The Silver Cauldron

I always tried to avoid the toilets on the second floor. Everybody did if they could possibly help it. If the low-pitched gurgling and regular floods weren't enough to deter visitors, there was always Moaning Myrtle. My first and last encounter with this ghost was disturbing to say the least, and left me with no desire to further our acquaintance.

I was on the way back to my class after a particularly enthusiastic staff meeting that had resulted with tiny Professor Flitwick sitting on a column of purple smoke, unable to get down, having disagreed with Professor Sinistra about the colour scheme of this year's Christmas decorations. I had just reached the second floor corridor when I heard a loud knocking coming from a fireplace in one of the classrooms. I went to investigate, and, rather foolishly, put my head up the chimney to see if a bat had got itself stuck up there.

POOF! A sudden wind caught me as soot - covered form shot out of the fireplace. I spluttered and looked up to see a grinning man floating above me, black with smuts.

"PEEVES!" I yelled angrily, trying to get the ashes out of my eyes.

"Oooooh, wash your face you naughty girl," Peeves cackled gleefully, hovering just out of reach. "A terrible example to set your students."

"Peeves, I'll get the Bloody Baron after you if you aren't careful" I said, wiping my face on my sleeves.

"Oooooh, I'm soooo scared" he chortled, before bouncing off down the corridor pulling faces at me.

Cursing Peeves, I went in search of a bathroom to wash my face. Moaning Myrtle's toilet was not the most inviting of places to visit. The peeling paintwork and cracked tiles were drab and depressing, and I had to lift my robes up to prevent them being soiled by the puddles on the floor. I was just drying my hands on a mildewed towel when she rose out of one of the plugholes and observed me glumly.

"So you're the new teacher."

"Yes" I said, staring at her. Her face resembled one of those masks Greek tragedy actors used to wear.

"Potions Assistant" she said, an odd glint in her eyes. "Or should I say, Potions Mistress."

"What?" I tried not to look too guilty. "What on earth do you mean?"

"Didn't you notice the basin in his room the other night? Or were you too busy...?"

"You...you saw" I stuttered, horrified.

"Everything" she said smugly.

"You were spying on us! Myrtle, that's terrible!" The ghostly form looked at me through baleful silver eyes.

"No it isn't. You should have looked. Instead of gazing at him all the time. Nobody notices Myrtle. Even when I was alive nobody noticed Myrtle". A tear became visible under her glasses.

"Don't cry," I said hurriedly. I didn't want to be caught in a flood. "Just...please, don't tell anyone."

"Oh, I could tell you many things about Severus Snape" she sniffed. "Not that you'd be interested. Nobody listens to spotty old Moaning Myrtle." Her bottom lip trembled dangerously.

"Yes, well, I'd better get to my class now" I said, hoping she wasn't going to start crying again.

"There! I knew you wouldn't care!" she sobbed. "Of all people you should be the most interested in what I know, but oh no, Myrtle isn't worth talking to, let's all ignore poor Myrtle!"

"I don't want to pry into his private business thank you very much." I said. "I'm sorry, but I have a class to attend to." I left the room. I distinctly heard her mutter "You should look a little closer at his left forearm next time" when a surge of water burst out from underneath the door and I had to skip out of the way.

As I walked back to the dungeons I couldn't help wondering what Myrtle had meant. What about Snape's arms? He scowled at me when I entered the room.

"You should wear your hair down, Miss Alimony. And you have soot all over your robes. Please attend to yourself more carefully next time."

I laughed nervously. "Professor, you're always telling students off for having loose hair. Besides, this is more practical; hair gets in the way..." he froze me with an icy stare.

"I want you to have loose hair. It's less...restrictive." It was not a compliment.

All through the lesson, I kept looking at his arms. What on earth had Myrtle meant? They seemed perfectly normal. Snape looked up and noticed me looking at him. He glared at me with an expression I had never seen upon his face before; fear. I looked away quickly and didn't dare even glance in his direction again.

When the class had noisily filed out he strode over and spun me around to face him.

"Why do you keep staring at me? What's the matter?"

"Nothing. It's just something Moaning Myrtle said, that's all."

"What did she say?" his voice was urgent.

"Only something about...she said something about your arm."

His face went white. He ran his hands through his hair; a gesture so uncharacteristic of him that I was as shocked as if he had just nominated Neville to be Head Boy.

"I'm sure it's nothing." He was frightening me.

"No! No. Acceptance is better than ignorance, as I once told you" he whispered. "Look".

He pulled the sleeve of his robes back roughly. I gasped. There, burnt into the pale skin of his left forearm was a skull. The Dark Mark. He turned his face away from me. I traced the vivid scarlet pattern with my fingertips.

"H...how?"

"Sixteen years ago. I was younger. Foolish. I craved control."

"Does Dumbledore...?"

"He knows." I held his cold hand in mine.

"Why...why did you leave?" He looked at me sharply.

"That is between Dumbledore and myself."

"Don't you regret leaving?" He gripped my hand so tightly his long fingernails dug into my skin, drawing crescents of blood.

"What do you mean?" he hissed. I backed away, alarmed.

"I meant, don't you miss the power?" He stared at me for what seemed a long time. I became acutely aware of the dripping tap in the corner of the room.

"Yes" he said quietly. "I do."

My mind was in a turmoil. What did I feel? Not horror, or even disgust. Pity, yes. But there was something else...I felt jealous. He had enjoyed a power and respect that I had never had. Terrible power, yes, and respect born of fear, but at least he had never been forced into a corner, spat at and cried himself to sleep at night, "Mudblood" echoing down the corridors of his mind. I saw exactly why he had done it. I bent down and softly kissed the blemished arm. I gently pulled his robes back to hide the mark.

The next day I wore my hair down.