Severus found Dumbledore pretending to be foraging. It was not the most unusual of places to find him, but it had taken an entire morning of scouring the castle that by the time Severus did venture out into the Forest, he was in a fouler mood than usual. 

“Take a look at these, won’t you?” Dumbledore greeted him with a handful of dittany. “I fear the wildlife may have gotten to it before I could.” 

His robes were the color of the dittany, gold woven into the sleeves and collar. If not for the white beard, Severus would have easily missed him amongst the trees. 

They did not speak often, and for that, Severus was responsible. He hadn’t been able to sit and talk with him about anything without his resentment boiling to the surface. This past year had left a sour taste in his mouth, one he couldn’t scrub out. He had thought checking on the girl as often as he did would help, but it left him feeling worse every time. The look in Miss Evan’s eyes told him that she was unhappy, but Severus could have given a damn about her happiness — it was Petunia that made his molars ache, making his blood really begin to boil. To leave the girl there with those human shitstains was nearly agony. 

“It’s too late in the season,” Severus said, without looking at it. “Its potency will be greatly reduced.” 

Dumbledore sighed, but smiled in a way that told him this wasn’t the first time he’d heard this. “Which is why I’m trying to gather as much as I can.”

“I have plenty in my storeroom,” Severus said, annoyed. “I don’t know why you’re wasting your time when you know as well as I do that this is pointless.”

“You know I like my ingredients fresh, my boy.” 

“Unless they are out of season, in which case —”

“Fawkes had a fall this morning,” Dumbledore said, almost offhandedly. “I knew you were out and about, and decided I would try my luck out here.” 

The bird looked like it was being held together by sheer willpower, these days. “His burning day is surely near. Dittany won’t do much good.” 

“Gilderoy swears by it,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. 

Severus ground his teeth together. “Anyone with more than three brain cells would know dittany is useful only for shallow wounds.” 

“I’m sure the two of you will have a great deal to discuss. You do love a good debate.” 

“I would rather rip out my fingernails.” his eyes narrowed. “You know this. Why are you wasting my time with pointless questions?”

Dumbledore shuffled towards a patch of dandelions where basket sat; it was only a third full, and the dittany was wilted. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Severus blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, I would imagine that you’re not here to debate the viability of the local vegetation with me.” 

His jaw set with a click. “As endearing as this conversation is, I am rather busy —” 

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore said mildly. “Albania is beautiful this time of year, isn’t it?” 

Severus felt the blood pumping in his ears. He shouldn’t have been surprised Dumbledore knew, even if Severus was traveling illegally. He had been back and forth to Albania, trying to retrace Quirrell’s steps. He hadn’t found any trace of the Dark Lord, but he had talked to the locals, heard legends of a dark spirit that had wandered the wilderness for years. 

“Tom is no fool,” Dumbledore said, as though he’d read Severus’ mind. “He would not return to an old hiding place.” 

“Obviously,” Severus muttered. “but if there was any indication —” 

“He will leave none. That was our biggest hardship during the war, but you recall that, don’t you?” 

He did. The Order had been losing — badly — before Severus had deflected. He recalled searching for Lily every battle, checking on the flat she’d been living in just outside of London. Once she’d married Potter, though, he’d stopped, until he’d gone to Dumbledore himself and begged him to hide her. 

It was thoughts such as these that brought up the memories Lily had left behind for him. He often wondered about what had happened the morning after, wondered how wrong things must have gone for Severus to tell Lily to Obliviate him, to wash his hands of the memory. Maybe he had insisted on it to protect her; maybe he had been scorned. Maybe Lily had lied and had realized she’d made a terrible mistake. Each thought seemed more and more unlikely, since she’d kept them hidden for their daughter to find someday. It also begged the question of when that trunk had been intended for Miss Evans. Severus wondered if it had been intended at all, or if Lily had changed her mind before she had died. 

He would never know — all he had were memories and promises left, promises he intended to keep. 

“Far be it from you not to leave every stone unturned.” Severus said stiffly. 

“For what?” Dumbledore asked, this time, in a far different tone. It rang straight through him, like a siren. “Confirmation? Or revenge?”

He thought about ripping out the Dark Lord’s bowles through his nose — he thought of the spells he would use, of how he would break him apart from the inside out. That process invaded his waking thoughts when he least expected it. The fact might have disturbed him, had he not had several very good reasons for dismembering the Dark Lord limb by limb. 

“He doesn’t deserve the choice,” Severus said, so low, he thought Dumbledore might not have heard it. 

“You may be right,” said Dumbledore. “but that is not for you to decide. We will need you, after all.”

Do you swear to yourself, Severus? Do you swear your mind, your soul?

And what will you give in return?

“Come,” Dumbledore gestured to the path behind them. “Let us walk. You came to discuss Ariel, yes?” 

The girl. 

There’s nothing wrong with me

I hate it here 

Severus had felt like an imbecile after their last visit. Truth be told, he felt completely out of his fucking depth with Miss Evans. He couldn’t tell if his weekly visits were a detriment or not. He hadn’t been able to leave her with Petunia unchecked — not again — but it was clear that Miss Evans was miserable. It shouldn’t have bothered him, the girl’s unhappiness, but it did. Every time she thought he wasn’t looking, there was that unhappiness set in her face, the hand wringing in her shirt, the knee wobbling nervously. Something nagging deep within him told him it was his responsibility, but Severus didn’t know what the hell to do about it. Damn the girl’s happiness, if it meant she was safe. That was all that mattered to him, anyways — he could not let what had happened last winter happen again. 

The most frustrating part was that the girl was lying to him. Severus had seen it inside her head — he hadn’t taught her how to Block yet, and even then, the girl was a terrible liar. She missed her friends and Hogwarts, and while he had tried not to search, he had found that one, desperate thought Miss Evans would never have told him. 

I want to leave with you 

It had explained the moodiness, but she was also entering that prepubescent phase, the one that made Severus want to gouge out his eyes with a spoon. All of the little nitwits went through it at one point or another, so it shouldn’t have surprised Severus that his own daughter would, too. 

He felt the weight of his role far too often now, though. It pushed against him like a riptide, to the point where if he was not in her general vicinity, he felt like he was going mad, wondering if she was hiding more, wondering if she would try and run away again, like she had last summer. The thought of her jumping out of that damn window again gave him a twitch. 

Which was why Severus was going to get her out of that Muggle hell. 

“I want her out of that miserable place,” Severus said, managing to successfully keep his voice devoid of emotion. “She’s had enough — it’s been a month.”

Dumbledore bent down, pulling at the ground and brushing aside the weeds. “I leave that up to your discretion.” 

“I wasn’t asking for your permission.” 

Dumbledore didn’t so much as blink. It was at moments like these when Severus was reminded that Dumbledore was just as much of a gifted Occlumens as the Dark Lord. “And where will you bring her?” 

“Here,” said Severus. “obviously.” 

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “And who will watch over her?” 

“I will,” he said stiffly. “Until other arrangements can be made. You assured me that the Weasley’s had extended their home to her.” 

“I will reach out to Molly,” he paused. “If you want me too, that is.” 

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“I’m sure Ariel would find the castle to be as hospitable as the Burrow.” 

“I am far too busy to keep the girl entertained for the remainder of the holiday.”

“Ah yes, of course.” Dumbledore smiled, and Severus could have sworn the twinkle in his eye held a glimmer of mischief. “With your travels.”

Severus stiffened. “It will raise too many questions —“

“Pomona doesn’t return until the last week of August.” 

He sighed heavily. “Why do you insist on sharing unwarranted opinions?” 

“A fine birthday gift, I would think,” Dumbledore said wistfully, as though it were an afterthought. 

Severus began to stalk away. “Goodbye, Albus.” 

“Do send her my regards,” Dumbledore called after him, dumping the basket of dittany to the forest floor. Severus ignored him and began his trek back to the castle to Apparate to Petunia’s. 

As he left, he could not shake the feeling that Dumbledore had known he was coming. Then again, it was very rare to catch the old man by surprise, but there was something else, something that lingered like a cough, something stuck in the back of his brain that he couldn’t peel away. The feeling that somehow, some way, Dumbledore knew something that Severus did not about the girl. 

He had a feeling he did not want to know what it was. 

—----------

The Grangers decided to stop for dinner on the way home, at some little seafood restaurant along the coast. Ariel was starving by then, but she couldn’t tell if it was really hunger or nausea. The second the chatty waitress with the blue hair had brought their food, Ariel felt her stomach heave. 

Ariel was so on edge about Snape bursting down the door and murdering Hermione’s parents that she could barely touch her dinner — Mrs Granger (who had insisted Ariel call her Caroline) had gently assured her that if she wasn’t hungry that she shouldn’t eat, but she kept exchanging odd glances with Mr Granger. They were the same sort of looks Mr and Mrs Weasley had shared when Ariel had stayed with them last summer, when Ariel told them she only had two sets of jumpers. 

Hermione was mercifully talking about school, where Ariel could manage to contribute without scrambling to keep up with the conversation. They hadn’t brought up the Dursleys since they’d left. Ariel wondered what Snape would do to them when they found out they'd just let her go. They’d never talked about if Ariel would be allowed to go to Ron’s, and she certainly hadn’t been expecting Hermione to show up, and she had a feeling Snape wouldn’t be very understanding.

“I thought Professor Dumbledore was awfully generous,” Hermione was saying. “I know for a fact Ron didn’t hand in the last essay before exams.” 

She was talking about Defense. Dumbledore had taken over after — 

Snape’s boot through Quirrell’s skull like a rotten pumpkin 

Ariel took a big sip of water as Mrs Granger nodded along. “Well, it’s always difficult when there’s a change mid-semester. That happened to your father and I at university, it wasn’t easy.”

“It wasn’t that,” Hermione said. “I thought he was wonderful, maybe not as conventional…”

“I liked him loads better than the other bloke.” Ariel said. Mrs Granger looked like she wanted to ask why, but she quickly downed half her glass to avoid the question. 

Professor Dumbledore had given Ariel  an O in Defense, but it had sounded like he’d given everyone an O. Even Fred and George had gotten one, which Hermione found to be mind breaking, but Ariel thought they were loads smart, just not in the same way as Hermione. All Mrs Weasley had said to them last summer was about applying themselves, but Ariel got the feeling marks weren’t exactly as important to them as they were to Percy — even Ron. Grades didn’t matter much to Ariel either, but she had been rather pleased with herself. She’d done much better than she’d thought she would. 

Mrs Granger turned to Ariel. “Did you enjoy the end of the year, dear? How were your marks?” 

She blinked. She’d never been asked about her grades before. Her teachers in grade school had told Aunt Petunia she was too easily distracted. “I did alright, I guess.”

Hermione huffed, giving a playful scowl. “She got all O’s, except for —”

“Potions,” Ariel stabbed at a green bean. “I only got an E — and I barely passed Flying lessons, too.”  

“What was the one you were worried about?” Mr Granger asked Hermione. “Potions? You mentioned it was a lot like chemistry.” 

Hermione gave Ariel a sideways look. “A bit.” 

“Tough professor, right?” Mr Granger said. “You told us a bit in your letters —” 

Ariel eyed the doorway nervously. She shoved a forkful of something with too much garlic powder on it into her mouth. 

“Er, yes,” Hermione gave Ariel a sideways glance. “I was mostly worried about Defense though, after the old professor left…”

“Have they found someone new for the Defense position?” asked Mrs Granger. 

“Yeah,” Ariel said, without thinking. “His name is Lockhart.” 

Hermione dropped her fork. It made such a clatter that Ariel jumped in her seat, her eyes shooting to the entrance. The blue-haired waitress gave Hermione new cutlery while Ariel tried to count backwards from ten, trying to find the soft glint of light on her Occlumency ocean. Snape only meant for her to use it when she slept, but sometimes, when she was angry or anxious, she tried to float away. She wasn’t sure it was going to do much good if Snape did actually show up, though. 

“The Gilderoy Lockhart?” Hermione asked, her face still red with embarrassment. Mr Granger was laughing into his glass while Mrs Granger smacked him with her napkin. 

Ariel popped another green bean into her mouth. “Is he famous or something?” 

“I’ve got all his books,” Hermione said, a faraway look in her eyes Ariel had never seen before. “He’s legendary — he’s just — you must read some when we get home, it’s really quite remarkable —” 

Ariel shrugged. “I’ve never heard of him.” 

“How’d you hear he was teaching at Hogwarts, then?” 

All three of the Grangers stared at her. Ariel’s stomach was performing major acrobatic feats. 

“Er,” she racked her brain for an excuse. “I think someone mentioned it at the end of term.” 

Hermione gave her A Look — one that told Ariel she knew exactly where she’d heard it. In the meantime, Ariel went back to shoveling food in her mouth and hoping to Merlin that Snape hadn’t decided to check on her early. He’d said a week, though, and he always kept his word on when he’d come and see her. Unless Snape had come for her birthday — no, he wouldn’t have, Snape definitely wasn’t the birthday type. He’d hated Christmas, for Merlin’s sake. 

“Well,” Mrs Granger said once they were done eating. “I could go for some dessert. What about you girls?” 

Ariel exchanged a look with Hermione, who was grinning for some reason. She looked around, wondering if she’d missed something or someone, and thinking about what dessert meant — she hadn’t had anything sweet since Hogwarts, and while Aunt Petunia was a horrible aunt, she was a wonderful cook, and some of the sweets she baked made Ariel’s mouth water. Not being able to eat any was nearly torture. 

The blue haired waitress appeared from behind her, placing down a cake in front of her. It had chocolate frosting with the words Happy Birthday Ariel in green frosting — her favorite color. There were twelve candles lit in a circle, flickering in the dim light of the restaurant. Mr and Mrs Granger smiled while Ariel stared uncomprehendingly for a moment. 

“Happy Birthday,” Hermione said, squeezing her hand. 

For a moment, her heart practically overflowing with happiness and gratitude, she had the strangest thought that something was off, something was missing, that the scene in front of her was incomplete. It almost felt like deja vu, but when Ariel tore her gaze from the candles, she felt silly.  

“Well?” Mrs Granger smiled at her. “You have to make a wish!” 

“Preferably before the wax melts onto the cake,” Mr Granger teased. 

Ariel shook off the not-sadness, and blew out the candles. It wasn’t until everyone was clapping that she realized she hadn’t actually wished anything, but as the blue-haired waitress began cutting the cake, she realized that she wouldn’t have wished for anything else. 

Twelve was off to a brilliant start, she thought. 

—----------

Severus Apparated to Petunia’s just after dinner. He stood at the end of the drive, as he always did, and waited for the girl’s face to peer out from behind the curtain. In his fist, he held the pocket watch. 

Are you alone?

There was no answer. Severus frowned, but tried again. She wouldn’t be expecting him — he’d told her a week, and it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours. 

If you don’t answer, I am coming in

He tapped his foot impatiently. The bedroom stayed dark and still, unlike the rest of the house. The girl would surely be confined to her bedroom if Petunia had guests, but she was far too stubborn to simply try and sleep through it. Even from the end of the drive, Severus could hear Petunia’s tinny laugher, the sound bouncing off his eardrums like metal on metal. It was a forced sound, one he’d only ever heard when she was being cruel. 

I’ve got to sit in my room and pretend I don’t exist 

Dumbledore owed him for letting those fucking scumbags live. If Severus had his way, the Muggles wouldn’t so much as think about causing that girl any inconvenience. They’d given her enough grief to last two lifetimes — just the thought of the wobbly handwriting in crayon in that damn cupboard — 

The seconds dragged on with no response. Severus began to wonder if this was the sort of petulant bullshit the students subjected one another too when they were cross with one another — the silent treatment. The girl had been upset with him leaving her for a week, and Severus hadn’t blamed her, but he did not want to give her false hope in case today’s meeting with Dumbledore hadn’t gone smoothly. Lily had wielded that particular tactic masterfully. Severus hadn’t been able to do much of anything when Lily was so angry that she refused to speak with him, and he’d known for a fact it had driven Potter mental. As they’d gotten older, Severus had wondered if Lily had known just what it had done to them both. 

This is your last chance

Nothing. 

You left her here, Conscience whispered. 

Severus let the front door fly open with much more force than necessary. It slammed against the wall, and there were several startled yelps from down the hall, just out of view. It sounded like they still had guests — excellent. 

He flew up the stairs and glared at the girl’s bedroom door, half expecting Miss Evans to be there, staring up at him in shock with those damn eyes and a wrinkled nose, but when he threw open her door, he found it cleared out, as though Miss Evans had never been here. 

Something hard and icy slid down into the pit of his stomach. He could feel his heart beating fast in his chest, slowly making its way up his throat. 

“What in the —” a man’s voice came from downstairs, one Severus didn’t recognize.

gone she was gone where where where

“Petunia,” came Dursley’s tight voice. “Might you check upstairs, dear?”

I hate it here she’d said, she’d told him and now she was gone

“No!” another woman’s voice said, high and shrill. “Call the police, for God’s sake —” 

There were several loud thuds. Severus couldn’t tell if it was the commotion downstairs or his heartbeat, maddeningly quick and urgent. When he got his hands on that girl, he was going to — 

There was someone standing behind him, then. Severus knew who it was instantly, and unlike last time, when he’d seen the look of shock and horror on her face and decided to twist the knife by calling her Lily’s childhood nickname, he felt nothing but hatred, the kind that made his stomach turn, made his molars itch. 

Petunia closed the door shut behind her. 

“Where is she?” Severus hissed. 

Petunia lifted her chin defiantly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

The edges of his vision began to shimmer, as sharp and jagged as glass. “Tell me right fucking now, or so help me —”

“You’ll what?” she challenged him. “That old man — the one in charge of your crackpot school — said you can’t lay a finger on us.” 

Severus bared his teeth. If he wasn’t ready to murder her, he might’ve considered it a smile. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

She went pale. “He swore! The girl won’t be allowed back here, that madman who murdered my sister is still roaming free —” 

Severus bit his tongue, wanting to twist that knife deeper. How ironic that she brought Lily into this, when it was because of Lily that Petunia loathed the girl. “Tell me what you’ve done with her.” 

“What I’ve done?” Petunia threw back at him, her words as sharp and pointed as daggers. “I have given that ungrateful brat a home for the past twelve years! I have lived in fear of you people, of what you can do! And you — God only knows what you’ve done.”

“I’d like to know what you mean by that.” 

“I’m not telling you a damn thing.” she snapped. “Get out of my house!” 

Severus snarled, flicking open the wardrobe wordlessly. The wood splintered on the top hinge, causing Petunia to flinch. There was nothing, not that there had been much to begin with. He took out the pocket watch, forcing out a point me, only to find that it read “laundry room.”

“She left, didn’t she?” Severus threw over his shoulder, pulling out the dresser drawers. “And you let her fucking leave like you did last year — you had explicit instructions for two damn months a year, if that —” 

“Someone came and took her,” said Petunia.

His heart stuttered. His insides felt like they were eating themselves, as if he were turning inside out. “Who?” 

They stared at each other for a long moment. Severus wondered if Lily had told Petunia why their friendship had ended. He almost wished she would mention it. Dumbledore might be more understanding about what he was about to do, if she did. 

“Get out of my house,” Petunia said again, and he could see her hands beginning to shake. 

Severus raised his wand. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“That girl will never step foot in my house again if you so much as point that thing at me,” Petunia eyed it warily, her eyes flitting about like an animal backed into a corner. 

“If she has been taken —“

“She went willingly!” 

His eyes narrowed. “And why would she have done that?”

“Perhaps it was to get away from the likes of you,” Petunia spat viciously. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, it seems.” 

He had to be careful. She was brazenly baiting him, and if she put two and two together about the girl’s parentage, she would never let the girl set foot in her home again. Loathed as Severus was to admit it, Miss Evans did need to spend time here, and without it, she would open to the Dark Lord’s influence and attacks. No — if Petunia knew he was the father, there would be nothing even Dumbledore could do to convince her. 

This time, he smiled. 

—---------

Hermione ran a comb through Ariel’s freshly washed hair. It felt nice to have had a shower that lasted longer than five minutes, and it was especially nice that she was finally away from the Dursleys again, in Hermione’s room. This was quite possibly the best birthday she’d ever had. 

She had a bunk bed with a purple bedspread. Ariel hadn’t pictured Hermione’s  room to look like this — she’d expected it to be nice, but she had been quite surprised to find that it wasn’t covered floor to ceiling in books. Mrs Granger told her they kept whatever Hermione hadn’t already read in the attic, which had caused Ariel to gawk at the built-in bookcases that were overflowing. They covered three of the four walls in the room. 

“Switch,” Hermione said, and Ariel took the comb and seated herself behind her. “Start from the bottom, there'll be less knots that way.” 

“I remember,” Ariel said, wringing the ends with a towel before she started. “Do you remember when Lavender used that hair-drying spell?” 

Her expression darkened. “And made me look like a pygmy puff?” 

She grinned. “I looked like the pygmy puff.” 

“Right, I forgot.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “She told me I looked like a poodle that needed a haircut.” 

“Lavender shouldn’t talk,” Ariel said dismissively. “She’s the one who puts bows in her hair, after all.” 

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “That’s horrible — you sound like Ron.” 

“He’s not always wrong.” 

“No,” Hermione admitted. “but you should have heard his plan to come and rescue you.”

A warm feeling enveloped Ariel. “There was a rescue plan?” 

“He was going to take his dad’s car with Fred and George —” 

“What!” 

Hermione winced. “Ow,” 

“Oops, sorry.” Ariel untangled the comb from the knot she’d pulled down on. “What car? The Weasleys have a car?” 

“A flying car.” Hermione didn’t sound thrilled with this detail. “They were going to fly it to your aunt’s. It was the twins’ idea, of course, but Ron was getting so worried that he was actually going to go through with it. That’s why I made Mum and Dad drive down, you all would’ve gotten into a load of trouble.” 

Ariel tried to picture Snape’s face if she’d gotten into a flying car with Fred and George. “I’m glad they didn’t. Aunt Petunia would’ve had a fit.” 

She was quiet for a moment. “Do you think your aunt was keeping the letters?” 

A fire ignited inside Ariel’s heart. “Maybe… I don’t see how, though. I was sending Hedwig to you.”

“What about mine? I don’t have an owl… I must’ve sent two dozen through the Muggle mail. Ron was using Percy’s owl, I know, but it’s odd that neither were getting to you…” her eyebrows furrowed together in thought. “But your aunt and uncle wouldn’t have known to look for an owl.” 

It was strange, but keeping letters from Ariel wasn’t exactly abnormal behavior for the Dursleys. Just last summer they’d nearly driven themselves mental trying to keep the Hogwarts letters from her, and the more Ariel thought about it, owls probably caused Uncle Vernon to have some sort of epilelptic fit. When he’d caught sight of Hedwig, his eyes had nearly bulged out of his head. 

“Yeah,” Ariel stopped brushing. “Weird.” 

Hermione turned around to face her. “Have you seen… him?” 

Ariel didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. “He comes every few days.” 

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “That often.”

It was a statement, not a question. Ariel felt her stomach knot around itself. 

“He doesn’t trust Aunt Petunia.” Ariel picked at a loose thread on the sheets. “They hate each other — a lot.” 

Hermione cocked her head. “Why?”

“They didn’t get along as kids, I guess.” 

“Right,” she murmured. “I forgot they must’ve known each other, too.” 

“It was important for me to be there,” Ariel sighed. “After what happened I… I don’t know. He didn’t like it much, though.” 

Hermione pursed her lips. “Did he?”

Ariel blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Did you tell him you weren’t getting any letters?” 

She shook her head. “No, it never came up. He never stayed for long and always made it sound like he was busy.” 

Snape wouldn’t have cared anyway. He probably would have told her to stop whining, or just Occlude away the sadness or something. She couldn’t tell Hermione that, though. They never talked about Snape, not since their argument last year, right before Voldemort had — 

(he hadn’t cared about her birthday, either)

Ariel ran her hands through Hermione’s hair — it was smooth and knot-free, but it was already beginning to frizz. “Want me to braid it?”

Hermione nodded. “I can do yours too, if you’d like.” 

She made a face. “I think mine’s too short.”

“It’s longer than it was,” Hermione gave her a reassuring pat. “I still can’t tell if your hair is curly or not.” 

Ariel shrugged. “Does it matter?”

She gave her a pointed look. “Straight is much easier to manage. I speak from experience” 

“Lavender was always trying to make hers curly.” 

Hermione just shook her head. “Lavender worries about the wrong sort of things.” 

“My mum’s hair was sort of wavy,” she paused. “Snape’s is straight, though. I wish mine would grow out already.” 

Hermione was quiet as she started on the right side of Ariel’s head. “You haven’t talked about them as much.” 

Ariel felt the ends of her fingertips go cold. Something pulsed through her like an electric shock. “I don’t really know what to say about them, if I’m being honest.” 

“You can talk to me about it,” Hermione paused. “if you want to, that is.” 

there is something your mother left you

I need you to keep her safe 

She pulled away so that she was facing Hermione, who let the brush settle into her lap. Her amber eyes searched Ariel’s — not in the same way they had when they’d argued about Snape, when Hermione had told her maybe it was best to stay away from him, but Ariel couldn’t find it in herself to tell her everything. She hadn’t told Hermione and Ron about the Pensieve, and she didn’t think she ever would. There was something private and dear — maybe even sacred, in a way. Maybe that was why she and Snape had never discussed it, no matter how badly Ariel wanted to know what had happened between them. 

“There’s nothing to say,” Ariel said quietly. “I think he’s… trying.” 

Hermione nodded, but her eyebrows were furrowed together. “Well, I’d hope so.” 

They didn’t discuss it further, and Hermione managed to mangle Ariel’s hair into two very messy braids, but they were braids nonetheless. Hermione set her own hairspray while Ariel unpacked the clothes she’d brought with her from the Dursleys. Hermione had set aside a drawer for her in her dresser, and soon, they were in bed. Ariel took the bottom bunk and Hermione read Lord of the Rings aloud until her voice became a light snore. 

Ariel, however, wasn’t even a little tired. She settled herself by the window facing the street. There was a streetlamp just outside, right next to Mr Granger’s car. Ariel could hear the hum of the bulb as a soft summer breeze tickled at her face. 

It was when Ariel thought about the fact that Snape hadn’t come then something melted out of the shadows. She nearly fell back onto the bed, but she found her feet carrying her down the stairs, her heart thumping as loud as a timpani. It was a wonder it didn’t wake up Hermione or her parents. 

When she got to the front door, she stood still for a long moment, dread taking hold in her sternum. He stood at the end of the drive, the same way he did at Privet Drive. When she finally made her feet move forward, she found it extraordinarily difficult to do so. 

Snape said nothing, but his face said more than enough. His eyes were bloodshot, as though he hadn’t slept, and his face was white as bone. He didn’t even seem to be blinking, his eyes burning below the streetlamp. 

“I thought you said a week.” Ariel wanted it to sound more accusatory, but it came across as the leadup to an apology. She silently cursed herself, forcing herself to meet his eyes. 

The lightbulb in the lamp exploded above them. Ariel flinched. 

Snape was silent. His glare made the hairs on her arms stand up straight. 

“How did you know—” 

“Hold out your hand.” Snape ordered, his voice as hollow as the hole it caused to open up in her chest. She had forgotten how scary he could make himself sound. She had forgotten that sometimes, he was someone to fear.  

Ariel did as he asked, and he dropped the coin into her waiting palm.

“I’m sorry,” she began, but before she could tell him everything, he interrupted. 

“Go back inside, Miss Evans,” said Snape coldly. 

He started to stalk away. A terrible ache gripped at her, one she tried to shake off, but before she could dismiss it, she was stumbling forward, reaching out — 

“No,” she said. “please.”

Ariel expected Snape to pull his arm free, but his fingers curled around hers for a split second before he went completely still. One black eye glared out at her from the curtain of hair. 

She tried to form the sentence that had been on the tip of her tongue, but it wouldn’t come out. It was stuck behind her teeth, needing a way out, wanting to tell him that she had wanted to leave the Dursleys the second she’d arrived but knew that she had to stay after what had happened. It had been exhausting being alone, which didn’t make much sense because she’d had all the time in the world in Dudley’s second bedroom for days and days on end. She’d wanted him to do what Hermione had done. Deep down, she might’ve been happier, but no, that was mental — 

“Well?” Snape asked. The street lamps that hadn’t been harmed buzzed, as though they were eagerly awaiting her answer. 

Ariel let go of his hand. She didn’t want him to leave, but she had missed her friends so terribly, he wouldn’t understand — 

She tried to muster together a glare that would rival his. “It’s my birthday, you know.”

His expression went completely blank.  

“Bet you didn’t know that,” she squared her chin. “Did you?” 

“I don’t see why it matters.” he snarled. 

“Hermione knew,” Ariel shot back. “That's why she came.” 

“How fortunate for you, then.” Snape sneered. “Be certain not to waste her time in the same manner you’ve wasted mine.” 

She flushed red, her temper rising. “I never asked you to come!” 

“But you knew I would,” his eyes glittered dangerously. “that’s why you were waiting, wasn’t it?” 

“I couldn’t sleep —” 

“That is a child’s excuse.” 

“I’m not a child!” 

“Gallivanting across the damn continent without so much as a word proves otherwise.” Snape took a step closer, his hands knotted in his cloak, like he was holding them back. “Running away for a second time — you have no idea what could have happened —” 

I knew her better than you ever will

I hate it here

“You said a week,” Ariel tried to shout back, but suddenly, it was taking all of her strength to bite back tears. “I couldn’t stand another week there.” 

Snape seemed to shrink, or maybe the night had gotten darker, the streetlamp’s glow softer. The anger seemed to swell back into him instantly, the same way waves rushed the shore. Ariel was certain he was going to let her have it, or at the very least tell her to get lost again, but instead, he pivoted on his heel and stormed away a few feet. He kept his back to her, but his shoulders were nearly touching his ears. Something told Ariel that she’d thoroughly exasperated him. Maybe she’d broken him a little, because it felt an awful lot like Snape had just run away from her. 

She followed after him and stood next to him. He looked like he wanted to turn the streetlamp into a pretzel. 

Ariel wiped her face with her sleeve. “I won’t see you again, will I?”

He did not look at her. “Not until term begins.”

Her face fell. “I don’t understand why.”

“We cannot be seen together.” he looked very tired all of a sudden. “We’ve discussed this.”

“But you’ve never told me why.”

He said nothing for a long moment. “Because I do not wish to tell you why, Miss Evans.” 

“That’s not fair!” 

His eyes snapped down to her, endlessly black and void of pity. “Life isn’t fair.” 

“Then why are you here?” Ariel countered — don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry. 

Snape grabbed her chin roughly. She wanted to pull away, but she felt stuck to where she was standing, pinned down by his almost cruel glint in his eyes. His thumb swept across her cheek and across her temple. 

“You know why I’m here,” he said. 

She reached forward but Snape had already pulled away —

and he was gone. 

Ariel stared where he had stood. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. More lights were turning on in the houses around them, dogs barking and muted, confused voices. Her chest felt tight and uncomfortable, like she wanted to scream and never stop, but she couldn’t. She shouldn’t — she should have been happy, but she wasn’t, all because Snape was terrible and awful and cruel — 

But he’d come. He’d come to see her, to make sure she was okay. Not a week later, but that very night. 

Hermione was waiting in the doorway, just around the bend in the stairs when Ariel went back inside. She stopped, not knowing what to say, not wanting to say anything at all, but Hermione just gave her a knowing look. 

“I’m fine,” Ariel lied. “Everything's fine.”

Hermione reached forward and hugged her tight. 

And then the bathroom light clicked on. In front of the sink sat a creature that looked like he was wearing an old pillowcase. 

“Ariel Evans!” it said. “So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, ma’am. Such an honor it is…”