her House's Head followed honesty and giving information. The problem was that she had no idea what thoughts or memories she was supposed to show?

So she opened some path in the woods deliberately, feeling grim satisfaction when Snape's presence in her mind hesitated to take it, and guided him to a clearing where she'd gathered all her meagre recollections of the Headmaster.

He'd said some incoherent words after her sorting, then she'd been way too knackered to listen through his ramblings after dinner. He'd taken away the Cup from Slytherin, and her whole House agreed that he must be the devil; they swore war on Gryffindor to revenge the injustice, and most in her year believed that Dumbledore enjoyed the Ministry's support and would never move a finger to even read a letter from a Slytherin parent. He had proved again at the beginning of the first term that his favourites didn't need to abide by even the law and hadn't been ashamed to smile! Then he'd appeared on the transfiguration corridor to inspect Snape taking care of the last victims and had made her Professor send her back to class.

The pressure eased from Anne's mind, and she could see her Professor's eyes again.

"Now the Infirmary!" – he commanded in an even tone, making it unavoidable that he saw the last of Anne's thoughts about him seeming a modicum less mad.

She could sense he didn't like to face her opinion, so she quickly made another clearing, showing her last visits at the Infirmary, as requested. Unfortunately, they came with some recollections about Anne's moral dilemma, finally gaining some respect and humiliating the Carrows while the rest of the world was going to doom. Snape grabbed after that thought quicker than she could ever have imagined and pulled out the memory of Filch's advice and candlelight in London before Anne managed to grow back the trees and forcing him out.

This time her head pounded with an ache so sharply she had to hold her hands against her temples, but judging by the depth of the worry line between her Professor's brows, he wasn't much better off either.

"Sir, what did I do?" – Anne pleaded, just a little short of trembling after the shock of having her mind inspected in such a manner.

Professor Snape let out a long sigh through his formidable nose, his otherwise curved lips pressing into a thin line until they lost all colour.

"I may be ready to accept that you've done nothing intentionally harmful," – he began, talking to the floor, visibly reluctant to accept such a possibility. "The facts remain. Your escapades to Hogsmeade are over," – he looked up, daring his student to contradict.

Anne stood his gaze. It wasn't the first time her life had an abrupt turn for the worse for no apparent reason. "They'd never even happened," – Professor Snape went on. "Madame Pomfrey will officially ask you to assist her, and you're in no position to challenge her assessment. As you have already gathered, she can do well with additional help.

"You will protect your mind under any circumstances, not serving information about those who'd been foolish enough to help you, and you will do that in a manner that won't betray your knowledge about the Mind's Art."

Anne tried to make sense of his words but dared not ask why? Her grief about not practicing with Madame Pince again had to find a way to a box in the depth of her mind, on which she closed the lid with practice and experience.

"But Ephsos… the forest… Have you seen the forest?" – she asked, feeling silly and hoping it didn't sound like she was trying to argue.

"Your defences are insufficient to cover your knowledge. The true power of Occlumency only shows when the endeavour is hidden."

"How am I supposed to hide my defences?" Nothing in the books he'd lent her even pointed to a method.

The Professor cast a quick spell to check the time. "You have four hours and twelve minutes to learn that."

What came next was an onerous explanation about layers and aspects of the mind, various ways and approaches of understanding, and the need to choose of those. Anne exerted her comprehension to catch at least the gist, followed by Snape's short Legilimency, proving her absolute lack of progress.

"I expect more from you, Miss Rosier. You have three hours and forty minutes."

She wanted to ask why, for the second time, but the air about Professor Snape mildly cracked with the sparks of his impatience. Anne resolved to continue with some advanced breathing techniques and attempted to close the headache away within her mind. Then it suddenly clicked! There were a bunch of things she hid from herself. Her worries, troubling memories, discomfort… All those, people were supposed to experience, and as the Professor had just told her, there were several aspects of the mind.

"May I have a minute to reorganize my thoughts? Sir?"

Professor Snape grimaced but eventually nodded. "Be quick about it!"

She attempted to focus deeper than only to avoid rolling her eyes. Breathing, her forest, her house, her room. She was safe. She saw the enneagram on the wall, which reminded her of aspects again. Everything had aspects; of course, the mind must have too.

There was the scholar who loved her research to the point that providing homework wasn't a chore.

There was the girl, shy and insecure, curious and ashamed of it. Others' fantasies and desires disturbed her; she needed to peel that off and put them into a different place. That belonged to the Empath, not the girl.

There was the niece and the daughter, the sister, and the friend. Could she show her? Anne was hesitant. But there were no people without emotions about their friends and family. She could show some moments with her brothers, her father's study, his books and her initiation to peruse them. She could show how entertaining Madame Pince was, how interesting Madame Pomfrey proved herself, even having teas with Mr. Filch and receiving advice about Malcolm.

Talking about that boy, she could show their 'date' as it was painfully ordinary. At least, she thought it was, and better than the Muggle camp. She could show off her dislike for Flora and her budding alliance with Sophie…. Amelia came to mind, and showing her memories about the Huff girl was counterintuitive even if she had been her acquaintance's most "normal" girl. Amelia liked what most people enjoyed and only wished to be happy. She couldn't fault her. Amelia and her regrets belonged to the mundane, and she was ready to show them.

What to hide? Anne realized that it wasn't a choice. Snape's rules were strict and precise: no mention of mind magic, she wasn't an empath, she never had a Time Turner, never practiced yoga, never –

"Miss Rosier!"

Professor Snape's voice came from the distance, but Anne was ready to meet his gaze again. She walked out of her house and opened her eyes.

"I'm ready. Sorry, sir."

There was that peculiar shift in his eyes again, which always showed up when he was thanked or received an apology. The thought got in the way of proper Occlumency and dragged up a memory about Snape's office and the silence.

"You make me doubt if I managed to make myself clear, Miss Rosier. Receiving students and dispersing Time Turners are not routine in my life, even less anything you were supposed to brag about."

"Yes, sir."

"Three hours," – Professor Snape announced. "Legilimens."

Anne had no time to order the chaos of the thoughts she gathered as mundane. There was a question about the house elves making crisps with the flavour of salt and vinegar, and how on earth did Terence Higgs hear about that option? Her fear of Flora Incendio, her trunk, and the feeling of success when it became clear she wouldn't dare. There was the awkwardness of her date with Malcolm, and the boy bowing in second-year Transfiguration class, Sophie's tea set, and her thought about Trelawney and all witches' need for cake –

Snape's eyes appeared in front of her abruptly, and Anne saw him fighting against some strange mirth. Did he stop examining her mind out of amusement? It would have been a hard-earned win if she had been able to crack his focus! Anne tentatively smiled up at her Professor.

"You will probably be astonished, Rosier, once you'll learn what Sybill Trelawney calls a cake," – he said then and let himself show an open smirk. "Not completely bad," – he added his usual praise with a nod. "Again!"

After her next attempt, Professor Snape excluded Madame Pince from the possible thoughts she should offer for an intruder, and Anne didn't ask about his reasons. It would have been a worthless opportunity to get reprimanded anyway.

Anne slowly gained some confidence in this new endeavour, encircling her mind's protections with a thick layer of worthless thoughts and memories about studying, eating, reading, or listening to music at home. The only problem was time, which flew by and left her knackered. This must have been why the memory of Amy's kiss crept into the mix and Anne's cheeks heated when Snape promptly dismissed his spell.

However, she had never seen such discomfort on his Professor's cheeks either! After a second of staring at her, he awkwardly turned away, and Anne fought not to giggle while he cleared his throat.

"Erm… your attempts seemed sufficient," – he said, trying to sound indifferent to Anne's greatest amusement. Surely, if she knew his ears could redden, she would have shown him sooner that she had a life! Seeing Professor Snape as a human being was a rare gift; Anne couldn't mind the hard work. But as quickly as his discomfort came, it was gone.

"You are to maintain this particular defence, Miss Rosier. You needed Occlumency to balance out your natural abilities. Now, your situation doesn't necessitate special treatment. I wish to receive my books from Madame Pomfrey at the earliest opportunity."

"Sir," – she knew she would regret asking, so she settled for an attempt to prompt her Professor out of his defences. "Thank you for… making your office available; I enjoyed visiting Madame Pince very much. Whatever the reason, I didn't want this to end."

The utter disbelief in Snape's eyes was closer to shock than any time before.

"I will make sure to convey your regrets, Miss Rosier. Also, I can post Mr. Filch with your changed circumstances, so you don't need to risk his safety by breaking any more rules," – he offered with a short bow and all the politeness Anne had only seen him display in the presence of the mediwitch. What the hell did she say that made him talk to her so after almost charging at her when they arrived from Hogsmeade?

"Fifty-five minutes," – the Professor announced then. "You are to turn back time with exactly three hours and seventeen minutes, then leave to join your classmates in the Great Hall for dinner."

"Yes, sir."

Snape was already in the motion of dismissing his wards, but for the word, he turned and eyed Anne again with disbelief. Anne hoped she'd finally broken him into explaining himself, but eventually, he only nodded, dismissed the wards, and left the room.

Anne walked out to Filch's abandoned office in a daze and turned back time. She felt no temptation to listen into her former self's conversation about losing – she didn't know exactly what. Still, she felt a sense of loss and a peculiar nakedness as if one layer between her and the world had just vanished. Which was ironic given she'd just built another layer of protection around her misbehaving mind.

She saw Gavin in the crowd by the Great Hall, and he waved her closer, but Sophie Borgin was also there, and Anne had no desire to betray her troubles to her brother. He would have seen she wasn't all right, so she waved back with a forced smile and chose her dorm mate.

"Guess what," – Sophie grinned. "The Malfoy boy got set up in the hols. Turns out he couldn't distinguish his mates from Gryffindors! Look at the moron!"

Anne looked along the Table and found the fuming Malfoy heir among his mates, two oversized boys preoccupied examining their empty plates. The food suddenly appeared on the table, and their satisfaction was almost palpable as they dug into it. The fair-haired little boy scowled and grimaced as if he smelled something foul.

"What got into him?"

"I heard from Miranda that he'd stayed for Christmas," – Sophie whispered. "And so did Patel, who said he was astonished when one night he saw them all come into the Common Room talking nonsense, then those dorks he runs with melted into Harry Potter and his friend, just like that!" – she snapped her fingers. "Someone brewed them Polyjuice!"

"Polyjuice?" – Anne gaped at Sophie, momentarily forgetting her misgivings. "That's a month! They must have bought it. They're only second years!"

"I know, right? Illegal substance and all… but no one will make a thing of it," – Sophie shrugged. "I'll still write to my uncle. He's gonna love that! Goody two shoes, little Gryffs taking shite on a Malfoy with dark magic! He'll find it easier to put up with daddy… if I told you all he remembers about Abraxas…!"

"Shut it, Borgin, it's not about politics!" – Warrington interposed from Sophie's other side.

"I wonder about what then," – Sophie reached for the mash unphased. "Little boy's posing like he shat gold and Lethifold skin but betrays the House like no one before."

"Security?" – Warrington offered. "Goozey changed the password and reported it to Snape. I wonder what those twits wanted to begin with!"

Anne tried to find a connection between Potter setting Malfoy up and Snape's curious behaviour. She peeped at the High Table, but of course, their Head of House wasn't there. He was busy frightening the daylight out of her other self in Filch's kitchen….

"Did he dock points?" – she asked Warrington. The boy shook his head.

"Exactly nothing happened. He's strange, though, I saw him twice in the Common Room since, and both times he looked ready to murder."

"That's how it goes, they wind him up, and we enjoy his mood swings," – Sophie grimaced at the roast lamb daggling from her fork. Anne couldn't argue. She tried to figure out what might have gotten into Snape, but this obscure story didn't help.

"Were there more attacks?" she asked.

Warrington shook his head again, and they had to wait until he managed to swallow the enormous gulp of pumpkin juice. He'd emptied his goblet with one swig.

"Not that I know of…. Why would it have been, really? This guy wants terror; there's no use in straining himself while the school's practically empty. I wouldn't have bothered either…" – he shrugged.

"Then now he should act," – Sophie deemed. "If I was the Heir and wanted to raise havoc, I would greet everyone."

"And make the Board close the school?" – Warrington asked.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Because there wouldn't be anyone to play with anymore. Unless you moved to the Ministry or something… I dunno why he keeps here anyway; it doesn't make sense."

"It does if he was to tackle Dumbledore," – a fifth-year boy Anne knew by the name of Per Derrick spoke across the table. "My old folks say the Board's ready to dismiss him. Old Malfoy does the work, and the attacks help a lot."

"Well, I won't cry into my pillow if he gets sacked," – Sophie grumbled, and Anne had to suppress a smile. Sophie Borgin was definitely not the kind of girl who would cry into her pillow. For anything.

"Sooner if Gildy-low forgot to send you a goodnight kiss," – she whispered, and Sophie giggled.

"We have to make sure he remembers," – she stood from the table. "D'you wanna come?"

Anne nodded, and the two girls left the Great Hall and Warrington to debate with Derrick.

"I told you it's politics," – said Sophie self-assuredly before they saw a firstie running down the main stairs. "Hey, noddy, mind the rules," – Sophie cried after him, but the little boy didn't even slow down when he turned to the dungeons. "I swear sometimes Snapey seems even too mild. Have you seen the little wanker?"

"Firsties always run," – Anne shrugged. "He'll get what for. D'you think Snape's really out for it just because of the Gryffs?" – she asked, still trying to make sense of her crazy arrival.

"Well, the Malfoy brat should know better if you ask me. Pity he's such a favourite of his; it must have hurt to see him stupid."

"Yeah… I never understood," – Anne mumbled distractedly as they approached the Common Room door. This didn't seem enough reason for their Head of House to get rid of her in such haste.

"No? He's friendly with the family. Has always been. It was the old Malfoy who had introduced him to my uncle back in the day. Of course, there's not much to be certain about, and who wants to meddle, you know what I mean? But you surely heard some gossip within the family too…."

Anne looked around in the Common Room; not many had returned yet from the Great Hall, and Sophie didn't seem in a hurry to retire.

"Erm… not really," – they sat by the fire, and she looked around again. "My family is wide enough, so I don't get to hear all the voices. And my father believes we don't need gossip to distract us from our studies," – she tried to circumvent the issue. "Mum never cared for politics, and I'm not really a girl about town," – she shrugged and didn't mind when Sophie chuckled.

"That's one way to put it. Pater Rosier pushes for good grades, huh?"

"More like one of my aunts," – Anne laughed with her.

"You sure make Aunty proud," – Sophie deemed. "But here's the thing: Old Malfoy was an upper-year when Snapey came to Hogwarts. It wasn't very long ago, and Uncle Luis said he'd never heard of his kin until Abraxas' son took him after his OWLs," – she leaned closer to Anne's armchair so others couldn't hear them.

"The man's a genius!" Sophie gossiped as if she was telling a secret. "He scored ten OWLs, only two of them Es, the rest straight Os, and went on to double it up on his NEWTs! Uncle Luis said, he was impressed to the point of offering him a summer job, but he couldn't finish the two months because of some family issues…. I never heard what. So yeah, they are friends. Adrian heard from one of the first-year girls that the Malfoy brat bragged once of being his godson! I wrote to my uncle, and he said it was true! Would you have guessed?"

Anne stared. Of course, she wouldn't! "What is a godfather supposed to do? Can he even discipline the little bugger?"

"Well, he keeps talking to him every Saturday afternoon, but otherwise, I guess it's the same as in every family. My godfather is my uncle. He sure doesn't handle me with kid gloves. Agnes is better. She was my mum's friend and is more the fairy tale-kind. What are your folks like?"

"Well, my uncles died after the war, which is too well-known, I guess. Well, one's dead, and the other's missing but all believes he's gone for good. But I don't believe any of them had been my godfather or such. We're not into that kind of tradition."

"Strange," – Sophie scowled, but then she shrugged it off for Anne's relief. She wasn't about discussing her mum. "Maybe they just don't bother to talk about it. There are some crazy stories about your uncles my family remembers. Even Mr. Burke told a story about your grandpa when I mentioned we share a dorm!"

Anne understood it was her turn to share gossip and lamented the wisdom of saying much about her family. But she could sense no malice in Sophie, and in Slytherin's Common Room, the family talk was standard.

"Well, we don't talk about most of them. For there was Minette, who came over from France after Grindelwald fell," – Anne felt the need to look around, for it wasn't a pleasant subject to discuss. When she was sure no one was looking she went on:

"Her sister Vinda exposed herself somehow, but I've yet to read up on that and no one tell the details. But they mention Minette sometimes because her cuisine was famous!" – she was glad to elaborate on something nice for a change. "Old Corvus Lestrange was very proud of her; there are many stories about their marriage, all too funny, which they told us when we were little."

Anne had to think about anything remotely agreeable or safe to share. "Their granddaughter, Druella, married Cygnus Black, so Malcolm doesn't have much on me in that regard," – she remembered. "I guess I'm even related to Snapey's godson then, 'cause his grandma is my great aunt. Not that it matters," she added when Sophie laughed.

"And I even remember my paternal aunt, Duvessa, mentioning some Christmas prior how ill she thought of the Averys, so Flora can just shut it."

"Oh, Mr. Burke always says they are an obtuse lot," – Sophie nodded. It felt good to giggle, ridiculing Flora and Malcolm in the same breath.

Anne gained the confidence to move on: "She has a daughter, Diedre Travers, about the same age as my brothers, but she's homeschooled, and we don't know her much. Our other cousin, Felix, I think the third," – she added, rolling her eyes, which Sophie found hilarious – "He is the son of my father's older brother, Mordred. His father's the one who disappeared after the war, and he grew up with his mother's Macmillan relatives and now works in Peru. He's a dragonologist. And, of course, there's my uncle Evan, but we don't talk much about him at all. He died unmarried anyway."

Sophie nodded tactfully. "Are you friendly with the Macmillans?"

Anne huffed. "They are a meddling lot. But they helped my father in the Wizengamot, so I guess I cannot say anything. Duvessa is… well, she is a force of nature. I'm not surprised that Felix fled to Peru."

That cracked up Sophie, which made Anne feel better about sharing some about her family.

"The old Felix Rosier, who must have been your grandfather, had a reputation for covering the finest things with layered curses. Mr. Burke said he was a real talent in the Art," – Sophie said.

"Yeah, well, we keep his mother's earring as a memento. Father's not that much into curses, but he appreciates the details. But I thought your uncle leads the shop now. How come you get to gossip with Mr. Burke?"

"He's like a relative," – Sophie sighed. "He and my uncle were like brothers, not by blood but by any other meaning. I dunno what had happened to him, but he's so shaky and withdrawn. Uncle Luis always asks me not to mention anything to excite him. Like this story with the petrified students or last year with Quirrell and the gossip. We worry about his health, but he was like that all my life."

"Your uncle does well by caring about his friend," – Anne smiled at Sophie to cheer her; she felt in the air around that it worked.

"That's the honourable thing to do. And he's still funny if nothing reminds him of the darker times."

The two girls fell silent, and Anne got the ominous feeling it was not only her who had a bad premonition about darker times. Something foul was in the walls, and Snape's behaviour still frightened her. What could he know? She thought about asking Sophie but didn't have the courage. Caleb would have hated it if she shared such gossip anyway.

When they finally decided to head for the dorm, they found the runaway firstie leaning against a nearby wall. He eyed them sleepily until Sophie opened the door.

"Are you Annabella Rosier?"

Sophie shook her head. "No, why would you need to know?"

"I was sent to find her, but that girl just pointed me to this dorm door, and there are two third years who promised foul things if I knocked again."

"I'm Annabella," – Anne stepped to the boy. "Who sent you to find me?"

"Madame Pomfrey. My mate stuck his hand in some sack on the train, and she's still trying to cure the bites. She said you should find her as soon as you can."

Anne looked at Sophie in surprise, but she only shrugged. "I'll greet Gilderoy alone then. See you in the morning!"