Armilla

Chapter 57

After leaving the Secret Wing on Saturday afternoon, Snape and I didn't discuss our boggarts again. It was enough that we understood each other, but neither of us fancied taking time to talk about it. As Snape had said, he was not one for expressing Hufflepuff emotions and I certainly was not one for sentimentality. Of course I felt these emotions, but I was also not one for declaring it to the world proudly.

When I saw him again on Sunday afternoon, it was business as usual, and both of us avoided mentioning what had happened the day before. Fortunately, when we went up to Dumbledore's office to visit Mother, she was none the wiser about the boggarts because Dumbledore had respected our privacy and had not told her. I was glad that she didn't know. She would be anxious if she knew that Snape and I were worrying about losing each other.

On Sunday night, Snape and I practised duelling again in the sitting room. Again, I was trying my best to maintain my mental shield and cast a hex at the same time. It was extraordinarily difficult and I ended up on the floor more times than I would have liked. I could get as far as holding the shield still in my mind and casting the hex, but as soon as the magic left my body my mind kept trying to focus solely on the hex reaching the opponent, thus weakening my shield.

"I don't know what to do," I grumbled, getting up from the floor for the seventh time that night.

"Try not being so frustrated," Snape replied. "Getting annoyed about it won't improve things."

"Maybe I'm not ready to cast hexes at the same time," I said quietly, trying not to let my irritation show on my face. I was feeling very grumpy, not to mention very bruised.

"I will decide if you are ready," he said smoothly, sneering slightly. "What you are trying to achieve is far more complicated than mastering Occlumency. You're training your mind to do two forms of advanced magic at once. It takes getting used to, I assure you."

I sighed. "Well, I'm not getting very far."

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were more observant than that, Armilla. Your mind is taking longer and longer each time to give in. As a result, you take longer to fall. It won't be long before you manage it. Surely you can see that?"

Slowly, I nodded. It was just frustrating to take so long to get something right. I was not the most patient person in the world.

"But can't you try using a hex that won't make me end up on the floor?"

"It's not the hexes I'm using," he said, his eyes narrowing. "It's the reaction you have when your shield gives way. The magical energy you are trying to surround yourself with is thrown back into you when your mind rejects the shield."

Resigned to this, I conjured up some big blue cushions and directed them to lay behind me on the floor. This way I would have a soft landing.

"I believe you are making progress," Snape went on, now smirking slightly at my cushions, "no matter how bruised your behind is. How very thoughtful of you."

I tried not to smile.

"Why are your cushions blue?" he asked, still staring at them.

"I like blue," I said simply.

"It clashes with the décor of the room."

He was right. The sofa and armchairs were dark green and my dark blue cushions didn't match at all.

"Would you like me to conjure green ones next time?"

He cast me a dour look. "No. Stick to the blue then."

I raised my wand. "Well, let's go again."

"Fine," he said airily, raising his wand too. "Tarantallegra!"

We continued for another ten minutes, and I ended up on the floor countless times. Snape was right - it was taking longer and longer for my mind to give way, but falling down so hard each time wasn't the best experience, even if the cushions did make a softer landing.

"We're going to stop soon," said Snape, as I picked myself up off the floor yet again, panting slightly. I felt as if I had just had the wind knocked out of me.

I nodded, clutching my wand tightly as I raised it again.

Snape also raised his wand. "Tarantallegra!"

I already had my shield up and it wavered only slightly as Snape's hex tried to get through.

He had fired another three hexes before I felt confident enough to attempt casting one of my own. My shield hadn't wavered at all with the last three hexes and I was determined to keep it up and cast something at the same time.

As Snape cast yet another hex, I cast one of my own.

"Trebuchiero!"

"Rictusempra!"

I saw light streak out from my wand towards Snape as light from his wand shot out at me. I concentrated hard on the shield, whilst willing the magic I was directing through my wand to continue. I felt pressure in my mental shield as Snape's hex tried to get through, and I focused harder than ever on the shield, hoping my own hex had been successful.

Finally the pressure stopped...and I was left standing up!

"Not getting very far, are you?" Snape said sarcastically. "What do you call this then?"

"Slight progress?" I offered, smiling at him.

He shook his head at me. "Well it would seem that you are still standing, Armilla," he said dryly. "I do believe that is an improvement from landing on the floor."

"Was my hex alright?" I asked.

"No, it was weak," he answered, shaking his head again. "But no matter," he added hastily, obviously not wanting me to lose faith. "It wasn't the strength of the hex that you were practising, but being able to hold the shield and cast a hex at the same time. Once you are confident in that, you can focus on strengthening your hexes."

"Let's keep going then," I said, wanting to prove to myself that I could do it again, and that it hadn't just been luck.

"I think not." Snape waved his wand and directed the furniture back into place. "You've practised more than enough for one night." He sat down in one of the armchairs.

I didn't bother arguing about it. I knew from experience that once the man had made up his mind that was it. I pointed my wand at my blue cushions, intending to vanish them.

"You may as well leave those there," Snape said, glancing over at me as he reached for The Evening Prophet, "just until we're confident that you won't need them anymore."

"I thought they clashed," I said innocently.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Oh well," he said dryly. "It might look as if a Ravenclaw lives here too."

o o o o o o o o o o o o

Monday morning turned out to be a most amusing affair. As usual, I walked up to the Great Hall with Snape from the dungeons and we parted at the entrance.

I met Lisa and Terry at the Ravenclaw table and we were only about five minutes into breakfast when Anthony Goldstein, who was sitting on my left, gestured over to the Gryffindor table.

"Potter seems to have a lot of owls this morning."

We all paused to glance over at the Gryffindor table, where, as Anthony had pointed out, there were five owls on the table in front of Harry, all looking determined to have their mail taken first. Harry looked stunned as he reached for one of the letters. It seemed all the Gryffindors were just as amazed, for they had stopped eating to watch the commotion around Harry.

"Wonder what that's about," said Terry, turning back to his breakfast and yawning widely. "Can't be fan mail."

"No," said Lisa, shaking her head. "The Daily Prophet only reports bad things about him."

"Oh, it has nothing to do with The Daily Prophet," said a dreamy voice.

It was Luna Lovegood, who was sitting on the other side of Anthony. She gazed at us, her eyes even wider than usual. "Harry did an interview for my father's magazine. I expect those letters are from the readers."

"The Quibbler?" said Mandy Brocklehurst, who was sitting opposite Luna. "That's your father's magazine, isn't it?"

"Yes. Harry did an interview for Rita Skeeter in Hogsmeade."

"Rita Skeeter?" Terry repeated. "Blimey, I haven't seen anything from her in ages."

"Well, that's a good thing," Michael Corner muttered. "The stuff she writes is complete-"

"Oh she agreed readily enough to do this interview," Luna interrupted. "It's a very special one, after all."

"Special?" Lisa looked doubtful. "But isn't The Quibbler full of...erm...alternative stuff?"

Luna gazed at Lisa, not blinking. "No," she said smoothly, as if Lisa was a small child who needed something simple explained to her. "My father prints strictly academic and well-researched material. This interview is a very special case. Harry Potter had his chance to report the truth about You-Know-Who."

She reached into her schoolbag and pulled out a copy of The Quibbler. We all squeezed closer together to get a good look at the cover.

Harry's face was smiling awkwardly, and there were big red letters spread across the photo.

HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:

THE TRUTH ABOUT HE WHO SHOULD NOT BE NAMED

AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN

"Have a read," Luna said, as she got up. "I'm going to see what Dad's readers had to say to Harry. Farewell."

She drifted away towards the Gryffindor table. Sometimes I got the impression that she floated rather than walked.

"I'll read it aloud," said Anthony, picking up the magazine.

A few minutes later when he had finished, people seemed to be in mixed minds about the article. It was all about the night the year before when Harry had faced Voldemort after securing the Tri-Wizard Cup with Cedric Diggory. He had even named Death Eaters. Harry knew that Snape had been a Death Eater, but he hadn't named him, even though he did loathe him.

"It seems very dramatic," said Marietta Edgecombe, looking sour.

"Well, it is Rita Skeeter," Padma Patil stated.

"Even so, how could one write about a meeting with You-Know-Who and not make it dramatic?" Mandy pointed out.

"You're right, of course it would be dramatic," said Anthony, nodding as he put down the magazine. "It wouldn't have been a walk in the park for Potter, would it?"

"You believe him then?" asked Padma.

"Yeah, of course. My family supports Dumbledore one hundred percent. He said last year that You-Know-Who returned and we believed him. The Ministry is hushing it up."

"The Ministry do what it right," Marietta snapped.

"You think Potter is mad then, do you?" Michael demanded.

Marietta suddenly looked nervous. "I just think that he should support the ministry," she said quietly. "It seems he's just drawing attention to himself."

"You're barking, Marietta," said Terry, shaking his head at her.

"Leave her alone, Boot." Cho Chang snapped. "Everyone is entitled to their own opinion."

"What do you think, Armilla?" Anthony asked, turning to face me.

Suddenly all eyes were upon me. I couldn't tell them what I really thought, that I thought it was great that Potter had done such a thing and I couldn't wait for Umbridge to have a heart attack about it. But I had my position to consider. Whatever I said could travel back to the staff, or worse, to the Slytherin table, and subsequently, my father.

"I think that Umbridge will do her very best to have Harry expelled over this," I said smoothly, hoping to send the conversation in this direction. Fortunately at that moment, I caught sight of Umbridge questioning Harry over at the Gryffindor table. She looked far from pleased. "Look," I whispered, gesturing towards their table.

Thankfully, all the heads turned away from me to face Harry again.

"Oh, Potter's in for it now," Michael murmured.

"Umbridge looks like she might breathe fire," Lisa whispered, as Umbridge's face turned purple as she looked at the front page of The Quibbler.

"Very sneaky," Terry muttered. "But good show, Potter!"

As expected, by mid-morning one could not walk more than ten metres without coming across a sign for a new decree.

BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS

Any student found in possession of the magazine

The Quibbler will be expelled.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree

Number Twenty-seven.

Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor

I smiled to myself every time I saw one of the signs. Umbridge couldn't really stop students reading the magazine. The students who were daring enough to carry a copy of the article had bewitched it to resemble something else.

I caught sight of Umbridge during morning break singling out students at random and demanding that they empty their pockets. I steered clear of her, enough though I wasn't carrying a copy. I was carrying my chocolate frog card as usual, and I didn't want Umbridge touching it.

I was joined by Hermione that afternoon while I was waiting on the line outside the Arithmancy classroom.

"Hi, Armilla," she said breathlessly. It was no wonder she was out of breath after hauling her schoolbag around the castle. She always seemed to have dozens of books in there.

"Hi, Hermione. Did you end up finding the books you were looking for the other night?"

I had recommended that she look for books she needed for homework in the Room of Requirement.

Her eyes lit up. "Yes, it worked! I found those Potions books in there as well as all these others that were a great help." She suddenly sighed. "Hopefully Professor Snape will think I've done a good job on the essay."

"Don't you do a good job on every essay?"

She nodded. "I put my heart and soul into everything, Armilla. I need the good marks."

I stared at her and she suddenly looked uncomfortable. "You know I'm muggle-born, Armilla. My parents were a bit sceptical about letting me come to Hogwarts. They told me before I started first year that they would withdraw me and send me to the private school they had been planning on if I didn't do well at Hogwarts."

I stared at her. "Do they still put that sort of pressure on you?"

"Oh, they aren't awful about it," she said hastily. "They just thought it might all be a waste of time if I didn't do well. They were shocked beyond belief when they found out I was a witch."

I smiled. "Well, it would be a hard thing to deal with considering witches aren't supposed to exist."

She laughed. "They thought I was playing a practical joke on them at first. A plea for attention probably."

"Why would you need a plea for attention?"

"Oh, well, my parents are very busy people. They're dentists, you know, and they work very long hours. Even when I was at a muggle school I only really saw them on the weekend. The kids at school thought I was weird because I made strange things happen every now and then."

"That must have been lonely," I said quietly, really feeling sorry for her. I knew Hermione wasn't telling me this in the hope of receiving my pity. She wasn't that sort of girl.

She shrugged. "Well, I was so glad when I got my Hogwarts letter. It was like a light suddenly coming on in my life. Things suddenly made sense. I had to convince my parents to let me come, and so I'm only still here because my marks are good."

"You get good marks in Potions though, don't you?"

She considered this for a moment. "Yeah, I do," she said thoughtfully. "But it always comes at the expense of having my ego insulted. Snape always has some sort of remark to imply that I'm a know-it-all."

"I wouldn't worry about that," I assured her, hoping that Snape never consulted the insults book I had given him when it came to marking Hermione's work. "Just focus on the mark."

She nodded. "I do." She looked thoughtful again. "Armilla," she said slowly. "Does your brother approve of you talking to me?"

"I wanted to talk to you about that," I said quietly.

Hermione frowned. "By that, I feel like you've already answered my question."

I shook my head. "I can talk to you. He didn't say I couldn't."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "You just need to have caution because of your position...and Snape's position."

I nodded. "It's dangerous," I whispered.

"I'm already in danger anyway," she said softly. "That comes with being friends with Harry Potter...but I understand that you can't be seen being friendly all the time with a muggle-born, especially one who is friends with Harry."

"Exactly."

We were both silent for a few moments, watching the students around us chatter. Finally I turned to face her again.

"I do want to be friends though," I whispered, "even if it is only during class."

Hermione smiled. "I'd like that."

o o o o o o o o o o o

"Am I to assume that you have found a way to read The Quibbler?" Snape asked on Tuesday evening, when we were sitting at the table in the sitting room.

We had just finished going through my homework together, both of us having groaned when I had pulled out my History of Magic work. Snape hated going over the goblin rebellions as much as I did.

"It was read aloud at our table during breakfast yesterday," I answered, "before it was banned."

"And what did you think?" He seemed genuinely curious about my reaction to it.

"About the content of the article or Harry's move to do the interview?"

"Both."

"The content didn't have much that was new to me," I said thoughtfully. "But I think it was risky for him to do the interview in the first place. Perhaps it's a good thing in the long run, but he must have known that Umbridge would find out about it."

Snape inclined his head. "Certainly. That is the risk he took though."

"What did you think about it?"

He didn't answer at first. He rubbed his arm absent-mindedly in the place where I knew his Dark Mark was.

"Initially I was surprised that Potter submitted to doing an interview with that Skeeter woman," he said. "She's written some wild tales about him in the past-"

"Didn't you read one of them aloud in class?" I asked, admittedly very daringly, thinking of the Harry Potter's Secret Heartache article. I had heard the Gryffindors saying that Snape had read it aloud in class. And I had agreed with the other Ravenclaws who heard about it that the Potions Master was a sadistic git.

Snape looked sharply at me, but he couldn't really deny it.

"I did," he answered, his lip curling. "But that is beside the point. Potter was obviously willing to make the sacrifice to have his story heard."

"Do you think it's a good thing that he did?"

He sighed. "Well, loathed as I am to admit it, I do. People will sit up and start paying attention now, whether they believe him or not. The article would have stirred things up at the Ministry, and in all wizarding households."

I smiled. "But you'd never tell Harry that you thought it was a good thing?"

He sneered. "Of course not. I'm not about to hand him presents or award him House points for the sake of it like other members of staff." He rolled his eyes. "I'd sooner accuse him of doing the interview so he could increase his fan count."

I nodded. That sounded like the Snape thing to do.

"Harry didn't name you as a Death Eater," I commented, watching him closely.

He looked back at me with an expression of indifference. "That's not loyalty to me," he said dryly. "It's loyalty to Dumbledore."

"Do you think he trusts you?"

Snape snorted. "I couldn't care less. It is not my dearest wish to invite Potter's confidences."

I frowned. "That could be a disadvantage though, couldn't it? What if you were both in a dire situation where you had to rely on each other?"

Now it was Snape's turn to frown. "I would hope that I would never have to rely on Potter for anything."

"I didn't mean it like that-"

He waved a hand aside, looking indifferent again. "Forget it. Besides, it would not be at all sagacious on my part to give Potter too much reason to trust me."

"With children of Death Eaters watching, you mean?" I asked, thinking of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You and I are the children of a Death Eater, Armilla. Not all children from dark families share the same beliefs as their parents. Do not think of comparing us to the Malfoys."

I flushed. "I won't," I muttered.

He nodded. "And in any case, with or without certain children of Death Eaters around, Potter's big head would not be enjoying any kindness from me."

"Because of his dad?" I said softly. I knew I was treading on dangerous ground. Harry had mentioned Snape hating his dad and Sirius Black when we had been talking at Grimmauld Place. He had said that the feeling was mutual and had advised that I didn't bring the subject up with Snape if I didn't want to see the vein in his temple start throbbing.

Snape pursed his lips as he surveyed me through narrowed eyes. I waited for a rebuke for daring to bring up a subject that I knew he didn't wish to discuss.

"Potter is terribly like his father," he said, his face hard. "I find it virtually impossible to look at that boy and not see the face I loathed so much at school-"

I opened my mouth to reply, but Snape cut me off.

"- and I don't wish to discuss school," he said sharply.

"I wasn't going to," I said quietly.

Snape looked quite ill-tempered as he sat back with his arms folded, glaring at the table.

"Potter is arrogant and reckless, just like his father was," he said scornfully. "I feel no guilt at all in treating him the way I do."

I stared at him. I knew Harry was reckless and had a questionable temper, but I had never known him to be cruel. I would never have described him as an awful person who deserved nothing more than Snape's contempt.

As if feeling my gaze, Snape stopped staring at the table and looked back at me, his black eyes intense.

"You do not agree," he said slowly, as if measuring his words.

"I suppose it's not my place to say," I said evenly. "I do not know all the history between you and James Potter, so I cannot have an informed opinion."

"Ever the diplomat," he drawled, sneering slightly.

"Fine," I said, feeling irritated. "I don't know what James Potter was, but I do know that Harry is not nasty or disdainful, no matter how reckless he is. He gets himself into trouble because he cares too much. He needs to learn Occlumency more than I do."

Snape's eyes flashed as he broke eye contact with me to stare at the air in front of him.

I knew that I had angered him, and I always felt uncomfortable when I did. But even so, I was glad that I had expressed my opinion to him.

"You know, sometimes it's hard to avoid being impartial or agreeing with you," I said slowly, when several moments of silence had passed. "I don't like offending you."

Snape was still silent, obviously lost in thought.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to take on or consider your opinions when I can't put myself in your place," I continued softly, "I don't know enough about you to do that."

Now it was Snape's turn to stare at me.

"You know plenty about me," he said quietly, still looking indifferent.

I said nothing. I wasn't really sure where this conversation was leading to now anyway. It had all started with talking about The Quibbler.

Snape sighed, and he suddenly looked tired. "In order to tell you about James Potter I'll have to educate you on our family history."

I just nodded. I figured that being silent was the best thing to do.

He rubbed his temples, and I tried not to smile when I was reminded of what Harry had said about them. He got up and gestured for me to join him on the sofa.

"Our mother was the daughter of Clotilde McHutchinson and Fitzwilliam Merrigan," he began, when I had sat down next to him, "who were from respectable pureblood families. Fitzwilliam inherited the Merrigan Estate upon his father's death back in 1952. At that stage, Clotilde, our grandmother, had already died, leaving Fitzwilliam to raise our mother." Snape stopped and gazed at me for a moment. "Has Mother already told you about her father?"

I nodded. Mother had told me about her father in the Secret Wing, on the same day I had found about Snape being my brother. "She said that his health was declining in the years after she left Hogwarts and he was desperate to have her marry a pureblood wizard before he died."

Snape nodded curtly. "Fitzwilliam was never a dark wizard, but he did not believe marrying into muggle families. When he chose our father, he knew little about how dark the Snape family was. Our father's family acted in disguise, in very much the same way the Malfoy family does now."

"Fitzwilliam died not long after they were married didn't he?"

"He died in 1960, shortly after I was born." Snape went quiet again, clearly thinking about where he wanted to continue.

"Being the only Merrigan child, our mother inherited the Merrigan Estate," he went on, "and the House of Merrigan, which remained pure, died with Fitzwilliam as there were no more male heirs. Though it is still called the Merrigan Estate, it is now listed under the name Snape." Snape sighed. "And this is where the problem began."

"Problem?"

He nodded. "Our grandfather, Fitzwilliam Merrigan, was one of two children. He had a younger sister named Lucia."

I smiled. "That's a nice name."

Snape gave the tiniest smile. "Mother was fond of her aunt. I suppose it was that Lucia you were named after, considering she's the only other Lucia in the family. Anyway, Lucia was not the heiress to the Merrigan Estate of course, being the younger child, and so it was that the Estate would be passed onto our Mother, and then onto me."

I nodded. I was grateful that I had pushed hard enough for information, though I had never expected to get some more family history. And I was very interested in my namesake.

"As much as my mother and her Aunt Lucia were fond of each other, Lucia did not approve of Fitzwilliam's choice of husband for her niece. Lucia knew more about Aurelius Snape and did not trust him from the beginning. As you know, Mother's first few years of marriage were not enjoyable, and after her father died, things only got worse. Father did not approve of Mother's close relationship with Lucia and forbade Mother to communicate with her. Lucia came to resent the Snape family even more and was furious that the Merrigan Estate was not used as a family home."

I frowned. "You generally always lived at Snape Manor, didn't you?"

He nodded. "Mother lived at Snape Manor after her marriage, but she still owned the Merrigan Estate and would still stay there sometimes when Father was away on business. Mother and Lucia still found a means to communicate and Lucia soon found out that Mother had very little say in the upbringing of her child."

I stared at him, trying not to let any pity cross my face. "Lucia thought you were going to be like Father?"

Again, he just nodded. "She told Mother over and over again to leave Father and take me with her. But Mother was too afraid to leave, in case she was found out." Snape gave me a significant look. "You could imagine how Father would have reacted if he had known about all this?"

"I have an idea," I murmured.

"But Mother stayed, even though she was unhappy, and she was distressed further when Lucia suddenly died in 1975, in my fifth year. Since Mother and Lucia supposedly weren't communicating, Mother couldn't go to the funeral."

"That's awful."

Snape merely grunted. "Well, Mother did have the courage to leave eventually, after Lucia's death of course. I suppose that is why Mother gave you that name."

I nodded. It felt nice to have the name of another family member who my mother had loved so much. I wondered why Mother had never mentioned all this to me.

"Lucia had accepted over the years that I might turn out alright," Snape continued. "Her son was not so acquiescent. He believed that since the Merrigan Estate was rarely used by the Snape family, it should have been passed over to their family. They were ashamed to be associated with a dark family like the Snapes, and they believed the Merrigan Estate was being tarnished. It was a mortal sin in their opinion that the Estate was to be passed onto a Snape."

"As opposed to a...?"

Snape leaned back and folded his arms. "As opposed to a Potter," he said simply.

Whoah! I couldn't believe it! "We're related to the Potters?"

He sneered. "Through marriage. Our Great Aunt Lucia married Christian Potter. They had one son, Charlus, who married Dorea Nigellus...and they had one son...guess who?"

"James Potter," I said quietly.

Snape was still sneering. "Our great-grandparents are the great-great-grandparents of the Boy-Who-Just-Keeps-On-Living."

Suddenly, everything fell into place. "So Charlus Potter, Lucia's son...was the father of James...He and James both felt that you weren't worthy of inheriting the Merrigan Estate?"

Snape inclined his head. "Though the House of Merrigan was no more, they felt the Estate would be used as a place for dark magic since the Snape family had access to it through my mother. They were wrong. Father never expressed a great deal of interest in the Merrigan Estate."

"But they resented you then?" I said softly.

"Of course they did," he said bitterly, his dark eyes flashing. "If Mother had never had children, Father would not have gotten the Estate after she died. The passing down of the Estate dictates that the owner must have Merrigan blood." Snape paused again, looking angry. I got the feeling that he was reliving a memory.

"James Potter repeatedly told anyone who would listen that he had a problem with my existence. Had I not existed, the Potters would have inherited the Estate upon Mother's death."

"Hold on," I said suddenly. "If the Estate can only be passed down to someone with Merrigan blood, then that means that-"

"Harry Potter would have inherited our house upon my death," he finished, scowling.

We were both silent for a moment. I couldn't believe that Harry had been next in line to the Merrigan Estate after Snape.

Snape suddenly smirked. "I'm glad you came along, Armilla. It feels good to be able to push a Potter back down the line."

I smiled. "You know, I would have thought that it would have been reason enough for you to have children so you wouldn't have had to give the house to Harry."

Snape gave a small smile. "I'm not father material, Armilla."

"So if I don't have children, Harry or any family he might have will inherit the Estate after me?"

"That's correct." He snorted. "No pressure then."

I laughed. "Does Harry know about all this?"

He shook his head. "I don't believe he does. I have no wish to inform him that we're distantly related. Personally, I try not to think about it."

I was grateful that Snape had decided to give me this information. Now at least I understood why Snape and James Potter hadn't liked each other. Still, I didn't think Harry deserved to be treated the way he was. I wondered if Snape had hated Harry's mother too.

"What was Harry's mother like?"

Snape flinched, clearly not expecting such a question. "Lily?" he said, his eyes glittering.

I nodded. I was surprised that Snape had called her by her first name. He shifted slightly, as if he couldn't get comfortable, but his face resumed its usual expression of indifference.

"She was-" He stopped, rubbing his arm absent-mindedly again. He was silent for a moment. "She was a muggle-born," he said finally. "Very clever...and-" he paused again, looking in front of him. "There's really not much to say," he said flatly.

I didn't press the subject. Snape seemed oddly flushed. I was suddenly thinking back to the day I had met Rougier at Father's house. He had been talking to Rougier about Hogwarts having 'common louts' amongst the student population.

"I'm sure even Severus might have had an eye for those lesser than his position as a pureblood wizard."

I believed I had just unearthed a secret. Not that Snape was likely to admit to it.

"I'm glad you told me about the Potters," I said seriously, changing the subject for his sake.

Snape sneered again. "I knew I would have to eventually. You're too inquisitive for your own good."

"Well, at least I know more about you...and the family now."

He narrowed his eyes, the flush beginning to fade from his face. "Like I said, you know plenty about me."

"I know what chocolate you like and I know what your Patronus is and what your Boggart is," I said. "And that you don't like Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs...I think that's about it."

He glared at me, though I could tell he was only half-hearted about it.

He cleared his throat. "My favourite colour is black."

I stared at him, narrowing my own eyes now. "Really?" I said, trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

"Indeed. And yours is blue, correct?"

"Correct," I replied.

"I don't like capsicums."

I smiled. "Me neither. I don't like pasta."

He frowned. "Why on earth not?"

He didn't wait for an answer. "I prefer red wine to white."

I grinned. "So do I."

He frowned, looking a bit shocked. "You're not old enough to have a preference!"

I shrugged.

"Well, you won't be getting any wine from me in the near future," he muttered.

I ignored him. "I hate cats."

"That makes two of us," he said sneeringly. "Just don't mention that to Minerva McGonagall. I hate the Hogwarts School Song; it makes me want to burst my own ear drums."

"I'm not patient," I said.

He rolled his eyes at me. "I know."

I laughed. "If I could play Quidditch, I'd be a Chaser."

"I couldn't play Quidditch to save my life," he scoffed, "but I'd have a go at Beater. I'd knock Potter's head off...by accident of course."