Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Chapter 3

0o0

Dusk had fallen and was rapidly turning into night. She had appeared beyond the gates of the castle, a pale, translucent shade with eyes like obsidian orbs in her thin face. Arms stretched before her, as in supplication, she drew nearer. She could hear it, beckoning her closer and without thought or will, she obeyed.

A second later, she was dispersed by the wards protecting against spirits like her, those whose motivations were rooted in violence. She was not the first to be dispatched in such a way and on that night, she was far from the last. One by one, those from beyond the Veil approached the grand castle. Some crossed the wards without incident. Others, like the black-eyed shade, vanished upon contact. They were much like insects drawn to a muggle bug zapper.

They were no less determined.

The mindless assault had commenced for nearly an hour before the spirit of a young child finally stepped onto the grounds, dragging a doll along behind her. None who followed faced any resistance.

0o0o0

Albus Dumbledore paused in bringing his glass to his mouth. Setting it back on the table, he tilted his head up towards the enchanted ceiling, peering out through the jack-o-lanterns and the bats to the newly-fallen night's sky. The man's head canted ever-so-slightly. Something had just happened to one of the wards – not that that was necessarily unusual for that particular night.

Frowning minutely, he brought his attention to the hall in front of him. The feast more or less over, many students had already left or were now leaving for their common rooms. Hand wrapping around his cup of pumpkin juice, the headmaster took his previously aborted drink.

It was likely nothing, he told himself. If it were one of the wards vital to protecting the castle, he would have known instantly. This was undoubtedly one of the secondary wards simply needing to be reinforced soon. After all, throughout his entire tenure at Hogwarts, none of the wards had failed before. Why would that night be any different?

0o0o0

“Oh. Good morning!”

Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the man standing in the hall around the corner from the Potions classroom. For his part, Harry gave him a wide berth. Neither really stopped, their pace picking up again when it was determined that the spirit was probably benign. Harry kept his wand in hand, just in case.

“Or evening, I suppose,” the spirit had continued to himself, seemingly unbothered by the lack of response he'd received. “Rather dark down here. No windows... Wonder where I am?”

“Professor,” Harry began, curiosity getting the better of him. “What are horcr-”

“Do not,” Snape cut him off with a vicious glare, “finish that query, Mr. Potter. This is hardly the venue to speak of such things, and I daresay the Headmaster will see fit to explain to you himself.”

Harry fell quiet again, focusing on keeping up with his professor's pace. The boy's eyes were fixed on the billowing black robes, which is probably why when the man abruptly slowed to a stop that he ran right into him. Snape sneered at him and Harry looked chagrined before both their gazes moved to the figure a few feet away.

It was a child in a knee-length dress, a cardigan hanging loosely from narrow shoulders, knee-length socks bearing several dark splotches. Her back was to them, allowing them to easily see that her lank hair fell halfway down her back. The fingers of her left hand were curled into the locks of a battered old doll.

A plaintive, young voice broke the stillness as she seemed to talk to herself, much like the previous spirit had. “So alone. No one to play with.”

The Potions Master was prepared to double back, not interested in confronting this particular spirit if he could help it. Apparently Potter was unable to sense the menace which surrounded her, for the idiot boy took a step closer.

“Hey,” Harry said softly.

Slowly, the spirit turned to look back at them over her shoulder, a strand of hair falling over her eye. As her gaze fixed upon Harry, a beatific smile spread across her young face. “Hi!” she greeted brightly.

“Hi,” the teen returned and – Merlin help him – the moronic child would have taken yet another step had Snape not reached out to grab him by the arm. Before the professor could berate him or the boy could protest, the spirit moved, coming round to face them in less time than it took to blink.

Now that she stood facing them, it became apparent that the splotches which stained her socks were also down her front and now that she stood even nearer, their color was also discernible. They were crimson. As they watched, her sweet smile turned virulent as the innocence in her young eyes became wickedness.

“This is great,” she continued in the same bright, friendly tone of before. She stretched out her right arm, which had been resting across her chest, and with it the bloodied butcher's knife she held in that hand. “Now, you can play with me!”

She charged forward, brandishing her weapon. But Snape was already raising his wand even as he yanked the Gryffindor behind him. “Spiritus recedemus!” he cast at her. Instantly, the spirit vanished in what looked like a cloud of silvery dust.

“Did you not detect the aura of hostility surrounding her, Potter? Even a first-year Hufflepuff would have been more wary,” Snape censured.

“She was a little girl!” Harry protested, still trying to slow his own heart rate.

“She was an angry spirit who could have very easily skewered you alive!” the Potions Master snarled. Stupid, idiot boy...

Harry gritted his teeth, not appreciating being talked down to in such a way even though he couldn't exactly disagree with the man's words. And the greasy bastard was raising a brow at him, challenging him to do just that.

“Professor!” A Slytherin sixth-year sprinted towards them from the direction of the common room, a note of relief audible in her tone. She was a bit breathless as she stopped before her head of house, her wand clasped tightly in one hand.

“What is it, Manning?” Snape asked the girl, suspecting that he had a good idea of the nature of whatever had her running through the corridors.

“Trouble, sir. It's Bulstrode. She returned a bit before most everyone else, which isn't strange for her, of course, but then we heard screaming from the girls' fourth-year dorm. She was being assaulted. Some... some spirit was beating the tar out of her. I thought they weren't allowed in the castle!” Manning's voice raised in upset.

“I assume the spirit was banished?” the professor queried.

“Yes, sir. Parkinson and I hit it at the same time.”

“Lead the way, Miss Manning. Potter, come along. It is clearly not safe to be wandering about by yourself.”

The Slytherin student darted a look over at Harry in surprise, having obviously failed to notice him. Without a word, however, she started back the way she had come, her head of house and Harry following quickly.

0o0o0

The spirit stood there, peering back at the enthralled youth as he lifted the object from around his neck up to his face. There was a flash and a click – then the spirit surged forward, shoving the boy down a staircase.

He gave a startled cry, which was cut off as he tumbled down the stone steps. Upon reaching the next landing, the spirit met him, seizing hold of him and throwing him down the next set of stairs as they began to shift position.

Rolling from the last step, the boy plummeted through the empty space in the middle of the tower until being caught by the cushioning charm at the bottom. For a moment, the small figure hung in the air before the spell released its hold and allowed its burden to settle against the flagstones.

“Colin!” one of the boy's friends gave a cry as a group of students returning from the Great Hall came upon the scene minutes later.

Hermione hurried over to the third-year. “Get Madam Pomfrey!” she commanded, feeling for a pulse although she already knew from the angle of the boy's neck that there was nothing she nor the mediwitch could possibly do for him anymore.

Colin Creevey was already dead before he'd reached the floor.

0o0o0

Upon reaching the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Snape was the one to murmur a password, which although Harry didn't quite catch, would undoubtedly be changed later. Although he had been in the Slytherin common room once before back in second year, Harry still found it to be an odd experience. Several of the students shot him suspicious glances but said nothing, almost all attention focused upon the source of the panicked sobs which filled the room.

“Don't leave me. Don't leave me, please! Please... please... she'll come back. Don't leave me – she'll come back!” the frantic, desperate pleas were coming from Millicent Bulstrode, her usual mulish expression replaced with one of terror as she trembled uncontrollably, clinging to Pansy Parkinson's forearm. One of her eyes was starting to swell while blood trickled from her nose and split lip.

“Shh, Millie, I'm not leaving!” Pansy tried to soothe her friend, sounding rather distressed herself. “It's okay. You're okay. We won't let her get to you, again. It's okay! You're safe, now.” Harry couldn't help but stare on in shock at the scene.

“Sh-she said I'm still ugly,” the girl continued to weep as one of the seventh-year prefects quickly moved over to Snape. “Still useless. That she's still a-ashamed to be my mum...”

Harry could overhear as the prefect spoke quietly to the Potions Master. “We can't get her to calm down. No one can even heal her up – if anyone so much a twitches a wand towards her, it sets her off again,” the boy told the professor. “Think it's safe to say this isn't the first time Bulstrode's mum had a go at her.”

Inclining his head in acknowledgment, Snape moved towards his distraught student, who cringed away from the movement. Cautiously, the man lowered himself to sit on the edge of the coffee table, Parkinson between him and the sobbing girl. He withdrew a vial from his robes and handed it to the calmer of the two fourth-years.

“Millie,” Pansy turned back to her friend without prompting. “Millie, I need you to take a potion for me, okay? Can you do that?”

With a shaky nod, Millicent accepted the vial Pansy pressed into her hand and brought it to her lips. As the calming draught started to kick in, she lowered her head to the other girl's shoulder. “I don't know why she hates me,” she murmured forlornly.

“Miss Parkinson,” Snape spoke up, “I am going to open the floo and I want you to accompany Miss Bulstrode to the hospital wing. Mr. Pucey, Miss Manning, you are to go with them. Inform Madam Pomfrey that the wards banishing malevolent spirits has failed. The rest of you are to remain here. No one is to leave the common room. Hana.”

Harry, and a couple others, it would seem, were at a momentary loss for what the professor meant with that last part until a house elf popped into the room a moment later. She peered up at the man with large honey-colored eyes. “Potions Master, sir?”

“Hana, I want you to see to it that all possible entrances to each of the common rooms, as well as the infirmary, are lined with salt to protect against malevolent spirits. Also, see to it that each of the other heads of house are informed this is happening due to the wards failing to keep such spirits out this year,” the man instructed.

The little elf's eyes widened in alarm. “Hana and the other elves are doing this right away!” she exclaimed, then disappeared just as she had arrived.

“I need those capable of performing the spirit banishing spell to guard the entrances, even after the salt has been laid. Hana will answer to prefects should a message need to be delivered to me before I return,” Snape informed his house. “Look after one another.” He stepped over to the floo to tap his wand against the mantle and murmur a passphrase, motioning for the students mentioned before to step through. After that, he started towards the door again. “Potter, come.”

Harry was starting to feel a bit like a trained pet, but followed nevertheless.

0o0o0

Shadows writhed like tendrils of smoke with each step he took along the dungeon corridor, the air itself seeming to burn with the heat of his rage. It was his fault – all his fault! Ungrateful wretch.

“Oh. Good morning! Or... evening, I suppose. I'm not really su-”

A hand shot out to grasp the amiable spirit by the throat. “I really don't have the time,” he sneered nastily, tightening his hold like a vice. The other struggled, kicking and scratching in vain even as his very essence seemed to drain into his attacker.

He flexed his hand, seeming to breathe deeply of the surroundings. “I gotta teach my boy a lesson, y'see,” he told the empty air. “Seems to think he can get away with killing his daddy.” He continued along his way. The shadows scurried to meet him.

0o0


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