Ariel suddenly missed the hedges by the front door. There were no strange people invading the rose bushes, pinning her against walls with their eyes and swearing at her. 

Angry-Man reached a hand towards her, trying to corral her out of the cupboard, but Ariel refused to move. Had Uncle Vernon sent them? Were they… police? Maybe they had called someone after all… but policemen didn’t dress like these two men. Were they secret police? Dudley had telly programs about stuff like that. They were certainly dressed oddly enough. Oh god, oh god oh god oh god — 

The Angry-Man was tall, taller than Uncle Vernon, and dressed from head to toe in black. Even his hair was black, shoulder length, and hiding part of his face like a curtain. It looked like it hadn’t been washed recently. Behind all that hair was a large, hooked nose and two black eyes, darker than the night that she loved and hated, glaring down at her. He looked like he’d peeled himself out of a shadow. His chin could’ve cut glass

(He was at least fifty times scarier than Uncle Vernon, Ariel theorized)

“Professor Snape, why don’t we move into the kitchen. I think we might have given Miss Evans a fright, yes?” suggested the Old Man beside him. Ariel had nearly forgotten he was there. He had a long, silver beard, weird glasses, and wore a deep blue… was it a toga with a cape? Ariel couldn’t tell, Angry-Man was filling up the entire doorway. The Old Man looked much nicer, though. Somewhere, at the back of her mind, Ariel wished the Old Man had found her instead. 

“Are you seeing any of this?” Angry-Man shrieked — dust fell from the ceiling and the lightbulb string swung wildly, like when Dudley stomped down the stairs in the morning. Ariel winced.

“I do, Severus.” said the Old Man, in a much sterner tone. “And now, I would very much like to speak to you privately.” 

Ariel could tell he wasn’t asking, it was an order. Angry-Man shot her one last withering glare, his lip curled and hands balled at his sides, and stormed out of the cupboard’s doorway. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in, the letter crumpled in her hands. 

When she looked back to the doorway, the Old Man was gone too. 

She took a deep, shaky breath. No sounds came from the kitchen… had they left? No, the Old Man said they were going to have a “private conversation.” What did that mean? Was it about her? Should she run while they were talking? Were they here about the letters? She couldn’t hear them talking, still…

They looked like the people that stopped her on the street sometimes. Some shook her hand, some just beamed and waved. Aunt Petunia had always warned her about men like that, that men that were too friendly to her couldn’t be trusted. Ariel had never understood why, but she got the feeling that as much as Aunt Petunia hated her, this thought upset her greatly. She’d always seemed to make it sound like it was Ariel’s fault, though, simply because of the way Ariel looked. Aunt Petunia insisted she keep her hair short, for that reason. Because of strange men. 

Strange men that were in the HOUSE. 

Ariel was starting to see stars in her vision. She could hear her blood thumping in her ears, as loud as a rushing river. She slowly inched forward, afraid that they’d grab her, that they were just outside the door, waiting, but when she peeked her head out, there was no one there. Reaching inside her backpack, she fumbled for the picture of her mum and held it close. 

Ariel stared upwards. She’d memorized the cracks that lined the small ceiling above her what felt like a million times. Ariel was quite sure she knew each and every one at that point, knew where each one led, where they began and stopped, and if they crossed paths with others. When she had been younger, Ariel had liked to imagine they were rivers, winding and twisting wherever the water brought them. But of course, the roar of Uncle Vernon’s voice was nothing like the rush of water, nor was Aunt Petunia’s high pitched screeches birds nesting in trees that may lay above them. Ariel was too old for such fantasies now, anyway, but sometimes, especially if she was feeling particularly lonely, she still imagined.

The letter had said she was accepted to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They expected an… owl with her response? Ariel hadn’t had time to sit and digest this before having to hide from a home invasion. The Dursleys sure had chosen one heck of a time to leave her here, alone, although, they didn’t know that, did they? They probably thought she was huddled under a park bench somewhere. Or dead. 

“What do I do now?” Ariel whispered to herself. “I can’t just leave…” 

She could though, couldn’t she? Ariel didn’t live here anymore. By now it was dark inside, the house absolutely silent — she felt like she’d been hiding in the cupboard for hours. Ariel stood there, willing the picture to say something — anything — because none of this was making much sense. She needed a sign. 

Beneath her feet, the floor vibrated. 

She turned her gaze towards the kitchen. 

Angry-Man and the Old Man were talking — Ariel could definitely see that. Angry-Man — what had his name been? Snippy? — was waving his arms, his mouth moving a mile a minute, his teeth bared in a menacing sneer, like Aunt Marge’s dog. It looked like he was shouting, but Ariel couldn’t hear anything. At one point, he took one of the kitchen chairs and kicked it across the floor, where it collided with the back door. Ariel gawked as the glass shattered, but she still heard nothing. Was she dreaming? This had to be a dream. Either that, or she’d gone as mental as Uncle Vernon. 

She eyed the front door nervously and bit her lip. Should she make a run for it? They hadn’t tried to harm her…

They both stopped when they noticed her watching. Old Man had a peculiar expression on his face, like he had just received bad news. Aunt Petunia had the same look when Dudley hurt himself, or when Uncle Vernon had a particularly unpleasant day at work. Her aunt had never looked at Ariel like that. Angry-Man just glared, his black eyes burning a hole in her forehead. She could see his hands shaking at his sides. 

There was a rush of sound, like air blowing through a tunnel, and suddenly, Ariel was aware that she hadn’t been hearing anything — not even the sounds of night, which now filled her senses since the back door had been shattered open. It was like someone had taken cotton out of her ears. Crickets and the rush of cars driving, shrieks of children laughing as they played in the final hours of the day, the cool summer night rustling the leaves of the garden in the backyard. When Ariel looked back to the Old Man, he was holding a… stick? 

“It’s alright, my dear.” said the Old Man. “Professor Snape and I were having a rather animated discussion and wanted to give you a moment to yourself.”

Ariel snuck a glance at Angry-Man — Snape. He was a professor? None of her teachers at school looked or acted like him. They definitely didn’t swear — and he’d said one of the really bad ones. 

Snape looked her up and down, like he was just now seeing her. “Look at her. She’s filthy.” 

“I’ve been sitting in the bushes out front all day.” Ariel said, trying to sound brave, but her voice came out very small. “I was waiting for the postman.” She gestured to the table. The remaining letters were all over the place now, littering the floor and chairs. Some were even starting to blow through the broken backyard door.

Snape flinched when she spoke, like she’d brandished a whip at him. The Old Man looked to him, a question on his face. 

“The postman delivers Muggle mail.” Snape said flatly. 

“Thank you, Severus.” the Old Man looked very troubled — almost concerned. “And you haven’t been allowed to open any of these letters, I gather?” 

Ariel shook her head, regretting that she’d said anything, and now, she was talking to two very odd strangers in the middle of the Dursleys kitchen. This was not how she’d imagined today to go at all. 

“My dear girl,” the Old Man said. “has your aunt told you anything about Hogwarts?” 

“What do you think?” Snape hissed at him, like he’d said something incredibly stupid. 

Ariel blinked up at them both. “My uncle wouldn’t let me read — who are you?”

Snape let out something that sounded like a snarl, which Ariel would’ve found funny if she hadn’t been so terribly confused (and maybe even a bit scared). 

“She’s quite right, Severus, we’ve been rather rude, haven’t we?” the Old Man smiled down at her, his blue eyes twinkling. “I apologize Ariel, but we were alerted that you may have found yourself in a spot of trouble.”

Ariel stared back at him, confused. How did they know her name? “Someone called the police? If they saw me jump out of the window, I did that this morning. Was it the Dursleys? They just left —” 

“You jumped out of a window?” Snape-Man sent a cracking look of hatred at the Old Man. His eyes darted around the room wildly, like he was looking for someone. 

“Well, I had to.” she explained, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ve been getting these letters and the Dursleys wouldn’t let me open one of them, wouldn’t tell me who they were from —” A thought popped into her head, then. “Are you the ones sending them?” 

“Where are you guardians tonight?” Snape asked in a deadly tone, like he already knew what the answer was, but her saying it outloud would make it real. 

Ariel lowered her eyes to the floor — she’d streaked dirt all over the carpet from her shoes. Aunt Petunia was going to have a fit. “They went out to celebrate me being… gone. I hid outside all day, you know. I think they went to one of those fancy restaurants in town. I don’t know where, I’ve never been.” 

Something was happening to Snape’s face, something dark that pulled at the lines in his face like a riptide. The air in the room started to shimmer, as if there was heat permeating off of pavement in the height of summer, or the stove when Aunt Petunia cooked on high. There came a clattering sound, and when Ariel finally forced herself to look away from Snape’s face, she — 

The tea set on the kitchen table … the potted plants on the wall and shelves… the china… they were all floating. Ariel stared, and stared, and stared. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Had she passed out from the bee stings? Maybe she was allergic after all… 

There was a loud CRACK, and suddenly, the two men were gone. Ariel stumbled back, gasping as she landed on her bottom. All of the decorations that had been levitating came crashing to the ground, a sound so loud that Ariel had to cover her ears. 

She smacked her forehead, one, two, three times. 

“Wake up,” she said. “You’ve really lost it. Wake up.” 

Aunt Petunia was going to absolutely lose it when she saw the state of this place. Ariel almost wished she could stay and watch, but she was leaving, and she wasn’t ever coming back. She was leaving, right NOW, and she was — 

CRASH 

The sound came from upstairs. Ariel jumped back to her feet, clutching the letter and picture tight against her chest. What was —

Another POP cracked through the room, and the Old Man was back, without Snape, this time. Ariel yelped. “How —” her head spun. “How —” 

“Apparition,” his blue eyes twinkled down at her in amusement. “In situations like these, I find it can be very useful.”

Ariel stared at him, gobsmacked. When she still said nothing, the Old Man chuckled. She wondered what about this situation was funny to him. She didn’t know if she wanted in on the joke. 

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” he held out a hand. “I apologize for the delay in introductions, but Professor Snape and I were worried something had happened to you, my dear girl.” 

That name — as long as it was — sounded familiar. Ariel inched closer. “You’re… you’re the headmaster… in the letter.” 

“Well, I would certainly hope so.” Dumbledore looked himself over, stretching over his arms, as if he was proving he was real. “I see you’ve finally managed to read your acceptance letter, then.”

“I read it while I was in the cupboard. But… but how did you do that?” Ariel asked as another BOOM echoed from upstairs. “You disappeared… where’s… the other guy? Professor —”

“Professor Snape needed a moment to collect his thoughts,” said Dumbledore. “I thought he would do it best upstairs.” 

THUD THUD THUDTHUDTHUD

Ariel took another tentative step towards him. “Is he… okay?” 

“Oh, he’ll be alright.” he smiled at her for the first time. At least, Ariel thought it was a smile. She couldn’t see anything behind his mustache and beard. “Won’t you take a seat, my dear? I’d love to hear about your adventure today.” 

He sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, motioning for Ariel to take the one across from him. 

BANG BANG BANG 

Ariel gazed up at the ceiling. Dumbledore sat patiently, as though he didn’t hear the herd of elephants clamoring around upstairs. Not wanting to be rude, Ariel took the seat across from him. She didn’t take her eyes off the ceiling, though. The kitchen's lights were swinging around wildly. “You mentioned it before… Hogwarts. You work there?”

Dumbledore gave her a long, searching look. There was something sad in his blue eyes now that looked like regret. He opened his mouth, and then closed it before turning to the letter laying open on the kitchen table. 

CRAAACK — BOOM

“What has your aunt told you about your past, Ariel?” he asked quietly, folding his hands in front of him. “About your parents? It would be wise to start there, I think.”

Ariel furrowed her eyebrows. What did this have to do with Hogwarts? “My mum and dad? She said they died in a drunk-driving accident. She hates when I ask about them. I found a trunk upstairs full of Mum’s stuff, but she had a fit when she saw. I really wanted to see what was in it.” 

She remembered that day very clearly, for some reason. It stuck out her in mind, like a tulip in a field of dandelions. 

Aunt Petunia had ordered Ariel to clean out the attic that day — it had been the hottest day of the year, the heat stifling, even outside. It was humid, and sticky, and not a cloud in the sky to cover the unrelenting sun. The grass had even started to burn outside. Aunt Petunia had been fretting about her precious roses, moving the sprinkler every now and then to make sure they were all getting enough water.

There had been no relief from the heat inside whatsoever, not even with the fans blowing at full force and all the windows wide open. Dudley had been standing in front of the fridge all afternoon, stuffing his head inside the freezer and raiding it for ice cream and ice pops. Ariel had been wiping sweat off her face with the raggedy old blanket she’d been given in her cupboard — which felt like the inside of a volcano — when Aunt Petunia had yanked the door open, handed her a broom and a dustpan, and ordered her upstairs. She’d nearly cried, climbing the stairs, because the second floor had been even hotter than the cupboard, which meant the attic was going to be a furnace. 

Ariel had nearly collapsed when she’d yanked the door open, a wall of hot, stifling air hitting her smack in the face. There were no windows, no relief from the overwhelming heat that was going to cook her in a matter of minutes, if she stayed up here long. She’d gritted her teeth and set to work, convinced that even if she cleaned in record time, Aunt Petunia wouldn’t bother to trudge up here any time soon to check her work — forget Uncle Vernon and Dudley. They were about as useless as a sack of potatoes today, even if it meant making her life miserable.

She’d noticed the trunk because it was sitting in the very center of the room, all of the other junk pushed to the walls and sides of the room. At first glance, it almost seemed like it had been waiting for her, but that was impossible. Wiping her forehead, Ariel had knelt down to look at it when she’d spied the name scrawled across the top — Lily. 

It wasn’t very tall, but it was wide, and covered in dust. As Ariel wiped it away, the dust sticking to her clammy hands, she saw that the wood underneath was a rustic grey, very different from the porcelain white furniture downstairs. There were brown buckles with golden knobs holding it closed, and a huge, metal clasp in the center. 

Ariel’s heart had lifted so high that it felt like it was going to pull her straight through the roof overhead. 

The heat forgotten, she’d hungrily bent down to open the latch when she saw the lock. Her heart fell back down to her stomach, but at her touch, it fell open with a click. She felt a sense of amazement at her luck… or maybe she was having a heart stroke? Either way, she didn’t waste any time. With shaking hands, her heart on fire, Ariel had opened the trunk and found one picture sitting on top… the picture of her mum she’d always kept with her from that day on. 

Ariel had never seen a picture of her Mum before that day. Aunt Petunia claimed that she didn’t have any, that their mistakes were not to be on display in This House. She’d sat with that picture for a long time, staring at it, memorizing every line in her mum’s face, her smile, the waves in her hair — my hair we have the same hair — the freckles on her nose, the way it was scrunched as she laughed and the laughter lines… 

That was when Aunt Petunia had appeared behind her, furious that Ariel had made her come upstairs, because apparently it had been two hours. 

And then she’d spotted the trunk. 

Aunt Petunia had shrieked, demanding to know where it had come from. Ariel quickly closed it with a thunk, putting the lock back in place before shoving the picture in her pocket. She’d grabbed Ariel by the hair, demanding she hand it over, demanding that she tell her what was inside that horrid chest your mother left, she didn’t want it up here, it was full of rubbish and nonsense and awful things — 

No matter how hard Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had tried, they hadn’t been able to lift it off the ground to get rid of it. It wasn’t even that big — no bigger than the futon in the living room no one was allowed to sit on or use. They couldn’t even open it, like Ariel had. They’d tried to make her do it herself, but she wouldn’t. Uncle Vernon had shouted until he went blue in the face and nearly passed out from the heat, but as they slammed the door to the attic shut, leaving Ariel in there, she’d realized that this trunk — this picture — might’ve been the only thing she’d ever truly had to care about.

That trunk was more precious than a thousand meals, a thousand days locked in the cupboard, a thousand punches from Dudley. It had sat up there, untouched, and Ariel had resigned herself to the fact that she’d probably have to wait a long time before another opportunity presented itself. Aunt Petunia kept the attic locked, after that. 

Ariel found herself telling Dumbledore this story. She couldn’t read his expression, but he looked far away, like he’d gone somewhere and forgotten to take himself. Maybe he had. Maybe he’d used magic. 

“I see.” Was all he said, bowing his head. “I take it you haven’t been back since?” 

Ariel shook her head. “I haven’t had a chance to try and pick the lock.” 

Dumbledore’s mustache twitched. “And who, might I ask, taught you that?” 

She shrugged. “No one. It’s not really lock picking… things just seem to do that around here for me… unlock, I mean. It happened with the trunk, with the cupboard. I don’t really go upstairs, so I haven’t had a chance to try the attic door again. Aunt Petunia makes a point to know where I am, most days.” 

All traces of amusement left Dumbledore’s face as Ariel spoke. He gave her another serious, searching look, like he was trying to read her mind. “Did you happen to see anything else in your mother’s trunk? Anything that caught your eye?” 

He seemed awful interested in it, Ariel thought, almost as interested as her. “No, sir. I just took the picture. I wish I had, then maybe I might’ve known about…” she smoothed the Hogwarts letter out on the table, placing it between them. “I think there’s been some sort of mistake, sir. I don’t know anything about a Hogwarts school…”

A place like Hogwarts didn’t sound real — seem possible. Magic didn't seem possible either, but the letter in front of her said something different entirely. So did all the… stuff that had been happening since Dumbledore and Snape (another series of deafening crashes shook the ceiling) arrived. 

“I can assure you, there’s been no mistake.” Dumbledore said. “You, my girl, are a witch.” 

——

Severus could feel his rage in his teeth, itching all the way down to his molars. Everything was red, bleeding into the too-white-ness of Petunia’s miserable fucking house. He was furious, mostly with Petunia, but almost equally with Dumbledore. He’d begged the old codger not to send her here, to Lily’s magic-hating sister, but the Blood Wards, the BLOOD WARDS — 

What good was it now, that the Blood Wards had fallen? The girl had clearly been planning on running away. She’d had a backpack secured on her, bursting with clothes — there had been a shirt sleeve hanging out the side. If this wasn’t her home, there was no protection. What if they hadn’t gotten here in time? What if — 

They went out to celebrate me being gone 

He remembered Petunia baking a cake in the Evans’ kitchen, remembered Lily asking what the occasion was and Petunia flashing a vicious smile, “The fact that you’re leaving with that horrible boy.” 

Severus shot another Stunner at the bed — the lamp went flying, knocking over an entire row of pictures on the dresser. 

(There was none of the girl, not even one of Lily, just like the downstairs)

Dumbledore had left him locked in here to talk with the brat before Severus had realized what was happening. He wondered what good that would do, how long he’d be confined to Petunia’s bedroom while Dumbledore told her everything. There was no doubt in Severus’ mind that the girl knew nothing. Petunia would never have shared a shred of information if she could help it. It was bitter and petty and ugly, just like her. If Petunia couldn’t have magic, she’d sure as hell make sure Lily’s daughter wouldn’t either. 

The girl. Covered head to toe in dirt, twigs sticking out of her hair, the horrendous haircut and dark eyes. He was certain that Petunia couldn’t stand the sight of the girl either, of the little Not-Lily child, missing her mother’s green eyes. Her clothes didn’t fit, and she’d been wearing two different shoes. Severus couldn’t even tell if she had Lily’s freckles, her face was so dirty. She certainly didn’t look like an Ariel Evans, darling of the wizarding world. 

Severus had remembered being vaguely bewildered when he’d read that Lily had chosen to give her child her maiden name. He’d known she’d kept it, from the marriage announcement in the Prophet, and had felt something akin to heartless joy, mostly aimed at Potter. It had clearly been a middle finger to the Dark Lord, the very sort of thing Lily had been known for at Hogwarts. Avery would mutter “Mudblood” under his breath, and Lily wouldn’t hesitate to send a Stinging Hex his way. She’d pin him down with her stare and curse him under her breath until Prince Potter and the rest of his cronies would appear to rescue her. The difference was that Severus knew Lily could handle herself, and Potter did not. Lily wouldn’t have taken a Pureblood name for protection, even if she loved — 

He’d thought not giving the child that protection was idiotic, even if it was only in name and social-class. When the Dark Lord had declared that Potter and Lily’s baby was the child destined to die, he’d sneered and laughed at the common, Muggle name she held, thought it stupid and childish, like her mother. He’d thought it would be so easy, thought it ridiculous that a Mudblood’s child could possibly hold any sort of power formidable enough to destroy him. 

How wrong he had been, Severus thought miserably. 

And that cupboard — 

He shredded the comforter on the bed, feathers flying everywhere. The thing with the Lily-hair and Lily-face downstairs, even if it was half Potter, didn’t deserve to be treated like a caged animal. The carvings in those walls… the backwards E’s and S’s. It was a new low beneath him, and he made children cry regularly. Even if he’d hated the little monster instantly, hated that she existed, hated that he was so angry with Petunia and Lily because of it, because people were all too trusting in each other, he would never do that to a child. 

He was going to have to look at that Lily-face with dark eyes and remember the cupboard for the next seven years. He was going to have to look at that blasted scar on her forehead.

a scar does not form on the dead, a scar means they survived 

Severus pointed his wand at the bed once more — he was going to make Petunia very sorry. 

——

Ariel had blocked out all of the loud noises coming from upstairs when Dumbledore reached the part about her parents being murdered by an evil wizard. This sounded like something in a fairytale book, or a movie. She tried to imagine her Aunt Petunia knowing all of this, keeping it from her, and her head nearly exploded. 

This hunger inside of her to know them — James and Lily, Dad and Mum — had been steadily growing. She’d tried to picture who they were while Dumbledore spoke, what they sounded like, their personalities and what parts of her were them, what she could say they shared so she could cherish them and know that she had not always been alone. 

“They must have been really brave.” Ariel said, looking down at her feet. She wished she was a bit taller so they’d reach the floor, she needed to feel more grounded right now. “To do all that, when Volevant —” 

“Voldemort.” Dumbledore corrected her gently. “And yes, they were immensely brave. Love is mostly ill advised, but always brave.” 

Ariel nodded, not really understanding what he’d meant, but that was okay, for now. There was a lot she still didn’t understand. Why had Voldemort wanted to kill them? Why hadn’t Ariel died? Did Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon really know all of this, had they been lying all this time about the drunk-driving accident, or is that what they were told? They must’ve known she had magic… 

Petunia could not love Lily with or without her magic — that’s what Snape had said while Ariel had still been hiding in the cupboard, before she’d stumbled backwards and knocked over the shelving. Is that why Aunt Petunia despised her? Because she’d known Ariel had magic like her mum? 

“I still have more questions.” she said to Dumbledore, who, to her surprise, had started to stand up. 

“I’m sure you do,” he folded his hands in front of him. “Fortunately, we have all the time in the world to discuss them. For now, I’d be forever grateful if you could show me that trunk your mother left you. Of all the things I left for Petunia to someday give to you, a trunk was not one of them.” 

Ariel nodded. Her head felt like it weighed a ton all of a sudden. Maybe it was too full from all the information she’d just been given. Dumbledore looked tired too, like he’d aged while talking about Voldemort and her mum and dad. 

She sipped the last of the tea Dumbeldore had made for them — quite literally. He’d waved his hands at the broken china and it had fixed itself, like a bunch of magnets snapping together at once. Ariel had felt a twinge of disappointment, because that was Aunt Petunia’s precious china, and Ariel was a little satisfied to see it broken in pieces. She’d polished that china for hours throughout the years. When it landed on the table, there was steam coming from the teapot, and their cups were filled to the brim with hot tea. There had even been cream and sugar in hers, just the way she liked it. 

As Ariel climbed the stairs behind Dumbledore to the second floor, the banging and crashing stopped abruptly. Ariel shot Dumbledore a nervous glance — he didn’t seem worried at all about Professor Snape, or the fact that he’d been tearing apart the house for nearly twenty minutes. Not that Ariel cared… Aunt Petunia probably wasn’t going to survive this, though. She was going to drop dead of a heart attack when she saw the state of the place.

Dumbledore glided to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’s bedroom door, knocked twice (Ariel saw his lips, behind all that hair, curled upwards) and called, “Severus?” 

Uneasy silence, and then — 

“Were you hurt,” said a muffled, scary voice. “in the mental leap it must have TAKEN YOU TO THINK—”

“Severus.” said Dumbledore. “I have Ariel with me.”

There was another long, pregnant pause before Snape spoke again, this time, much quieter, but equally as terrifying. “Well?” he bit out. “The brat can’t stay. She’s broken the wards by leaving and Petunia gladly accepting the fact that she’s been gone. Do you plan on keeping me locked in here until the Ministry figures it out, or have you decided to finally do something about it?”

Ariel bristled at his comment. Sure, her aunt and uncle had called her that all the time, but Snape’s label seemed a bit unwarranted. She hadn’t been rude, had she? This didn’t seem to phase Dumbledore at all. He took out his stick — wand? — and muttered something Ariel couldn’t make out. He pushed open the door to her aunt and uncle’s room, sticking his head in. 

“What a lovely job you’ve done redecorating, my boy.” Dumbledore said mildly. “I’m sure Ariel’s aunt will find it quite abstract.” 

Ariel peeked around Dumbledore’s tall frame to see what he was talking about. Her jaw just about hit the ground. It looked like an atomic bomb had gone off in there. Feathers and shards of glass, wood, stuff she couldn’t even identify covered the floor. The dresser had been split in two, and the bedrame was somehow gone. As Ariel craned her neck, she caught sight of their bathroom — a small lake was forming, the shower rod and curtain lying in a muddled heap. The toilet was inside of the bathtub.

Snape was suddenly there, in the hallway with them, and Ariel ducked back behind Dumbledore. She certainly didn’t want to stand in his way after seeing that, even if she was impressed with his work.

“It’s nothing less than she deserves.” Snape sent him a look so awful that it could have peeled the paint off the walls. “Are you done here, then? The longer we stay with no protection, the more vulnerable the girl is.”

“In a moment,” Dumbledore said — he’d found the attic door at the very end of the hallway. “Miss Evans and I have some business to attend to.”

“What could you possibly —” 

“Why don’t you see if anything in Petunia’s kitchen needs attending to?” suggested Dumbledore, who, despite sounding cheerful, had a sinister air glowing about him. Ariel could almost see it, in the way the hall lights flickered and the shadows grew, though only for a split second. 

Snape gave a horrible, twisted sort of grimace, his cloak whipping with an audible crack as he pivoted around and down the stairs. Ariel couldn’t if he’d gone because he was still furious for being locked in Aunt Petunia’s room, or because he’d felt Dumbeldore too. Maybe it was both. 

Ariel wrung her hands, suddenly feeling very bad for him, even if he was mean and absolutely terrifying. “Are you sure he’s alright? He doesn’t seem to want to be here, much.”

“Professor Snape very rarely does what is asked of him if he does not wish to do so,” said Dumbledore. “Alohomora.” 

The attic door slowly creaked upon, and they both stepped inside. The trunk — her mum’s trunk — was exactly where Ariel had last seen it. She felt as if she was greeting an old friend as she knelt down to wipe off the new layer of dust that had formed over her mother’s name again. Her heart went THUMPTHUMPTHUMP — the lock fell off with a snap, and Ariel was starting into that wonderful, amazing trunk once more. There were pictures (there are more PICTURES, a little voice hollered inside her head) and pieces of parchment, rolled up with little bows and a… test tube? Something was inside it, but just as she was about to pick it up, something else caught her eye. 

It was (another) letter. Not as fancy as the one from Hogwarts, but it had her name on it — Ariel — in wobbly, cursive writing. Whoever had written clearly hadn’t had a steady hand, she thought to herself. 

it’s a letter a letter to ME from MUM to ME 

“Ariel?” Dumbledore called from behind her. “Is this it?” 

She quickly shoved the letter in her pocket. “Yes, sir, it’s unlocked —”

“That’s alright, thank you, my dear.” he placed a hand on her shoulder as she stood up. “I’ll be sure to return this to you once you’re settled.” 

Settled? Settled where? You couldn’t settle if you were on the run, could you? Or maybe he meant in September, when she’d start Hogwarts. But that was over a month from now, Ariel thought, suddenly crestfallen. She couldn’t wait a month. 

“Can’t I at least take some of the pictures?” Ariel asked in a small voice, not wanting to upset him. “I only have the one…” She reached into her jacket to show him, to prove that she had this precious thing that she only wanted more of. If there were jewels and money in the trunk, she didn’t care, all she wanted were pictures. 

Dumbledore took the photo, but his gaze did not leave Ariel. There was a great sadness there that caused a lump to form in her own throat, and she didn’t know why. It was like the photo had reminded him of something tragic. He nodded, and disappeared back into the hallway, and down the stairs. Ariel couldn’t read his expression, but right now, she didn’t care. 

Ariel dove into the trunk — there were jumpers, notebooks, the vile from before with something sparkling inside, moving around like it was alive. None of that concerned her though, all she wanted was a picture of Mum and Dad, just one more — 

She’d grabbed as many as she could shove into her backpack without ruining them. Now wasn’t the time to look, but she could see glimpses as she sorted through. There were no more letters (thank God, she thought, a little relieved) but she could see photo albums and books, all with the same handwriting on them. Ariel prayed Dumbledore had meant what he said, and that he’d return the trunk to her once he’d gone through it. Why did he want it anyway? Could it have to do with — what had his name been? Voldysnort? 

It didn’t matter. Ariel had her pictures, and that made her the richest girl in the entire world. 

The door to the kitchen was closed when she went back downstairs to join Dumbledore. That was probably for the best. Snape was there too, looking sullen and angry and bored all at once. He did not look at Ariel. There was an unspoken conversation happening between Snape and Dumbledore with their eyes. 

“Severus, you will take her, if you don’t mind.” Dumbledore finally said, and it was an order that sounded a whole lot like a suggestion, but underneath the pleasantness in his voice, there was something brewing, that cold, icy fury Ariel had caught in his blue eyes when he’d seen her in the cupboard. “I think I’ll wait here for Ariel’s aunt and uncle to return.”

“No,” Snape sounded like he was chewing on nails. “I will deal with Petunia, you owe me that much, Albus.”

“I cannot have you doing anything that I won’t be able to defend in front of the Ministry.” Dumbledore sighed. “Your anger is not misplaced, but as I am trusting you with Miss Evans, I would hope that you would trust me to deal with this adequately.” 

“She deserves —” 

“There is a difference between what is deserved, and what is right, Severus.”

Snape said nothing, but he looked like he wanted to argue with him. He gave one last disgusted glance at the cupboard — Ariel didn’t blame him, she hadn’t exactly tidied it up before she’d been sent to Dudley’s second bedroom — and fixed his bottomless, black eyes on her. 

“Come along.” he said in a hard voice. Ariel didn’t know why, but it made her shiver. 

“Where are we going?” she asked, immediately regretting it. The sharp look he gave her made her stomach drop to her feet. 

“Hogwarts.” It was clear by his tone that would be the last thing he’d be saying on the matter. 

Snape was out the door before Ariel could even blink. She looked to Dumbledore, and gave him a small smile. “Thank you, sir.”

His face still looked friendly, but she could see pain in his eyes, like a body behind a curtain. “Whatever for, my dear girl?” 

“For the Hogwarts letter… and the pictures.” She fought the urge to hug him. She’d never hugged anyone before, anyway. 

Dumbledore placed an old, withered hand on her shoulder, and squeezed. “It was my pleasure, Ariel, and well within your birthright.” He gazed up the stairs, like someone was waiting for him. “I shall see you at Hogwarts later, after I’ve had some time to discuss what has happened with your aunt and uncle.” 

Ariel nodded, and he began climbing the stairs, robes trailing behind him. She wondered if she really would see him again. Something told her she wouldn’t, or at least, not until school started. The thought made her anxious. She went to follow Snape, and immediately stopped on the front stoop. Her feet had stopped working, unable to make her go forward into this new reality. He was standing there, in front of the house, just off the lawn. He reminded her of a vampire, like if he set foot on the property without being invited, he’d burn alive or drop dead or something. 

“What is it?” Snape asked sharply from the street. “Have you forgotten something?” 

“No… I just…” Ariel swallowed, trying to organize her thoughts, which were spinning out of control the harder she tried to collect them. “I don’t know… I don’t have that much money, and I don’t have anywhere to go —”

“I just told you, we’re going to Hogwarts.” Snape said, tapping his foot impatiently. “Money is of no consequence.” 

“But… but I can’t stay there now! Hogwarts isn’t until September, and I don’t have money to pay for school or books or anything, I don’t have anywhere to go before then and if I try and use the money for a motel I won’t have money for food, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia think I’ve run away! They’ve always said if that happened they’d change the locks — ” Ariel was vaguely aware she was rambling, but she suddenly felt as if instead of Dumbledore helping, he was throwing a wrench into her plan. She’d always been on her own, and she could do this if they let her, she knew she could. 

She’d stumbled off the stoop, desperate to make him see. He’d called her a brat, he had to know that she wasn’t worth this much trouble, even if she had supposedly defeated some evil old wizard. She had her pictures, she wanted to be alone, alone with her mum and her dad in a place no one could take them from her ever again.

Snape was staring at her differently, now. He looked almost cautious, like Ariel might charge him, or she was about to throw a tantrum. In the dim glow of the streetlight, she could barely make him out, barely separate him from the inky darkness. 

He crossed the lawn in three strides and before Ariel could high tail it back inside, he was there.

Snape bent down so that he was eye level with her. His eyes glittered at her like two black beetles. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” he said in a cold voice, like winter. It was neither condescending or assuring, but somewhere in the middle, like he was telling her it was fine, and it didn’t matter if she didn’t think so. He did, and if she tried to say anything against that, he’d make her sorry. 

When Snape held out his arm, Ariel did not hesitate to take it.