The next time Ariel spoke to Snape, he was limping.

This was already quite un-Snapely, which was a broad category in Ariel’s head. There were many things that weren’t Snapely, and weakness of any kind was one of them. He looked as though he ate weakness for breakfast.

“Are you sure you want to sit out here?” Ariel asked Hermione, rubbing her hands together as the chilly November air bit at her skin. Mrs Weasley had sent her mittens that were twice the size of her hands, but they were the warmest thing she’d ever owned. Unfortunately, that meant that they kept sliding off.

“It’s not that cold,” Hermione said, but Ariel noticed that she seemed to be hiding a knowing smirk when Ariel looked at her incredulously. She’d brought a glass jar, full of little blue flames that glowed in the air between them, keeping one side of each of them toasty, but the other one still terribly exposed. They’d come outside to the courtyard, which was deserted.

“I’m going to be a human popsicle after ten minutes.” Ariel said, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

“Honestly, you’re starting to sound like Ron.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“He’s asked if we want to go to the Quidditch match with him tomorrow, by the way.”

“I thought you hated Quidditch?”

Ariel grimaced. “I don’t hate it. I don’t like flying much, but I think watching a game could be… fun.” She was bloody terrible on a broom — she ended bottom up in some bushes her first flying lesson, and the Slytherins had found this to be so hysterically funny that they acted it out every flying lesson since. Ariel wanted to smash the broomsticks over their heads, maybe even take out Pansy’s eye with the straw.

Hermione beamed. “I’d love to go, as long as you’re up for it.”

It was that last bit that made Ariel’s stomach twist into knots. She knew she’d been putting a damper on things this past week. After she came back from the floating room with Snape, all she could think about was the stupid letter while Ron and Hermione thought it had been destroyed, forever. She had told them about the poem that she’d found, though, but not about her conversation with Snape, that he’d read the letter himself, and that Ariel had watched something inside his eyes break.

She didn’t think it was fair to keep bothering them with it. Besides, they had the Stone to keep an eye on, especially if someone was trying to steal it. When it came to Quidditch, the truth was that Ariel desperately wanted something to take her mind off of everything, and if watching a game of Quidditch was going to do that, then so be it. Maybe Fred or George could knock the Quaffle at the Slytherin stands, if Ariel asked — they’d probably cry happy, proud tears. If Draco and Pansy made any part of this difficult Ariel was going to find a way to feed them to that three-headed dog herself.

Ariel shrugged. “It’s the first match of the season, so we should really go, anyway. I want to see Fred and George play. They talked all summer about how much they missed it.”

Hermione nodded happily, her brown eyes excited. “I’m sure Hagrid will be there, too.”

The thought warmed Ariel’s heart a bit. Having Hagrid there would probably discourage the Slytherins from giving her too much trouble — not that she couldn’t take them, but she’d much rather avoid the detention for smashing in their noses, if she could. They reminded her a lot of Aunt Petunia, in some ways, and she hated Aunt Petunia.

“One of the third years said there’s a permanent Warming Charm beneath the old birth tree.” Hermione said, linking her arm with Ariel’s. “So maybe we’ll finally get some reading done out here.”

Ariel hummed along in agreement, but secretly wished she was still sitting in front of one of the fireplaces up in Gryffindor Tower. She was envious of Ron, who was engaged in a chess battle royal with Seamus that had been going steady for two hours now.

“I heard Pansy say she was using the library with Draco,” Hermione said, her nose wrinkling, like she smelt something bad. “I know it’s cold, but I’d rather freeze out here than have to put up with them.”

Sometimes, Ariel wondered if Hermione was so smart that she could read her mind. That made sense — Ariel had thought to ask why they weren’t using the library, but as usual, Hermione was one step ahead of her. “If I see her face outside of class, I’d find a much better use for those books.”

Hermione smiled, but it was lined with something else — concern. Ever since Ariel had thrown potions ingredients at Draco during Snape’s class, the Slytherins had been relentless with egging her on, trying to get her to lose her cool again and land herself another detention. She’d nearly lost it last week when Pansy had slipped in some lavender into her and Neville’s cauldron on her way up to Snape’s desk, causing it to turn into something moldy and the exact color of Filch’s fingernails.

Snape had given Neville three days of detention for it, which Ariel had tried to contest, but she might as well have been empty air. Snape hadn’t so much as looked at her when she’d told him what the Slytherins had done. Draco and Pansy thought it was hilarious, but Ariel had wanted to disappear into the floorboards, and Hermione and Ron could tell, but it was also obvious that they had no idea what to do about it.

Ariel remembered Ron telling the third year Gryffindors about Ariel launching the moonseed’s at Draco’s face and smiled to herself. He’d spoken about it with such pride, like she had won a major duel or something, and no one had ever talked about her like that. It had felt so good — that memory, the satisfaction that she carried around inside her heart-shaped box. She wondered if she’d listened to the Sorting Hat… if Snape would’ve looked at her differently, if she’d been in Slytherin. She’d been so preoccupied with making sure she stayed with Ron…

“What’d you bring with you?” Hermione asked, tearing Ariel from her inner ramblings.

Ariel held the book tucked under her arm a little tighter. “Just something light… no schoolwork. My brain feels like scrambled eggs after Transfiguration.”

Hermione made a noise of approval. “Poetry again then?”

She grinned sheepishly. “Fred showed me a Translation Charm — this one’s in French, but there wasn’t a whole lot left in the library. You’d think there’d be poetry galore in that place.”

The story about the wanderer had not been something Snape had left, but Ariel also couldn’t pinpoint who’s handwriting it had been inside the book. All of the other pages had been blank. Ariel wanted to ask Snape about it, but he had all but vanished. Snape was absent from meals, the hallways, even detentions, which he was passing on to other professors, according to Fred and George. It was a wonder he was still teaching Potions, because he dismissed them on the dot, and would disappear into his storeroom. He’d stopped giving Ariel back any and all assignments in Potions, which she didn’t mind anymore. She knew she was brewing everything correctly because Neville’s marks weren’t abysmal, and Snape always knocked the Gryffindor’s down a whole letter grade just to be a git. Hermione had taken to raising her hand silently to answer questions (not that Snape ever called on her) but had stopped calling out, which seemed to make Snape hate them all ten times more, when no one knew the answer.

The poem about the wanderer… it felt incomplete, like there was more. She wanted to know what had come prior, or what had happened to him after he’d jumped into the water, though she had a feeling it hadn’t ended well.

“Maybe you’re just not looking in the right places.” Hermione said, but Ariel knew that was a lie. She’d practically dragged Ariel down to the library when she’d mentioned wanting to look for some books, and despite the fact that the library was gigantic, there hadn’t been much poetry to find, even with Hermione interrogating Madam Pince herself. That was the moment when Ariel realized Hermione had to be a Gryffindor. By the time Ariel had dragged Hermione away, apologizing profusely, Madam Pince had looked like some sort of griffon, ready to grab them in her talons and rip them to shreds.

“Maybe,” Ariel said, a little glumly. “I keep thinking if I find the rest —”

“If there is a rest,” Hermione interjected.

“Yeah — if — then I’ll figure out who left it for me, that maybe they know something I don’t, but if Mum only told James, and Snape didn’t know at all, who else could it be?”

Hermione shook her head. “Maybe Professor Snape told someone?”

Ariel almost laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe he would, you don’t know that.”

then why not keep it to yourself?

“I just wish someone would tell me what to do, or what it is they want me to know and not know.” Ariel muttered. “I’m sick and tired of secret notes.”

“It is a pretty big deal,” Hermione admitted. “Being your father, and all.”

Ariel gave her A Look. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” she hesitated. “I mean, to give you an idea, I read all about you in books before I even met you.”

She almost groaned. “It doesn’t even matter, I was a baby! I don’t remember anything!”

“I know, I know,” Hermione gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. “I’m just saying that it’s a strong possibility why it’s… well, why no one wants to talk about it. Maybe secret notes are all we have, for right now.”

Ariel sighed, scanning the courtyard for a spot for them to sit. It was still light out, which made her feel safe. She’d been seeing that infinite darkness in corners, heard it muttering in class, in Defense or in the Great Hall during dinner. No one else seemed to notice it but her, and it was such quick glimpses that Ariel didn’t know what exactly to do with it. It frightened her, but nothing had happened like the night she’d told Snape The Truth, and so she’d waved it away as her imagination. It was only quick little blips, anyway, forgotten until she laid in bed at night, replaying the time she’d first seen it over and over and over —

She was keeping a lot of secrets. Maybe that was why her heart felt so heavy lately… maybe it wasn’t Snape at all. Maybe the secrets weighed you down, took something a little from you each day, chiseled away at you bit by bit.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione asked quietly, as though she were asking permission to ask the question in the first place. “I know we haven’t had much time lately, and now that your mum’s letter is gone… but Ron and I… we want you to know that we won’t stop helping you find out the truth, if that’s what you really want.”

Ariel was going to tell her everything, then — all about the floating room and the doe, the talk with Snape and the darkness made of voices and nightmares, so black the light seemed to get sucked up inside of it.

That was when she spotted him, just as she was seating herself beneath the birth tree, the book in her lap and another Warming Charm on her lips.

Hermione had frozen in place, her demeanor radiating discomfort. She shot a quick look to Ariel, who felt her chest tighten with that all too familiar pang of something that felt like loss.

And then Ariel noticed the limp, and that the fabric of Snape’s right trouser looked like it had gone through a meat grinder.

“Ariel —” Hermione reached out a hand to pull her back, but she was too late, Ariel was already halfway across the courtyard, making a beeline for him.

Snape didn’t seem to see her at first, his face twisted every time he put weight on his bad leg. His hair was matted against his forehead, far greasier than it usually looked, but Ariel wouldn’t have really known since she hadn’t seen much of him. She broke into a jog, which finally seemed to catch Snape’s attention. His face twisted — was that horror? — but before he could pick up the pace, Ariel had already reached out, screeching to a halt in front of him, successfully blocking his path.

“Hello,” Ariel said, pulling her cloak around her tightly. Her heart hammered away in her chest, like a fist against a door, begging to be let out.

Snape stopped to glare down at her, but it was diluted by the tiredness in his face. There were deep, dark circles underneath his eyes that had been there for almost two weeks, since Ariel had told Snape The Truth, and she’d read the poem about the wanderer. She felt tired too, but it was a different kind of exhaustion, one that didn’t match the one in Snape’s face. He looked… haunted.

She pointed at his leg. “You’re hurt.”

“Astute observation, Miss Evans.” Snape drawled, pulling on his cloak so that it was covering his injured leg. “Is that all, or would you also like to note the color of my robes?”

The snark bounced off of her like oil on water. “Are you going to Madam Pomfrey?”

He began to walk away, and Ariel hurried after him, three of her own strides matching one of his. “No, I’ve decided to amputate it myself.”

She huffed, partly in annoyance, and partly out of breath. “You're only going to make it worse the more you walk on it.”

Snape stopped short, and Ariel’s nose came itches away from smashing into his knees. He whirled around, his expression too exhausted to be angry, but his eyes burned a hole right between her eyes. A little voice in the back of Ariel’s head told her she was mental for bothering Snape like this, for being so nosy, but she hadn’t seen him, and she wanted to ask him so much things —

“I didn’t realize we had another certified Healer on staff.” Snape said coolly.

“Any numpty could figure that one out.” Ariel said, quite matter-of-factly. “And I’d know anyway, from experience.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Aunt Marge’s dog dragged me down the hallway once.” she said before she could think it over. “I had a brace and everything. Aunt Petunia was furious I couldn’t do any of the yardwork for a month. I tried, but it just made it worse.”

Snape’s face did something strange, almost as if it was being stretched into an unnatural expression that made Ariel’s stomach break into cartwheels. “I see.”

“What happened?” Ariel asked, her face suddenly very hot. “I’m guessing it wasn’t dogs.”

He glared down at her for another long moment, that pinprick of something white hot and unfiltered glowing in his black eyes. She stared right back. Maybe it was the fact that Ariel had successfully taken him off guard, but Snape didn’t scare her anymore. She couldn’t fear rejection when it had already happened, and while the sting of it still lingered, Ariel had come to realize that hoping for some kind of relationship with Snape was about as likely as Filch accepting a present from Fred and George.

“Gravity.” Snape said flatly, and began to walk away again. Ariel hurried after him, huffing as she clutched the book at her chest. He stopped short again, a warning in his eyes — or maybe his leg was starting to really bother him, and Ariel was just getting in the way.

Be patient, my dear, if nothing else, the note had said.

“Well,” Ariel tucked the book in the crook of her arm. “then you won’t mind if I follow you, then.”

His gaze darkened. “I very much would.”

“What if you fall?” she asked, nonplussed.

“What if I don’t?” Snape snapped back.

“I don’t very much like the odds of that.” Ariel said, trying to match his tone, and failing. Snape spoke to people like you were a slug he’d stepped on, and no matter how hard she tried, Ariel couldn’t summon that much reproach into her voice.

Snape had turned his back to her to try and leave again, but at this, he stopped and sighed, his head hanging low so that his hair and cloak melded together into one black mass. Ariel almost felt bad, but there was this quiet desperation inside of her to get him to talk to her again, even if he was essentially telling her to bugger off. After a moment, he turned to glower at her again, but it had lost some of its potency.

“Books aren’t to be taken from the library.” he said.

Ariel blinked at him. “Since when?”

“Since the dawn of time.”

“I think you’re making that up to get rid of me.”

“Very good, Miss Evans.” he said, his breath curling the air like fog. “Hand it over, or I’ll let Madam Pince have her way with you.”

Ariel tried to stifle the shudder that went through her at the thought. “If I wasn’t allowed to take it out, she wouldn’t have let me leave with it!”

“Hand — it — over.” Snape said in a quiet voice, one that conveyed every inch of his warning.

She tried to swallow her anger, which was begging to lash out, to yell at him to stop being some a git and talk to her like a normal person for once — to talk to her at all.

“I’ve been trying to find the rest of that poem,” said Ariel. “from the floating room.”

Snape’s face went blank, like paint dripping off of a canvas. “I beg your pardon?”

“The poem, in the book you left.”

“I did no such —” Snape’s face went the exact color of sour milk, like he’d had a terrible thought come over him. His face instantly twisted into an expression of anger — or maybe it was disgust — but Ariel could tell it wasn’t directed at her for once. He took the books from her waiting hands, and turned on his heel.

“Get inside, you’ll catch your death of a cold out here.” Snape snarled, walking away before Ariel could protest.

She watched him stalk away like an injured predator who was trying to save face. Adults were weird, Ariel decided, waiting until he had disappeared behind the columns before looping back around to follow him. Hermione was waiting for her behind one of the pillars, worry shining from every inch of her face.

“What did he —” Hermione started to say, but Ariel shushed her, pulling her along so that they were both out of sight. She slowly peeked around the stone column, watching as Snape disappeared back inside the castle.

“Come on,” Ariel tugged at her arm. “we’ve got to follow him.”

—————

They’d gotten all the way up to Filch’s office without being spotted, but instead of feeling smugly victorious, Ariel was terribly confused.

They’d stayed far back, but it had been pretty easy to follow Snape, Ariel realized, once she’d figured out that he wasn’t heading for the infirmary. A small, but noisy voice in the back of her head kept ordering her to go and get Madam Pomfrey herself, but Ariel knew this would mean Sudden and Imminent Death for her, and probably Hermione, too. Besides, Snape was an adult who probably knew loads of healing spells he could do himself. Maybe he didn’t need Madam Pomfrey after all.

The castle seemed… quieter as Hermione and Ariel crept after Snape. She prayed to whatever god was listening that the darkness didn’t choose now to show up, but it was comforting to know that if it did, at least Snape was in earshot —

— with a busted leg.

Ariel shuddered, shoving the thought away from her. She couldn’t afford to think about that now, she had to find out where Snape was going.

He had started to slow down once they passed the Great Hall, rapping on Filch’s door before letting himself in. Ariel couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to hesitate for a split second, looking over his shoulder. Hermione gripped at her hand, her breath the only sound could hear as Snape slid inside silently. He’d gone to Filch because he thought Ariel would go straight to Madam Pomfrey, that sneaky git —

“What’s he doing?” Hermione whispered, her fingers knotted in Ariel’s cloak.

“I don’t know,” Ariel replied. She crept closer, but Hermione tugged her back.

“What did he say to you?” her eyes searching Ariel’s, as if she was holding the answer captive.

“He just told me to bugger off and took my book.”

Hermione exhaled, a deep, distressed sound. “And you want to go after him?”

“He’s hurt, and I do kinda want my book back.” Ariel started to move again, but Hermione’s hand stayed firmly on her shoulder.

She looked at her, something in her face that made Ariel’s heart quiver. It was like looking down when you were at the very top of a cliff, or a rollercoaster and not knowing what was at the bottom, when the bottom would come, if it would come at all. It made her chest feel like it was filled with cold water, because Ariel knew exactly what Hermione was saying without saying anything at all.

“Stay here,” Ariel said, hating that she let her voice shake. “I’m going to see if I can hear anything.”

She turned away, unable to look at her anymore, unable to let the truth of Hermione’s expression leak into her any longer, but the icy feeling inside her chest began to thaw when she felt Hermione’s hand let go of her cloak, and slip into her hand instead. Ariel squeezed back tightly, sucking in the November air before ordering her legs to move towards Filch’s door.

Snape hadn’t closed the door all the way, Ariel realized, a crack of light slipping through the thin threshold. She was able to peer inside, Hermione’s still hand around hers, as tight as a vise. Snape’s leg was a bloody and mangled mess, his trousers pulled up so that the injury was in full view. It didn’t look like he'd gone through a meat grinder anymore — more like he’d let a lion gnaw on it for a few minutes. Ariel stared at it, horrified.

Filch said something Ariel couldn’t hear, but Snape shook his head. “She’s meddlesome — she’d ship me off to St Mungo’s, and I’m needed here.”

It took Ariel a second to realize he was probably talking about Madam Pomfrey. Filch handed him a roll of bandages, and Snape bent over as he began to unroll them.

“It was that fucking dog,” Snape snarled. “how the bloody hell are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?”

Hermione made a scandalized noise at the swearing. Ariel sucked in a deep breath and all of the courage she could muster, and rapped on the door with her knuckle. “Professor?”

He went completely rigid, only his eyes snapping up to the doorway. They glittered like two black beetles, bulging out of his head.

“Miss EVANS!” Snape boomed. Something inside of Filch’s office went CRACK. Hermione let of a squeak of surprise.

“I wanted my book —” Ariel started to say, but Snape looked like he was ready to launch himself out of the chair, had it not been for his leg.

“OUT!” he bellowed. “GET OUT!”

Ariel hesitated, which turned out to be a huge mistake, because Snape actually started trying to get up, and Ariel didn’t want to know what would happen if he made it to the doorway. She pulled Hermione back, the two of them sprinting the entire way back up to Gryffindor Tower.

Once they were safely back inside, Ariel hurried over to Ron, who was still — somehow — in the middle of the same chess match they had left him in. A quick glance at the board told her that not much had really changed, which was unsurprising. Ron could be incredibly indecisive sometimes, and he had Seamus bet a few sickles on this game.

Ariel grabbed Ron by the collar of his shirt and tugged. “We need to talk to you.”

“Oi! I’m kind of in the middle of something right now!” he protested, but Ariel was already dragging him away. Seamus didn’t even seem to notice — he was staring at the board like he’d gotten lost inside of it.

“Don’t touch anything!” Ron shouted, finally falling in step with Ariel and Hermione as they hurried over to an uninhabited part of the Common Room. She clutched at the stitch in her side as she and Hermione fell to the floor, still desperately trying to catch their breath. Her lungs felt like they were on fire.

“The dog — it got Snape.” Hermione wheezed just as Ron opened his mouth. “One of it’s mouths must’ve snagged him.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “What? When? How do you know?”

They quickly filled him in on everything that had happened. Over Ron’s shoulder, Ariel could see the chess pieces floating up in the air. Fred and George stood in the doorway of the boys’ dormitory, looking quite pleased with themselves. Ariel tried to shoot them a disapproving look, but they weren’t looking at her.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows together once they were done. “Why would he need to be checking on the Stone?”

“Because someone is trying to steal it!” Ariel said, a shiver passing through her, and for once, it had nothing to do with the cold. “Something must’ve happened.”

Ron looked skeptical. “Yeah but… if Snape was really hurt, why wouldn’t he use magic to heal himself?”

“I… don’t know.” Ariel said, searching her heart for an excuse, but unable to come up with one. It was a good point. Even if Snape hadn’t gone to the infirmary, why was he using old Muggle bandages for his leg?

Ron gave her a solemn look, his blue eyes lighter than usual, like when you could see the sky behind the stormcloud. “Well… what if Snape is the one trying to steal the Stone?”

“We’ve been over this,” Hermione said, sounding impatient. “Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t have —”

“Then why did the dog attack him?” Ron challenged. “Shouldn’t he know how to get past it to check on the Stone? Wouldn’t Professor Dumbledore have told him?”

Ariel quietly considered this as Ron and Hermione went back and forth. Maybe… maybe she’d been completely off.

An icy fist wrapped around her heart. It wouldn’t have been the first time Mum had been wrong. Maybe, just maybe, there had been a different reason Snape wanted nothing to do with her.

She looked up at Ron and Hermione, who quieted at the expression on her face.

“I have to tell you guys something,” she said.

—————

The next day, Ariel woke up earlier than the others, intent on settling herself on one of the sofas in the Gryffindor common room, one closest to the fireplace. Her feet felt like icicles, but her head felt surprisingly clear.

Lavender was snoring away as Ariel went inside the girl’s loo, scowling at her hair. It was getting longer, thank Merlin, but it still looked as though it couldn’t decide whether or not it wanted to be wavy or curly. It drove Ariel mad, especially when she was trying very hard to make it look somewhat good, but it was so infuriatingly short that there still wasn’t much Ariel could do. Pavarti had mentioned that there was some sort of potion that could make your hair grow, but Ariel had a feeling she wouldn’t have any of the ingredients, and she didn’t think Snape would be in a very giving mood.

She’d made up with Lavender last week, leaving a plate of biscuits on the bed, along with a note saying that she was sorry and felt horrid, which she was, and did. Lavender had immediately thrown her arms around her and asked if it was “that cow Pansy Parkinson causing her to be so moody,” which Ariel was all too eager to agree with.

When she was done trying to do something with her hair, she took out a sheet of parchment and a fresh quill, leaning on her Charms textbook so she could write. Ariel wrote Snape at the very top, and next to that, a giant question mark. Underneath the question mark, she wrote the words Mum, Dad, and then, Voldemort.

Beneath Mum she wrote friends with Snape, maybe love? and killing curse.

She tapped the quill against her chin. If Snape and Mum had been friends, and he’d loved her, and she’d maybe loved him back, what had happened? Ariel didn’t know anything about love, but she supposed that if you loved someone a certain way, you did everything you could to stay with that person, didn’t you? There was a difference between being in love and just loving someone, though. Mum had outright stated that she loved James… not that she was in love with him. The word love had never come up with Snape, but Ariel was here because of Snape, not James.

She looked at the James column and wrote loved Mum, loved me, killing curse. She didn’t know what else to write, but her throat felt uncomfortably tight. He had to have been in love with Mum, because you didn’t ask to marry someone not once, but twice if you didn’t.

You didn’t love a baby that wasn’t yours either.

Ariel huffed, looking between Mum and James, before finally deciding to tackle Snape. She didn’t really know what to put, because while he had confirmed that he was Mum’s friend, and had (sort of?) confirmed that he was her father, Ariel really didn’t know anything else. He hated Aunt Petunia, Dumbledore trusted him, and he hated literally everyone in the school, except maybe the professors and some of the Slytherins, and even that was stretching it. He was mean — a bully in every sense of the word —

He was interested in the Stone.

She wrote six question marks beneath Snape, and then glared at them. Even inside her brain, he was a mystery. He had saved Ariel from the Dursleys, and the cold, high voice that had chased her… but why? What did that mean? He’d saved Mum’s life, too… she’d said so in the letter. Maybe… maybe he’d been angry with Mum for marrying James? Although, if Snape was trying to steal the Stone, then why would he tell her about it in the first place?

Something hard and hot blossomed inside her heart — a feeling, a connection. Mum had felt this same confusion, hadn’t she? Snape had done the same thing to her, only she hadn’t been able to talk to him at all… because Snape had gone and joined something called the Death Eaters, whatever that meant.

That brought Ariel swiftly to the Voldemort column. Mum had talked a lot about him in the letter, what he’d been doing and how scared she was. There was a lot of stuff Ariel still didn’t understand, but it wasn’t like Snape was going to tell her anytime soon, so Ariel figured that she’d sort that out later. Voldemort had killed her Mum and James and unsuccessfully tried to kill Ariel. That was about it.

She glowered down at the parchment, which was becoming increasingly unhelpful.

She couldn’t help but think Voldemort had more to do with this than Mum had let on.

It was the most she’d ever thought about Voldemort, she realized. Sometimes, Ariel forgot that he was the reason her mum and dad were dead. She remembered Hagrid telling her all about what he’d done, not able to understand it all and that the reason it had ended had been… because of her.

That was… weird. Not as weird as Snape, though. She wondered what Snape would’ve done if Mum had told him from the beginning. There must’ve been something she’d seen in him, something Ariel didn’t.

She wondered what Snape saw in her. Maybe all he saw was her mum, dead because of —

That was when something in Ariel’s brain snapped into place. A horrible, wonderful ache filled her chest, the feeling of trying to swallow a hiccup, or hold back a laugh, or even a cry. Snape couldn’t stand her because —

she… had survived

and Mum had not.

Ariel looked up, her reflection bouncing off the tabletop beside her. She had Snape’s eyes, she’d come to realize, but her mother’s face, freckles and lips and nose and all. Snape probably looked at Ariel and thought “murderer.”

No — she quickly shook her head, trying to throw that thought far, far away from her. If Snape really thought that, he wouldn’t have saved her, wouldn’t have cared if Aunt Petunia kept her stuffed underneath a cupboard like a dustpan or not. Snape had to care at least a little bit… or maybe he felt like he had to protect Ariel, for Mum.

Something about that idea made her feel very small, like she was supposed to fit inside some neat, tidy box made for her, never to come out. Ariel crushed the parchment into a ball, and threw it into the fireplace.

She watched it burn, and for a brief moment, wished it was her flaking away, fading to ash.

—————

The Great Hall was buzzing with talk about the Quidditch match as the trio walked down for breakfast. Most of the older Gryffindors were wearing House colors, their faces streaked with red and gold body paint, flags and streamers laying across the table, mixed in amongst the breakfast food. The air itself seemed to be alive with excitement. Ariel was thankful for it — she wanted to forget, wanted to just enjoy a stupid game of Quidditch and worry about normal-people things.

Draco and the other first year Slytherins were staring at Ariel as they walked in, turning around to snigger when Ariel looked their way. Ron made a rude gesture at them, which Hermione immediately berated him for as they sat down to eat.

“You’ll get points taken!” Hermione scolded.

“It’s worth it,” Ron waved her off. “Especially today.”

Ariel and Hermione shared a look as they helped themselves to the breakfast spread. Fred and George were huddled together next to them with Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor team’s captain. Whatever they were talking about must’ve been important, because the twins looked pretty serious.

“What time is the game?” Ariel asked, munching on a piece of toast.

“Around eleven, I think.” Ron said, looking across the table at Neville, who was sitting down to join them. “You coming, Longbottom?”

Neville looked startled, like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Yeah, I’ll b-be there.”

“Brilliant, you can sit with us, then.” Ron said, grinning. “We’ve got to show our House spirit — this is an important game.”

“Why’s that?” Ariel asked, quirking an eyebrow. “It’s only the first one!”

“Yeah, but it’s against the Slytherins.” Ron made a face. “If we let them win, it’ll set the tone for the entire season! They’ll never let us hear the end of it.”

Ariel tried to picture Draco being more insufferable, and wanted to smash her head against the table. “Good point.”

As she reached for another piece of toast, something strange happened. It felt like her ears were suddenly clogged, filled with cotton or shoved underwater. Everyone was suddenly silent, the roar of conversations dampened. Ariel shook her head, trying to clear the fog, but it did nothing.

That was when Ariel saw it.

The darkness was seeping into the Great Hall through the main doors. It was silent, but it sucked all the light and noise into it. Ariel had never seen it move like this, crawling along the floor and walls like vines. Usually, when she saw it in her peripheral vision, it disappeared entirely, but the more she looked at it now, the stronger it seemed to become. The colors of the Great Hall, once vibrant, were now muted and dull.

Ariel frantically looked around, but no one else seemed to notice it. Ron was helping himself to the fried sausage, while Hermione chatted away with Parvarti, who seemed to be complimenting her hair for once, which she’d managed to wrangle back into a ponytail.

“Tell me,” a cold, high voice hissed, like hail beating against a windowpane. “tell me…”

It hadn’t spoken to her — not like this, not since That Night.

“Tell me,” it said again, louder, this time, a command. “Tell me what it said.”

Go away, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. GO AWAY —

“Hey — hey, Evans, you okay?”

Someone was shaking her. When Ariel opened her eyes, everything was back to normal — the din of students and professors, the colors and the light streaming in through the windows. It was George’s hand on her arm, trying to get her attention.

She felt dizzy. “I — what?”

“Are you alright?” George asked again, ducking his head down to try and look at her. “You’re looking a little queasy.”

Ariel peered over at Ron and Hermione, concern plastered all over their faces.

“No — I mean, yeah, I’m okay… just tired.” she rubbed at her eyes, and shoved her trembling hands under the table. “I think I just need to eat.”

And then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, Ariel saw that Snape was sitting at the High Table.

His eyes were on her already, dark and intense, like he’d been waiting for her. Ariel’s heart skipped a beat, thrumming away like a hummingbird’s. Snape hadn’t been at a meal for almost two weeks — why was he here now? Because Ariel had forced him to talk to her? Or was it something else? He hadn’t followed them after Filch’s office —

Fred nudged her, noticing Snape’s murderous gaze. “What’d you do, lass?”

Ariel accidentally swallowed the toast she’d forgotten to chew. Ron gave her a few whacks on the back, saving her from choking right there and solving all of Snape’s problems. “I didn’t — do — anything,” she wheezed.

She was going to go lock herself in her dorm and never come out. So much for having fun today.

Ariel took a long swig of pumpkin juice, avoiding Hermione’s eyes.

“Cheer up, Evans,” George hung his arm around her shoulders. “we’re going to see to it that not even the greasiest git to ever live doesn’t ruin your first Quidditch game. Well, as long as you don’t choke to death first.”

Somehow, Ariel seriously doubted that, but she didn’t doubt for a second that this match was bound to be eventful… somehow.

——————