(Note: This is the last chapter I had already written, so the next one might be a bit of a wait. Thanks so much for reading xx)
Sabriel awoke abruptly to Hermione shaking her briskly.
“Qu’est ce qui se passe?”
Hermione looked confused. So did Sabriel until she realised that she had been speaking French.
“Oh, sorry. Forgot to speak English. What’s going on?”
“You have to wake up, it’s time for breakfast.” Hermione still looked confused as she wandered over to the recently vacated mirror, wondering how anyone could forget to speak English.
Sabriel sighed. She was not a morning person. She hated getting up in the morning and back at Durmstrang it often took the threat of an airborne trip out of the window to the glacier below to get her to wake up. Especially if it was Inge who was threatening. That girl meant business.
She sighed again, resigned herself to reality and sat up abruptly. The dorm was empty except for Hermione who was standing at the mirror trying in vain to comb the tangles out of her copious bushy hair. Sabriel got up and dressed and plonked herself in front of the mirror. She grimaced at her own reflection. She saw her mother’s chin and nose, her father’s dark eyes and sarcastic mouth. Her very pale skin was on the sallow side and she had slight dark circles under her eyes. No wonder, considering the little sleep she’d had the previous night. She’d had a dream which she’d had several times before – one in which she saw her mother.
She couldn’t remember much about her mother, but she had an impression of her. She could remember an echo of her voice and the warmth of her touch. Her dream was one in which she was desperately searching for her mother, running through endless corridors and doors, but always seeing her disappearing around a corner. She would constantly see her father sitting in a chair reading a book. She’d plead with him to help, but he could never hear her.
The dream always left her drained and somewhat maudlin. She had never really understood what it was all about.
“Ow!” Hermione was holding a hairbrush with a significant clump of her own hair sticking out of it. She looked exasperated. “I hate my hair. Do I have a bald spot?”
Sabriel smiled, sighed and got up; trying to put her dream and the uneasy feeling that came with it out of her mind.
*
After assuring and reassuring Hermione several times that she did not have a bald spot and teaching her a nifty little untangling spell (which she had learner from Astrid: a young Swedish woman who could be best described as a ‘hipster’ who never went anywhere without looking like a perfect shop-window mannequin), they made their way out of the dormitory and headed down to breakfast.
The Great Hall was buzzing as usual, huge piles of toast and tureens of cornflakes cluttering the long tables. Sabriel looked for her father at the staff table and found him sitting in his usual place right at the end. She grinned at him and gave him a little wave. She was amused at his bewildered reaction (he was obviously not used to any sort of affectionate treatment during term time); he gave her a small smile, turned a little pink and concentrated extremely hard on his cornflakes.
Sabriel sat down, chuckling to herself, her stream of thought cut off when she saw the look of shock and amusement on Harry’s face.
“What?”
Harry looked incredulous. “Did Snape just… blush?!”
Sabriel laughed. “Perhaps just a little bit.”
Harry shook his head as if he was trying to remove water from his ears.
Ron looked confused. Hermione smirked.
Than the post came.
Sabriel had missed the Post the day before, so she was completely stunned when a huge number of owls swooped into the Great Hall. There were tawny owls, screech owls, snowy owls, spotted owls, barn owls and owls which seemed like a mix of the above. She saw a proud and fierce-looking eagle owl, which of course swooped down to perch itself on Malfoy’s arm, dropping some box of presents on his lap.
She saw a rather dull-looking owl, looking particularly exasperated; drop a large package on top of Neville’s toast. Neville dejectedly opened the package and turned pink when he saw the contents.
Dean Thomas exclaimed loudly “Neville, how could you possibly remember to bring seven quills, but completely forget to bring any ink?”
A smart trim owl dropped a newspaper in front of Hermione who paid him before disappearing behind The Daily Prophet.
Ron looked relieved about something of which Sabriel was entirely ignorant, before he turned to Harry and said “Thank Merlin Errol’s not here, it took me ages to get the pumpkin juice out of my robes last time.”
Sabriel was so busy surveying the wondrous chaos before her that she hadn’t noticed a large snowy owl nudging her arm.
“Adolf!” Sabriel was delighted.
Harry, Ron and Hermione looked enquiringly at her. Harry said “That owl looks just like my owl Hedwig. He’s called Adolf?”
“Yeah. Named after a crazy uncle, not the dictator. He belongs to my friend Oleg.”
She unfurled a long piece of parchment from Adolf’s leg and let him drink deeply from the leftover milk in the bottom of her cereal bowl. “You’ve come a long way Adolf!” She looked around to Harry. “Is there somewhere he can rest before he flies back to Durmstrang?”
“Yeah, the Owlery. I’ll show you where it is after breakfast.”
“Thanks.” Sabriel began to read her letter.
‘Dear Sabriel,
How’s life in old Angleterre? Rolled a cheese down a hill yet? If you haven’t I shall be sorely disappointed. What do you think of Hogwarts? I’ll bet it’s much less cut-throat than Durmstrang.
Life goes on here in the land of frozen water (though the dragons keep melting the glacier – apparently the muggles think that it’s something to do with the climate – bless them.) Professor Jaspersen is a decent Headmaster – much better than Karkaroff anyway – despite the fact that he’s a Dane (I know, I know. You disapprove of my weird aversion to Danes. I can’t explain it. Unlike my problem with the Swiss, which is entirely justified.)
We all miss you lots, we especially miss the increasingly gloomy letters from your father, proclaiming more and more doom with every word. We can laugh at how safe we are, nestled in our chilly wee corner of the world, but it’s hollow laughter now we think of you, stuck in a dreary castle in the rain, surrounded on all fronts by enemies and bad food.
Have you come across the famous Potter yet? Is he as much a twerp as you were led to believe?
Let us know how it is all going and try and defeat old Voldemort so you can come back.
Love, Oleg.
P.S. Oscar, Vlad and Tatiana are too lazy to send their own letters so they’re stealing some airtime on mine. They send their love, all except for Oscar who has too much of a crush on you to be able to be around the word love.
Ow! (Oscar hit me).
Sabriel smiled and looked up. Harry, Ron and Hermione looked expectantly at her.
“You want to read it?” They nodded.
She threw it over to them and laughed loudly at their looks of dismay and confusion.
“But it’s in some weird language.” Ron received a sharp kick from Hermione for that one.
Sabriel laughed again. “It’s not in ‘some weird language’ Ron, it’s Russian.”
“You speak Russian?” Harry looked impressed.
“Everybody who goes to Durmstrang has to speak Russian; it’s the language we’re taught in.”
“But.” Ron looked confused. “Viktor Krum is Bulgarian isn’t he?”
“Yeah, but Durmstrang takes students from all over Europe; Germany, Russia, Scandinavia and so on. The witch who founded the school was Russian, so we all speak Russian.”
“Hey – that’s my name!” Harry had spotted it amongst the Cyrillic. “What does it say?”
Sabriel read out the letter, translating as she went and chuckling as she imagined Oleg’s ostentatiously pompous voice saying the words.
*
After the remainder of breakfast was taken up by Sabriel writing her snappy reply to Oleg’s letter (“your aversion to the Danes is perfectly explainable, it’s your unrequited love of golden boy Peter Tiersen in Seventh – get over it, Oleg, he’s just not that into you.”), Harry showed Sabriel where the Owlery was (Adolf and Hedwig got on like birds of a feather – pardon the pun) and they caught up with Ron and Hermione outside their second potions lesson.
After chatting with them the previous night in the common room, the Gryffindors had warmed up to Sabriel considerably, though a few were still slightly wary of her. Sabriel was chatting amicably with Lavender Brown when the Slytherin’s arrived.
“Ah, Potty, the Weasel and the Mudblood. What excellent company.” A cold, drawling voiced sneered from behind them. All the Gryffindors spun around. Malfoy and his cronies had arrived and were greeted by at least three attempts at physical contact as several Gryffindor males responded to his insults. Malfoy simply smirked as the scuffle subsided and looked Sabriel up and down. She shuddered.
“And the new girl. Why exactly are you hanging out with them?” He pronounced ‘them’ as though it described a piece of pond scum. “You should come and spend some time with me.”
Sabriel would’ve laughed out loud at his expressive eyebrow movements if she hadn’t been so repulsed. He was actually coming on to her. She shuddered again. She looked him straight in the eye and replied.
“Perhaps if you hit me on the head with some form of blunt instrument, that might have a greater chance of happening.”
The way Malfoy’s face fell was even more comical than his eyebrows. All the Gryffindors burst out laughing, their mirth increasing as Malfoy’s face went redder and redder.
His sharp eyes narrowed. He lashed out.
“You’re pathetic! I wouldn’t want to date a Gryffindor anyway, especially not one who was sent away because her father was embarrassed of her!”
Though she tried to play it cool, that cut her to the quick. She desperately hoped that it didn’t show on her face.
“Not even good enough for Slytherin.” His comrade laughed cruelly.
“Yeah, well decent human beings aren’t allowed in Slytherin, are they Malfoy?” Harry shouted at his nemesis.
“I think that’s quite enough, don’t you Potter?”
The silky voice of Severus Snape stilled every person in the corridor.
“Ten points from Gryffindor, I think.”
The Gryffindors were hushed, knowing as they did that it was pointless to try and explain or defend themselves.
But Sabriel glared at her father and then refused to look at him for the rest of the lesson.
*
Harry spent so much of the lesson worrying about Sabriel that he yet again messed up his potion, receiving zero marks and an evil smirk from Professor Snape. She hadn’t spoken a word since Malfoy’s vitriolic outburst earlier. He suspected that something Malfoy had said had really stung her. She looked sullen and introspective throughout the rest of the day, not even cheering up when Neville was attacked by one of Professor Sprout’s mad purple sunflowers and staggered around the greenhouse covered from tip to toe in puce-coloured pollen.
As they sat down to dinner, Harry took a deep breath and decided to try and get her to open up. If she was as stubborn as her father, it could be dangerous to even try.
“Um, Sabriel?”
She didn’t appear to hear him, she just kept staring into space.
“Sabriel?”
She jumped slightly.
“Sorry, I was miles away. What’s up?” Harry had a concerned look on his face. He also seemed awkward and slightly apprehensive. She had a feeling she knew what was coming.
“Are you, um, are you okay? You’ve been distant all day.”
“I’m fine .” Her face was like a steel trap, she just shut down.
Nervously Harry tried again.
“Are you sure? You don’t seem fine.”
Sabriel closed her eyes. She could feel her temper bubbling. It was always the way, anger was like a defence mechanism to her, another inherited trait from her father. ‘Harry doesn’t deserve it, he’s just trying to be nice’ she told herself.
“I’m okay, I just think that the Malfoy family are using up oxygen which could more valuably be used by something else, like a dung beetle or a ferret or something.” Humour. Another defence mechanism.
Everyone laughed and the tension dissolved.
“Funny you should say ferret…” Harry smirked. Sabriel looked questioningly at him and he described the infamous incident the previous year in which Malfoy had been transfigured into a ferret by Professor Moody, who actually turned out to be Barty Crouch Junior, a death eater.
“Best thing a death eater ever did” said Harry in good humour.
Ginny leaned forward “But I thought your dad was pretty chummy with the Malfoys?”
Everyone snapped around. They were fascinated by anything to do with the background life of their least favourite teacher.
Sabriel sighed. “Yeah, I guess you could say they were family friends, but that doesn’t mean I can stand any of them.”
“Have you ever been to Malfoy’s house?” asked Ron with a sort of disgusted but totally compelled expression, like the sort of expression you get when looking at a dead animal.
“Yep.” Sabriel answered. “It’s massive, it’s like a freakin’ palace. But, not really like a palace, more like an evil fortress. It’s all dark and gloomy, full of creepy suits of armour and dejected looking house elves.”
At the mention of house elves everyone groaned and looked apprehensively at Hermione. Sabriel was confused.
“What?” Hermione looked straight at her and embarked on a twenty minute tirade about the enslavement of house elves and how immoral it was and explaining about SPEW. Sabriel glanced apologetically at Harry and Ron and tried to eat her soup without looking like she was bored.
After dinner everyone headed back to the common room, some starting on the already massive stack of homework which the teachers had dumped on them (“It’s bizarre,” Sabriel lamented, “At Durmstrang, all you have to do for the first three days is try to survive the beginning-of-year pranks.”); some pointedly ignoring their homework and playing Wizard Chess; and a rather large gang were huddled around Seamus Finnigan whose eyebrows were smouldering.
Harry and Ron shooed some first years away from the big armchairs next to the fire (drawing a nasty look from Hermione) and the four of them sat down, immediately drawing many a curious look from the crowd. Fred and George shuffled over to them.
“We heard you had a run-in with Malfoy” said Fred.
(“Git” added George).
“And that Snape didn’t say a thing about it?” Fred looked vaguely incredulous.
“Yeah” George had the same expression. “Git?”
All of the gang (and about half of the common room) looked over at Sabriel. She sighed, it seemed the whole house, if not the whole school, was going to continue to find her fascinating for some time. Harry recognised the expression.
“Hey – maybe it’s none of our business?”
Sabriel smiled at Harry “Thanks, but it’s okay. I don’t think he heard any of what Malfoy said, and anyway, I’m not going to get anywhere if everyone thinks that I need Daddy to help me out every time someone’s nasty to me.”
Hermione gave her a wide smile.
Ginny wandered over, having caught the tail-end of their conversation.
“Hey, you were about to tell us about Malfoy’s house this morning, but you got, um…” She looked at Hermione “…distracted.”
“Oh yeah!” Sabriel inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that the conversation was moving on from what Oleg would have termed her ‘daddy issues.’
“Well, what do you want to know?”
“What’re his parents like?” Ginny asked.
“You know what they’re like!” Said Ron. “You’ve met them several times!”
“No, I mean when they’re not being evil and showing off in front of Gryffindors.”
Sabriel thought about it. “Hmm. Lucius pretty much shows off all the time, and is perhaps more insufferable when he’s in good spirits. He likes to think of himself as some sort of Baron or something. Narcissa acts like a dumb blonde trophy wife, but really she’s much smarter than that. She also cares about her family more than anything in the world, whereas Lucius seems completely indifferent to his son and his wife. That’s not to say she’s a decent human being though, she’s pretty vicious.”
She thought for a moment.
“Lucius’ great uncle lives with them – he must be about 120 years old. He swears emphatically to anyone who’ll listen that he used to play billiards with Churchill.”
“Who?”
Hermione gave Ron the most astounding expression – a mix of incredulity, exasperation and rage.
“Winston Churchill? Prime Minister of Britain during the war? No?”
Ron shook his head.
Hermione proceeded to pick up one of her books and hit herself over the head with it to stop herself from exploding. Ron continued to look bewildered.
“Ummm… What else do you want to know?” Sabriel held back a snigger.
Ron leaned forward emphatically, Hermione still had her head in her hands.
“Do they have like, dungeons and stuff? Is it full of dark magic?”
Sabriel smiled “Oh I have no doubt, but they don’t exactly haul it out a dinner parties. Lucius likes to invite the Minister ‘round whenerver possible and apparently Fudge is partial to the very expensive Tokay they have at Malfoy Manor. But mostly they’re just your average family.”
The group looked at her with cynicism.
“Only with milions of galleons… And strong ties to the dark forces. So really not that average I s’pose.”
“We were hoping you’d be able to tell us an embarrasing story about Malfoy to be honest” said Fred.
“Yeah, like he’s scared of kittens or something” added George.
“No can do,” chortled Sabriel, “but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
They laughed.
*
‘… use of basic grammar is appalling, I suggest you go back to nursery school in order to remedy this. P.’
Snape sighed. He had not only spent three hours attemping to find an ounce of talent exhibited in any of his OWL students’ essays and failing, but had seen more misplaced apostrophes than right answers. What in the blazes did they teach students at muggle schools?
He reached over to the still-teetering stack of parchment to grab the next sad excuse for a Potions essay.
‘The three main distinguishing feature’s of a Draught of Living Death…’
He threw the parchment down on his desk in disgust.
“Enough of this.” He wearily got up from his desk and headed over to a concealed little cupboard in the corner, which housed a few dusty decanters. He poured himself a draught of rosy-coloured dry sherry, which he had been partial to since nicking a healthy dollop of Slughorn’s back when this had been his office. The red-gold liquid calmed him a little, but it wasn’t enough - this particular evening - to quiet the little voices in his head which insisted on repeating the same worries and concerns over and over.
The placement of Sabriel into Gryffindor still stung him a little, though he supposed he would have to get over it at some point. He liked to cling to some probably long-defunct notion that his daughter was very much like him. This recent revelation that she was a Gryffindor had prompted a realisation that she was, in fact, much more like her mother, in more than just looks.
He hoped beyond hope that she wasn’t as trusting as her mother had been.
The more pressing matter, which would no doubt keep him awake tonight, was what to do about Malfoy. While he was nowhere near as dangerous as his father, he had inherited Lucius’ foul sense of entitlement and over-inflated ego – two charaterstics which he did not want anywhere near his teenaged daughter.
Snape had no ideaa what to do about the matter. He could not be too hard on Draco – he had to keep on Lucius’ good side – but he couldn’t very well leave Sabriel to fend for herself. She was only a child after all.
His thought was interrupted by the sound of a fire crackling into life, as if of its own accord, in the grate behind him. He spun around to see a crackling green blaze which immeditely spat out a piece of scrolled parchment, before disappearing again, as quick as it came. He picked up the smoking parchment and dusted some soot off of it. It was sealed with a large piece of black wax and stamped with the all-too-familiar crest of the Malfoy family.
He was slightly incredulous. It was as if Lucius had known Snape had been thinking about him. With a flick of his wand, the parchment unsealed itself and spun open on the desk.
Lucius’ extravagantly (and, as Snape had always thought, pretensiously) spidery cursive script covered the parchment, with his farce of a signature sprawling itself luxuriantly across the bottom of the page. Snape sniffed scornfully and then began to read.
‘Dear Severus,
How’s life as a teacher treating you? Not letting the children get on top of you I hope…’
Snape’s lip curled. Lucius loved to rub it in, that Snape had to work for a living, instead of living, as Lucius did, like a toff on family money. He continued:
‘… they can be such devilishly tricky blighters or so I’m told. Things are just grand my end, having the confidence of the Dark Lord on one’s side has its advantages…’
Another dig. Snape found himself wondering, as he often did, why on earth he was ever friends with such a loathsome man.
‘…Heard about your Sabriel being sorted into Gryffindor. Dreadful news, my deepest sympathies to you. I’ve always told Draco on no uncertain terms, that if he was in Gryffindor I’d disown him. But, then again, you’ve always shown yourself to be rather more tolerant of that type of person, haven’t you? People do say that one’s worst qualities do come from one’s mother, so it’s not all your fault.
Please do drop me a line if there’s anything at all I can do.
Yours & c.
Lucius Malfoy.’
Snape sat for a minute, taking in the full extent of Lucius’ sneering arrogance. He could feel his eye twitching irritably.
‘Malfoy must be getting cockier’ he thought. There was absolutely no way he would have dared to speak to Snape like that in the past, certainly not in reference to Selina or Sabriel. He suddenly realised that he was breathing heavily, he felt as though he could quite happily fling his desk across the dungeon office in his rage. A minute ago he had been considering writing Lucius a carefully worded letter, suggesting he warn his son off Sabriel. This letter changed things. Something was afoot which Snape didn’t know about.
He sat down and picked up a quill. This was going to take some skill.
*
Sabriel ran up the steps as she heard the bell signal the beginning of the next lesson. Being late would not be the best first impression to make on the already notorious Umbridge. She quickened her pace.
“Late, are we?”
She spun around. There, dressed in rather spectacular robes of midnight blue embroidered with golden dragons, was Albus Dumbledore, his half-moon spectacles balanced precariously on his crooked nose. He smiled at her look of astonishment.
“Professor Dumbledore!”
Indeed. How are you getting on so far? Does my rather excellent establishment, the Parthenon of magical education compare with the, shall we say, lesser institute of Durmstrang?” He had a twinkle in his eye.
Sabriel feigned a contemplative expression. “Well… I’m not sure yet. I’m drawing up a pro-con chart to compare the two.”
He chuckled.
“How was your first potions lesson?”
She thought for a moment. “Illuminating.”
“Ah, you learned about some marvellous new concoction which pushes the bounds of your educational experience?”
“No, we made the Draught of Peace which I have made some fifty thousand times (Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at the hyperbole). What was really illuminating was discovering why everyone hates my father so much.”
Dumbledore frowned. “Yes, he does have rather a distinctive style of teaching.” He looked troubled. “No one is giving you a hard time are they?”
She was touched by his concern. “No, not at all, but they’re not going out of their way to make me feel welcome. They’re probably waiting to see if it’s genetic. Well, except for Harry, Ron and Hermione; they’ve been great – the last people I expected to be decent human beings!”
He twinkled again. “And therein lies an important lesson. One should never believe everything one’s father says. But don’t tell your father I said that, he’s probably hopeful that the illusion of omniscience will last a tad longer. Now, I believe I have made you inexcusably late for Defence Against the Dark Arts – on your first day, no less.”
Sabriel looked stricken. Lateness was probably one of the ‘practices’ which ‘ought to be prohibited’ or ‘pruned’ or whatever it was Umbridge had said.
“Never fear” said Dumbledore, Noticing her distress; “I shall write you a note. I do believe that I still have enough clout within my own school to excuse a student from being late.”
Sabriel was takes aback at the bitterness in his voice. Dumbledore finished the note and gave it to Sabriel, who thanked him.
“Well, well. Toodle pip!” And with that, he wandered around the corner, a room full of soldiers in red coats standing to attention as he passed their portrait.
Sabriel hurried off towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, ruminating over the odd things that had happened so far on her first day. What on earth could be next?
*
A sea of heads turned as Sabriel clattered into the classroom, very nearly knocking a stand with a disgusting pink imitation Ming vase on it to the floor. She steadied it and took a deep breath. Every eye in the room was on her, a phenomenon which had repeated itself several times in the last few days and not a particularly nice feeling. She saw Harry, Ron and Hermione sitting a few rows from the back, so she headed over to where they were, desperate to just sit down and get out of the firing line.
“Hem, hem!”
Something about the little cough sent a wee shiver down her spine. She looked up and there was Umbridge, head to toe in sickly pink looking at her with an amused but distinctly chilly smile.
“And why, pray, are we late on the very first day?” She finished off the question with her little nervous laugh, a sound akin to a knife slipping on a plate, a squeak which set her teeth on edge.
Sabriel set her best smile on her face and held out the note. “I’m so sorry Professor Umbridge; I was speaking with the headmaster. He wrote me a note.”
Umbridge snatched the note out of her hand and opened it, her brows getting closer and closer together as she read on. She looked up with an even less real smile than Sabriel’s and spoke in her squeakiest voice.
“Well, this seems to be in order Miss Snape.” She fairly spat the name. “Sit down quickly and we can get on.”
Sabriel took her seat next to Hermione and looked up at the board where three blandly phrased ‘Course Aims’ were neatly written. Umbridge cleared her throat again and began to speak.
“As I was saying, you all have your copies of Slinkhard…”
Sabriel looked over at Harry and Ron who were looking pre-emptively bored. Hermione looked somewhat bewildered.
“… Basics for Beginners. There will be no need to talk.”
Everyone opened their books and began to read. Sabriel stared at Umbridge for a second, then looked down at the book and pretended to read. She couldn’t believe that an entire Defence Against the Dark Arts course was going to be made up of reading a book. She tried to focus on the page in front of her, but it was so banal and dull that her mind kept wandering off. She glanced up and saw that Hermione was sitting with her hand up. Almost everyone in the classroom was staring at her, all except Umbridge who was resolutely attempting to ignore her. Sabriel looked quizzically at Harry, but he seemed just as confused as she was about what Hermione was doing. Finally, when she could ignore it no more, Umbridge inquired as to why Hermione had her hand up.
She watched the faces of the other students as they realised that there was, indeed, nothing on the board about practical magic. They all looked astonished that Hermione was being so defiant. Things started to get heated and Sabriel sensed that everything was getting out of hand. Harry’s temper was rising, along with Umbridge’s. When Harry mentioned Voldemort, Sabriel felt a cold pang ripple through her. She felt Hermione’s eyes on her, as well as Umbridge’s. She carefully steadied her hands and stared straight ahead.
“Detention, Mr Potter!” Umbridge looked triumphant, a gleam of malice in her eyes, her little pointed teeth showing. Sabriel was reeling; she barely heard anything else that was said. How could this woman be in such denial? How could the Ministry not want people to be able to defend themselves? After years of learning how to maim seriously any kind of attacker at Durmstrang, this overprotective nonsense was jarring.
She snapped back to attention when she heard Diggory’s name was mentioned. Harry was pale and shaking and Umbridge looked furious. She sent him out and continued with the lesson.
“Now, I think we can get on with what we were doing. Everyone continue reading chapter one and no questions!” She plonked herself back at her desk and furiously continued with what she had been doing.
Sabriel looked at Hermione who looked drawn and worried. The tension was buzzing in the classroom, the air thick with contemplation, everyone obviously lost in thought about what had just happened.
Sabriel tried again to focus on her book and thought to herself.
‘Welcome to Hogwarts.’
*
The rest of the day was a blur of new classes and new faces. Sabriel knew immediately that she hated Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures (not the biggest outdoor-girl – a frozen castle in Scandinavia not being the greatest place to foster a love of growing things); she loved charms; was excellent at transfiguration; was less bored in History of Magic than the rest of her class, but still more bored than Hermione; she obviously hated Defence Against the Dark Arts; she hadn’t made up her mind about potions (or the potions master); she hadn’t done astronomy yet (because of the necessity of darkness) and she had had more fun in Arithmancy than she had ever had in any class.
Harry had been very quiet ever since his clash with Umbridge. People had been whispering and sending sidelong glances his way ever since and despite his long experience with being in the limelight, it was taking its toll.
The four of them were walking towards the Great Hall for dinner when something large cackled its way past them.
“Tee hee hee! Potty wee Potter and his little friends!”
The pointed little man was bobbing up and down in the air in front of them. Harry, Ron and Hermione groaned.
“Peeves, will you just leave us alone? I’m not in the mood.” Harry looked thunderous.
“Oooh! Sensitive wee Pottermeister! Why so touchy Potty?”
“Hello Peeves.”
Everyone looked around at Sabriel, who had a steely glint in her eye. Peeves managed to jump three feet in the air while being suspended in the air, rolling over backwards and bouncing off a grumpy looking statue of a giant.
“S-S-Sabriel. Um, I. Um. You’re looking particularly ravishing your ladyship.”
Harry, Ron and Hermione looked completely taken aback. Sabriel grinned at them.
“Why thank you, Peeves, you’re looking great too. How’s the Bloody Baron?”
“Eminently well. Stupendous. Splendiferous. Fantabu- “
“That’s enough now, Peeves.”
“Yes, ma’am. So, what magnificent event brings your ladyship to this humble establishment?”
“I’m going to Hogwarts now, so you’ll be seeing much more of me than usual.”
Peeves tried desperately to look overjoyed at the same time as looking utterly terrified.
“Ma-mar-marvellous.”
“So, perhaps you should float along and bother someone else?”
“Absolutely your worship!” And he zoomed off, bumping into a suit of armour as he went.
She beamed at Harry, Ron and Hermione.
“What was that?” Ron looked astonished.
“Peeves and I go way back. He saw me talking to the Bloody Baron a couple of times and I survived, so he figured that he had to be nice to me if he wanted to live without fear.”
The tree of them seemed to retreat into their own heads, contemplating a world in which Peeves was their ally.
“Wicked.” Ron explained.
*
All through dinner Sabriel noticed that Malfoy kept looking over at her. Even when she wasn’t looking back at him, she could feel an icy shiver working its way along her spine, which signalled his cold eyes on her.
Sabriel wasn’t the only one to notice.
Pansy Parkinson had tried in vain the whole night to hold a conversation with Malfoy, but he was obviously preoccupied. When she saw what it was that was distracting him her eyes narrowed.
Severus Snape had also notice his student’s gaze and was silently fuming. He tried to use his best death-stare on Malfoy, one which would’ve reduced Neville Longbottom to a quivering wreck, but to no avail.
After dinner, the Gryffindors headed up to the common room and Harry hurried off to his detention with Umbridge. The Gryffindor common room was bustling with activity; a few students (like Hermione) attempting to get a jump-start on homework, but finding it extremely difficult due to the distracting nature of the other occupants.
Ron and Dean Thomas were in the middle of a particularly brutal chess match in which Ron’s set seemed to be gaining a considerable amount of gratification at the sheer destruction of the other side.
Hermione was hidden behind an enormous book of ancient runes which expelled large quantities of dust every time she turned a page. A quick examination of the borrowers’ card revealed that the last person to take out the book had been Quentin Albert Fitzroy in 1809, confirming a fact which had been long-suspected by most all in Gryffindor House – that Hermione Granger was the biggest swot in over a century.
Fred and George Weasley were doing indiscriminate things with large amounts of feathers, an activity which created impressive amounts of noise and which made Hermione exhale rather loudly and regularly (a sort of ‘Humph’ sound), which disturbed even more dust from her book, the combination of which with the feathers caused Neville to sneeze spectacularly and often.
For a while, Sabriel sat back and surveyed the chaos before her. No one seemed inclined to make the effort to talk to her, so she contented herself with watching and muttering an occasional “bless you” to Neville.
However, after a while, Sabriel noticed that a few people seemed to be edging closer to her, and in fact everyone in the room occasionally glanced in her direction. After Hermione had emitted her final “Humph” (“Atchoo!”) given up on her book and joined Sabriel, she began to notice it too.
“They’re probably all curious. I mean, you haven’t hexed anyone yet, or made a particularly vicious sarcastic comment to anyone, so as far as they’re concerned you’re not an average Snape.”
Sabriel laughed. “You’re probably right.”
Seeing that she wasn’t likely to curse him, Neville made a little squeaking sound that was like a mixture of a cough and an ‘um.’
“So, um. How come you’re… here? Now, I mean.” He looked taken aback at his own question.
“You mean, why have I suddenly come to Hogwarts?”
“Yeah.”
“My dad wanted me closer to home… you know, since what happened at the end of last year?” He worried about me being so far away.”
Sabriel realised that just about the whole common room was listening and that they all looked rather shocked at such a display of concern for another human being coming from Snape.
Seamus Finnigan piped up. “Where were you before?”
“Durmstrang.”
“How come?” Lavender Brown joined in.
Sabriel pondered this for a second. She had never managed to get a straight answer out of her father about this, but she gave it her best guess.
“I think my father didn’t want me to come to Hogwarts ‘cause he’s here. He didn’t want me to have to go to a school where he taught. I didn’t want to go to Beauxbatons, because they don’t teach much of real substance there, and Durmstrang is the only other decent wizarding school in Europe, except for this one school in Greece, but I’d have to learn Greek for that. He almost considered pulling me out when Karkaroff became Headmaster, but he didn’t for some reason.” Sabriel had always wondered why he had left her there with a man whom he most emphatically did not trust.
Parvati Patil burst out with the question they had all probably been dying to ask.
“Who’s your mother?”
Sabriel saw everyone eagerly lean forward in anticipation of her answer. She saw Hermione out of the corner of her eye shaking her head frantically to try and get everyone to drop it. They were all probably wondering if Snape had a wife holed up in the dungeons in the manner of Mr Rochester in Jane Eyre, but less dashing.
Sabriel wondered if any of them realised that most of the teachers had families who they barely ever got to see – McGonagall had two rather intimidating daughters who both played Quidditch and won medals in Scottish Country Dancing. Trelawney had a sister who wrote horoscopes for the Chipping Cleghorn Gazette. Sprout had seven children (none of whom, thank Merlin, could sing) and a grandchild on the way. Flitwick had been married for forty years to a six-foot-tall woman who insisted on calling him ‘Flitty’ – something which he would have strongly protested against, had he not been so utterly devoted to her.
But none of this would have occurred to any of the students at Hogwarts; probably, thought Sabriel, quite rightly. Once one knows these things about one’s teachers, it’s hard to go back. Sabriel found it exceedingly hard not to call Flitwick ‘Flitty.’
Sabriel looked around at all of them. “Well, my mother died when I was a baby.”
Everyone looked guilty, especially Parvati.
Sabriel continued. “About the same time that the Potters were killed.”
Harry, who had just climbed through the portrait-hole, froze in his tracks.
Sabriel thought she might as well tell them.
“Her name was Selina. Selina Snape. Originally Selina Sosnovska.”
Sabriel wandered over to where the rest of her classmates were standing, huddled outside the entrance to the potions classroom. She heard the sound of her shoes echoing in the cold stone corridors and the faint dripping noises of damp from the lake which permeated the rock. She suddenly felt more at home than she had since she first arrived. She had spent the long summer months between terms with her father at Hogwarts, due to her father’s dislike of their small and dingy home in Spinner’s End. She would have complained about rattling around in an empty school, but she hated the house too.
She actually loved her holidays at Hogwarts; she enjoyed wandering the halls by herself and learning all the quirks of the castle. She’d stayed away from the other houses’ living areas, but she knew the rest of the building very well. Once she had come across Dumbledore going into his office, recognising the famous wizard from his Chocolate Frog Card. He had known exactly who she was, despite the fact that they had never met and he had invited her to see his office.
She remembered the feeling of awe as she walked up the moving spiral staircase to the magical tower-room. It was full of strange objects and books and there were what seemed like hundreds of portraits on the walls. He had made them a cup of tea and they had chatted about Hogwarts, the wizarding world at large and her own school in France, which she had attended until she began Durmstrang. She remembered fondly the twinkle in his extraordinarily blue eyes. It had become a sort of ritual; when Dumbledore was at Hogwarts during the holiday, they would sit and chat and drink tea. He had first aired his thoughts regarding the Triwizard Tournament during one of these chats and she had given him some advice about how best to approach the school. They had become friends of sorts.
She had needed a friend during her solitary months at Hogwarts, the castle was usually deserted except for the odd teachers who chose to stay behind and no matter how much she liked wandering the halls, everyone needed company now and again.
The dungeons were her favourite part of the castle and the only part she knew very well. She reckoned that her knowledge of all of the twists and turns of the castle’s subterranean floors could rival that of the Slytherins, or even Fred and George.
Only she knew the secret entrance to her father’s living quarters, tucked in the back of his office. She also knew every entrance to the Slytherin common room and the pattern of the passwords (this month’s would be vincere vel mori – victory or death). She knew that the Bloody Baron was a sucker for a pretty face and that if you gave Peeves a cockroach cluster once in a while, he was a valuable ally to have. She knew the best way to manipulate people into agreeing with you and how to melt someone’s heart with a dazzling smile. She would have been the perfect Slytherin.
Then again, she thought, she would have been constantly in the company of the likes of Draco Malfoy, so perhaps she was better off.
She walked over to where Ron and Hermione were standing. Harry was talking to a very pretty Chinese girl and looking completely flustered.
“Hey. Who’s that Harry’s talking to?”
Ron and Hermione smirked.
“That’s Cho Chang” said Hermione with a grin. “Harry’s had a crush on her since third year. She’s in the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.”
“Yeah. And she supports the Tornadoes.” Ron said with a snort. Hermione rolled her eyes.
She looked at Harry. He seemed very awkward, as though he was expecting it all to go horribly wrong at any second. She looked inquisitively at Ron and Hermione.
“Why are they so… weird together?”
Hermione looked solemn. “Cho was Cedric’s girlfriend. You know, Cedric Diggory who was killed. Harry feels guilty about it.”
“Guilty? Why would he feel guilty?”
Ron pitched in. “Because Cedric would never have been put into that danger if it wasn’t for… well, you know…”
Sabriel got it. “If it wasn’t for Voldemort’s complete determination to kill Harry?”
Ron flinched at the name. “Yeah, that’s it.”
She understood. Sabriel had seen first hand what that guilt could do to a person, guilt at having indirectly caused someone’s death by just knowing them. It was a dangerous thing.
Harry joined them and awkwardly tried to hide the blush that was still staining his cheeks. He tried to break the uncomfortable silence.
“So, how do you like Hogwarts so far?” He grinned desperately at Sabriel.
“Yeah, it’s okay.” They looked exasperatedly at her. “I mean, I love this castle and the grounds are amazing, but I’ve been here for less than twenty four hours, everyone thinks I’m a bat because of who my father is and I haven’t had a class yet, so I think I’ll reserve judgement.” She smiled at them.
“Are you a bat?”
“RON!”
“What, I was just asking!”
Sabriel chuckled. “Hey, it could have its uses, being a bat.”
Harry mouthed a quick ‘thanks’ at her for diffusing the embarrassing tension and was about to say something more when the Slytherins arrived.
They looked like they were trying to be the Mafiosi, the way they strutted into the corridor, shoulders plunged back and heads held high. Malfoy was in the lead, as the rich kids often are, with his two brute-force men – Crabbe and Goyle – looming behind him. The petite Pansy Parkinson looked morose and kept glancing at Malfoy, who it seemed was purposefully ignoring her.
The five girls looked Sabriel up and down, sizing up the new competition, while the boys just tried desperately not to stare at her (it would not do for their head of house to catch them ogling his daughter).
Malfoy stepped forward with a smirk, no doubt about to say something snarky, when he was interrupted by the arrival of the Potions Master.
He swept past them in a manner which Sabriel did find reminiscent of some sort of bat, something she’d never seen him do, and billowed into his classroom.
Sabriel followed Harry, Ron and Hermione into the class and to their usual table at the back. It was somehow darker in the Potions class than it was during the holiday and it seemed colder. Her father swept over to his desk and turned to glower at his class.
He began lecturing them on their upcoming O.W.Ls and the importance of a high pass grade. Sabriel couldn’t believe the malice in his voice. No wonder he had a reputation for being horrible. He acted as though the only way to teach his students was to make them fear him. She remembered the way he used to teach her, patiently and carefully making sure she understood how to read, to hold a wand, cast a spell or stir a potion. He was always so gentle with her, so caring. He always seemed to enjoy teaching her, why couldn’t he be the same with his students? What was different?
He came to the end of his tirade and revealed the task for the day. She smiled when she saw the potion he had set them: The Draught of Peace. Easy as pie. She set to work. She was so engrossed in the incredibly complex potion that she never noticed that Harry forgot his hellebore essence. She heard familiar soft footsteps padding towards their table. She looked up to see her father with an awful smirk on his face.
“Potter, what is this supposed to be?”
She looked at Harry’s potion. She listened as her father ripped into Harry, disregarding the surrounding potions which had been obviously botched to a much greater extent than Harry’s. She glared at him.
After he had finished tormenting Harry, he swept past Sabriel on his way back to his desk, just catching the filthy look she was giving him. Most of the class was watching closely for any sort of exchange between father and daughter, but they were disappointed: neither seemed to acknowledge the other’s presence.
They were both experts at hiding their emotions.
Harry sat sulking while the rest of the class finished their potions. Sabriel added the last few touches to hers and sat back, having created a perfect draught of peace. Even Hermione was glancing nervously at her cauldron to see if her potion looked the same as Sabriel’s.
Sabriel edged closer to Harry so they could talk.
“Is he always like this?” She asked. Harry looked surprised.
“Yeah… I mean, I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“Well, you’re probably more qualified to comment, I usually only see him for two months a year. He’s never like this with me. Well, only when I deserve it.”
Harry looked astounded. He couldn’t imagine a Snape who wasn’t being nasty or malicious.
“You’re in for a shock. He’s definitely the nastiest teacher in the school. He favours Slytherins shamelessly and picks on Gryffindors.”
Sabriel nodded. She knew he’d be like this. He was like this when he was angry, but she had never expected it to be so constant. It was unnerving to think that so many people hated her own father and probably herself by extension.
“McGonagall’s probably the strictest, but at least she’s fair.”
Sabriel snorted with laughter. “Fair? There’s no such thing.” If she had learned anything at Durmstrang that was it.
Harry looked at her. He stared silently for a few moments, as if contemplating something. “You’re more like him than you think, you know.”
Sabriel studied him coldly for a while before a sly grin lifted one corner of her mouth.
“I know.”
Snape called them up and one by one they handed over their draughts of peace.
The bell rang to signal the end of the lesson and the students began filing out. Sabriel couldn’t help but catch a glint in Mafoy’s eye as he stared at her on the way out.
Snape caught it too.
“Are you coming?” Harry, Ron and Hermione were waiting for her.
“You guys go on; I’ll meet you at Defence Against the Dark Arts.” She waited as the dregs left the classroom.
Sabriel turned to her father who was staring intently out of the doorway. His gaze didn’t budge as he spoke to her.
“Did something happen between you and Malfoy?”
Sabriel realised he had caught the look.
“No, why?”
Her father looked vaguely disturbed. He kept staring at the doorway.
“Nothing.” He finally turned to her. “So? What do you think?”
She stared at him. It was hard to believe that he could act like a vicious and cold hearted fiend for two whole hours; purposefully make the lives of half a year miserable and then turn back into her father – a shy and rather bumbling Potions Master who had absolutely no self-esteem. Impossible.
“Seriously? I think you’re a sadistic bully who hates Harry Potter and doesn’t mind showing it, even at the expense of an entire class. You’re a shameless favourtist and a mean and nasty teacher. How can you expect people to learn in this environment? You terrify half the class and make the other half believe that they never have to do any work, because of the house they’re in. But all this I knew.”
He looked rather shocked. She had built up a head of steam and there was no way she was stopping any time soon.
“What I didn’t know is that you enjoy intimidating others and watching them suffer, especially watching them being humiliated by their enemies; but I suppose I should have guessed that from your choice of fraternity.” She spat the last word, making her meaning painfully clear. Her father’s involvement with the Death Eaters had always caused her an awful lot of anguish and confusion, but she had never let it show before.
Silence boomed in her ears. She regretted instantly what she had said, seeing plainly the hurt in her father’s eyes.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that. Put that down as annoyance at being treated like a leper by the general populace.”
He made no reply. The silence was becoming deafening. Sabriel tried to lighten the mood.
“So, what should I call you?”
He looked up at her, surprise on his face.
“What do you mean?”
“In class? Should I call you Professor, or Sir, or… Pops?”
He smirked. “Do you usually call me Pops?”
“No.”
“You know why?”
“’Cause you’d hex me?”
“Exactly, so lets assume that I don’t want you to call me Pops EVER let alone in front of people.”
“Okay. What then? Daddy-o? Father Dearest? Sev?” He grimaced at ‘Sev’. Only two people had ever gotten away with calling him ‘Sev’ and they were both dead.
“I think Professor will be fine if it doesn’t make you too uncomfortable.”
“I don’t know, I like Daddy-o…”
He glared at her. “What do I call you?” He inquired.
“You usually call me ‘Hey You!’ don’t you?”
“Sabriel, I’m serious. I have no idea what to call you.”
“Well, here’s an idea, I think it may catch on: why don’t you call me Sabriel? It’s catchy, easy to remember and it also happens to be my name.”
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t call any of my other students by their first names.”
“None of your other students are related to you and besides, you don’t want to call me Snape, do you?”
“No. That would be bizarre.”
“So, splash out. Live a little. Use my first name and if you get really annoyed with me, you could go wild and chuck my middle name in as well.”
“You know you are a truly irritating child and I should have strangled you at birth.”
“Too late.”
They smiled at each other for a few seconds.
“How about a truce?” Sabriel extended her hand.
“Deal.” They shook hands, and then he pulled her in for a hug.
“I really am sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I know. I forgive you. This time. Next time you should know that you’re not too old to go over my knee.”
She glared at him. “And you’re not too decrepit for the receiving end of one of my hurling hexes which were famous at Durmstrang.”
“And that’s saying something.” He grinned.
“I’d better run, I’m going to be late for Defence Against the Dark Arts.”
“Knowing Umbridge I doubt it will make the least bit of difference to ward off the forces of evil.” He said dryly.
“Yeah, but this way I don’t get detention.” With that she hurried off.
He watched her leave, lost in thought. He remembered the expression on Draco’s face as he left the classroom and the look on Potter’s face when he first saw Sabriel. He wondered which one he would hate the least if it came down to it.
It only took him a few seconds. He wouldn’t let Draco Malfoy within ten feet of his daughter, having seen Lucius’ handiwork. At least Potter had a moral code.
Sabriel awoke to the shrieks and giggles of the girls of the fifth year Gryffindor dormitory, as they got ready for the first day of classes. Lavender Brown was showing a pretty Indian girl who Sabriel hadn’t met yet a brand new pack of Tarot cards. Hermione was straightening her prefect’s badge in the mirror and pulling a face at her impossibly bushy hair. One other girl was stroking Hermione’s cat Crookshanks. She had chestnut coloured hair and small eyes.
Sabriel lay still for a minute. She had tossed and turned for hours before finally falling into a fitful slumber. She felt vaguely sick. Half of it was nerves at her first day of Hogwarts, half was the awful thought that her father was ashamed of her. They always did this; they had a fight and let their feelings fester until neither of them could sleep peacefully. They never talked about anything. Her father never talked at all, at least never to her.
She lightly shook her head. She had to snap out of this ‘my father never talks to me’ nonsense and get over it. There was no room in her family for any self-pity. Her father had the monopoly on that.
“Oh, Sabriel you’re awake.” Hermione walked over to Sabriel’s bed, while she sat up and began brushing her hair.
“Time for introductions, I think. You’ve met Lavender.” Lavender gave a little wave, but she didn’t smile. “This” she pointed to the girl holding the Tarot cards “is Parvati Patil.” Parvati said a small “hi” and turned back to Lavender. “And this” Hermione turned to the girl stroking Crookshanks “is Ruth Vegrandi.” Ruth gave a small smile and kept stroking Crookshanks. “Everyone, this is Sabriel.”
Sabriel smiled at them all, but couldn’t discern any real warmth in any of them. She turned to Hermione who was desperately trying to look delighted and gave her a look which said: ‘it’s okay, they don’t have to like me.’
After quickly getting dressed, Sabriel and Hermione headed downstairs towards the common room.
“It’s alright you know, I understand why they’re wary of me. I would be too if I were them.”
“Still.” Hermione frowned. “It should be enough that you’re in Gryffindor and actually trying to be friendly. I’m willing to bet your father wouldn’t be this nice.” She realised what she was saying and looked guiltily at Sabriel. “Sorry… I mean if people talked about my dad like that I’d hate it. Sorry.”
Sabriel smiled at her. “It’s okay, I’m used to it. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve at least some of it. He’s not the easiest man to get along with. Anyway, I’ll probably be talking like that about him by the end of the day if he stays true to form and treats me like a Gryffindor.” She remembered the look of shock on his face when the Sorting Hat had placed her in the hated house.
“Morning”
Sabriel and Hermione had just walked into the common room where Harry and Ron were dressed and still yawning.
“Shall we go down to breakfast?” Harry began to drag the basically asleep Ron through the entrance hole.
The Great Hall was buzzing with conversation as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. Professor McGonagall was already handing out the year’s timetables. When she spotted Sabriel she hurried over.
“Now dear, I’ve just put you in the basic classes which most people seem to take. If there’s anything you’re unhappy with, just tell me.”
Sabriel quickly scanned the subjects on her timetable. Transfiguration, Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, Herbology, History of Magic, Defence against the Dark Arts, Divination and Potions. She almost gagged at Divination.
“Um, Professor?”
Professor McGonagall looked inquisitively at her.
“Could I maybe swap Divination for something else? Like Arithmancy?”
Hermione looked delighted when Sabriel showed a preference for her favourite subject. “Oh, yes Professor! Sabriel will love Arithmancy!”
Professor McGonagall replied with a stern grin “of course you can take Arithmancy.”
With that she tapped her wand on Sabriel’s timetable and her classes magically rearranged themselves to fit her new class in. The Professor then moved on to the next group of students, wondering why on earth anyone would voluntarily take Arithmancy.
“Yay!” Hermione squealed. “You’ll love Professor Vector; she’s my favourite teacher ever! Oooh, finally I’ll have a study buddy! We can put up number charts in the dormitory and colour code our notes together!”
Harry and Ron looked exasperatedly at each other and inwardly prayed that Sabriel wasn’t going to be as academically enthusiastic as Hermione. Their prayers were answered when they saw the look of horror on Sabriel’s face.
“I wonder what that Umbridge woman is going to be like?” said Ron, piling hash browns on to his plate which was already covered in scrambled eggs.
“Well, I doubt she’ll be anywhere near as good as Lupin, but… Ron, you’ll be sick!”
“What are you now, my mother?”
“Who?” said Sabriel. They looked blankly at her. “I mean, who are you talking about?”
“Umbridge?”
“Yeah.”
“She introduced herself last night at the feast.” Hermione looked confused. “She said all this stuff about ‘progress for progress’ sake’ and such nonsense. Don’t you remember?”
Sabriel understood. “Well, I was a little preoccupied, so it’s possible I wasn’t listening.”
“You and the rest of the Great Hall” said Harry glancing back at his timetable.
“’Ear ‘ear” said Ron through a mouthful of eggs. He had another look at his timetable and quickly swallowed.
“Oh no.” he looked up, his face longer than Nearly Headless Nick’s. “We’ve got double potions – with the Slytherins – first thing Monday morning! Eurgh!”
Harry joined in the misery. “Two hours of Snape just after we’ve woken up. That’s like mental cruelt – OW!”
From the look on Hermione’s face it seemed as though she had kicked Harry under the table. Harry looked guiltily at Sabriel.
“Honestly you guys don’t worry about it! If I’m not happy about anything you say, I’ll tell you, but in the meantime, you don’t need to tread on eggshells every time I’m here.”
Ron looked relieved. “Thank Merlin. If I have to bottle up every time I’m annoyed at Snape, I’ll explode before Christmas!” Sabriel laughed at that but stopped immediately as she saw the man himself walk into the Great Hall.
He looked exhausted as though he hadn’t slept. His head was down and his face looked drawn and gaunt. He looked miserable. He wasn’t looking her way, but Sabriel sensed that he was trying very hard not to. She had to talk to him before the double period began.
She stood up. “I’ll meet you guys at Potions, okay?”
Ron looked confused. “How will you know where it is?”
Sabriel smiled. “Because I’ve spent every summer holiday that I can remember at Hogwarts, a considerable portion of which was spent in the Potions class. Trust me; I know every nook and cranny of the dungeons.” With that she headed off towards the staff table.
Harry and Ron looked at each other. Ron smirked. “Every nook and cranny? Just don’t let Fred and George hear her say that, imagine the carnage!”
George’s head popped round from behind Angelina Johnson.
“Did somebody say carnage?”
*
Snape looked up from his porridge to see Sabriel edging towards him. He couldn’t quite discern her expression, but it wasn’t good. He sighed and pushed his chair back. He gestured for her to follow him into the antechamber which had been used for the Triwizard champions at the beginning of the previous year. She followed him inside and closed the door.
Outside, the Hall broke into whispers as everyone discussed what they had just seen. The new girl and her famed father were the hot topic of the first day, everyone wanting to know how the Potions Master was taking the fact that his daughter was one of the newest members of the Gryffindor House.
The students who were the most curious were the green-clad Slytherins, who were anxious to see how their Head of House interacted with his daughter. They didn’t know where to put themselves, caught between hating all Gryffindors and not wanting to upset Snape.
Malfoy especially wanted to know, as he was going to find it hard to torment his favourite enemies if Snape’s daughter was friends with them. If, however, Snape disowned her or something, Malfoy didn’t think he’d mind so much. Then again, he thought, she was very good looking. Just a touch of a sly grin flickered across his face, before he turned back to Pansy Parkinson, who was doing an awful impression of Potter fainting in the presence of a Dementor, a joke which everyone else had given up years ago. Yes, he thought. Time to move on.
Sabriel turned and looked at her father. He was dressed in his usual black robes, robes he seemed to find specifically for their ability to billow around him without any need for a draft. She waited for him to say something, but he remained silent. He just stood there and looked at his shoes.
“Well?” she said. He looked up.
“Well what?”
Sabriel almost threw her bag at him.
“Well what do you think? I mean, you just disappeared last night before I got the chance to talk to you!”
He looked furious. “What do you mean ‘disappeared’, I didn’t bother you because I could see that you were busy with your new best buddies. Already come up with some witty nickname for me have you? Is it at all innovative or have you just stuck to Snivellus?”
She looked shocked. She felt like he’d slapped her across the face. She replied quickly, he’d taught her to be always ready with a sharp retort.
“Are you so insecure that you think I’d treat you like that? Of course I don’t mock you, why would I? Anyway, it’s not as though you’re the only thing in the world to talk about. It is possible to get through a conversation without mentioning your name.”
He recognised the sarcastic tone as his own and he saw her bottom lip curl, just like his did when he was angry. The quirk softened him a little.
She saw his expression lift and knew that she had got through to him. She quietly broached the subject they had both been avoiding.
“So… are you angry? I mean, that I’m in Gryffindor?” She held her breath.
Snape hesitated. He sure as hell wasn’t pleased, but she was his daughter. He couldn’t just alienate her.
“I’m surprised. It was so unexpected. I never dreamed that you wouldn’t be in Slytherin, but then your mother wasn’t. You’ve always been more like her than me anyway.”
Sabriel looked disappointed. She had wanted more of an assertion that he didn’t think any less of her. Snape quickly picked it up.
“This doesn’t change anything between us.” He said firmly. “You’re my daughter, Slytherin or Gryffindor. Probably not Hufflepuff though.”
She laughed. “It could be worse; the Hat might have just chucked me out.”
“With your genes? Never.”
They smiled at each other for a moment, both relieved that the conflict had been resolved. She walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek.
“See you in class.” She walked to the door and turned around just before she left.
“Professor.”
He chuckled to himself. This was going to be interesting.
Sabriel shivered in the cool evening breeze as she looked up at the gloomy castle. After her dull and isolated train-ride, she was glad she hadn’t been placed in the boats with the first-years, that would have simply added to the truly horrific day she had had so far. The thestral pulling her carriage made a sort of snuffling sound as it put its head down ready for the final uphill push towards the entrance to the castle.
She had been to Hogwarts before, of course, but never during term time and never for very long. What she had experienced was a dark, gloomy place which was far too quiet for her liking. She had felt lonely in the enormous hallways and on her strolls round the fathomless lake in the grounds. She felt lonely now, solitary in her carriage. Everyone else had friends to ride with.
Sabriel’s friends were hundreds of miles away, tucked up in bed, asleep in their dormitories. She wished she were back at Durmstrang now, asleep with them, familiar with her world and her surroundings, rather than in this new school with new systems and new prejudices.
She wished her father hadn’t been so nervous and protective. Why did he have to be so jumpy? Voldemort was in Britain, not Scandinavia; she couldn’t see why his return at the end of last year meant that she had to move back to England. In fact, it was nonsensical. But, her father had always been very protective of her since the death of her mother. It was incredible that he had ever sent her so far away, considering his overprotective nature. But then, he’d probably wanted to protect her from himself more than anything. And Durmstrang had been the home of Grindelwald, the great dark wizard preceding Voldemort, so she supposed it had a tendency towards bad guys.
She awoke from her reverie as the thestral came to a sudden halt outside the entrance. The students, gossiping and catching up after the holidays, were streaming towards the light which was emanating from the huge front doors. She spotted Professor McGonagall standing to one side, keeping an eye on the throng and shushing them loudly at intervals. Unsure as to what she should do, she crossed the mass of people and walked over to the strict-looking witch.
“Um, excuse me, Professor?”
Professor McGonagall looked around and was about to speak when a fight started in the middle of the entrance way.
“Just a minute, dear” she muttered to Sabriel as she charged off to break it up
“…never in all my time at Hogwarts have I seen such behaviour on the first night!”
Sabriel sighed. If fights were the worst thing that could happen at Hogwarts, she was going to be in for a quiet year.
“Sorry dear, I hope you don’t think that’s how it always is at Hogwarts. Honestly! Fighting before they’ve even reached the entrance hall!” She looked more incredulous than anything else. “Anyway, welcome to Hogwarts! I don’t quite know what to do with you, my dear. We don’t usually have the dilemma of Sorting a fifth year student. I suppose I’ll just call out your name with the first years, there’s not much else I can do I’m afraid.”
Sabriel sighed again. People would think she’d been put back a few years because of total stupidity, or lack of magical talent or something. Then again, they probably wouldn’t notice much beyond her last name.
“That’s fine Professor McGonagall, I don’t mind.” She said in a falsely cheery voice.
“Good. Just wait over here with me until the first years get here.”
They didn’t have long to wait, about a minute later the huge frame of Hagrid the gamekeeper loomed in the darkness; terrifying if it hadn’t been for his warm smile.
“’Lo there professor! Got the firs’ years over the lake all righ’. Only a little wet, aren’ yeh?”
If the terrified first years were ‘only a little wet’ then Sabriel shuddered to think how wet the previous year’s new entrants had been. The wide eyed and frozen faces were obscured by drenched hair which stuck to their skin. Their robes dragged along the ground, picking up dead leaves and one boy was trailing an enormous piece of slimy weed behind him.
Professor McGonagall gave her usual speech to the first years, with the ever mysterious lack of information about ‘The Sorting’ and what it entailed, and after she had finished, they were beckoned through the entrance way and into the great hall.
Sabriel heard the soft ‘aah!’s of awe as the first years glimpsed the magical ceiling which, like the sky outside, was slightly overcast, the moon not yet high enough to be visible. She had already seen the ceiling many times and did not join in the exclamations uttered by the tiny little heads bobbing in front of her. Already, she heard the whispers of the students sitting at the four long house tables, as they noticed her, an obviously much older girl, among the littl’uns.
The Sorting Hat burst into song. Uninterested, she scanned the room. At the far end of the hall was the staff table, Hagrid clearly visible at the right of the rest. Dumbledore sitting, amused-looking, in the centre. The students were fidgeting. They looked bored and hungry. She couldn’t blame them; how many times had some of them seen a sorting now?
During her observations, the song had finished and McGonagall had been explaining to the first years what would happen and was now beginning to read out the names. Sabriel snapped to attention; she didn’t want the preconception that she was slow to be emphasised by her missing her own name.
“Adder, Derek”
A lanky, dark-haired boy, the tallest in the group stood up and put the Sorting hat on his head. The irony did not escape Sabriel as Derek Adder was announced a “Slytherin!” and he bounded towards the applauding sea of green at the Slytherin table and sat down. As she watched him, a blonde head caught her eye. Draco Malfoy. She suppressed a shudder. Any son of Lucius Malfoy had to be a right little-
“Aggerly, Maisy”
Oh god. How long was this going to take? She was beginning to feel famished and she had only heard good things about the Hogwarts feasts. The Sorting dragged on and on and finally, after “Sotheby, Marcus” was sent over to Ravenclaw, she heard her name called.
“Snape, Sabriel”
The room broke into such furious whispering that Dumbledore had to clear his throat loudly from his seat at the staff table to get it to stop. Gingerly, determined not to trip over or something equally embarrassing, Sabriel walked over to the hat and the stool. She could feel every eye in the hall fixed on her, especially two black ones which cut through her like laser beams from the staff table. McGonagall raised the Sorting Hat in the air, thinking to herself ‘No prizes for guessing which house she’ll be in!’ and lowered it onto Sabriel’s head.
“Well, well, well.” Said a mischievous voice in her ear. “Interesting. A late comer to Hogwarts. Hmmm, where to put you?”
Sabriel said – well, thought – to the hat: ‘Slytherin, obviously.’
But the hat did not agree so readily: “Perhaps, perhaps. Certainly enough power to be in Slytherin, but I don’t know if you’re… hmmm. I know. Best place for you is GRYFFINDOR!”
No. Thought Sabriel. No, no, NO!! It must be a mistake. She looked over at her father, dreading what she might see.
Severus Snape looked completely shocked. He was staring at his daughter in disbelief. How could this happen? She was his daughter, for heaven’s sake; the daughter of the Head of Slytherin House! How could she possibly be in Gryffindor? He noticed the complete silence in the room. Every eye was either on him or his daughter, who looked shocked and terrified. To his left, Dumbledore began to clap and spurred on by him, so did the staff. The tension broke and the hall burst into applause, which was accompanied by an undercurrent of whispering.
Sabriel snapped out of her horror and began her long walk to the nearest available seat at the Gryffindor table. She glanced at her father who seemed to be deliberately looking away, at “Trobley, Jacob” who was scuttling up to the stool. No one else was paying any attention to Jacob, though; everyone in the room was looking at her, including Albus Dumbledore, who was surveying her over his half-moon glasses.
Horrified by the situation she found herself in, she hurriedly sat down in the first seat she could find. She stared at her empty dinner-plate in horror. Gryffindor. Ravenclaw would’ve been okay. Perhaps even Hufflepuff at a stretch. But not Gryffindor. The hated house. The house of James Potter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. The boys whose memories still plagued her father. The arrogant and self-promoting Gryffindor ego, all talk, all macho-ism and Quidditch skill. Never intelligence and intellect, or cunning or strategy. The obsession with honour and loyalty. Not that there was anything wrong with either of these things, but the way her father told it, they cared more for honour and loyalty than justice, or fairness or truth. How could she, her father’s daughter, possibly fit in to this house of… chivalric morons?
She gave a quiet snort of laughter at this, then realised finally where she was. She looked for the first time at the people surrounding her. To her left, sitting on the opposite bench and squashed together so closely it looked ridiculous, were the first year Gryffindors who seemed to have been reluctant to sit on her bench. When she looked to her right she saw why. ‘Merlin’s teeth’. She said to herself. Without looking, she had plonked herself right next to Harry Potter. The ‘Boy Who Lived’ who had seen Voldemort return. He was engaged with his friends who were sitting opposite him. One was a rather pretty girl with an enormous amount of very curly hair and a stern look quite reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. Must be Hermione Granger ‘The Know-It-All’ as her father had dubbed her. Next to her was a boy tucking into a huge mound of mashed potatoes which he had drowned in gravy, clearly a Weasley, judging by the hair and the state of his robes. Directly opposite her was a girl, also clearly a Weasley, who seemed to be younger than the others. She spotted another two, twins, who seemed to be showing a dreadlocked boy a long, flesh-coloured string.
She glanced up at the staff table. Her father was deep in conversation with Flitwick, an incredibly short wizard who was apparently sitting on a stack of cushions.
“You should eat something before it disappears.”
The Weasley girl was looking at her with a smile.
“The plates will clear for dessert. Not that I see any objection to just eating dessert, but the Yorkshire puddings are really very good.”
Sabriel suddenly remembered how hungry she was.
“Thanks. I haven’t had Yorkshire pudding for years.” And with that she began to fork some roast beef on to her plate.
The food was excellent. ‘Better than Borscht every night’ she thought to herself. She had just mopped up the last of her gravy with a final Yorkshire pudding when the remaining food on the table vanished, replaced with a huge array of various desserts. She spotted a treacle tart and almost squealed with delight.
“Merlin’s teeth” she said “Treacle tart! My favourite!”
“Mine too.”
She turned away from the huge piece of treacle tart she had plonked on to her plate to see Potter smiling at her.
“I think Hogwarts treacle tart is the best in the world, actually”
She smiled back at him.
“I’m Harry Potter, this is Hermione Granger” the curly-haired girl gave a little wave “and Ron Weasley” unable to speak due to a huge amount of trifle in his mouth, Ron merely nodded and made a sound like “lee zoom ee choo.”
The redheaded girl opposite her gave Ron a look of disgust and said “I’m Ginny Weasley, Ron’s sister.”
Sabriel looked at them. They were being nice to her, despite her name. She hadn’t expected such behaviour from Gryffindors.
“I’m Sabriel.” She was reluctant to tell them her last name. “Sabriel Snape.”
They looked at her curiously. Ron, who seemed to have finished chewing his mouthful, asked her directly.”
“Any relation to Professor Snape?”
Hermione seemed to have kicked him under the table. Ginny looked at him disgustedly again; “Ron! Honestly.”
“OW! What?” He looked bewildered.
“It’s okay, really.” Sabriel smiled. “Severus Snape is my father.”
Three shocked faces looked at her. She was used to this, the resemblance between her and her father was very slight. While her father was sallow, she was simply pale – almost exotically so – and she had thankfully missed out on her father’s enormous nose. Her dark hair was sleek and thick and framed her face well. The only feature she shared with her father were her black eyes, which seemed to be almost liquid as they twinkled. While her father’s eyes were often cold, Sabriel’s were full of warmth and laughter. She had her mother’s stunning eyebrows and thick eyelashes and slightly pointed chin. She could understand why they must have thought she was a cousin or something.
Harry stared at her. How could this girl be Snape’s daughter? She looked nothing like him and she actually seemed friendly. Also, she was in Gryffindor. And very pretty…
He snapped out of it and focused on his treacle tart. No way would that be a good idea.
“Merlin.” Said Ron with an open mouth. “Seriously?”
“RON!” Hermione kicked him again. “Have you NO manners whatsoever?”
“Well… I mean, um, yeah. Wow. Okay.” Ron looked flabbergasted.
Ginny tried to rectify the situation; “He’s usually much more coherent than this.”
Harry looked at her quizzically.
“Okay, so he’s always like this, but it’s just… we didn’t know Snape had a kid.”
Sabriel looked at Ginny with a smile “’Cause my father is renowned for his willingness to share his life story with everyone he meets.” That got a laugh, thank Merlin and broke the tension which had been almost tangible since her little announcement.
After they had finished their first helping of Treacle tart and broken the ice a little, Harry began asking the questions which Sabriel knew had been burning in their minds for some time.
“So, how come you’re only just coming to Hogwarts now? I mean, you’re our age.”
“I went to a different school.” Sabriel sighed inwardly at the inquisitive expressions in front of her. “My father sent me to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts, but since the Triwizard Cup (she saw a flicker of something cross Harry’s face) he wants me closer to home. He figures Hogwarts has got to be safer than most places.”
Hermione frowned. “Durmstrang? Isn’t that school a little…” She trailed off not wanting to offend the new girl.
“Dodgy?” Offered Sabriel.
Hermione grinned and nodded.
“Yeah it was a bit.” Sabriel smiled “But from what I hear about those two (she pointed to Fred and George) this place isn’t the modicum of civility either.”
They all laughed heartily, except for Ron who simply chuckled and tried to figure out what modicum meant.
*
Severus Snape was distraught. He seemed perfectly calm, even Professor Flitwick didn’t seem to notice that the Potions Master wasn’t attending to a single word he was saying. But underneath the cold exterior, Snape was ‘wigging out’ as his daughter would put it. Gryffindor. His daughter was in Gryffindor and she was now chatting amicably with Harry Potter. He flinched when he saw them all laughing wholeheartedly at something she had said. Was she already making jokes at his expense? He couldn’t blame her; he would do exactly the same thing if it meant avoiding persecution and disgust from his classmates. That didn’t mean that the thought of her mocking him didn’t hurt. He narrowed his eyes at Potter. If that boy even thought about coming between him and his daughter…
Dumbledore was an excellent multi-tasker. He was, at that moment, simultaneously listening to Professor McGonagall who had read about a new theory of Transfiguration in the Annals of American Sorcery; eating a very confusing chocolate contraption which Dobby had come up with, which seemed to be defying gravity; and noticing the turmoil in which his young Potions Master was embroiled.
Severus looked pale… well, paler than usual. He definitely wasn’t listening to Professor Flitwick who was twittering away about some charm or other, he was staring at his fork and his eyes were misty and unfocused. He looked slightly incredulous, an expression which the headmaster had never seen him wear. Nothing usually caught Severus Snape unawares.
He must have been shocked when the Sorting Hat placed his daughter in Gryffindor, they all were. Dumbledore chuckled at the memory of Professor McGonagall’s face, her eyebrows under her hat brim in surprise.
“… well I don’t know that it’s particularly funny, Headmaster, after all it is criminal how little funding Transfiguration academics get.”
He turned to see Minerva looking at him over her spectacles.
“Yes, absolutely. Completely agree.” Dumbledore nodded profusely. It wasn’t like him to be caught not listening. His mind wandered as Professor McGonagall continued her rant against the boards of magical research and he wondered just how much Snape would be affected by this unexpected turn of events.
*
Sabriel laughed as Fred explained his idea for canary creams. She was pleasantly surprised at the twins’ ability to use their talent for magic to entertain. She was so used to people at Durmstrang using their skills to play nasty pranks on others. George was just beginning to explain the finer details of the charm they used when the Headmaster stood up. The Great Hall fell silent.
“Well, another year, another magnificent banquet!”
There were cheers and applause from the students, Fred and George cried out “hear hear!”
Dumbledore smiled and waved his hands to quiet them down. “Now that we have all had much more than enough to eat and drink, you had all better make your way up to the dormitories. Sleep tight!”
Everyone got to their feet and headed towards the entrance hall. Ron and Hermione rushed off with the other prefects, calling out “first years, come this way.” Sabriel fell into step beside Harry.
“Can I trust you to show me the way? I feel a little, well, tall next to the first years!”
Harry laughed. “Yeah, I think I can manage.”
Sabriel noticed the bitterness in what he said and saw the angry glance at the disappearing backs of his friends as they shepherded the tiny students out of the entrance hall. He was probably feeling annoyed that he hadn’t been chosen as a prefect.
She glanced behind her. She had promised her father that she would catch him as they left the Great Hall, but he was nowhere to be seen. She asked Fred if he had seen him leave.
“Yeah, I saw him head down towards the dungeons.” Fred then turned to his friend Lee to take a peek at whatever it was in the small suspicious looking box he was gingerly carrying.
Sabriel felt stung. He didn’t want to see her. He was ashamed and angry and she couldn’t blame him. He was the head of Slytherin and proud of it, while she had been sorted into Gryffindor. She was an embarrassment and a traitor.
”Are you alright?” Harry was looking at her. She hurriedly tried to blink away the tears which were smarting in her eyes.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just tired.” She gave him a weak smile.
He nodded and continued up the marble staircase. “Oh, watch the trick step.” He warned as he watched Neville get himself hauled out of it by Dean and Seamus.
Sabriel forced a chuckle and followed Harry up to the dormitories, convinced that she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep.
*
Severus Snape slammed the door to his dungeon office. He felt like he’d been slapped in the face. His heart had sunk when he had spotted Sabriel bounding off with Potter and her new friends. He grimaced at the thought of his daughter being friendly with them, those foul, self-righteous, disobedient brats who made his life a living hell. She knew how much he hated them and yet she made a beeline straight for them. She was mocking him, in public, for the whole school to see.
Part of him could understand why. He wasn’t the greatest father a girl could have. He was distant, moody and proud. He was bitter and twisted and full of hate. Why wouldn’t she shun him? He would do whatever he could to get away from himself too.
He sighed and pushed his hair off his face. He collapsed into the chair next to the cold fireplace. He knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight.
