Jamie’s mind swam with questions, so many questions. Her fingers gripped the bark tighter, cutting into the soft flesh of her tawny palm. Bright green eyes shone with not only confusion- but horror at what she was witnessing.

She didn’t want to believe her own experience, gooseflesh prickling up her arm. Hermione’s warm, comforting grip was the only thing grounding her to earth. She was dizzy, lightheaded as she stared at an earlier version of herself from across the frozen lake.

Black wraiths of jagged cloth, which had formerly swooped down in groups to consume any happy memories she had left, were now fleeing from a cerebral light, like moths to a flame.

The version of her beaten and bruised, hallowed and clinging to a limp body of an Azkaban prisoner, looked upon the source of the dementors repellent with awe.

There, across the dark mirror of ice, a little ways from where Jamie currently hid, stood a magnificent doe.

It was a patronus, fully corporeal, something she had been trying to achieve all year. It wasn’t the animal made of pure light, tossing her head back proudly, that really shook Jamie- although sparks of jealousy prickled among her torrent of other emotions.

It was who cast the damn thing- the pillar of black robes lurking among the shadows, twilight providing the perfect camouflage.

Someone Jamie happily thought wanted her dead, someone who would turn her over to Voldemort himself. That was a comforting mindset, because he hated her Dad just as much- so logically they had to be mortal enemies.

Thats how it had been since first year, and Jamie was perfectly content to stay in her bubble of Gryffindor glory and Slytherin rivalry.

So why was that pale visage, illuminated by the thread of white coming from his wand, glaring with hardened determination at her other self, giving off the illusion he was trying to protect her?

She snorted through her trance of bewilderment. Snape, protecting her?

Yet the events unfolding right in front of her contradicted even that. Everything she had once thought of the dungeon bat was brutally shattered.

Jamie’s entire body tensed with an uncomfortable shiver, like a cat getting thrown into water.

It was only when Hermione started to tug her did she move, otherwise she might’ve stayed gawking for weeks.

“Jamie-! We have to go! He’ll see us!” Hermione whispered harshly, and Jamie suddenly made the connection that her friend was also seeing this, which offered a minuscule amount of comfort.

Hermione would know what to do.

She always knew.

Jamie’s battered reeboks crunched on the leaves as they fled the scene, but with all that had happened today, she just decided to congratulate herself on actually being able to force her limbs into motion.

One thing was for sure: She was getting answers from Snape one way or another.

Jamie’s heart crumpled, the memory of Buckbeak flying into the horizon with her only connection to who she could’ve been, replaying over and over in her head. 

What her life could’ve been like, had her parents not been killed. 

She sighed, and glanced at a moving picture, a snapshot of red hair and gleaming glasses, laughing at each other and then back at the camera. 

It was her favorite, and one of her only pictures of James and Lily Potter. It was propped up on her sturdy oak side table, and she usually caught a glimpse before she left the dorm room.

It strengthened her resolve, to throw herself at her studies so one day, she would be ready. 

She would face the man who butchered her parents head-on, without fear. Like a true Gryffindor.

However, currently it didn’t inspire such feelings. Right now, Jamie just wallowed in her own pity- something she didn’t like to do often.

Her hand twitched, and she scooted over on the side of the bed so she was closer to the frame, swiping it off the varnished surface. 

She rubbed a tanned thumb over her Father’s face, finding something so familiar in that crooked smile. 

Second Year, she tried to mimic her dad’s expression one evening, just to feel closer. Her face practically glowed when Ron absently commented how much she looked like James with that grin.  

They were little moments, things that barely meant anything, but nevertheless- it was all she had. 

“Jamie! We’re going to be late for breakfast!” Ron’s urgent voice hollered through the door, startling the girl out of her thoughts.

She laughed, a barking one that burst from surprise. 

Of course Ron’s agenda revolves around every meal of the day. 

“Really, Ronald. You’d think we’re missing a Ministry Meeting.” Hermione’s muffled disappointment dripped off Ron’s immediate offense. 

Jamie’s dour mindset had successfully been shelved by her best friends, and she set the photo back in its spot before jumping from her bed. 

Sun streamed through the dormitory windows, and her mood heightened with the reminder of Quidditch practice later. It was certainly a great day for it. 

“Coming!” She responded, and scrambled out the door. She almost bowled through a familiar head of red hair, who looked ready to yell again.

Ron squawked when Jamie’s elbow found purchase in his stomach, and he stumbled against the stone railing of the balcony. 

Hermione rolled her eyes from the top of the spiral staircase, and sighed. 

“Oi! Watch it!” He sulked, and rubbed his middle. 

Jamie shared Hermione’s exasperation, and motioned to the empty bridge that connected the two dorms.

“Ron, maybe if you weren’t right on the door, I wouldn’t run into you.” She pointed out, and skipped over to Hermione, her stomach growling. Now that Ron had mentioned it, she was ravenous. 

It was almost the end of the year, and exams were coming up fast. She needed the extra waffles. 

“Come on, Ron! Let’s go!” Jamie urged, Hermione falling into quick succession behind her as she made her way down to the common room. 

Red and gold assaulted her vision pleasantly as she crossed the cozy room, her real home for most of the year. The fire was crackling, as it usually did in chilly mornings. Luckily, the robes students wore helped with the cold castle. Only a few Gryffindors were still found lounging in the couches or doing work on the soft carpets. 

Jamie must’ve been up in the dorms longer than she thought. 

The Golden Trio made haste after that, going out the portrait and racing down the stone bricked halls, following the mouthwatering smell. 

They made an unnecessarily public entrance, with the Great Hall’s doors being closed. Most simply turned back to their food, but Malfoy had to send a disgusted sneer Jamie’s way from the Slytherin table. Most sitting next to him followed suit.

Jamie rolled her eyes, but otherwise ignored the normal treatment from snakes. 

It was the head of raven hair at the very front of the candle-lit expanse that made her pause. 

She recovered quickly enough to escape the suspicion of her posse, and the group continued to their seat at the Gryffindor table.

She had wisely not told Ron about the shocking revelations both she and Hermione had experienced just a few nights ago, but with her plan to confort Snape- she felt the need to loop Ron into everything.

And both of them into her new game plan, as she had not digressed her scheme to Hermione yet either.

Hitting two birds with one stone.

Sitting down, Weasley immediately started to pile food onto his plate, ignoring Hermione’s disappointment.

After two years of this, it has basically become habit. 

Hermione picked out some fruit and a light serving of milk to start the day off, and Jamie watched as she meticulously arranged her food.

Carrying a smirk at her friend’s perfectionist qualities, Jamie gathered a portion akin to Ron’s, knowing she would need fuel for practice later. 

“You on for a quick round of wizards chess before practice, Jamie?” Ron asked with a mouthful of egg. 

“Actually, I need to talk to you guys about that.” Jamie replied, seeing no better avenue to start the difficult conversation ahead.

Hermione set down her fork to Jamie’s left, signaling she was respectfully paying attention.

Ron, predictably, did no such thing, simply gave Jamie side-looks.

“I need to have a talk with Snape after classes today.” She started, causing Ron to immediately wrinkle his nose. It was a knee-jerk reaction around most Gryffindors when talking about the mean dungeon bat. 

“Why?” He scowled, incredulous.

Jamie glanced to Hermione, hoping she got the connection.

Hermione, being Hermione, returned her prediction with glittering eyes- giving no doubt that she knew the reason.

“You remember the time turner thing, right Ron?” Jamie swiveled her head back to the redhead, watching his eyebrows furrow.

“‘Course I do. I was in the hospital, ‘member? You went without me.” He sulked, clearly still a little rubbed about that.

“Something else happened, while we were trying to right things.” Jamie said slowly, still baffled herself. This only fueled her desire to confront the potions master today. She had put it off for long enough. 

“Me and Hermione saw Snape use his Patronus to save me and Sirius.” Jamie summarized. She really didn’t want to revisit the cold, gaping despair of that memory- and it seemed to be enough for Ron anyway. 

His light eyes flashed with the same disbelief that Jamie’s had, and with egg yolk dripping from the corner of his mouth, the ginger sighed.

“Mate, pulling my leg this early in the morning?” 

“It’s true, Ron. Why would we lie about this?” Hermione swooped in for backup, her gaze steeled. 

Weasley shrugged. “Dunno. You really expect me to believe the greasy git saved Jamie? I’m convinced he hates her more than anyone.” 

Jamie shook her head, putting her elbows on the table and leaning forward. The steaming plate or food, left untouched, was pushed away. Her messy, dark brown hair fringed on her vision.

“That’s why I need to talk to him. Ron, you know me, and you know how I feel about Snape. Do you think this is any easier for me to admit? To talk about?” Jamie reasoned, pushing her slipping glasses back up. She was sick to her stomach every time she thought about it, her brain twisted with different explanations. 

Ron scraped the last bit of food from his fork. His undaunted loyalty shone through hesitance at the absurd tale. Jamie had her doubts that he found truth in their story, but at least he was supporting. 

“Alright. I guess you have a point, but why? Snape isn’t exactly the charitable type.” Ron followed-up, asking more questions that Jamie wanted closure on herself. 

“I don’t know. I intend to find out.” She replied grimly, with all the joy of a Gryffindor walking into another verbal lashing from the Head of House.

“Want us to come?” Ron offered with a flatness that clearly conveyed his reluctance. 

Jamie didn’t blame him. He almost got it as bad as her in potions.

“No, I want to do it alone.” She replied, glazing over the sigh of relief beside her. 

Hermione’s gentle hand offered comfort.

“Are you sure?” Her soft, brown eyes were worried. Jamie was more distressed about this development than she’d like to admit, and Hermione caught on, like she always did. 

Jamie gave her an unconvincing smile, and nodded stiffly.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be back for practice this afternoon.” At that, Ron gave her a playful shove. 

“You better! Slytherin needs to get taught a lesson in the next match!” He fired, making Jamie laugh. 

They rose from their seats, filing out of the great hall with other students, ready to attend classes. 

“That games’ as good as ours!” She exclaimed, Ron cheering beside her. 

Jamie breezed through her morning lessons with ease, Ron’s funny faces in Charms making it go even faster than normal. 

Much to Hermione’s chagrin, both of them took zero notes on the lecture, too busy trying not to disrupt class by laughing loudly. 

Malfoy was blessedly in the front row, too busy scribbling away with his quill to taddle on them as he had so many times before. Jamie was convinced his favorite pastime was devising new ways to get them in trouble- and with some professors, it took little.

Unfortunately, that unnamed minority was her next class, and it rushed at her faster than she would’ve liked. An unfortunate consequence to having an easy day. 

It was her last class, but it really felt like the chopping block. On top of the hard time Snape was bound to give her for the most minuscule things, she had to hang after for more cheerful conversation. 

And she had no idea how it was going to go, or the way Snape would take this information. 

Jamie was even unnerved for the answers she would receive. She couldn’t even fathom how he would explain- if at all.

All the unknowns of that future situation made her  extremely nervous, so she pushed it to the back of her mind. No use getting bent out of shape, she reasoned with herself, as class came to an eager end. She packed up her blank parchment and quill, trailing a head of bushy hair out.

Dwelling on things was hard anyway, especially with her two friends bickering across from her, all the way down to the dungeons. 

“You are not paying attention! No wonder you always need my help!” Ron scoffed at that, rolling his eyes as if Hermione was baseless.

“Shove off it, ‘mione!” He retorted, the lack of a proper argument displaying an obvious truth in the former statement. 

Jamie fought off the urge to roll her eyes with incredible valor. 

The temperature dipped as they descended further into the castle, rounding stone corridors like lamb to the slaughter. 

Ron and Hermione’s capacity to argue astounded even Jamie, and she found herself continuing to be an unwilling third party, even as they entered Snape’s classroom. 

Luckily, the elusive man wasn’t even there yet, otherwise it would’ve been a quick silencer to Hermione’s chastisement. 

Jamie almost found herself wishing he would stride in dramatically, robes billowing per usual. If only to silence the pointlessness of her mate’s verbal sparring. 

All three of them knew Ron would never be a golden student, and Hermione would never stop reprimanding him for it- leaving the situation at an impasse. 

Jamie sarcastically pondered if it would ever get old.

The girl got her almost-wish promptly after that last thought, a bat descending on the chatter of the classroom, having emerged from his potion stores. 

It was incredibly effective at exterminating all noise, including Ron and Hermione- to Jamie’s relief. 

That fizzled out quickly when she recognized the piss-poor mood Snape was in. 

Dark circles, more pronounced than usual, dragged under his coal-black eyes. 

They raked the classroom with a brittle patience, and all but the Slytherins shrunk back. 

He sneered, turning up his hooked nose, and drawing his black garments around his middle. 

Sometimes Jamie wondered if he had any other color in his closet.

“Brewing instructions are on the board. I understand most of you dunderheads are incapable of literacy, but attempt to follow the exceedingly facile steps.” And with that scathing remark, Potions class commenced. 

Jamie exhaled through her nose as her and Ron split off into their normal brewing group. No words were exchanged, and Hermione turned to Neville- the hazardous student next to her in the first row of cauldrons. 

Jamie had thought of trying to switch seats to the back multiple times, especially because Snape always started with them first- but she had a feeling the Professor wouldn’t be very happy with that decision.

So, she waited for the inevitable breathing down the back of her neck as Ron scampered to get ingredients from a table in the front.

Ron came back with a handful of concerning plants and parts, a few things Jamie had never even seen before. 

She looked over to the front, adjusting her glasses and furrowing her brow as she read what they were supposed to do.

As per usual, it was never as simple as Snape made it seem- and there were a lot of things missing from his “facile steps”.

First of all, he never really specified how to cut certain things, and since that was a pretty big distinction in Potions, Jamie hoped she guessed right.

To be fair, they were supposed to research the process themselves outside of class, but Jamie didn’t have the time. 

So, she took a flying guess, and crushed the newt’s eyes into a pulp on her neighboring desk. 

Ron was dicing something up on the opposite end of the caldron beside her, and she hoped he took the time to read the directions too.

Ron wasn’t great in potions already, and having Snape as the teacher inflamed his hatred for the subject. 

“Ron, whatcha got there?” Jamie asked, gathering up her newt eyes. They went into the cauldron first. 

“Lake kelp. Did you put the eyes in yet?” He asked, freckled face briefly glancing at her with a handful of green, slimy mass. 

“Yeah. It says we have to stir counterclockwise for 10 minutes.” She replied diligently, aware of eyes burning into the back of her skull.

Looks like it was their turn for the metaphorical execution of self esteem. 

He was certainly timely, as Jamie almost started to enjoy the mundanity.

Ron had just plopped the kelp in when a shadow came to a halt in front of their desks. 

Both her and Ron shared a glance, and then promptly ignored the Professor. Sometimes, silence could help them skid by. Ron found the lip of the pot very interesting, while Jamie stirred slowly.

However, Snape was not in a good mood, as previously observed by Jamie. 

“Potter. Are you lethargic?” He snapped, crossing his slender arms over his chest. 

Jamie stared into the yellowish-goop. “No sir.”

“Then I wonder why your spoon is practically immobile. Is that what you call ‘stirring’?”  He hissed, anger slithering into each letter. 

Jamie’s fingers tightened on the wooden handle.

“Well sir, you never specified on the board what speed to stir it at.” She replied, an edge building to her tone. Jamie reminded herself to stay calm. Her attitude would likely affect how forthcoming Snape would be later.

Snape made a small cooing nose. “It seems as though Miss Potter needs me to hold her hand,” His thick mocking was prevalent, and Jamie thought he must have cosmic power to push her buttons. 

Ron growled, and Jamie was quick to shoot him a small shake of her head. He was a guaranteed detention near every time he opened his mouth around Snape. 

“Something the matter, Mr. Weasley?” The Professor’s tone was quiet, and one could even mistake it for pleasant. One who didn’t know him very well. 

Jamie’s own glare made Ron shrink back from whatever he was about to throw at the pale, pinched visage of Snape’s face. 

“No, P’ffesor.” Ron muttered, and Jamie was pleased at his restraint. Maybe Snape was onto something with those glares of his.

The potions master crinkled his dark brows, and his lips pulled into something between a frown and a sneer. Jamie guessed he was probably surprised at the lack of fire from them that was usual. 

“Stir faster.” He spit out, and left to hound poor Neville- an undoubtedly more amusing endeavor for him. 

Both Jamie and Ron let out a breath, the oppressive weight of the Slytherin’s presence being lifted. 

“Greasy git.” Ron muttered, and his preparations for the potions were noticeably jerkier. 

“Ron, leave the frog legs alone. They didn’t do anything to you.” Jamie teased, watching Ron practically chop them into a grind. 

The redhead scoffed at that, but the mood was improving the more that Snape was absent. 

“Sure you still wanna talk to this guy after class?” Ron whispered, looking at Jamie like she had lost her mind. 

He dumped the frog legs in, and Jamie’s faster stir incorporated the ingredients quickly. 

“Gotta. I’m not gonna just ignore the fact that he-“ She took a quick glance at Snape, watching his face flash with a sick sort of satisfaction as Neville’s eyes glistened with new tears. 

She felt bad for Hermione, who was clearly the one making sure the potion didn’t explode. 

“-helped me? Saved my life?” The words felt weird rolling off her tongue when she knew who they addressed, and her pride withered at admitting he had likely prevented her from experiencing the dementors kiss. 

It didn’t get any easier the more she acknowledged it, if anything it got stranger. 

Ron seemed to think so too, because he shuttered at the thought. “I hope you hallucinated or something, mate.” 

Jamie didn’t answer. That made two of them. 

The rest of class they were blessed with no more interference, perhaps by the grace of god. 

It was only when Gryffindors was practically trampling each-other to get out of there, Ron included, that Jamie felt all of her anxiety and anticipation come to a head. 

Snape had swept behind his desk, quill angrily scratching grades that would crumble first-years. 

Hermione lingered, drifting over to Jamie. She looked frazzled, as she often did when grouped with Neville. 

“I can stay.” She whispered. Jamie shook her head as she ordered her parchment. 

“Thanks Hermione, really. But I want to do this by myself.” There was a surge of gratitude for her friend, and Jamie smiled warmly. 

Hermione matched her warmth, and gathered all her materials. “Good Luck.” She breathed as she brushed past, and Jamie let the sentiment hang in the air.

She was going to need it.

It was incredible how quick Jamie’s courage left her when the oppressing silence of the classroom settled. 

She reminded herself that she was, in fact, a Gryffindor. 

“Miss Potter, I realize you have difficulty forming coherent thought, but the door is that way.” A cutting remark from the sturdy desk in the front effectively sliced through any growing tension. 

It almost reinvigorated her query, that shot of annoyance helping her hesitance wither. It was replaced with a challenging mood. 

The dripping condescension that Snape always addressed her with had that effect- she needed to prove him wrong in some way, or at least counter it.

Her knuckles strained against her handful of books, and she shuffled them to one arm. 

“I’m aware, sir. I actually had a question.” Jamie replied smartly, moving out from the isle of cauldron and desk pairs, opting for standing a fair distance from the front of Snape’s desk.

It was stacked tall with various essays that she guessed he loved to give the lowest grades possible on. Unless they were Sytherin.

Snape glared at her from under his curtain of shoulder-length hair. He had been hunched over slightly, but straightened at her admission. 

“And what could Dumbledore’s Golden Girl possibly have to incessantly bother me with?” He sneered, silky voice dripping with as much distaste as she felt. Jamie guessed this was the longest time she held a conversation with the Potions Master that didn’t end in punishment.

“Professor, do you remember the night with Sirius Black?” Jamie asked, almost immediately realizing how stupid of a question that was as soon as it left her lips.

Of course he did, everyone who was there did. It was the sort of experience you didn’t blow off. 

Snape’s obsidian pools gleamed with a dangerous curiosity.

“Perhaps a better question would be where this conversation could possibly lead?” He replied smoothly, setting down his raven quill slowly and folding his arms over the surface of his desk. 

Jamie licked her lips out of habit, and scratched the back of her wild hair. She was stalling. 

Snape was right, where could this lead?

“You saved my life, sir. With the dementors at the lake. I saw it.” Jamie blurted before she could spiral into another web of doubt.

There. It was out. She felt weirdly lighter, and a smile threatened her lips.

Before she observed the plaid, stiff face that Snape had contorted into. He was already pale- almost translucent on a normal day. 

Now the Professor was a ghastly white. 

His lips pursed, straining until there was no pink left. 

“You lie, Miss Potter. I do not appreciate such an outlandish fantasy.” Snape hissed, his crooked teeth gritting as he bared them at her, like a cornered animal. There was a clear threat here.

One Jamie glazed over, because now she was more confused than ever. She had expected a lot of different reactions, a few with ending with headstones, but feigned ignorance was not one. 

“I’m not! I saw you there! You cast a doe Patronus! It scared the dementors before they could kiss me and Sirius!” Jamie exclaimed, furrowing her brows and holding an unyielding glare with the Professor. A nagging voice in the back of her head- survival instinct perhaps- pleaded her to leave it here. Don’t push it.

She was pushing it. 

Snape’s eyes widened a fraction, only a fraction. There was a crack in that stony mask of anger, but it vanished just as it appeared.

Jamie caught it, and she clung to the foothold. 

“Professor Snape, you hid behind one of the trees across from us. I saw your robes.” Jamie replied, blissfully acting like she hadn’t used the time turner, and that was virtually the only way this situation occurred. 

She felt like explaining her jump through timelines would only unnecessarily complicate things, which was the last thing Jamie needed right now. 

Snape rose from his seat now, chair scraping against the chilly stone floor. 

He leaned across the desk, dark eyes like slits. 

Snape’s long, spindly fingers splayed across the wood like spider legs. 

“Potter, I will not repeat myself again. I dislike liars.” Snape murmured, and when he got this quiet, Jamie knew you’d have a 75% chance of getting your innards spooned if you didn’t leave. 

Luckily, she was no longer quite as intimidated by the man. Three years of steady bullying wore on her, and his looks didn’t have the same effect as first year. 

“That’s a little contradictory, don’t you think? I’m not the one having you on.” Jamie shot back, her temper finally snapping. What was the point of all this? Reading his stature, she could take a pretty good inference that he also knew she was right.

Why the farce?

She never really got to think that over, because before Jamie could open her mouth for another fiery retort, Snape had his wand out. 

White-knuckled, he pointed it right between her eyes, nostrils flared. “Legilimens.” 

Jamie’s panicked shock was amplified by the unfamiliar spell, and she vaguely could feel her legs stumbling back.

Her head felt like it was being shuffled through, her memories a deck of cards. It was foreign and unpleasant, like an invasive presence. 

A cold cleaver chopped through all her musings, and suddenly her year flashed before her eyes- like a slideshow. 

Studying with Ron and Hermione.

Charming lemon juice in Malfoy’s goblet during study hall. 

Watching Neville get his pants caught in the portrait door.

It wasn’t without a pattern though. Jamie could feel it getting closer to that one night, and her heart beat faster at the possibility of getting exposed. 

Hermione wasn’t even supposed to touch a time turner, let alone taking Jamie along. Dumbledore had allowed this in total secrecy, and Snape was the last person on her list to confide in. 

Closer and closer, that blade got, making Jamie frantic.

She did everything to keep it away, trying to think of other things, clogging its path.

It barely had an effect, and in desperation, Jamie’s fight or flight response spasmed. 

“No-stop-“ She breathed, aware sweat was dripping down her temples

“I said- STOP!” Jamie yelled, and pushed her thoughts with all she had- imagining a Roman legionnaire with his impenetrable shield. 

Two things happened- one of which was completely unexpected. 

She successfully shoved the invasion out of her mind, which was the biggest relief. 

Then, she was thrust into an unfamiliar environment, the strangest part being that she could compare it to an out-of-body experience. 

Literally, Jamie was baffled by the fact she didn’t seem to be in her body anymore- or her conscious wasn’t. 

Her eyes were flooded with a summer on the Hogwarts grounds as she looked through unfamiliar black fringe. 

Grass swayed with the breeze, and black locks clung to her cheeks. 

She felt her lips pull into a weak smile as a freckled face laughed. 

Red, bright red tresses were braided and ran down the front of her Gryffindor robes in two ropes.

The girl reached forward and shoved Jamie back lightly. 

“Stop it, Sev! That’s not funny!” She giggled, and then those eyes opened for the first time. 

Jamie could feel her brain explode. 

Identical green met hers, glittering with affection like emeralds. 

So many questioned flooded her head at once. This had to be a memory, there was no other explanation. 

But who was ‘Sev’?

Jamie’s knotted stomach certainly knew the answer. 

Before Jamie could soak up any information further, she was brutally yanked from wherever she had been- although based on what she had just witnessed she had a dark suspicion- and promptly tripped into the front of a cauldron, almost bowling over herself. 

She had to take a minute to recalibrate her limbs, and after a spell like that, she was glad she didn’t wretch off to the side. It was extremely disorienting, almost like using the floo for the first time. 

She also found she was damp with perspiration, pointing to the fact it was also physically draining. 

For a second, all Jamie did was pant heavily and stare up at the ceiling, practically lying on the lip of the cauldron. 

It was dead silent. 

Hesitantly, after she had satiated her lungs, Jamie dipped her focus back down.

Snape was shaking, leaning heavily against his desk, not unlike she was. 

His hair obscured his face, leaving his current state a mystery, and she impulsively gave into temptation. After having nothing but snapshots, a tangible memory of one parent had her practically reeling with a tidal wave of emotion. 

Jealousy, that somehow her most hated Professor possessed memories of her parents, something she could never have. 

Elation, that even if it wasn’t her, Lily Evans had regarded her with something near love. 

Confusion. Why did her Mother and Snape know each other? What was their relationship? Why hadn’t he said anything?

The last one, she retracted- because Snape wasn’t exactly open with personal issues.

“Was- was that my mum?” Jamie whispered finally, shakily pushing off the support of the black metal. 

Miraculously, her books were still safe in the crook of her arm. She wondered how that happened. 

“Get out.” It was icy, and so quiet Jamie struggled to make out at first. Snape was still hunched over, trembling like a branch in the wind. 

“But-You knew my mum!” Jamie said, cringing at how vulnerable she sounded. Scraps of her parents were scattered around her life, and she begged for them like a starving pesant. 

A sharp intake of breath. 

“Do you not comprehend basic English, Potter?” Snape spat, this time a little louder. His hands balled into shaking fists, and his head swiveled to regard her.

She thanked Merlin she didn’t soil her stockings.

Snape looked absolutely irate, the sharp angles of his face strained to the point of extremity.

His obsidian irises flooded with such frosted fury, she had already started towards the door, Gryffindor courage be damned. 

“Get. OUT!” He shrieked, and an unsteady finger jabbed at the door.

Jamie didn’t even need to be told. She was fleeing, yanking open the heavy oak door and bolting out of the dungeon like a dragon was on her heels.

She wouldn’t be surprised if Snape started breathing fire, after that debacle.

And somehow, Jamie left with more questions than she had started with. 

Snape, to Jamie’s immense annoyance, was avoiding her.

Jamie certainly had no cozy feelings for the man, but this time it was different. Instead of dishing out detention at the slightest misdemeanor, Snape acted like he couldn’t get her out of his classroom fast enough.

It had been roughly two weeks since her disastrous confrontation, with not one of their infamous spitting matches occurring. Not only had Ron and Hermione noticed, Neville had pointed out the strange behavior.

That’s when she knew it had gotten too obvious, and her hope of simply brushing it off dissipated.

Originally, she too, was horrified at how she acted. When she got back to the common room, breathless from her mad-dash, Jamie cursed her own recklessness. 

Not only had she somehow broke into Snape’s mind, she had witnessed one of his memories- even worse- from his own perspective.

Even the thought made her stomach curdle. 

It was only the baffling appearance of her own mother that helped Jamie think twice about just writing off the entire experience as something to be forgotten. 

That singular detail brewed and simmered in her head, continuous. She agonized over it- her waking moments being consumed by thinking up an explanation for seemingly impossible events. 

She had told Ron and Hermione the same night she’d discovered it, and both of them had more or less shared a similar reaction.

Hermione, much like Jamie, couldn’t let it go. Her researching streak, infamous for the ridiculously long papers she turned in, was now also being utilized for a new mystery that bogged the trio.

Ron had seemed invested at first, but with the rapidly approaching Quidditch game- namely it being the last one of the term- he’d quickly compartmentalized to other things.

This split in the dynamic was apparently obvious the morning of the match. Sunlight was streaming through the tall windows of the great hall, illuminating the mouthwatering array of breakfast. 

While Jamie was simply trying to eat her eggs, Ron and Hermione were at it in the usual fashion. 

“Ron, if you could look past that silly game-“ Hermione’s bushy hair bounced with her jerky hand movements- obviously getting more irritated as the exchange went on.

Ron hadn’t touched the fried tomatoes in front of him yet, that being the real indicator things were getting heated.

“It’s not some silly game, Hermione! It’s the last one before summer! Gryffindor needs to cement its final win!” The ginger retorted, his face gathering more color at his gaining frustration.

Jamie decided she better mediate, as usual, before both of them effectively sulked at one another. 

“Ron, I‘ve been practicing with Wood all week. I don’t see the harm in going to the library with Hermione for a bit.” Jamie commented neutrally, and flickered between both her friends.

“Listen, we’re up against Hufflepuff. Besides, I think my mum might be a little more pressing? It’s almost summer, we need to find out as much as possible before I leave.” Jamie reasoned, swallowing the sour taste that permeated her mouth when she thought of summer.

Summer meant the Dursleys, and the Dursleys meant endless, unfair chores. Jamie was barely treated like a human being at Number 4 Privet Drive, and it was always like plunging into an ice bath the first few days back. 

Going from Hogwarts- a place of warmth and comfort- to the cold, bare prison-cell of her room was a depressing tradition. 

“So you’ll come with me to the library after classes?” Hermione asked hopefully, helping Jamie dwell little on her miserable future months. 

It was pointless to be sad about it now, Jamie mused. She just wished this hadn't happened at the end of the year. Jamie knew they would need more than one day to figure out the recent enigma.

Jamie nodded with a smile, and nudged Ron expectantly. “You should tag along too. We could use an extra pair of eyes.” 

Ron sighed, still a little put off at being outvoted for extra Quidditch practice.

A little spark of arrogance passed through Jamie, and she smirked. 

I don’t need extra practice to beat Hufflepuff.

Ron, in the end, must’ve believed that too, because he nodded sullenly. 

“I s’ppose.” He muttered, and shoved the rest of his full English into the bottomless pit of his stomach. 

Jamie’s schedule that day was rather relaxed: Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology.

Secretly, she was grateful for the absence of Professor Snape. It wasn’t even awkward in Potions, it was just different. Not in a good way either. 

Jamie didn’t realize how much Snape ragged on her until he essentially forgot she attended Hogwarts. 

Now, Jamie was lucky to garner an unreadable look, and a muttered comment. 

He was cold, colder than he had ever been. 

Jamie had no idea how to crack that frosty shell he had withdrawn into, and she knew it had to be done if she were to find out anything about him and Lily. 

Luckily, the impossible task seemed manageable with Hermione and Ron, both of which were currently lingering around her and browsing various narrow isles of tomes.

The only thing that snagged the meetup was her Herbolgy mishap, to which she now had a chunk out of her shoe as a souvenir.

Luckily Sprout wasn’t known for her temper, and the placid woman simply assigned her a fair bit of reading on the dangers of carnivorous plants.

The library was uncrowded at the moment, and Jamie had a sneaking suspicion most of the student body was getting decked out in war paint and their house colors. 

That worked fine for them, because Hermione was able to sort through the records undisturbed. 

“You said they looked friendly, or at least amicable, Jamie. There might be some sort of club they attended together.” Hermione thought aloud, reaching up just slightly to tip a book into her awaiting hands. 

“Was there a club for greasy hair?“ Ron snorted, and wandered over to Hermione, leaning against one of the workspaces that were carved into the shelves. 

Hermione sent him a dirty look, to which he shrugged. 

“I don’t know how you can say things like that about a Professor.” She muttered, and cracked open yellowed pages. 

“Snape makes it easy.” Ron supplied, to which Jamie gave him a look of agreement.

That seemed to have flown over Hermione’s head, because she looked none the wiser when she addressed Jamie. 

“Are we just looking for proof of companionship?” Hermione inquired with a pursed lip.

Jamie pondered for a minute, crossing her arms over her middle and gazing out the small window at the end of the knowledge-lined hall, one of many in the massive library. 

“Yeah. If thats confirmed, we’ll go from there.” She knew that it was pointless, silly- even. The look in Lily’s eyes- her eyes- was proof enough that the two weren’t simple acquaintances.

Still, the surreal nature of the memory let her feign delusion, and until she had tangible evidence- only delusion it would be.

Jamie pushed away a vague sense of denial floating in the back of her memory.

Hermione and Ron didn’t have the luxury of swimming around in Snape’s past, so they were quite doubtful in the whole thing.

For that, Jamie was grateful. Hermione would’ve forced her to see the foolishness in her coping method, and Jamie wasn’t sure she could take that. 

Unsurprisingly, their foray into the library was met with little success, and even with the three of them looking through various enchanted yearbooks, there was nothing to document. 

Jamie found a bit of amusement when she discovered the “Neon Robes” club of ‘84, so it hadn’t been completely pointless. They all had a good laugh.

By the time they were headed back to the common room, 3 hours had passed- leaving Jamie with a half-hour to get dressed in her Quidditch garb. 

Secretly, Jamie was relieved that their efforts were fruitless. Feeding the denial, she patted a dejected Hermione on the shoulder. 

“It’s alright, ‘mione. You did your best.” Jamie comforted, her good mood slightly dampened at the contrast of her friend. 

Ron joined in, and they both ascended the stairs with praise for the bookworm. 

By the time they reached the Fat Lady, Hermione had perked up considerably, though that unshakable determination steeled her expression.

Jamie had a sinking feeling Hermione would end up unearthing something- she always did. 

“Dancing Weevers.” Ron said, and the portrait opened. 

The Gryffindor common room was amok with various students painting themselves red and gold, homework strewn everywhere in disarray. 

Hoots and hollers erupted from the crowd when Jamie stepped in, flanked by her partners in crime. 

She beamed at the reception. Quidditch was just what she needed to forget- at least for a while.

She never had any worries when she was flying, scanning the skies for the flash of that brilliant snitch. It was easy to her, almost instinct.

It acted like therapy for her tumultuous life, and her blood already boiled at the promise of another chance in the air before break.

She broke up from Ron and Hermione to race up into the Girl’s Dormitory, and passed by Parvati braiding her long, dark hair.

Jamie threw open the trunk at the foot of her bed, and fished out clean sports robes from within the folds of her clothes. She didn’t have a lot to begin with, and her muggle clothes were on the brink of disintegrating to ash after Dudley had his way with them, but she did cherish the few school uniforms she possessed. 

They were some of the only things that actually fit her right. Hermione had begged Jamie to learn some sort of resizing charm, but like many things, it slipped her mind over the course of the year. 

Jamie supposed she could deal with the ratty tees and khaki shorts again this summer, even if she could probably erect a tent from the shirt alone. She already got used to it for 11 years. 

Quickly, Jamie threw on her Quidditch uniform, and tossed the former clothes on her made bed. 

“You coming to the game, Parvati?” She asked as a passing comment, not wanting to ignore her roommate completely. 

“Too hot. My hair will frizz.” She wrinkled her nose. The sun had been clear in the cloudless sky all day, perfect weather for flying.

Jamie waved her hand, half-expecting something along those lines.

She didn’t give it another worry as she pranced back down to the crowds of Gryffindors, starting to file out of the portrait hole. 

“You better get, mate! You’ll be late!” Ron yelled from the sea of heads, leading Hermione. 

Jamie grinned, and gave a farewell nod to her friends before they would part ways.

She had to meet behind the pitch with Wood and the rest of the team, so they could enter through the kickoff point near the left end of the stadium. 

The Captain in question gave her a tired glare as she sprinted across the grounds, firebolt in hand.  

“Get a move on, Potter. You’re this close to being late,” Wood ordered firmly, pinching his fingers. 

Jamie gave him a thumbs up, choosing wisely not to comment. It was gracious for Wood not to bite her head off, she had nearly missed the calling for the team appearances. 

Wood ushered the team rather hurriedly through a small staircase into the foundations of the pitch, where a small room was left open to the field. The absence of the far wall was hidden by the colored house banners that decorated the stadium, but Jamie could already hear the rumble of an eager crowd. 

She flexed her fingers, and swung her leg over the side of her broom, bending her knees slightly. The players around Jamie were in a similar state, and glanced at Wood for the signal.

He held up two fingers, and waited for the announcement. 

“…and now, blazing red and gold, GRYFFINDOR!” 

Jamie grinned, and dug her boots into the worn planked floor. 

As she shot into the field, the roar of the wind in her ears, she swore she’d hang onto the sacred feeling of weightlessness to get her through the Dursley’s.

She became aware of very angry muttering. Curses that would make Ron blush washed over her senses, and Jamie realized she was laying down.

She was comfortably positioned, and the warm darkness that surrounded her beckoned.

It was tempting, to simply slip back into unconsciousness and forget about the heavy shoulders she had carried for so long. 

In reality, it had only been a few weeks, but Jamie’s constant worrying, on top of her studies, made for a rough span of days. 

As she started to get back into the hang of things, Jamie wondered where she was. She struggled to recount her steps, but only vaguely remembered the start of the last Quidditch game. 

She opened her eyes, blinking at the influx of light. 

Overcast outside the grand window panes offered a dim illumination of the hospital wing.

Jamie stomach started to twist, and from past experience- waking up here was a good sign something had gone wrong. 

She rustled the warm sheets as she tried to prop herself up, but her legs felt like dead weight under her. 

Jamie looked down, frowning at the strange sensation. 

The outline was prevalent under the covers, and at first glance everything seemed in working order.

She quickly rethought that position when she used a hand to tear the blankets off.

Her hiss at the contact of warm skin with cold air quickly morphed into a gasp. The sight of it quickly overwhelmed her, and Jamie didn’t know what to think- how to react.

Her mouth hung open. 

Tan skin was crisscrossed with ridged scar tissue, and long silvery marks ran up and down each leg. 

A shaking finger came to hover over one of the lacerations, and she watched it with a detached sort of curiosity. 

It almost felt like she was out of touch with her own body, but the sight of it was so shocking she couldn’t figure out how to snap out of it.

“Potter-!” The word was spit out like a foul demon, and the lips which spawned it scowled nastily. 

Jamie flinched, snapping her head up with wide emerald eyes behind those wire-rimmed glasses. 

A man engulfed in black glared at her, moving over to her bedside with graceful, quick strides.

Absently, Jamie wondered where he had clawed his way out of the underworld this time. Apparently, she hadn’t looked around the entire wing hard enough.

She was a little preoccupied with the dazed process of waking up and missing memories. Sadly, this was becoming more common the older she got. 

Jamie grimly thought she should probably get used to it.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Jamie started off strong, trying to avoid looking at the patchwork job her legs were. 

Snape’s lip curled up, stretching the sallow skin into a mask of practiced displeasure. It was a look he fixed her with often, and Jamie theorized it functioned as a mask to hide his other emotions. 

“Watch your mouth, Miss Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor.” He replied, being both extremely unhelpful and not answering her question- which really, she should’ve guessed. 

It was just like potions class. 

Jaime flopped back onto her pillow with a groan, and rubbed her hands down her face.  The heel of her palm dug into her eyes under the lenses- frustration evident. A sharp inhale filled her lungs before she thought of speaking again.

Surprisingly, Snape beat her to it. 

“I am aware you have a penchant for the dramatics, Potter, but you will find no simpering sycophants here.” He bit out, and bright green eyes shot him a glare from between crooked fingers. Clearly, gripping a quidditch broom and recklessly crushing fingers with bludgers had an effect. 

Jamie’s arms fell to her sides, and she scanned the Professor with skepticism.

“Well, I doubt you’re here to become one of them.” She shot right back, and purposefully looked to the side. Her jaw was set in an expression such like James, Snape hat to practically grind his teeth into powder before he gathered himself. 

“Enough cheek. Drink these.” He hissed as simply as possible, and retrieved 3 clinking potion vials from the folds of his robes.

Jamie glanced at them, and then back at the Potion’s master. 

The silent question hung heavily in the hospital wing. Jamie wasn’t going to take her chances with someone who looked like he wanted to poison her for breathing. 

“Perhaps if you payed attention, you would realize the pigment of these to be a Blood Replenisher, a Pepper Up, and a basic nutritional supplement.” Snape supplied coolly, seemingly unaffected by her so obvious distrust .

Jamie knew she didn’t have a choice, so she resigned herself to possible convulsing and death later as she fetched them from his outstretched grip. 

She uncorked and swallowed them in a fluid motion. She grimaced with each one, but didn’t give herself any breaks between. Jamie learned early on it’s best to just get it all over with. 

“Got any cherry flavor?” Jamie coughed, handing the empty glass back. 

Snape took the question as well as she assumed, with a patronizing sneer. 

“No. Alas, it was too kind of me to think you would be able to resist the inane, idiotic questions you save for my class.” 

Jamie decided to just ignore the usual bile he spat at her, and got directly to a question burning at the back of her mind. 

“Professor, why am I here?” Jamie asked neutrally, trying to keep any sort of tone out of her voice. Usually, it didn’t even need to be there in the first place for Snape to find a problem with it. 

She hoped he would at least satiate her curiosity. She deserved to know why she was in bed with her lower half looking like Frankenstein’s monster.

For his credit, Snape did not immediately brush her off. He looked to be on his way out, already retreating from her bed. 

“During the Quidditch match a week ago, you foolishly performed a dive that left you sprawled across the grass, with most the bones in your legs completely shattered.” He answered clinically after a second. There he lingered, a small distance away from the foot of the wire cot. 

Snape seemed like he was waiting for something. Hysterics? Anger? She couldn’t tell. 

“Did Gryffindor win?” She followed up plaintively, twiddling her thumbs on her lap.  Jamie supposed that if her stunt had been that bad, she should have the victory to go with it. 

Snape looked shocked at first. Emotions flickered over his face faster than she could count, settling on a twisted mirror of fury. 

In a second, he was back at her bedside, black fabrics swishing at his ankles and the smell of spices washing over Jamie.

“Do you have no sense of self preservation, you insolent- idiot girl?” Snape seethed over her, his hair falling in a curtain of stalk-straight dark tresses. It had less of a sheen on it today, making Jamie wonder vaguely if he had finally learned of the modern marvel dubbed shampoo. 

Those obsidian pools pierced right through any front she could’ve made. The rest of her house was fooled with flashing smiles and a cocky gleam. Jamie guessed it wouldn’t get her out of this one. 

She hesitantly adjusted herself on the pillow to put some distance between her and the hooked nose, but it was a small bed and the dudgeon bat was a very tall man. 

“My friends were counting on me. It’s a fair question.” She pointed out, adept quieter to the small hope it would abate his infamous temper. 

“Your friends. Did it ever occur to you that the entire world does not revolve around whether you catch an insignifiant golden ball?” Snape smiled, but it wasn’t a kind one. His thin lips, devoid of color, stretched over crooked teeth in what appeared to be more of a grimace. 

She matched his expression, baring her teeth in irritation. Why did he always have to rub her the wrong way?

“Why do you even care? Clearly you know a lot about friends, considering my mum was probably your only one.” She retorted hotly, clamping her mouth shut futilely as soon as the words left her mouth. 

She knew she had made a dire mistake even before the razor-sharp inhale through flared nostrils. 

The sound kindled a very real spike of fear, and Jamie was certain he was going to slaughter her and throw the body in the lake. 

Even before prying into someone’s memory on accident, simply acknowledging a miserable childhood for some could set off an undesirable reaction.

Jamie didn’t even found the insult on anything- just spite and a desire to stop Snape from being so damn condescending. However, based on the pulsing vein in his forehead, she had somehow miraculously struck truth. 

There was no reason he would be this irate about a simple schoolyard jab, and from the way his face was turning a dull purple- Jamie felt she had a pretty good read on his emotions. 

It was like watching a tsunami flooding toward you and doing nothing to stop it, but really, what could Jamie do?

She should’ve kept her thoughts to herself. 

And then, just as fast as he had been there, Snape was at the giant oak doors and fleeing the hospital like the devil was on his tail. 

It happened so fast, Jamie had temporary whiplash. She blinked, baffled at her still intact limbs. 

She was sure they’d be gone by now, yet Snape continued to surprise her again and again.

It was starting to become as big a trend as her ending up here, in a cot, somehow wounded. 

As she replayed the conversation over in her head, she realized two things simultaneously. 

One: Madame Pomfrey wasn’t there, otherwise she’d be smothered and scolded by now. The hospital was completely empty, not a soul in sight. All the beds were made, and the curtains pulled back. 

Two: Snape had said the Quidditch game last week. 

Last week.

She had been out for an entire week. With growing anxiety, Jamie recalled that the last quidditch match was also the student body’s last night at Hogwarts. They were supposed to leave for the train in the morning. 

One final hurrah before summer.

Jamie was feeling worse and worse. She guessed Hermione and Ron had gone home, otherwise they would be here by now. Madame Pomfrey was nowhere to be found, which Jamie begged to not stay the case. 

She didn’t get her hopes up.

With her luck, it would be perfectly plausible that the only other human in the castle was Severus Snape- and with the way he stormed out seconds earlier- it would be wishful thinking for a pleasant recovery. 

The word recovery made her dare another look at her exposed legs, and she swallowed tightly. 

Yanking the covers back over herself, she tried to look on the bright side. 

At least she wasn’t at Little Whinging although she would have to go back at some point. 

For now, she clung to that bit of positivity as her nails drew blood digging into her palms.