Ariel had always loved the idea of Christmas from afar, but to finally have the opportunity to be a part of it warmed her all the way down to her toes.

Hogwarts had immediately struck Ariel as beautiful the very first time she saw it, but the day that Hagrid began to drag those giant evergreen trees into the Great Hall momentarily distracted her from the whole Stone business and the Giant Smoke Monster. She wasn’t going back to Privet Drive, leaving her with the hope that this could quite possibly be the very first and very best Christmas she’d ever had.

The trio had tried throwing themselves into research as the days grew longer and colder after Hagrid had let it slip about a man named Nicolas Flamel. They hadn’t been able to find anything further on the Stone itself, but there had been little time for the three of them to do any sort of investigating, even with them spending all their free time in the library. Their professors had been piling work on them left and right, so much so that Ariel was beginning to feel grateful that Snape made her do homework during their fake-detentions. Ariel couldn’t focus in Gryffindor Tower, even if it was just her and Hermione in the dorm.

As the smell of pine and holly wafted through the halls of the castle, Ariel and the twins had set to booby trapping Christmas decorations in retaliation for Malfoy’s no show the night they’d run into the three headed dog, and for being a terrible prat. They had begun to lose count of just how many times they’d caught Malfoy off guard, delighting in the shows that had left their stomachs sore with raucous laughter. Among Ariel’s personal favorites were the exploding mistletoe that had given Malfoy large, itchy boils on his forehead, enchanted snowballs that continually flung themselves at the back of his neck, and Charming the gel he used to slick back his hair to smell like actual reindeer.

Hermione was going home for the holidays, and Ariel had tried her very best to conceal how disappointed she was about this. Ron was staying behind since his parents were going to visit Charlie in Egypt with Ginny, which brought her some comfort, because it meant that Fred and George would be sticking around too.

“Promise me you’ll write,” Ariel very nearly demanded as she hugged Hermione close. “I’m sure Hedwig will appreciate all the time to spread her wings.”

“I will, I’ll let you know the second I find anything about Flamel.” Hermione grinned, half her face covered by her winter hat. It flattened the top half of her head, making the ends stick out like she’d been electrocuted. Malfoy sniggered as he passed by.

Ariel threw him a horrible look. “I’m pretty sure no one will miss him.”

“Careful, Red Cap,” Malfoy snapped. “At least my family wants me.”

Ariel threw a Stinging Hex at him. Ron beamed with pride, while Hermione hurried them away, just as the Slytherin Prefect began walking over to investigate.

“You two have to promise not to get into trouble,” she said in her Bossiest Voice. “If I come back and you’ve lost all our House points, I’ll be very cross.”

“Pinky promise,” Ariel smirked, crossing her fingers behind her back so that Ron could see, but linked her pinky with Hermione’s.

“Honestly,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s a good thing the Slytherins are all leaving. You two wouldn’t last five minutes with all this free time.”

“We’ll be looking for more on the Stone too, you know.” Ron said, crossing his arms. “We’ve got way more of a chance than you do, unless maybe your parents know something?”

“Highly unlikely,” Hermione snorted. “they’re dentists.”

Once classes had finished for term, Ariel settled into a new pattern of lounging about with Ron, waiting for the holidays to officially arrive. Lavender and Parvarti had given Ariel a catalog to go through, where you could send in a money order and the gifts would be delivered to you. Luckily, Ariel had taken a pouch of galleons from Gringotts when she’d gone with Hagrid, and so she’d done her Christmas shopping all in one go. Hedwig, however, did not seem too pleased with the journey, and had sulked for a full two days before allowing Ariel to get anywhere near her. She wondered if the journey all the way to Hermione’s would get the same reaction, but Hedwig liked Hermione a great deal, so maybe it wouldn’t be as much of a bother.

For Ron, Ariel had gotten him his own chess set, and for Hermione, enchanted friendship bracelets. They were supposed to change colors based on how the other was feeling, which Ariel quite liked the idea of. She found it hard sometimes to tell Hermione how she was feeling, like she couldn’t make the words come out. Even alone, practicing in front of a bathroom mirror, Ariel couldn’t force herself to say certain things out loud to Hermione, and she didn’t know why.

Ariel and Ron had the dormitory to themselves as Christmas crept up on them, and Ron had been teaching her how to play wizard’s chess. She wasn’t bad at it, but she got annoyed very easily when the players began to shout their two-sense at her. Ron had sheepishly tried to explain that they’d calm down once she got the hang of it, but Ariel couldn’t imagine playing a game with chess pieces she wanted to step on.

On Christmas Eve, Ariel settled into her bed, glancing over at her nightstand. Beside it was a vial of Dreamless Sleep Snape had given her two days prior. She bit her lip, wondering if she should try and sleep without it tonight.

She stared at it before turning off the lights with her wand. The next day was Christmas — sleepless nights were bound to be rampant tonight, anyway.

———

A sound like rainwater filled up the space, the sound crushing everything in its path.

It could not be called a scream, or a howl, or even humanlike at all, because for one to make such sounds, one would have to possess something corporeal, and this was not the case. To have nothing left was one thing, but to have what was yours, what was rightfully taken from those far below was another. It would have it all back, and then some.

It would have that child.

And it burned that she was so close, just behind a door that could not see, a door with eyes that could not see him as he was, as he was no longer, and knew what it really was, what he should have been. However long It tried, it counted every single second, because every second It tried, it would make that girl suffer for it.

Until He appeared.

It did not hear him, It did not even turn to see. He was suddenly there, beside the door, his blue eyes glowing in the dark. They did not see it, but stared straight through it, through it’s Nothingness and Malice, through to the other side, where He wanted it to go.

The sound lit up the space, and He stared calmly back at it, as if He could not really see It, as no one else could. It was so different from the girl that It felt something akin to fear, because He looked at him with indifference.

“Go, Tom,” He said.

The sound shattered the air, and It was gone, but not without one final thought.

It would have that girl

and that letter

if it was the last thing

It did.

———

Ariel awoke with a jolt.

Her scar was burning, like she’d been brandished with Lavender’s curling iron. She rubbed at it as the pain subsided, her breathing heavy.

That voice… in her dream… she’d heard it before, but it was only that — a dream. It couldn’t harm her, because it wasn’t real. Ariel sighed, rolling over to look at her clock — it was almost seven in the morning. She glanced out the window, the skies grey, frost coating the window.

Lavender had offered to help Ariel string up the fairy lights again after Ariel had apologized to her, and they’d ended up decorating the entire dorm with them. Their soft light covered her as she scrubbed the sleep from her eyes, when something caught her eye.

There were presents at the end of her bed.

Ariel catapulted out of her sheets, the dream long forgotten, and scrambled over to the pile. There was more than one parcel, she realized, something bright blossoming in her chest. She eagerly bent over and began opening them, the first one from Hagrid. It was a wooden flute, and when she blew into it, it sounded like some sort of bird. She wondered if it was meant for Hedwig, but quickly set it aside and reached for the next one.

Hermione had sent her a giant box of chocolate frogs, along with a set of headbands and barrettes. Ariel flew into the bathroom to try them out, the headband smoothing her hair back so that it didn’t look so… crooked anymore. She grinned, wishing Hermione was here so that she could hug her and tell her how much she loved them. It felt silly to care about her hair so much, but Ariel couldn’t help but envy Lavender and Parvarti, who could choose to wear their hair up or down or pulled back or all-natural. She would’ve killed to have that to complain about.

The next gift was from Mrs Weasley, who’d sent Ariel a hand-knitted jumper in emerald green. It was twice the size of her, but it was soft, just like the mittens Mrs Weasley had sent her. There was a giant A in the center, along with some homemade fudge. She’s also left a note that told Ariel to write soon, and that they’d love to have her return for the summer again. That would’ve been the best present of all, until she saw one last package without a card or note attached to it.

It was a cloak, from the looks of it, a silvery gray that almost seemed to twinkle beneath the fairy lights. It reminded Ariel of the doe she’d seen, almost, the day Snape had taken her into the floating room. For a moment, she wondered if this cloak could be from him, as she wrapped it around herself, but quickly brushed it off. Snape probably hated Christmas, like he hated everything.

Ariel wondered if anyone had bothered to get him a present.

And then she looked down, and found that the entire lower half of her body was missing.

Ariel let out a yell, immediately reaching down to make sure she hadn’t magicked away her legs. Luckily they were still there, but when she turned around to look in Lavender’s mirror, all she could see was her floating head. The cloak had made her invisible.

“What the —” Ariel said aloud, letting the Cloak drop to her feet, her body reappearing. “Cool.”

That was when she saw the note floating to the ground. Ariel picked it up, squinting at the tight, neat handwriting. It looked so familiar…

James left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you, my dear girl.

This was… her dad’s? James? Or rather — well, Ariel guessed her was really her step-father, if she were going to put things in proper terms. More important, who the heck had sent this to her? She didn’t know anyone who was a witch or wizard outside of Hogwarts, and it seemed unlikely to have come from a student…

She wished Hermione were here to see. She probably would’ve said something like “you could get into a lot of trouble with this,” and then thought of something brilliant, like sneaking into the Slytherin dorms to prank Malfoy. No… that was more Ron’s style. He would definitely appreciate it.

Ariel grinned, rushing down the stairs and into the Common Room, where Ron was already waiting.

“Merry Christmas!” he said, turning pink when he saw Ariel’s new jumper. “I see Mum sent you a Weasley sweater, I told her you weren’t expecting presents and I guess she got carried away. We get one every year.”

“I love it,” Ariel said, grinning. “Look what else I got.”

She put on the Cloak, lifting the hood so that she disappeared completely. Ron gaped at her.

“Where in Merlin’s name did you get that?” he bleated. “Those are super rare, and really valuable!”

“I have no idea,” Ariel dropped the hood. “There was a note, but it didn’t say who it was from, only that it belonged to my dad.”

Ron’s mouth stretched into a smile. “Well, someone’s looking out for you then, mate. You can hide from death itself, with that Cloak.”

Ariel snorted. “I’ve definitely got an idea or two.”

She’d spent the day eating food that was so rich that she’d surely never eat again, and engaged in a snowball battle royale that had taken up the entire afternoon. Fred and George had enchanted the snowballs to make themselves and fire back at Ariel and Ron relentlessly, until Hagrid showed up and built them a snow-wall that quickly thwarted the twins’ efforts. She could’ve sworn she saw Snape watching from the entrance, but unfortunately, that was the exact moment George had clocked in the face with a snowball. When Ariel had wiped it from her eyes, he was gone.

Later that evening, Ariel and Ron were cozied up in Gryffindor Tower. Ron had convinced Ariel to play a game of chess with him while Ariel tried to defrost her toes beside the fire. Her ears still burned from the cold, but she didn’t care. Ariel hadn’t been this happy since she’d first come to Hogwats.

“My wee bonnie lass,” George called from across the room. “come hither!”

Ariel turned to find the twins looking vaguely suspicious, crowded together by one of the windows with something tucked behind their back.

“Our mischief making efforts have proven to be a great aide to you.” Fred said, bowing deeply as she made her way over.

“It’s Christmas,” Ariel said, sliding across the floor in her socks. “don’t you two ever take a day off?”

Fred beckoned her over with a crooked finger. “My young apprentice, you have much to learn.”

“Do you promise?” Ariel smirked.

“Cross my heart,” said Fred.

“And hope to die.” finished George.

“Never,” Ariel punched George lightly in the arm. “What did you want to show me?”

“We ‘found’ this in Filch’s office,” said George with a wink. “it had your name on it.”

“We’ve gone through great peril to rescue this artifact.”

Curious, Ariel cocked her head up at them. “What do you mean? He didn’t take anything from me. At least, I don’t think he did.”

“Well, it had your name on it,” George shrugged. “Either way, someone wanted you to have it. We were just the middle-men.”

He handed her an old book, bound together with leather and withered with age. She didn’t recognize it, but she racked her brain, trying to remember if this was one of the poetry books she’d taken out, or the one Snape had confiscated — it couldn’t have been, because that book had been returned to the library. Hermione and her had gone looking for it a few weeks ago.

Ariel blinked up at them. “I never took out this book.”

“All the more reason to take it,” said Fred, slinging his arm around her shoulder. “Filch’s office is the eighth wonder of the world, you know. Snagging anything out of there is no small feat.”

Ariel’s heart skipped a beat. “Well, thank you. You really shouldn’t have. I mean, you think I have it bad with Snape for weeks and weeks, but you two would’ve been scrubbing bedpans or giving Mrs Norris a bath or something.”

Fred shuddered. “She’s got a point there, George-o.”

“Ah, well,” George slung an arm around Fred’s shoulder. “What Filch doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

Ariel agreed, thanking them for their service, and plopped the book open in front of the fire. Ron had started arguing with his king, who was vehemently opposing the idea of letting Ariel play with him again after last round. She rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the mystery book. It was more poetry, but nothing about the wanderer from what Ariel could tell. It was all in French, the pages yellowed with age and water damage, it looked like. Ariel slammed the book closed, glaring down at it, as if it would sense her frustration and start spilling out all its secrets. She filed “talking books,” into her Great Magical Ideas folder, right next to “Voldemort vaporizer.”

Then she turned the page, familiar handwriting scrawled across the pages — two very familiar —

This is nauseating, wrote the first set of handwriting, letters she saw scrawled across a chalkboard every week.

It’s a bit overdone, wrote the second, not at all uneven and slanted, but neat and precise. I think you’re being too harsh.

Isn’t the whole point of being a critic to be harsh?

Not if you’re going to be a prat, you arse

I am more objective than you are

Or this one just hits a little too close to home

There were pages and pages of this — their words and conversations coating the pages. Ariel fell back onto the sofa, unable to tear her eyes away from this tangible proof that Snape and Mum had been friends, had known each other and teased each other. Snape having any sort of friend was such an odd thought, and yet, here it was, right in front of Ariel’s eyes.

Ariel wondered how they’d done it without Madam Pince getting them expelled. How had she missed this one? And more importantly, who had put her name on it and left it in Filch’s office? It couldn’t have been Snape, then who?

And what the heck was she supposed to do with it?

Ariel considered this for a moment or two, staring into the fire. A thought blossomed, just below her ribs. She clutched the book tightly to her chest and ran upstairs, digging under her four-poster for the last of the wrapping and tissue paper she’d used for Hermione and Ron’s gifts. Ariel managed to wrap the book in a few layers of tissue paper, sticking it together with tape she’d found in Lavender’s trunk, and ran back down the stairs.

Luckily, Ariel was right on time for her detention. She never knew what version of Snape she was going to get, but she’d steadily realized that even if Snape didn’t like her much, he did at least think she was a half-decent brewer. He made (asked in a Snapely way) Ariel assist him with potions if she wasn’t saddled with homework, and Ariel wasn’t about to turn down any opportunities to work with him, to ask him questions about stuff, even if it was just to have conversations. Ariel still couldn’t read him though— if Snape was a book, he would’ve been an ancient tomb where the words were written in invisible ink.

She rushed down to the dungeons, which seemed brighter than usual. That was the thing about Christmas — it was bound to make even the creepiest of places better. Or maybe it was just the fact that Malfoy and Pansy were gone. Ariel would’ve given up a lifetime of Christmas presents if it meant they stayed away.

Once Ariel was outside of Snape’s classroom, she rapped at the door. Usually, Snape called “enter,” and she would, but instead, the door jerked open, making Ariel jump in surprise. Snape was towering over her, like he’d been waiting, his face smooth, but eyes glittering. He was Professor Snape — he did the same exact thing when he let the Gryffindors and Slytherins in for Potions.

“Hello,” Ariel said, hiding the book behind her back.

Snape stared down at her. “You have tissue paper in your hair.”

Ariel inspected the ends of her hair, which now came down to just above her shoulders. She plucked out a piece just as the door slammed shut in her face.

She glared up at the door, and knocked again. The door flew open, the light emanating from inside of Snape’s office creating jagged lines across his face.

“What?” Snape ground out.

“Can I come in?” Ariel asked, trying to peer around him.

His lip curled, but she noticed that his shoulders sagged, like he’d been expecting this. “No, Miss Evans, you may not.”

She frowned. “But we have our detention tonight.”

“It’s Christmas.” Snape said. “The staff would crucify me if they found that I had a student scrubbing cauldrons.”

Ron had said almost the exact same thing to her this morning, during breakfast. For some reason, Ariel found this to be hysterically funny, but bit her tongue to keep from laughing.

“What if the…” Ariel looked around warily, leaning in closer. “What if you-know-what shows up?”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Has it?”

“No,” Ariel shook her head. “Not since last time —”

“Then consider this my Christmas present to you.” Snape said shortly, and then slammed the door shut again.

Ariel huffed, scowling up at the door. She considered throwing a Hex at the door, but she was almost certain that Snape’s door was probably Cursed so that it ate students that tried to break in. That was what some of the Ravenclaw students had theorized, anyway.

She knocked again, and waited a few seconds. There was no answer.

“There could be a minotaur down here, and you’ve just locked me out of your classroom.” Ariel called loudly, tapping her foot impatiently. “That wasn’t what you promised.”

The door nearly swung off its hinges this time. His face was menacingly biting in the torchlight, his teeth bared down at her, and Ariel could tell that he was milliseconds away from laying into her, or docking Gryffindor ten trillion points, but luckily, she spoke first.

“I have something for you,” Ariel said. “An actual Christmas present.”

Snape's face quickly twisted, like his face was inverting in on itself.

“Here,” Ariel held the book out to him. “I found this and… well, I thought you’d might like it.”

Snape stared down at the book like she was presenting him with some of Hagrid’s compost heap.

“Go ahead,” she nodded her head down at it. “I’ll leave after, if you want. I swear.”

The book was in her outstretched hand one second, and gone the next. It took Ariel a minute to realize that she’d been plunged into darkness too, the force of the door slamming shut causing the torches besides Snape’s door to go out.

“You’re welcome,” Ariel muttered. “Merry Christmas to you too.”

She half expected the door to come flying off the wall and mow her down, but the corridor stayed silent. Ariel shivered, wrapping her cloak around her as she walked away, wondering what she had done to get such a reaction from Snape. He was so bloody weird all the time. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he did something like this. He was about as tangible as Nicholas Flamel, sometimes.

Ariel stopped. Something was coming together inside of her brain, something terrible and brilliant and very… Slytherin of her.

She bit back a smile, and broke into a jog.

———

Snape usually enjoyed Christmas, because it meant that everyone left him the fuck alone.

He had the house elves fill the staff member’s stockings up with coal in the staff room, which Dumbledore found amusing, but the rest of them seemed to find it rather confusing, if they weren’t outright insulted. Luckily, after years of doing it, Severus no longer received passive aggressive mentions of it at breakfast the morning after, which alleviated the pressure to actually buy them gifts. Severus would’ve rather ripped out his own fingernails than buy any of his colleagues a present. That meant he had to exert large measures of thoughtfulness, which was reprehensible.

Lily-thing had, of course, trounced over this tradition by giving him a gift. Not only had she privately sought him out to hand deliver it, but Lily-thing had clearly recognized whose handwriting was littered throughout the book, had read through the conversations and decided that she wanted to share it with him. Severus had thrown it in the fireplace, Pince be damned. He’d Hex her into next Thursday if she tried to give him any fucking grief about it.

that wasn’t what you promised

I found this and I thought you might like it

After Lily-thing had gone, Severus had spent the better half of the hour with a cold compress on his head, trying to stop his hands from shaking. The girl hadn’t mentioned Lily in weeks, so for her to present him with tangible proof of their friendship, their old antics memorialized on paper was — it was —

Severus needed to get rid of this — whatever this feeling was. It felt like panic, but it manifested differently, like he was set to a different frequency somehow. This was how he decided to go and interrogate Quirrell. He’d already had at him a few days prior, but it was Christmas, after all, and if Severus was going to try and take him by surprise, this was the night for it.

It was well after curfew now, the shadows long and still in the corridors. Severus kept his eyes sharp, looking for any signs of anything unusual. Lily-thing hadn’t mentioned the darkness in nearly two weeks, which meant that she was overdue for a visit. He’d been keeping track, and it seemed to be happening in twelve day intervals. He didn’t know what it meant — nothing in the books he’d been scouring had anything like it, unless it pertained to some sort of spirit attachment. If that were the case, however, Lily-thing wouldn’t be the only one seeing it.

It only made Severus more frustrated, more fearful. If even Dumbledore couldn’t pinpoint what was after the girl… there was no telling how or when this would end.

Severus screeched to a halt when he felt the pocket watch in his trousers vibrate. It was Charmed to do so if Lily-thing left Gryffindor Tower after curfew — when she wasn’t supposed to.

it’s just a stupid theory

prove it

Severus’ mind wandered to the girl, who should have been fast asleep in her Tower. She’d looked like she was wearing the bloody scarlet letter this morning, in that horrendous Weasley sweater that fit her like it was trying to eat her. It had matched the color of Lily’s eyes. He thought of her daughter’s wide, excited eyes as she’d drunk in the Great Hall, and how he’d started when he’d heard her laughter. He’d never heard it before.

Severus rounded the corner, the pocket watch hot against the palm of his hand. When he looked down at it, it read, “Restricted Section.”

Something hot and piercing when down his throat. He was going to throttle that harebrained little FOOL.

something wouldn’t stop saying my name

Severus charged in the direction of the library, the entirety of Gryffindor’s points on his lips. Panic clawed up his sternum, desperate and wild, that he did not notice when he broke into a run. What the hell was she thinking? Was it childish revenge for denying her the detention? Or outright, blatant defiance?

There was something seriously wrong with that girl if she was rebelling because he had denied her the burden of spending time with him.

He threw open the library’s doors, dust dancing in the undisturbed air in front of him. Moonlight glinted through the windows, the only source of light in the vast expanse of a room. Severus took an uncertain step forward, quickly lighting the end of his wand with a silent Lumos. He marched forward, surveying the rows of tables and chairs, before turning his attention towards the lines of bookcases.

A scream echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls in all directions. Severus whirled around, taking off in the direction of the sound — the Restricted Section. When he got there, however, he found it empty, a single book strewn across the ground. Some little, annoying voice in the back of his head told him that if Pince or Granger were to uncover the scene, they would have likely reported a homicide. Severus picked it up — A Hist’ry of Blood Charm. The shriek would’ve come from the book, since this kind of literature required a blood sacrifice to be read, but what would the brat need with this?

Unless… Lily-thing was looking for something she shouldn’t have.

There was no girl attached to the book. How had she slipped past without Severus seeing her?

“Point me,” Severus hissed down at the watch.

Severus heard her footsteps, then, heard them move father and farther away, and the pocket watch vibrated against his hand again.

Corridor

Why that little —

Severus took off, throwing the book to the ground as he tore past the bookcases and out of the library. He paused to listen, but there was no sound, no voice, no sign of life.

He stared down at the pocket watch.

Corridor

“Which one?” Severus snarled.

Library

He whirled around, expecting Lily-thing to be directly behind him, but there was nothing. Furious, he stormed farther down the corridor, scouring the walls for any sign of Lily-thing, for any crevice she could’ve wormed herself into, but there was none. She was going to have far worse to worry about than a minotaur when Severus was through with her. He was going to make her regret ever breaking a fucking promise.

Wide, panicked eyes staring at him over the bustle of the Great Hall

it’s me you want come and get me

I never should have let you see

I have something for you

Severus stopped when he heard them again — footsteps, retreating in the opposite direction.

Footsteps, but no girl.

He was going to mangle her into a pretzel when he got his hands on her. Lily-thing couldn’t have possibly taught herself a Disillusionment charm — she was far too young, and the magic too complex, too mature for her — so how the sodding fuck was she concealing herself?

The pocket watch vibrated once more.

First floor staircase

Severus bared down, and followed.

———

Snape was still hot on Ariel’s trail — how the heck was he doing it? He hadn’t called out for her, and he wasn’t gaining speed. Maybe he had Student Out of Bed radar… that seemed that a magical invention he would come up with.

It shouldn’t have surprised Ariel that even with an Invisibility Cloak, Snape still would’ve figured out a way to find out she was breaking curfew. This did, however, make her infinitely more thankful for her stepfather’s cloak, which despite Snape knowing her general location, kept him from actually seeing her and sentencing her to real detention (or a fate worse than death).

Ariel stopped behind a stone pillar and took off her boots, the floor freezing beneath her feet, even with socks. She’d be more quiet that way, even if her toes got frostbite. All she’d wanted was a stupid book about Nicholas Flamel, and had somehow ended up with a book screaming in her face. This thought bothered her more than it should have. If books could talk, why couldn’t they all and make her life easier? Although screaming wasn’t really talking, Ariel supposed, but it was a really good way to let professors know you were doing something you shouldn’t have been.

She swerved into an empty corridor and pressed herself against the wall, holding her breath until she was clear, but Snape kept popping up at the end of the stupid hallway. He’d come charging down like death on the warpath, and Ariel would scamper ahead of him until they repeated this process all over again. It was becoming exhausting, and Snape seemed to be getting angrier and angrier. He started to resemble a minotaur after the fourth pit-stop, his breathing labored, clouding the air in front of him. Ariel could see his hands shaking. She just needed to get back up to Gryffindor Tower — if Snape accused her of anything, she’d play dumb, and he wouldn’t have a complete fit.

The hallway-tactic didn’t seem to be working. As Snape barreled up and down the corridor, checking something in his hand Ariel couldn’t see, she racked her brain on a way to ditch him. She wished Hermione was here more than ever, wishing she was with her, underneath the cloak. Hermione would’ve whispered something brilliant ino Arie’s ear, and they could’ve been halfway to Gryffindor Tower by now.

Ariel surveyed her options. There was a classroom to her left with a door cracked open. This was the first instance she could think of where she was actually thankful for being so small, because as she eyed the opening, Ariel knew she could probably squeeze through without Snape hearing a thing.

She craned her head to see where Snape was. Perfect, she thought to herself — he was at the other end of the corridor and hadn’t pivoted yet. Ariel tiptoed sideways, carefully not to make a sound as she slid through the door, ducking into the classroom.

It was unused, it seemed, the desks and chairs pushed up against the far back wall. Wads of balled up parchment littered the floor, cobwebs clogged up the corners. Ron would’ve taken one look into this room and left — he hated spiders. Between the cobwebs, on the wall adjacent from the cluttered furniture, was a mirror. It was huge, at least four times the size of her, with a phrase carved at the very top. She squinted up at it, edging closer to the mirror to look, when —

Ariel nearly screamed when she looked up into the glass, because Snape was standing RIGHT BEHIND HER —

Only it wasn’t just Snape. Someone else was there too. It was a woman with wine red hair, just like Ariel’s, and bright green eyes. Ariel knew that face. She could’ve picked it out of a crowd of ten thousand people, if she had to. She whirled around, desperate to see the woman standing behind her, just within her reach, but the room stayed empty, except maybe for the spiders for company.

Ariel slowly turned back towards the Mirror. The woman and Snape were there, like they existed just beyond the glass.

“Mum?” Ariel whispered, her voice cracking. “Mummy?”

Mum smiled, and it looked like her heart was breaking. Ariel turned again, but there was nothing but air behind her, nothing but dust and shadows and pale moonlight filtering in through the windows, casting uneven lines against the vaulted ceiling.

“How…” Ariel whispered. “how are you here?”

Mum didn’t say anything, she just smiled and nodded. Confused, Ariel looked back up to Snape, but he wasn’t fuming down at her in homicidal rage like he should have been. Instead, his face was calm — not shining with hunger and joy like Mum’s — but it was reserved enough that Ariel could tell he was… content.

Ariel pressed her hand up against the mirror. Mum did the same.

She did not try to stay quiet as she wept.

———

Severus was seriously considering breaking his oath to Dumbledore in swearing he would never practice Dark Magics until the Dark Lord rose when he saw the door at the end of the corridor sway. It moved only slightly, but it caught Severus’ gaze like a hound catching the scent of a rabbit.

The door twitched, like someone had just brushed past it. Severus locked onto it, barreling forward. There was nowhere for Lily-thing to run now, not with him standing between the only exit and her escape.

find her where was she why couldn’t he SEE HER

He shoved the door open with his shoulder, his hands outstretched to grab the girl, when the moonlight glinted off of something to his left.

Severus froze, his body seizing up like he’d been locked in a Body-Bind. He’d forgotten what was being kept in here, had been so careful that he’d gone to incredible lengths to make sure he did not so much as pass by it, knowing he could not withstand the temptation… that he’d be able to see Lily again, and that he would not be able to stay away once he did.

The Mirror taunted him from across the room, its ornate frame sparkling. Severus had nearly forgotten about Lily-thing when she saw her melt back into existence, like she was peeling herself out of thin air.

The Invisibility cloak pooled around her feet like a puddle.

He’d known Potter had it, but had never actually caught him with it before. Lily had mentioned it in passing their fourth year, and Severus had begged her to go to McGonagall, or even Dumbledore about it, since Potter was consistently wreaking havoc with it, but she’d rolled her eyes at him and told him that Potter would learn his lesson in time.

And he had, it seemed.

A rushing current of loathing curled around his heart. What was Lily-thing doing with Potter’s cloak? Had he left it to her? Had she had it all this time? No, surely not — this had Dumbledore written all over it.

Or are you bothered by the fact that Potter has given more to your own child than you ever could?

Severus stood completely still, hidden by the shadows. He could tell what Lily-thing saw just by looking at her face. It was a dome of multi-colored class, each shade shining clearly, brilliantly on her thin face. Grief and longing so thick that Severus couldn’t have cut through it with a carving knife. Happiness that transcended joy itself, lighting up her dark eyes.

It was when Lily-thing began to weep that Severus sagged against the wall. Every instinct inside of him screamed for him to leave, to get the fuck out of there and leave the girl to mourn, but something else tore at him. Guilt that reverberated inside his chest, building as it crescendoed, knowing that he should try to comfort the girl or get her away from here before whatever devices the Dark Lord had came looking, but Severus could not move.

And somehow, that was worse than leaving or offering the girl some shred of kindness.

He turned when he heard someone move beside him in the shadows.

———

How long Ariel sat in front of the Mirror, she did not know, but it felt like something between a few hours and a couple of seconds. She never wanted to leave, never wanted her eyes to leave her Mum’s face.

“It is a wonderfully terrible thing, that Mirror.” said a voice from behind her. Ariel nearly jumped out of her skin in fright, her insides turning to ice. She had forgotten there was a world behind her, that time had continued on just beyond her back.

She whirled around, expecting to see Snape or Filch or even worse — the Giant Smoke Monster — but it was Professor Dumbledore. He was wearing the same robes he’d worn at the feast, a bright holly red, mistletoe stitched onto both sleeves. With the red pointed hat, Dumbledore looked a great deal like Father Christmas.

“I didn’t see you, sir.” Ariel said, her face suddenly very hot, but the rest of her body cold.

“Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you, isn’t it?” Dumbledore said, a smile stretching across his face from under his beard. He sat down on the floor beside her, crossed legged, just like her. “So, you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.”

Ariel turned so that she was facing Dumbledore, but could keep her eyes on her Mum and Snape. “I didn’t know it was called that, sir.”

“But I expect that you’ve realized what it does?”

She nodded. “It shows me my parents.”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “That it does, but it does not show every person the same thing. For example, I see myself holding a pair of woolen socks.”

Ariel couldn’t help but giggle at that. Dumbledore smiled again, his blue eyes twinkling down at her.

“So… it shows you what you want?” she guessed.

Dumbledore nodded. “It shows you your heart’s greatest desire. In your case, it is your parents. For myself… well, it is what evades me every Christmas season.”

Ariel smiled, gazing backup at the Mirror. Snape rolled his eyes, while Mum’s face broadened into a smile, one that seemed to echo Ariel’s laughter a moment ago.

“Your father has spent the better half of the year avoiding this room like the plague.”

It took Ariel a minute to register what Dumbledore had said. She could practically hear the exclamation point that appeared above her head flashing and pinging around as she gawked at Dumbledore. He stared back calmly, unfazed, but she could’ve sworn that she saw his lips twitch.

“Y-you — you know?” Ariel squeaked.

“I do,” Dumbledore inclined his head towards her. “though, I must say, I’m quite surprised it took you as long as it did to read that letter.”

She continued to gape at him. “How did you — how —”

“I went through your mother’s trunk after Professor Snape took you to Hogwarts.” Dumbledore said gently. “She left memories behind for you and your father.”

“Memories?” Ariel asked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“That is a conversation for another time,” Dumbledore said, gazing up into the Mirror himself. “But your mother and step-father left you behind much more than just a letter and an Invisibility Cloak.”

Ariel followed his eyes. Mirror-Snape stared down at her, like he was watching something interesting and didn’t know where it was headed. Mum pressed her hand against the glass and smiled sadly. Ariel’s heart twisted inside her chest, panging with longing.

She looked down at the cloak in her lap, and then back to the Mirror. There was no James there, from what she could tell, but she wished he was there, too, beside Mum and Snape. Ariel hoped that thought would be enough for him to materialize, but he didn’t.

“I can’t help but feel like I don’t deserve it.” Ariel ran her fingers through the material gingerly. “I don’t see James in the Mirror, and he loved me so much that he died. What does that say about me? I still love him, and Mum says he loved me like I was his own. So why don’t I see him?”

Dumbledore gave her a thoughtful look. “I would think that would be quite obvious. While James was certainly devoted to you, he was not your biological father.”

“Yes, but…” Ariel trailed off, not wanting to say what she really felt out loud, but feeling like she had to. She turned away from Dumbledore, trying to find the words to explain why she felt so selfish, so awful while she stared into the Mirror, while also not wanting to change a thing.

“Professor Snape hates me.” Ariel said, looking at the floor, and wondering if she was the first student to have a dead mother write them a letter to tell them one of their professors was their dad — probably. “I can’t help but think telling him was a huge mistake, and I can’t take it back. Sometimes, I think it would just be better to pretend like James was my dad and forget about Mum’s letter, but I can’t, and I don’t know why.”

Dumbledore was very quiet for a long time. The seconds trickled by, and Ariel found herself staring back at her Mum. She was even more beautiful in-person than in the pictures.

“He does not hate you.” Dumbledore finally said. “Hate is… a word I don’t use quite often. I find it very hard to believe many people find it inside themselves to truly hate someone. Hatred can very quickly turn into something else, something that can lead the very best of us into ruin. You, of all people, have a very good reason to hate — several people, in fact — but do you really harbor those feelings?”

Ariel’s eyes shot up to him. Dumbledore had leaned back, his fingers pressed together, just below his mustache. “Who would I hate, sir?”

Something that looked like affection — or maybe it was just pity — flashed across his face. “Well, one could argue your aunt’s family.”

She considered this. Ariel did hate the Dursleys. She thought a lot about hating them when she’d been at the Burrow. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Ah, but do you really?” Dumbledore leaned forward. “Do you wish harm on them? Do you want to see them suffer?”

Ariel thought about Snape ruining Aunt Petunia’s bedroom and kitchen, how the toilet had been in her pristine white bathtub, the fabric of her model home tearing apart at the seams. She daydreamed about Aunt Petunia’s reaction, of her fainting while Dudley screamed bloody murder in the background, and Uncle Vernon clutched at his chest in shock. None of those fantasies ever involved them actually dying or getting really hurt, but Ariel imagined that if she popped off, Aunt Petunia would probably have thrown a parade. Ariel didn’t feel that way, though, she felt… almost indifferent. There was no sadness at the thought of something happening to the Dursleys, but she certainly didn’t want it. Ariel knew what it was like to yearn, to ache for something so badly that it hurt your bones.

“I guess not.” Ariel admitted quietly. “I don’t ever want to see them again, but you’re right. I don’t really hate them. I just hated living with them, because they really hated me. I don’t want them hurt, though. I just don’t want to ever see them again.”

Dumbledore opened his mouth, and then closed it, like he’d decided that now wasn’t the right time. He nodded, like she’d answered correctly. Ariel wasn’t sure if there was a right answer, though.

“I would think,” Dumbledore said. “that Professor Snape does not hate you, my dear. Can you think of no other reason why he might have shown any sort of hostility towards you these past few months?”

Because he doesn’t want you, he wanted Mum

“It has to do with what happened between him and Mum, I know that.” Ariel said dejectedly. “Maybe he doesn’t hate me, but he doesn’t like me either. I keep thinking if I do something different, maybe it’ll change, but it hasn’t, and I don’t know what else to do.”

Ariel stopped herself, feeling like she was minutes away from rambling. She’d never spoken like this before, not even with Hermione. These were the kinds of things Hermione said she knew with her eyes, but couldn't get Ariel to say herself, out loud. Something about talking with Dumbledore had unlocked a piece of her, like he had known all this and had been waiting for her to say it.

Dumbledore placed a hand on her knee. When she looked up into his face, she could not tell if it was sadness, or pride. It confused her even more, that she could not tell the difference.

“Professor Snape must’ve cared about her something fierce, didn’t he?” Ariel whispered.

Dumbledore placed the Invisibility Cloak into her lap. “There is one thing I know about your father, Ariel, and that is that he is without a doubt the fiercest man I have ever known, in everything he sets his mind to.”

Her lip wobbled, and Ariel hated herself for it. Crying wasn’t going to do a damn thing. All Ariel had done was cry, and nothing had been solved, nothing for her mum, for Snape, or this stupid bloody Stone that they had to find —

“You must understand, Ariel, that Professor Snape is an incredibly private man.” Dumbledore continued quietly.

“I know,” Ariel said quietly. “I just wish I could see what Mum did.”

Dumbledore gave her arm a comforting squeeze, and then he rose. “I’m sure you will in time, my dear girl. In the meantime, I must ask that you do not look for the Mirror again. Men have wasted away in front of it. It does not bode well for you, should you seek it out again.”

She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. She would have faded away to nothing in front of the Mirror, and been content with that. It would have been enough for her, she didn’t need anymore than what was inches away.

“Professor?” Ariel asked quietly. “May I ask you something?”

“You already have,” Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling like fairy lights. “but you may ask me one more thing.”

“You said Professor Snape doesn’t want to come in here.” Ariel hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “What do you think he would see, if he were to look into the Mirror? Would he see the same thing I do?”

Mum looked to Mirror-Snape, who’s gaze hardened, like he couldn’t comprehend what Ariel was saying. Dumbledore’s face followed hers, as if he saw Mirror-Snape, too, and was about to ask him a question. He was silent for a very long time, though. So long, in fact, that after a while, Ariel forgot about her question and began to stare back into the Mirror again.

“Whatever he would see,” Dumbledore finally said. “I would think it would make him realize that what he desires is not unattainable.”

Ariel wanted to ask him what that meant, but he was already leaving. She sighed, staring up at Mum, who shook her head, as if she was just as confused. Mirror-Snape glared at Dumbledore’s back.

She wrapped the Cloak around her shoulders, and began to think.

———

Something behind Severus’ eyes began to unravel, faster than a spool of yarn. He could feel his blood pumping in his eyes, roaring like a forest fire. There was an insatiable need to move, to leave or reveal himself, but he couldn’t make himself go forward. He wanted to pry the girl from the Mirror and rip away the pain shining from it. It would have been bearable, had she not said what she had to Dumbledore.

The old man left, leaving the girl alone once more. She sat in front of the Mirror a while longer before she moved. Miss Evans stood, pressing her palm to her mouth, and then back to the glass. “I can’t come back, I’m sorry.”

Her voice cracked on every syllable, and Severus closed his eyes. He could not watch her leave.

Coward

Once Miss Evans passed over the threshold, Severus felt everything inside of him let go. He was left with a feeling of being utterly hollow. If a breeze blew past him, he was quite certain he would have keeled over right then and there.

The Mirror was waiting for him. Severus braced himself, his Shields stuttering back into place as he readied himself for her face, for her gaze, but it did not come.

He stared at himself in the Mirror, baffled. No one appeared. And then —

He lifted up his sleeve, his skin translucent in the mirror’s reflection. There was no scar, no faded skull etched into his skin. Even though it was barely visible in reality, as it had been since the Dark Lord had fallen, the Mirror gleamed back at him, the skin almost sparkling in comparison.

Severus stared into the Mirror, stared at his arm, wishing he could see straight through to the marrow.

When he tore his eyes away, he could have swore he saw a flash of red.

———