Snape was a lot angrier than Ariel had originally estimated.

She’d clocked him at around an eight on the Snape-Anger scale, but now, alone with him in the corridor, Ariel had very clearly underestimated him. Snape had shot up to at least an eleven out of ten, the meter inside Ariel’s head blinking red and blue warning lights. She rubbed her wrist when Snape finally let go, glaring up at him, but very glad Pansy and Malfoy hadn’t been there to see Snape drag her out of the room like that. They never would have let her live that one down.

Snape rounded on her once the door had closed behind them. As soon as he let go of Ariel, he backed away, like her touch had burned him, but it was what twisted in his face made her forget about Snape’s inherent strangeness.

“I’m not sorry.” said Ariel, without even thinking. “I’d do it again.”

It was the truth, but for a split second, Ariel had considered that telling Snape her actual feelings might not have been the best course of action. She half expected his head to pop off his shoulders and land on the floor, like Nearly-Headless Nick’s did. Snape kind of looked like a Halloween character, although in that moment, he could’ve been a mannequin in a Muggle store advertising for the holiday. Snape’s body didn’t move, but his face did, like a summer squall racing across a spotless sky.

“Why is it,” Snape hissed down at her. “that whenever you find yourself in trouble, you choose to make it exponentially worse for yourself?”

“Probably because I’m a meddlesome Gryffindor.” Ariel guessed.

Snape didn’t seem to appreciate Ariel’s direct quote. His nostrils flared, his fists clenching at his sides. Ariel could’ve sworn the torches dimmed, just a little bit. Beneath the fiery gaze of Snape’s fury, something was shifting in his dark, pitless eyes. Ariel watched it move, like a shadow behind a curtain trying to pull the slit between them closed. She tried to follow it, wanting to catch it in her fist and keep it there so she could study and understand it, but Snape was searching her eyes too. Ariel wondered if he recognized them yet, even a little bit.

“You think you’re quite clever, don’t you?” Snape asked in a quiet voice. It made Ariel shiver at the same time her face flushed crimson.

“I wasn’t —”

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing.” Snape took a step forward, and Ariel unconsciously backed away. He seemed a lot taller all of a sudden, much bigger in his billowing black robes. His face was tight with anger, but The Something Ariel saw in his eyes was creeping out, peeking at her. “That I don’t know what you’re up to… and this time, I don’t mean only breaking school rules.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied, but she did. Ariel had crossed Snape one too many times, had played with something she didn’t understand, and now, he was going to —

“Give me the letter.” said Snape.

Ariel’s heart stopped. “W-what? No!”

“It’s causing disruptions in my classroom,” Snape’s voice was cold and biting. “when you’re not wreaking havoc around the school. Give — it — to me. I know you have it.”

She looked around wildly, clutching her rucksack to her chest. Ariel wouldn’t let him take it — she WOULD NOT. Why couldn’t Snape just give her detention and send her off? He’d never sent a student out of the room before, not even when Lavender split a whole vial of Nebaz’s blood, which Snape had spent fifteen minutes lecturing them on how valuable it was, or when Neville shook so hard that if Ariel hadn’t known any better, she might’ve thought she was feeling the beginnings of an earthquake.

It was because Ariel had told Snape about her mum, she realized. This was what Ariel had been waiting for last night, waiting to run into this morning at breakfast. Snape was going to make her sorry, like he’d promised on Halloween. He was going to make her regret asking about her mum, but why… WHY did it matter if Ariel asked? What did Snape have to hide? Why couldn’t he just ask outright, and make everything so much easier?

Ariel stared up at Snape, desperately searching his eyes for that thing she’d seen, could sense rolling off of him. It wasn’t anger, Ariel could see now. The longer she looked up at him, trying to lock onto The Something that wasn’t masked as disgust or anger or frustration. The Something in his eyes was growing, a quiet desperation, much like her own. It reminded her of a single street post lit all by its lonesome, standing silent and unmoving in the darkness. How many times had Ariel stared through the windows of Dudley’s second bedroom, trying to feel that light beating on the other side?

“Please, don’t.” Ariel whispered. She hated how her voice shook, but it had stirred The Something, a surge in Snape’s bottomless black eyes that hurt to look at. Snape’s face stripped itself of all of the anger and contempt, until there was this… raw look of horror. All of Ariel’s organs seemed to seize up at once, the torches suddenly brighter. They bounced off of Snape’s bone-white face, the lines jagged and undefined, just like his expression.

Ariel held her rucksack tighter. Have some fire have some fire have some fire —

And then Snape moved. Ariel yelped, because he moved both like a tank and a cheetah, and was certain he was going to Transfigure her into a sock or something. Instead, Snape moved straight past her and slammed the door in her face. Before Ariel could react, Ron came stumbling out of the classroom, his face red and sweaty.

“I’m coming with you.” Ron said. “Snape can ground us into potions ingredients, but Merlin’s beard, that was bloody satisfying to watch.”

———

Severus dismissed the hoard of risible cretins early, and swept into his quarters. His mind had gone blank beneath the safety and reliability of his Occlumency, which meant that his classroom would not be a homicide crime scene (at least, not for today). He sent a note to Minerva to round up Lily-thing and the Weasley twerp for inciting chaos during his class, and fell into an armchair.

Occlumency carried Severus into a lull that was far between Lily’s daughter and his consciousness, way out to a calm, still sea of tranquility that was neither here nor there. There was no feeling there, no need to smash and break and bend like Severus had the night before. No magic hummed in the air, no swears fell from his mouth. He was set apart from the fiery rage that had made his teeth buzz while he watched Lily-thing chuck potions ingredients at Draco Malfoy’s face.

Severus had known it was going to happen when he saw contempt split down Lily-thing’s face like a zipper, revealing something that yearned for approval. It was usually well hidden by Lily-thing’s ability to look small and non-threatening, but Severus had seen how much of a Gryffindor Lily-thing really was when she’d thrown those moonseeds like her life depended on it.

Severus ought to have wrung Lily-thing’s neck for what she’d done in his class, let alone to one of his Slytherins. Draco was arrogant and insufferable to Lily-thing, yes, but if the girl made an enemy of the Malfoys, she was going to have bigger problems than name-calling. Severus knew what Draco and Parkinson did when his back was turned, yes, but it was harmless, for now. Not to mention that Lily-thing had completely undermined Severus’ authority in front of the little monsters, in front of the Gryffindors, that FOOLISH LITTLE —

It hadn’t been about the Slytherins, though. The amount of defiance in Lily-things small, thin face had been tainted with hope and anticipation. It was the kind that was created by provocation, and he’d landed right in her trap, just like Lily-thing had hoped. Severus had realized this on his gentle glide out to Occlumency sea.

He could see it clearly now, the longer he pondered it, the more he thought about Lily-thing’s strange and bizarre behavior since Halloween night. Lily-thing was trying to get Severus’ attention… was trying to get some sort of reaction out of him, but for what? Flitwick had said the brat was asking about her mother’s letter, which undoubtedly had something about Severus that he couldn't begin to guess. Lily-thing wanted to get to the bottom of it, and she was a determined child, unfortunately.

Determination had gotten her away from those wretched Muggle relatives. 

But that was far away from Severus, now, floating out on the untouched water, where he let himself bob in the swell of waves. He’d shoved it so far away from him, tucked tightly into his little box, that he no longer felt the murderous rage and the crushing ache of Lily-thing’s pleading. The look on her face had twisted his heart like a physical blow to it, leaving Severus both astonished and deeply disturbed. He’d tried to pin it down and figure the girl out, but there was something Severus was missing.

He had not seen Lily or Potter, or even a mixture of the two in their daughter’s face. Severus had seen only himself, the hunger of a child and the desperation to understand. Seveurs never should have asked the brat for the letter, no matter how much he wanted to read it and scare her into leaving him alone. The foundations of childhood always crumbled on their own, eventually. The girl would learn.

Severus went to speak to Dumbledore, then.

He contemplated how low his desperation must have sunk to seek out the old man in a time of emotional distress. This wasn’t something that happened often — it was unicorn-rare for Severus to willingly have a conversation with Dumbledore that held something of true value. Well, besides the Dark Lord, but that was the whole point of Severus teaching at Hogwarts, wasn’t it? Most of their meetings had been spent discussing the history of the school, or listening to Dumbledore reminisce about travels, the Founders, old Headmasters and students. The Occlumency had illuminated, though, that Dumbledore probably knew something Severus did not about Lily’s letter, and her daughter, and though Dumbledore may try, he could not hide something forever once Severus became suspicious. He was a Slytherin, after all.

And the old man did know something, because Severus had seen it in the staff room. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, but he would not play the part of the fool, either. Severus was very quickly growing tired of being taken off guard, something Lily-thing had executed well… three times, now? Four? Whatever the figure was, it was an alarming number. It need to be stopped, before Lily-thing stumbled upon something she didn’t understand, and Severus would be forced to explain to her why she was a stupid, arrogant, thickheaded Gryffindor, just like her father.

Although the persistence did scream Lily. She’d never been one to back down, not even when she’d known she was wildly overstepping her boundaries. It had fed Severus’ own needs long after Lily had closed the door on their friendship.

Dumbledore must have been expecting Severus to splinter the door off its hinges, because he’d put cushioning charms on the surrounding area of his office when Severus finally entered. He’d been forced to grit out “gnomey nougat” to the statue, which had managed to burrow through his Occlumency and cause small ripples of annoyance to sway through his mind.

Dumbledore looked up as Severus stood in the doorway, and smiled, a freshly inked quill in his hands. He’d been writing to Fudge — he only used the quill with the Gryffindor feathers, gold and ruby red, when he wrote to the Minister. Dumbledore did not greet Severus with anything but that smile, a knowing glint is his eyes that was brighter than the sun.

“Have you had lunch yet, my boy?” Dumbledore twinkled at him, setting the quill down. “I seem to have written straight through it, I’m afraid. I’ve lost myself in my writing. Better to be lost in words than in mind, though.” he smiled, and it felt like he’d swung a sword at Severus’ head.

Severus did not react. He stepped into the room wordlessly, and clicked the door shut behind him. It was the loudest sound in the room, louder than all the baubles whirring and magic humming. Dumbledore simply set down his quill and pointed his wand at the coffee table in front of his desk. The tea set began to busy itself as platters of finger food popped into existence, along with two armchairs. One was midnight-blue, the other lemon-yellow.

“I’ve been meaning to ask how you’re meeting with Quirinus went.” Dumbledore sat down as the teaset busied itself. He seated himself in the yellow chair, which Severus was almost grateful for. If he’d taken the blue one, Severus would have set them both on fire.

He still did not speak. Severus saw clearly through the Occlumency, but not clearly enough. There was a certain amount of clarity his emotions held, even if he knew they were driven by the mania of paranoia. If Dumbledore noticed that Severus’ silence was calculated, he did not make it known. Instead, he gave a grateful nod at the teapot as it poured itself into his cup — as if it were a sentient being — and leaned back in his chair.

Severus glared at his tea cup as it floated towards him, bobbing in front of his face as it waited for him to take it. Dumbledore sipped his own, making a content sound as he nodded in approval. It was peppermint, with an ungodly amount of sugar — Dumbledore’s favorite. Severus could smell if wafting off the cup levitating in front of him as it began to float away. Dumbledore sat patiently as he waited for Severus’ report, sipping his tea happily and pretending as if there wasn’t any other possible reason for Severus being here in the middle of the school day.

“If Quirrell is after the Stone,” said Severus. “he’s doing a very poor job of securing it.” 

Dumbledore chuckled. “Well, I would hope that whoever desires the Stone would find it a tad difficult. Even if they’re operating under someone else’s wishes.”

“He was barely able to squeak out a coherent sentence by the time I was done with him. If the Dark Lord is behind the events on Halloween, he’s become pathetically desperate.”

“Hm,” Dumbledore frowned. “I do hope you weren’t too forceful, Severus.”

That had been right after Lily-things’ detention. Severus didn’t remember much after that, but he did remember Quirrell nearly fainting. It had been immensely satisfying, but not nearly enough to make him feel better. Severus vaguely remembered Quirrell catching sight of the blood of his hand and balking. There had been this itch he couldn’t scratch, just like there was now. Something was just within his reach, something important that he knew or should know, but it kept evading him like wind — whispered to him as it whipped past, unable to hear what it was saying.

“Severus,” Dumbledore set down his teacup and reached a withered hand towards him. “are you alright, my boy?”

Severus was deciding whether or not to destroy the tea set when he finally decided that getting angry was exactly what Dumbledore thought he’d do. And so, he decided to play the Headmaster’s game for a minute or two.

“What does she know?” Severus asked, relishing the look of surprise that flashed across the old man’s face.

Dumbledore blinked at him. “Who?”

“You know who.” Severus forced himself to dig his nails into his palm. “I heard you and Flitwick talking about that damn letter.”

Dumbledore looked genuinely surprised again, for a moment, but it was quickly replaced with thoughtfulness. “Ariel shared it with you?”

“No,” thank Merlin and Morgana. “The brat mentioned it, though. She wanted to know how to undo Lily’s Charm. I told her I couldn’t help her.”

“Ah, yes, well,” Dumbledore seemed almost… disappointed. Sentimental old fool. “Filius was quite firm in his belief that it couldn’t be undone without the correct enchantment. Minerva’s just Floo’d me, actually.” Dumbledore continued, sipping his tea as he stared up at the portraits. Severus followed his gaze to a man, not as old as Dumbledore, but on in years, wearing a monocle and a cane. His beard was threaded in four separate braids. “Moonseeds are relatively harmless by themselves, but Poppy says Draco claimed temporary blindness. Are you aware of such effects?”

“Malfoy could be a theatre actor with the amount of dramatics he exudes.” Severus muttered. “I’ll undoubtedly be hearing from his mother in the next week.”

“Would Narcissa really go to such lengths?” asked Dumbledore, taking a sip of his tea.

“No, but she’s nosey.” Pureblood women were a different breed of witch. Narcissa would take an inconvenient type of interest in the girl, if Draco carried on enough. “She’ll want to know all about the girl if her son complains about her as much as he does with the rest of the Slytherins.”

“I see,” Dumbledore’s brow deepened, but his eyes held a glint of amusement. “well, I must say that I was surprised to hear it was Miss Evans causing trouble, especially in your classroom. Minerva mentioned that Mr Weasley made a foolish effort in following her, but it does comfort me to know that she’s found such steadfast friends.”

“What does the girl know?” Severus repeated, trying not to feel nauseated by the sentiments of love and friendship being spewed at him. “I know you know something. You knew she had the letter, didn’t you?”

“I had an idea.” Dumbledore said loftily. “There were other items in Lily’s belongings that made reference to it, and Ariel asked to take some pictures before I sorted through it myself. No harm done, really, but it’s quite curious…”

“No, it’s not.” said Severus flatly. “The brat is meddling with the things she doesn’t understand.”

“Such as?”

Severus stared right at him. The only way he was going to get any answers was by being direct, and Dumbledore did not do well with direct questions. He could dance around them with metaphors and word paintings, but he knew that Severus was smarter than that, and a Slytherin. Severus couldn’t be easily deterred, and while he was used to using more tact, Dumbledore’s side-stepping of conversations was annoyingly admirable.

“I almost took it from her before.” Severus told him, watching intently as Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. “The letter. That’s why she threw potion ingredients at Malfoy. She’s trying to get my attention.”

Dumbledore’s face did not change. “And why would Ariel do that?”

“I don’t know.” Severus said coolly. “You tell me.”

There was a long, deafening silence. Severus could feel his ears ringing as the blood pumped through his veins, faster and faster until his molars itched. His Occlumency was starting to slip.

“I don’t know any more than you do about Lily’s letter.” said Dumbledore. “Seeing as I haven’t had the pleasure of reading it.”

There was something missing in that sentence. The cadence of Dumbledore’s voice was off, something missing from it that was just within Severus’ reach, but he couldn’t figure out what the sodding fuck it was.

She mentioned you, I thought you’d want to know

“You have… an idea, though.” Severus said slowly.

“I have many ideas,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “each one as unlikely as the next.”

Severus’ palm collided with the floating tea cup, which had been circling him like a moon in orbit. Dumbledore stared calmly back, and that was what did it. There was always a lack of a reaction, no conviction or clarity. Somehow, Severus was always left on the dark side of a one-way glass, with Dumbledore looking in and seeing everything Severus couldn’t. Between Dumbledore’s all-knowing gaze and Lily-thing’s wild eyes, Severus was going to go completely mad. The thing with not-Lily eyes and Lily hair and freckles, the horrendous haircut Petunia had given her and then ache in her face that echoed in Severus’ own heart — Dumbledore’s knowing looks, the understanding and compassion prevalent in the lines of his face. It was too much.

Severus let his Occlumency slide off like a sheet. The force of his most precious secret now a mere a tool in Lily-thing’s toolbox hit him like a Bludger.

“She knows.” Severus’ chest heaved as he stood over Dumbledore, tea pooling around his boots. “She knows I knew her mother, because apparently, Lily wrote something in that blasted letter. There is no comprehensible reason that Lily would need to share that with her, but the brat fucking knows something. She’s put two and two together somehow, but there is no logical explanation as to why Lily would have to tell her daughter anything about me.”

“Well, clearly there must be.” Dumbledore said calmly. “Or else Lily wouldn’t have written it down.”

Severus slammed his fist down on the table, the scones bouncing to the floor. Dumbledore stared back at him, something unfathomable in his blue eyes. The early November breeze swept past Severus, rustling Dumbledore’s beard as it filled the room. The portraits, who had been in various states of awareness, had gone silent, watching the conversation with rapt attention.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said quietly, setting down his tea cup. “when you vowed to keep Ariel safe from Voldemort —”

Severus’ skin prickled, and it wasn’t from the cold. “Don’t say the name!”

Something like pity passed over Dumbledore’s face, and Severus hated it. “Tom, then. When you made that promise, to protect Ariel from Tom after what happened in Godric’s Hollow, I took you into the heart of this school. You’re responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of students over the past decade. I’ve often encouraged you to find something worth nurturing in them, and time and time again you’ve refuted me. Would it be such an inconceivable thought to allow Ariel to see what I do? After what you have sacrificed to keep her safe?”

“I don’t want anything to do with her!” Severus snapped, the room suddenly feeling much smaller. “I will protect her with my life for Lily’s sake, but nothing more. Why would she write to the girl about me? What do you know — I have a right to know, Albus!”

He tried to ignore how those words twisted his heart, but the idea of Lily-thing — of any child — liking him was almost laughable, if it weren’t completely mental. The Slytherins respected him as their Head of House, certainly, but Severus didn’t think any of them necessarily liked him as a professor. The Gryffindors probably had a burned effigy of him in their Common Room. The Ravenclaws were far more interested in his grading than anything else, and the Hufflepuffs landed somewhere between the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. Children did not like him, even if he did have a hand in rescuing them from narcissistic, jealousy-ridden Muggle aunts.

“It may be too late for that, my boy.” Dumbledore said, and Severus wanted to obliterate that tone, along with the rest of the furniture, and the entire office. “Can you think of no other reason Ariel might be trying to form some sort of connection with you? Besides Lily’s reference to you, whatever it may be.”

The vague suggestions were only making Severus angrier. “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve barely acknowledged the brat.”

“Words are too complicated.” Dumbledore waved at him, almost dismissively. “Actions, however, take on a far greater meaning.”

Severus was going to strangle him and end up in Azkaban, he was sure of it. “What are you —”

“You took her from Petunia’s.” Dumbledore said simply. “An act like that does not go unnoticed, especially by a child.”

one two buckle my shoe

roses one two three

Severus swallowed back the burn in his throat. “Any idiot with even an inkling of a moral compass —”

“No, not just anyone.” Dumbledore shook his head. “You were quite upset when you saw what Petunia had subjected Ariel to. You were quite possibly the first person to express any sort of kindness towards her.”

“What does she know?” Severus demanded, ignoring him. He’d take care of that, but he would not concede until he knew what the girl really wanted. Taking Lily’s daughter from those worthless fucking Muggles was the least Severus could have done. Lily would have probably leveled the entire neighborhood herself, maybe even Potter, too, but he’d never possessed the same amount of fire Lily had. Potter had only ever done things in the Name of Goodness and Truth, no matter how pervasive that ideology could be.

“Severus —” Dumbledore began, a monologue on his lips.

“Tell me, Albus, or so help me —”

“Ariel will be faced with much, in the coming years.” Dumbledore said, in a voice that was smooth, like glass, but stronger than iron. “If there is one thing Tom cannot fathom, it is the ability to love, Severus, to be kind and to build on that foundation with friendship. You understand that better than anyone, and Ariel will need it more than you know.”

“Love was not enough to save Lily!” Severus snarled before he could stop himself.

His words rang in the air for a moment as Dumbledore stared at him with those fathomless blue eyes. Severus felt as though the floor had pulled out from underneath him. He wished that it had.

“Love was enough to save Ariel.” Dumbledore said, and this time, he rose, folding his hands together in front of him. “And that ability will continue to protect her. It’s Tom’s only weakness. It is her only hope.”

———

Ariel sat within the confines of her four-poster later than evening, feeling a hollow sense of triumph settle in the pit of her stomach.

Professor McGonagall had given them a scolding that had left Ariel feeling ashamed and embarrassed. Ron not so much, he’d reassured her that whatever her reasons were, that finally doing something (even if it wasn’t really anything) to the Slytherins, especially Malfoy, had been well received by the Gryffindors. Fred and George had given her a hand drawn certificate that shot out confetti whenever Ariel opened it, which had made her feel good for six whole seconds before they’d inquired about how angry their Head of House had been. No one ever misbehaved purposefully in Snape’s class.

I expected better of you, Miss Evans, Professor McGonagall had said, more disappointment in her voice than anger, and it had made Ariel feel the smallest yet. She’d never had someone disappointed in her before, because that meant they must have placed some amount of worth in her existence. The Dursleys would have never lowered themselves to that. Professor McGonagall was her Head of House, though, and she’d docked them thirty points. Ron said it a good thing it had been Professor McGonagall and not Snape — he would have smashed the Gryffindor’s hourglass, if he could’ve.

She’d then separated Ariel and Ron for their detentions (Ron’s was for leaving class without permission). Ariel was to report to Snape again, and Ron was cleaning bedpans in the infirmary. She tried very hard to feel victorious, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t stop picturing that look on Snape’s face before he’d stormed back into his classroom. It had been worth it, in the end, because Ariel was going to see Snape, but… somehow, she felt like she was about to walk into a trap. Was that how Snape had felt last night?

Hermione had said very little to Ariel between dinner and returning to Gryffindor Tower. Snape hadn’t been at dinner, either, but Ariel had caught Professor Dumbledore staring at her more than once. Ariel wondered if Snape or Professor McGonagall had told him what she’d done, and felt another terrible wave of shame crash over her. Malfoy had spent all of dinner with a pack of ice on his eye, moaning, while the rest of the Slytherins gave Ariel terrible glares. Fred and George had promised to put laxatives in their pumpkin juice tomorrow morning.

Lavender and Pararti turned their noses up at Ariel as they made eye contact coming out of the bathroom. Ariel sighed, shaking her head as they shut themselves away in the curtains behind their bed, whispering loud enough for Ariel to hear them, but not to understand what they were saying. Lavender was still mad about the fairy lights and pictures, and after Ariel’s stunt in Potion’s, they’d thought she’d gone completely off the deep end in an attempt to offend them somehow. She made a plan to apologize to Lavender - again — tomorrow morning. Tonight, Ariel had more important things to worry about.

Hermione was scratching away at one of their assignments. Ariel didn’t know which one, because Hermione usually did essays that were due in two weeks the night they were assigned, and their work had begun to pile up as Hogwarts schedules became their new normal. Ariel craned her had to try and get a peek, wanting to start up a conversation, and saw that her Defense textbook was open. That essay hadn’t even been assigned yet — Quirrell had mentioned possibly giving it to them sometime before Christmas.

The scratching stopped. Ariel stuffed her nose into her mum’s letter, like she was analyzing the fold creases. She could feel Hermione’s eyes on her, wanting to ask her what was up, but she was secretly terrified that Hermione was angry, like Lavender and Parvarti were.

“When’s your detention?” Hermione asked, not turning around, but her quill didn’t move.

Ariel’s stomach gave a funny little jump. “In a few minutes, I think. I’m walking down with Ron.”

Hermione made a sound Ariel couldn’t categorize. The sound of her quill writing began again, but it was slower this time, and more spaced out, like she wasn’t dictating as much. Ariel went back to staring at the letter, wondering what good it was with nothing written on it anymore. Her conversation with Professor Flitwick had made her feel hopeless, and even though she really, really wanted him to know, Ariel didn’t know if she had the guts to tell Snape outright. He was suspicious now, though — dangerously suspicious. At least Ariel had done a good job of making the meanest professor in the entire school furious with her.

“Why’d you do it?” Hermione asked suddenly, shutting her Defense textbook with a thump. “You know Professor Snape never disciplines the Slytherins.”

Ariel’s heart gave a little jump, folding the letter over once. “Malfoy deserved it! He’s always getting away with being horrid to us.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, but her eyebrows knitted closer together. “But surely you must’ve known Professor Snape would be furious.”

She nodded slowly, lowering her eyes to her quilt. “I had a hunch.”

Hermione’s frown deepened. She pushed her chair away from the desk and climbed onto Ariel’s bed, giving Lavender’s a horrid glare before pulling Ariel’s curtains shut. A scandalized gasp came from across the room. 

“I think you should tell him.” Hermione said quietly. “Tonight. That’s what you were going to do anyway, yeah?”

Was it that obvious? Ariel swallowed roughly. “I know we said I shouldn’t —”

“It’s okay,” Hermione nodded solemnly. “Something happened last night, during your detention, didn’t it? Something else you didn’t say.”

Ariel nodded. “I might’ve let on more than I should’ve.”

“How much more?”

She squirmed. “I can’t take it, Hermione. Snape knows something. He might not remember seeing Mum again, but he didn’t forget everything. Maybe… maybe it’s enough.”

“Maybe,” Hermione said thoughtfully, but her eyes lowered themselves to the bedspread. “Maybe — if he really loved her.”

Something jolted down Ariel’s spine. She felt like she’d been electrocuted.

“What?” Hermione asked, her eyes widening. “I didn’t mean to overstep—”

“No, that’s not it.” Ariel shook her head, trying to shake off the dizziness. “I just… I don’t know, I never thought of it like that.”

Maybe Snape did love her mum. Maybe he didn’t. Ariel wished now more than ever that the letter was as it once was, so she could reread her mother’s wording and try to connect the word love to Snape. Mum had said it loads of times in the letter, but only to Ariel and James, never Snape. Hadn’t she, though? Loved him? Was that why she’d written it, because she loved Snape and wanted Ariel to know?

Had Snape loved Mum back?

“Well, think about it.” Hermione said, scooting closer to her. “I mean, your mum said they were friends, weren’t they? And then she said something about Professor Snape telling her things she wished she’d known, and that even if he didn’t remember that night, he’d never hurt you or her. I don’t know much about that kind of stuff, but feeling safe like that… I don’t know, it sounds like love in a way, doesn’t it?”

Ariel didn’t know a lot about love either, but it made sense… sort of. Maybe that was why Snape didn’t want to talk about Mum. Ariel couldn’t imagine talking about Hermione or Ron if one of them was murdered by an evil wizard, and she’d only known them a few months. And then she felt terrible, because if Snape loved her mum and her mum had died, maybe he knew what she felt, lying under her parents’ pictures and wishing she could hear their voices, just once.

Another voice in the back of her head said, “what if Snape doesn’t want you?”

———

Not too long after that, Ariel set off for her detention with Ron, who didn’t seem too upset at spending a night cleaning in the infirmary when he really hadn’t done anything wrong. He chatted away merrily, reliving the moment the moonseeds had collided with Malfoy’s face, and how Pansy’s had twisted like a pugs’ snout. Ariel smiled and nodded along, but all she could think of was Snape’s gaunt face in the torchlight and the wounded, caged expression in his eyes writhing beneath all that anger. She wondered if that was how Snape would greet her tonight.

“I’d scrub a hundred bedpans to see that again.” Ron was saying as they stepped in front of the Great Hall. “Although maybe not the scolding from McGonagall. I did feel a bit guilty then, but after Malfoy ratted you out about the duel and Fluffy… Merlin, that really was brilliant.”

“Yeah,” Ariel agreed glumly. “I can see why.”

Ariel stopped, letting her eyes fall to the floor. She didn’t know what was worse, Snape or the bedpans, but she’d wanted to get a detention with Snape. Ron hadn’t wanted to scrub bedpans.

Ron stopped when he noticed Ariel had stopped walking. “What’s wrong? You okay, mate?”

She marched forward and hugged him. For a moment, Ariel didn’t realize she was doing it until Ron let out something that sounded like a squeak.

“We’re doing this now?” Ron gave an uncomfortable laugh.

“No,” Ariel let him go. “you’re just a good mate, is all.”

“Right.” Ron ran his hand through his hair, his face a bright red. “Well, then I’ll see you later. Good luck with Snape.”

And then he pivoted and lopped off. Ariel stared after him, contemplating calling out, but decided against it. If she hadn’t known better, Ariel might’ve thought the floor was lava, by the way Ron was walking. His demeanor had done a complete one-eighty.

Boys were weird, Ariel decided as she made her way towards the dungeons, but she couldn’t decide if it was just her, or the people around her. Maybe it was just all boys — men. Uncle Vernon had been very strange, though not as strange as Snape. Ariel had thought Ron was immune to it, but if giving a hug caused him to run away, well… maybe Ariel was just missing something. She’d have to ask Lavender about it when she apologized. Lavender knew a lot about boys. Although, maybe Ariel was better off not knowing.

As Ariel started her descent into the dungeons, she stopped suddenly. Something felt… off. She couldn’t put her finger on whatever it was, but as she squinted into the darkness at the bottom of the steps, she could’ve sworn that it was… blacker. Ariel jumped as she heard something scurry behind her, like someone was running away. Had Ron followed her?

Scratch scratch scratchscratchscratch

“Ron?” she called. “Madam Pomfrey will have a fit if you show up late.”

Something behind Ariel moved.

She whirled around, her breath catching in her throat, like a fly in a spider’s web. Ariel scanned the darkness in front of her, straining her eyes to see something — anything — but there was nothing Ariel could make out within her sightline. The scratching sound continued. It didn’t sound like someone trailing behind her, but more like a dog beginning to be let in front outside. Aunt Marge’s dogs used to do that, when they hadn’t been trying to gnaw off Ariel’s hair.

Scratchscratchscratch scratchscratchscratch

“Lumos,” Ariel whispered.

No, it didn’t sound like dogs either. It was more… deliberate. There was patience in between each sound, like the scratching was simply something to pass the time, a way to fill the seconds that ticked by. The light wasn’t helping much, Ariel still couldn’t see anything past a few meters down the steps.

“If that’s you, Malfoy,” Ariel raised her wand higher, trying to make the shadows shorter. “I’ll make you sorry.”

The scratching stopped. The castle was eerily quiet, but the darkness was loud. It made her ragged breathing deafening as it sat there, and Ariel would’ve bet her wand arm it was watching her — but that was impossible, because darkness wasn’t something you could —

“Ariel Evans,” a cold, high voice hissed, slashing through the dark like a comet.

The night she’d jumped out of the window at the Dursleys, Ariel had been scared. She would never admit it, of course, but it was the first time Ariel had ever felt like that, the surge of adrenaline so strong that it made her knees weak and arms heavy. This type of fear was brand new though, seizing her chest like a fist. Ariel’s scar burst into white hot pain. It was only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to cause her to cry out in surprise. She skittered back, away from the foreboding darkness of the dungeons, and darted back, putting out her Lumos as she ran.

Ariel couldn’t tell where she was running, only that the scratching sound was getting closer, the darkness thicker, and someone was saying her name over and over again. There was a feeling like scissors in her teeth, a nagging vibration that told her to keep running and to not look back. The cold, high voice was getting louder, the darkness growing in front of her as her boots slapped against the stone, until —

“Miss Evans!” a voice was snarling, a sharp hand on her shoulder. Ariel screamed and whirled around to find Snape, who she’d never been so happy to see, baring his teeth down at her and very out of breath. “Just where do you think you’re —”

“There’s someone there!” Ariel managed to strangle out. Her fear had wrapped itself around her throat, making anything other than running nearly impossible.

Snape gave her a disbelieving look for a split second, so quick, that if Ariel had blinked, she would’ve missed it. “Who?”

“I don’t know.” Ariel inched closer to him. “He wouldn’t stop saying my name.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and for once, they weren’t aimed at Ariel because of something she’d said. Snape’s gaze hardened as he squinted into the inky blackness beyond Ariel. She hated that it was there, just beyond her turned back, this open expanse of air that was threatening to swallow her whole. Snape must’ve noticed how on edge she was, because he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her beneath his cloak. Ariel’s nose smashed into his leg before letting her fingers curl around the wool of his robes. They were very soft.

Snape raised his wand as the darkness receded. Ariel wondered if he could see it too. He wasn’t acting like it. His wand lit up wordlessly, and the darkness seemed to suck itself up into itself, or maybe it was just a trick of the light. His face was smooth and calculating, but fearsome. Ariel couldn’t hear the darkness or the voice anymore, only her heart slamming against her ribcage and both their uneven breathing.

“He was there,” Ariel whispered. “I swear.”

“Did you recognize the voice?”

“No but…”

“But what?” Snape snapped.

“My scar hurt.”

Ariel hadn’t meant to say it, because it sounded stupid, but Snape’s eyes went from the not-so-dark-ness to her face instantly. “Explain.”

“It got really dark and quiet, and then I heard this voice.” Ariel shivered underneath his cloak. “My scar felt like it was burning when talked.”

Snape didn’t seem to want to leave, but the blackness was receding, or at least, it looked that way to Ariel. Maybe she’d really gone loony and was hallucinating it, but the hallway was starting to look normal again. Snape stared into it, like laser beams were about to come shooting out of his eyes (this wouldn’t have surprised Ariel), but after a moment or two, he turned.

“Come,” Snape said, looking over his shoulder one last time. “We’ll discuss this in my office.”

Ariel didn’t argue. She’d have taken those creepy fetuses in jars over the cold, high voice and the infinite darkness any day.

Snape’s arm stayed firmly around her shoulders.