Orion's Pointer

AN: JKR did it all, except for Chara.

~*~

"What are you doing?"

"Warming the leaves."

"Why?"

"They give up more sap when they're warm."

"Why do you do it like that?"

"It's the way I was taught."

"By whom?"

"My mother."

"Was she a potions maker?"

"No."

"What did she do, then?"

Parr shrugged. "She was a healer of sorts." She unclasped her hands, dropped the leaves on to the chopping board and started to crush them gently with the end of her pestle. She leaned slightly to one side to get a better look at her open textbook.

"How do you know Marconi Fulgor?"

"He was one of my tutors."

"How long have you known him?"

Parr looked at the ceiling before answering. "Just over six months."

"Why are you here?"

"Can you be more specific?"

"Why are you here, at this school, now?"

"Do you ask all your students this many questions, Professor?"

"Other students don't turn up in dubious circumstances. Does it bother you, Miss Parr?"

She put the pestle down and picked up the bruised leaves carefully with her fingernails. "No. Should it?"

"Only if you're hiding something."

"Has something led you to think that?"

There was no reply to that. Parr laid the leaves gently on the surface of the liquid in the cauldron in front of her. Silence stretched out for some minutes.

"What did you do before you came here?"

"I ate dinner."

Snape tutted in irritation. "I mean before you came to the school!"

"I found things."

"You found things?"

"Yes, I suppose you could say that."

"I didn't say that. You said that."

"Did I? I don't recall. My mind must have wandered."

"Are you always this abstruse?"

"No, I'm doing it to annoy you."

"Miss Parr, I am not accustomed to rudeness from my students, even ones well-known to the Headmaster! I expect to be spoken to with a least a semblance of courtesy."

Parr fixed her grey eyes on him, face impassive. "If my honesty has offended you, then I apologise, Professor." There wasn't a hint of abashment in her voice. A crease appeared between her brows as she stared at him. "Your eyes are getting bloodshot again. Did you sleep on your back?"

"How I sleep is none of your business!"

"Are you going to see someone about your neck?"

"What for?"

"Your headaches will continue until your get your neck realigned. Don't use any of the ointment I gave you yesterday; it'll give you a rash if you use it two days in a row."

"What makes you think I have a headache, Miss Parr?" he challenged, folding his arms tightly.

"I can see it."

"Are you a medical practitioner, Miss Parr?"

"No."

"Then I shall consider your diagnostic abilities doubtful at best."

"Did it work?"

"What?"

"Did the ointment work?"

Snape's mouth twisted in the effort not to reply, but Parr nodded as if he had. She went back to her preparation, dismissing him from her attention. This wasn't going quite the way he had planned; he decided to give it a while before questioning her again. Parr didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the fact that he was standing just a few feet away opposite her.

He'd found her waiting outside the classroom with a bunch of greenery clutched in one hand and, strangely, the bottom of her school robes gathered in the other. Although she never said so, he was sure she was making sure he couldn't berate her for being late a second time. In fact, she hadn't said anything until he'd started asking questions, and that had been after forty minutes of staring at her from his current position.

Parr must've spent some time in the greenhouses that afternoon because there was a smudge of dirt on her left cheekbone that cut across her facial scar, as well as a drawn-out handprint on her coat front. No doubt that was where she'd procured the leaves she was using. Fortunately she hadn't the questionable habit of Professor Sprout in leaving half a bag of soil under her fingernails. He noticed that she was wearing what looked like fingerless gloves that stopped short of the middle joint of each digit and secured by adhesive tape. It made it a little awkward for her to write, though he had no idea why she should be writing anything during her detention. Whatever it was for, it involved a lot of crossing out and ambiguous symbols scratched all over the parchment she was using. She flicked through a handful of pages in her textbook and started writing in the margin.

"What's wrong with your hands?"

Parr stopped writing and looked up at him.

"Nothing... oh, I burnt my finger yesterday, if that's what you mean." She held up the index finger that he'd seen stuck in her mouth the previous evening. There was an ugly blister raised up on the pad.

"Why haven't you gotten it fixed?"

She shrugged and went back to her writing. "It'll remind me to be more careful next time."

Was she being obtuse or deliberately sidestepping his oblique query about her oddly bound hands? She didn't seem offended by the question, so it wasn't a taboo subject that she was reluctant to discuss. If she was dissembling, it was well hidden.

He eyed the bandage around her neck. If she treated her burnt finger didactically, what lesson was she learning from that injury, he wondered. Neck injuries weren't something that happened by accident as much as those on other parts of the body. More often than not they were the result of deliberate violence, self-inflicted or otherwise.

Parr stopped scribbling and turned her attention to the cauldron she had left cooling at the end of the table. She was proving capable of handling several things at once, although it wasn't a habit he encouraged in his students. Some potions needed careful and constant attention in order to come out right, and teenagers had notoriously poor attention spans. The three potions she had prepared yesterday had passed scrutiny, although one was an unusual variant on the version Snape taught to his students. Whether that was due to her tutelage under Fulgor or something she had learned from her mother wasn't clear. It was an acceptable variant, even if it wasn't often used. Slower-acting but longer-lasting in its effect. In all fairness, he couldn't mark her down for that. It would be interesting to assess the three she was working on this evening. One was fairly simple, something that he'd expect a first-year to be capable of, whilst the second often caught students out by being very reliant on timing, both in the addition of ingredients and in the length of time it spent at boiling point. The third he'd thrown in as a test of the extent of her knowledge. He didn't expect a fourth-year to know it; a Toxin Drain was something taught at a higher educational level usually to those who sought to follow a career in medicine. Sometimes one or two of his students were proficient enough to try it, but rarely did they manage to get something near the desired result. It was actually one of the potions that took the least time to make, but it was fiddly and temperamental. If it wasn't made perfectly, it metastasised the toxin, making the victim even sicker. It wasn't in the standard text for the subject, but it could be found in the library in a higher study manual. Parr, however, seemed not to be referring to any kind of textbook or notes for it, unlike the other two potions which had her flicking back and forth through the pages of her textbook numerous times.

Parr had decanted a sample of the cooling potion into a flask and was trying, dismally, to label it with a quill. Her teeth were gritted in concentration as the quill's nib slid about, defying her attempts to write something legible. Snape was flummoxed as to why she was having so much difficulty. Even idiot first years managed to use a quill, although their handwriting was frequently disgraceful.

The woman closed her eyes for a brief moment as if to find some scrap of temperance deep inside herself, brought her hand up and smashed the quill on the table. Point down. Crushing it into a mangled uselessness.

Snape raised his eyebrows at this fit of pique. Parr was mouthing something silently and repeatedly... and judging from the first word, it was less than polite. Scowling, she snatched up the pencil resting on top of her textbook and labelled the flask in one go. That done, she wiped the scowl from her face, stuck the pencil behind her ear and put the flask down with a sharp click.

Snape turned his head to watch her trotting off to the supply cupboard. She had the bottom of her robes clutched in her hand again. The length wasn't too great for her height, so it seemed unnecessary. His head turned back again as she returned to the table with two small bottles pinched between the fingers of her free hand.

"Do you have a problem with the school's uniform?"

She stopped in her tracks and swivelled her head to look at him, eyes catching the light.

"Yes," she stated, and took the last few steps to the table.

"Other students deal with it," he pointed out snippily. "Why should you be an exception?"

Parr took her time fussing about with her work area. Seconds passed. She took the cauldron off its fire and replaced it with another, this one empty. She referred to her textbook and made a few notes in the margin. More time passed. She was ignoring the question.

"Miss Parr?"

"Yes, Professor?" She picked up a jar of toadspawn and squinted at the label.

"Do you have a problem with questions as well as uniforms?"

She swirled the contents of the jar, mouth compressed into a thin line, eyes shadowed, nostrils flared.

"The standard uniform exacerbates my current injuries," she replied flatly, gaze fixed resolutely on the jar in her hand. "The materials make me itch and the cut is not conducive to ease of movement." She paused and her eyes became flinty. "And I will not be forced into a skirt!" Her mouth downturned with the contempt she forced into that last word. She unscrewed the lid of the jar and slopped half of the contents into the cauldron. Snape almost heard a click as her expression changed to that bland neutrality she'd used earlier. Her smoke-grey eyes flicked up from the table and travelled down the front of his coat slowly, mouth quirking into a faint smile. "You're either very dextrous or you take a long time to get dressed," she murmured almost inaudibly.

"I dress in a manner appropriate to my position," he snapped back at her. "Perhaps you should be paying attention to what you're doing, and just maybe you'll convince me not to put you into a first-year class!"

The look of confusion that cloaked her face had to be fake. "But I thought we were talking about fashion," she responded, head tilted to one side.

"If your potion-making abilities are anything like your ability to negotiate your way through a conversation, the first-year class will seem like a bunch of hyper-focussed prodigies in comparison!" Snape barked loudly at her and stalked off to his desk. It wasn't until he'd sat down that he'd realised what she'd done: she'd effectively driven him off by side-stepping some questions, responding to others in such a way that hid more than it revealed, and then needled him with personal questions and comments until he lost his temper.

The problem was that he was too used to dealing with young students. It was relatively easy to browbeat and winkle information out of them, so he'd gotten out of the habit of interrogation in this environment. Parr was obviously being deliberately evasive, and it was clear she was going to continue to avoid giving him the information he was after. It was likely he'd have to find it elsewhere.

Now that his bad mood was shifted into second gear, Snape began the tedious task of grading third-year essays. Some students obviously had trouble in disguising their plagiarism from texts in the school library, so it was like reading the same essay twenty times, the only differences being erratically bad spelling, shocking usage of punctuation (hadn't these half-wits ever learned how to use an apostrophe?), and sentences that segued from point to point like a drunk staggering down a dark laneway.

...ting... ting... ting...

Snape frowned and scored the tip of his quill into the parchment viciously, correcting a misspelt word.

... ting... ting... ting...

What did this sentence mean? He read it again. It seemed to cut off half-way through and ramble on about something else. The twit that had written it must've accidentally skipped at least two lines from the book he was copying from and not bothered to proof-read it. Snape looked at the name at the top of the parchment. Neworth... that explained a lot. The boy was a slack-jawed imbecile who spent more time with his finger up his nose than focussing on his studies.

... ting... ting... ting...

What on earth was this smeared down the bottom of this parchment! It never ceased to amaze him how disgusting Abercrombie was in comparison to her outward appearance. You wouldn't guess from her immaculately-kept hair, perfect fingernails, and clothes that looked as sterile as a medical dressing that she was a closet slob. Her work frequently turned up looking like it had been used to mop up whatever fetid substance was close at hand. It was enough to make a grown man cry... or retch.

... ting... ting... ting...

What the hell was that noise? He looked up from his desk.

... ting... ting... ting...

Parr was staring vacantly off to her right, left arm folded under its opposite.

... ting... ting... ting...

The silver knife in her hand tapped lightly against the lip of the cauldron, making the metal ring sonorously.

... ting... ting... ting...

She appeared to have lost interest in what was in front of her. The knife tilted down from her fingers towards the cauldron.

... ting... ting... ting...

Light flickered along the blade as her thumb pushed the handle down, bringing the point up into the air again. The knife paused, the tip wavering slightly in a hypnotic fashion. Parr stood frozen in that position, not even blinking. Oddball, he dismissed and flicked Abercrombie's essay away from him in distaste.

... ting...

... ting...

Snape spent the next hour becoming increasingly crabby as he waded through the bilge that was meant to pass as assignment work. He didn't think it was possible for students to get stupider, but they seemed to be giving it a damn good shot at proving it true. Rubbing one eye with his finger, he looked up to find Parr standing in front of his desk with three sample flasks held in her hands. She'd undone her hair now that she had finished the day's detention, the two tresses trailing down her front again like ribbons of pale silk. Dammit, he wished she wouldn't sneak up on him like that!

"Put the flasks there," he instructed, pointing at the front of his desk. "If you could make an effort to clean up as quickly as possible, I can salvage what's left of my evening."

"Where's the sink?" she asked with a slight frown. She placed the flasks down carefully and backed away a few paces.

He pushed aside the last assignment and put his quill down. "What sink?"

Parr's frown deepened and she cast her eyes to one side briefly. "I need to wash the equipment I've used," she explained slowly as if making a pointless statement and feeling slightly foolish in doing so.

Snape gawked at her. "Use your wand, for crying out loud! I'm not sitting about here any longer waiting for you to finish."

Parr pressed her lips together and touched the fingers of one hand to the bandage around her neck. "Erm," she began, eyes flicking from left to right.

"You don't have it with you." It was a statement spoken through gritted teeth. Unbelieveable!

Parr tilted her head forward so that her face was in shadow. "Ah, not exactly."

"Are you saying that you came to the school ill-prepared for your studies?" The edge of anger in Snape's voice was unmistakable now.

The woman tapped her neck lightly with her fingers as if considering something. She wrinkled her nose ever so slightly before answering. "No."

"If you don't have a wand, then I consider you ill-prepared, Miss Parr," he hissed at her. "Being contrary does little to help your current situation, I might add."

Parr's features shifted into what could only be described as wonder. At least, that's what he thought it was. A second later the expression transformed into confusion, itself swiftly replaced by her usual inscrutable mask. Snape backtracked over what he had just said and couldn't figure out what had caused such strange and inappropriate changes of expression.

"I'm not allowed one."

"What?"

She blinked slowly, almost sleepily at him. "I'm not allowed a wand."

"What did you do? Stab someone's eye out with it?" he sniped at her with a twist to his mouth.

She shook her head slowly, her hair swaying gently, the light in the room catching the silvery colour and making it shimmer with the movement.

His frown deepened. "Did you curse someone with it?"

A slight crease appeared between Parr's brows, and she drew the tips of her fingers back and forth across the bandage at her throat. She shook her head again.

"Was it taken off you?"

She gave that sleepy blink again and shook her head a third time, fingertips crawling along the bandages lightly.

"Then why-?" Snape stopped mid-sentence as part of the puzzle clicked into something recognisable. He narrowed his black eyes at her.

"Come here," he ordered softly.

Parr just continued to run her fingers delicately across the bandage, nostrils slightly flared. Her head swivelled to one side incrementally, eyes half-closed.

"Is there something wrong with your hearing?" he asked with a hint of steel in his low voice. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Parr took a few steps towards his desk.

"Closer."

Another two steps. Snape wished she'd stop touching her neck; it was getting distracting. "Put your hand down," he told her. There was a noticeable pause before she did so that smacked of a challenge. Snape slowly drew out his wand from his robes and pointed it at her. Parr raised her eyebrows slightly, and her mouth quirked into a faint smile. He twisted his long fingers so that the wand turned slowly in a circle until the handle was pointed at her. The self-confident expression on her face vanished quickly and was replaced by a rather wide-eyed amazement.

"I can't use that," she told him in a scandalised tone.

"Why not?"

She pressed her lips together tightly for a few seconds before answering. "Wands are user-specific. It won't work properly."

He rolled the wand between thumb and forefinger, relishing the way she was backing herself into a corner. "True, but you'll get some kind of reaction from it, even if it isn't what you intend." He continued to hold it out to her.

Parr curled the fingers of her right hand as she brought it up to her chest, eyes still fixed on the wand as if it would bite her should she look away from it.

"It's bad manners to use someone else's wand," she countered back.

Snape snorted lightly. "An old-fashioned etiquette that few choose to observe these days," he admitted. "However, if permission is given, there is no breach of said etiquette." He twisted his fingers slightly, making the handle of the wand drift from left to right and back again. He watched her slate grey eyes follow the movement.

Parr exhaled out of her flared nostrils quickly and frowned up at him. They stared at each other for some moments in silence, the balance of wry amusement fully shifted from her to him. Parr's expression continued to darken until her face was a storm front.

The wand turned slowly back until the end was pointed at her like an accusing finger. It stayed there for a few heartbeats before disappearing back into his pocket. He stood up and flowed towards the door of the classroom.

"Follow me," he instructed stonily.

Parr half-turned in his direction. "But I still need to clean this equipment."

"Leave it!" he barked at her, throwing the door open. "You can come back later and scrub it all clean in cold water with your bare hands for all I care!" With that Snape swept out of the classroom, leaving Parr in his wake, scrambling to catch up.

~*~

A/N: Thanks to froggie-becky, my constant and patient beta.