Broken Wings

          Mentally she screamed. She felt as if she was breaking into a thousand shattering pieces of a fragmented mirror, with each piece reflecting back distorted half images.

          It's not real, she kept trying to tell herself. None of this will happen or has happened or is happening! A million shadows of herself screamed with her, each saying and doing something slightly different from the others. She was shaking when a menacing shadow passed over her. Oddly, it did not frighten her, not like the images that swirled around her. She felt a focus of chilling calm in the tossed sea of chaos.

          Then everything focused on one horrifying reality. Children weeping with horror and fear a mother's scream stopped short with sickening finality. A man unable to save his family or himself; laughter, cruel words uttered in secret.

           Names.

 

          Heather Fletcher of Hufflepuff House sat up in her bed, sweating. She heard the rustle of her tiny barn owl, Rosemary, on the perch next to her. Heather, throwing her legs over the side of her comfortable bed, reached out and scratched the little owl in the ‘good place'. Smiling despite the images still burning into her sleep fogged brain, she reached out and picked up her journal. With a small ---and very Muggle--- book light which she had long ago enchanted with a Lumos spell, she set to work jotting down her dream. When Heather reached the end, all of the details that scared and horrified her were set out in logical dispassionate detail. One would almost think her heart was not bothered by the things she saw.

          Heather had always wondered why she was placed in Hufflepuff. Besides not being the most popular House in the school, the other students were all so... something. She really couldn't even find words for them. She wrote them instead.

          Did the Sorting Hat make a mistake? It took some time for it to figure out where to place me. I was surprised when, for all to hear, it shouted, "Hufflepuff!" I worried Mother would not be happy. Father, bless his Muggle soul, never understood how much it meant to Mother that I be sorted into HER house: Ravenclaw. Cleverest and brightest. Logical. Mummikins did take it awfully well, so it wasn't a total loss.

          But I never really feel like I belong to this house I find myself in, either. Everyone is so interested in plants and being nice and being all heart and just, well, annoying really. I hate being fussed over for skinning a knee or popping a blister. I've always prided myself in being able to handle pain, keeping a cool and level head when everyone else panics.

          Heather stopped, having lost track of her thoughts. With a sigh she stood and without disturbing her roommates quickly dressed. Carrying her school satchel and shoes, she quietly sneaked from the dorm to the common room. She gazed around the comfortably furnished area where fellow Hufflepuffs could study and talk.

          She couldn't handle it. She wanted out. It reminded her of dreams and things she wanted to escape. But despite that the hour was reaching dawn and soon everyone would be rising for breakfast and classes, she couldn't bring herself to wait in the common room like a good student.

          So she went sneaking out. Standing in the oddly empty and silent halls of Hogwarts, she wondered where she would go. In the first couple years of her stay as a student, she used to go to the greenhouse, the rows of plants calming her nerves. At this hour though, Professor Sprout might already be there watering and readying the greenhouse for classes. Sprout was the ultimate kindhearted Hufflepuff; she really didn't want her fussing about at this moment. Her head ached and she wondered if she should go to the hospital wing. Again, she tossed the thought from her mind. Well-meaning Madame Pomfrey would also fuss. Suddenly there came to mind ---like a haven of solitude--- her first class of the day.

          Potions.

          Normally, she would avoid the dungeons of Hogwarts at all costs in fear of meeting up with a snooty pureblood-loving Slytherin, but at this hour they should all be in bed. As should I, she thought. It was a perfect place to sit and just let her mind wander whatever path it wished to take. No one would go near Professor Snape's domain willingly. So no one would expect her to be there. It was widely known that the Hufflepuffs lived in abject fear of Slytherin House and Professor Snape in particular. Smiling at having come upon the perfect solution for her problem, she quickly skipped towards class, her small brown bag of books over one shoulder.

* * * * *

          Head bowed against her folded arms, Heather sniffled pathetically feeling burning behind her eyes and intense pounding in her skull. As the last couple weeks had passed, her dreams had grown worse. She lost interest in everything and found herself retreating more and more to the dark and quiet of the Potions classroom. Sometimes she found herself hiding just outside the door until Snape grew tired of flunking student papers and left the class and it became hers once more. She hardly ever went back to the Hufflepuff house anymore; her bed hadn't been slept in for days.

          She couldn't sleep. The moment she closed her eyes, the images started. She saw things so horrifying that she wanted to scream and weep and tell SOMEONE. She hoped these were just bad dreams, but somehow she did not think so. Heather was terrified that if she told anyone they would think she had gone mad. She would look like the Divinations teacher, foretelling doom and gloom on a weekly basis. She knew the visions to be real. Some of the other, more innocent dreams had come true. Even through the pain, she couldn't help but smile at the image of that Gryffindor Neville having a long and heartfelt conversation with his toad, Trevor. Then she passed Neville sitting on a step of the shifting stairs....

          Having a conversation with Trevor. Begging him not to run away again.  Just like her dream.

          The deja vu was nearly too much. All Heather could do was continue writing down the things in her head, hoping against hope that writing it down would help calm the horrible pounding and screaming, the faces of people she never knew and never would know, the chilling masks and the horrible laughter. Sometimes when she lacked words, she drew. Heather never been the greatest of artists, but the simple stark lines of terrifying things made her want to cry as fires burned and blood spread over silver snow on the parchment before her.

          What made it all worse for her was that she understood. She understood the motivations and reasoning ---however deranged or delusional--- of the madmen in her mind. It made it all worse, so much worse, because she felt sick and deranged herself. How could she sympathize with such… monsters?

          They're only human, like me. Just as scared and unsure of the world. Looking for answers and thinking they may have found them. Staring at shadows looking for dreams and hopes and secret ambitions.

          These thoughts didn't cheer her.

          "What," a cold voice behind her startled Heather out of her thoughts. Her quill slipped. Striking a line through the middle of the last drawing as she raised her head with a snap from her folded arms, "are you doing here?" It was hardly a question. 

          She hastily slammed her book closed and stood. She was barely able to save her chair from crashing to the stone floors as she spun to see what she had feared seeing in the dungeons since she first came down here to escape. She met the cold black eyes of the Potions Master, who stared at her with a raised brow taking in her pale and startled features.

          "I, was..." She was at a loss for words. Her eyes were still slightly puffy from tears both shed and unshed. Her head began to pound once more and she had to sit. Digging the palms of her hands into her eyes, she felt as if that would somehow make the pain go away.

          "I'm sorry, sir. This was the only place I could think of to find solitude at this hour. I know, I know. I'm not supposed to be out of my House."

          As she turned her elbows on the table looking completely dejected, Snape stared coolly. He was unused to students seeking out his classroom for anything. He stared down at the slightly chunky figure of the student. Ms. Fletcher wasn't the brightest of his students. He remembered flunking several of her papers quite legitimately. Mousy hair. He recalled startling eyes of an interesting non-shade, but really she wasn't much of anything. She was, he thought, just a mediocre student would likely marry a Muggle when she graduates and waste everything she did manage to learn in the seven years of attendance at this school.

          She spoke again before he could make up his mind as to whether to chase her out of his classroom or punish her.

           "Please sir, I.. I just can't handle being anywhere near people right now. I only sought a place to sit without disturbance. I will leave shortly."

          Her words were so without emotion. They had a hollow, dead quality that at first made him wonder if he had heard anything at all. Pursing his lips slightly, Severus Snape made up his mind. He set down the papers he had graded and nearly forgotten about until a few minutes ago and turned to leave the classroom again. Just as he reached the door the girl said very quietly, "Thank you, sir."

          Severus said nothing.

* * * * *

          The next morning. Heather was afraid Professor Snape would make an issue out of finding her in his classroom after curfew. Instead, he said and did nothing out of the ordinary, not even when she nearly melted her cauldron because she wasn't quite with the class. Instead, he had tapped her shoulder with a spoon and gave his usual snappish speech about her clumsiness and usual student stupidity, but he did not say a single word about her being in his class, or suggest how she may have spent some of that time constructively studying or some such if she was going to break rules.

          She could have hugged him when he deducted five points from Hufflepuff for her inattention. She was able to spend the rest of the class in a much more pleasant mood.

          That is, until the vision gripped her. Flames. Blood on snow. Tendrils of long hair. Eyes once beautiful and full of life staring at a cold December sky. A child laying as if though sleeping, but who she knew would never go to school or fly a broom.

          "Ms. Fletcher. Pay attention!" A chilling shadow came up behind her. With a scream, she brandished her mixing spoon like a weapon. Students moved quickly aside as she backed up and knocked over the tables and the cauldrons' contents to go splashing across the grey stone floors. With a cry of pain and fear, she covered her eyes with the palms of her hands and tried to kill the images playing in her mind. She did not hear the confused babble of students or Professor Snape's calm orders. She never felt her nails ---nearly chewed to the quick--- digging into her scalp, drawing blood. Long fingers encircled her wrists and an unexpected slap crossed her cheek, forcing her to lose the thread of vision. Sharp, sudden pain flared on her skin and made her eye feel as if it would explode.

          But it brought her back. She stared up at the eyes of her teacher and suddenly began to weep. She buried her face in the black robes of wool and linen, feeling stupid and helpless and most of all, ashamed of the tears. She had showed her pain. She was not as strong as she tried to be.

          Severus' eyes widened as the girl began to cry, her head against his chest. He was at a complete loss as to what to do for the few moments she kept weeping defected apologies that made very little sense to him. Something about being weak. Screwing up, of all things, the silly potion that was splashed across his classroom. He was rather relieved when she suddenly went still and relaxed, passing into a faint. He caught her before she tumbled to the ground and was glad that at that moment Madam Pomfrey made her appearance. The girl was whisked from his class, no longer his concern.

          Students were still in shock and the class was ruined

          "I want you all to write an essay about the potion we were making today. Dismissed." They left in a confused mass of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuff, not completely sure what had happened other than one of their own had just went stark raving mad.

          With a sigh and a budding headache, Severus set about cleaning his classroom. Even those who had not had their tables tipped by the screaming Ms. Fletcher had abandoned their cauldrons, thus ruining the morning's work. He got things straightened and righted, gathering the forgotten textbooks and book bags scattered here and there throughout his classroom. One bag he picked up fell with a thump and a small journal slid out, the cover falling open enough for his eyes to read the round printed letters.

          Give me not the ghost of broken wings

          Found only in the minds of dreamers.

~ Heather Fletcher ~

          Severus did not recall any such lines of poetry anywhere. He assumed it must be a bit of original work. Tucking the book among the others he had collected, he dropped it on his desk for the moment.

* * * * *

          Later, as he was correcting papers, most of the students from his first class developed enough spine to collect their forgotten things. News from the infirmary was that the girl was still unconscious. He thought briefly about sending the books and bag along with a student, but as other things came up during the day, he put it from his mind as unimportant at the moment.

          But he found himself staring at the journal. Such an inconspicuous thing. Likely full of the ramblings teenage horrors of female persuasion normally think about, that being, teenage horrors of a male persuasion. He ignored it.

          Later, he found himself musing over the bit of poetry in the beginning. Debating to himself over how it went again. Give not the dreams of broken.. No. He frowned. It really wasn't any of his business. If it wasn't for the late hour, he would have taken the pesky journal right then and there to the infirmary and been done with it.

          Instead, he stared at it. Then he reached over to open and read those cogent few verses. Randomly flipping pages, he looked to see if there were more like it.

          An image stopped him. It was crudely drawn, but not the kind of image a child would be normally drawing; a blood covered altar with a man strapped down. Faceless people surrounding the terror-filled gaze of the human.

          He'd seen this before.

          Severus' blood ran cold as he began to read words that no CHILD should know of. This girl was what, fifteen? She wrote of abominations to which he was intimately familiar, scattered among half-formed crazed and worried thoughts of a child not knowing what it is she was seeing. Unable to understand or comprehend a world where these things happen, she was trying to rationalize it, understand it, and failing.

          He found descriptions of things he knew very well, for they were the very things he himself had once done, was still forced to charade as.

          This child described the Death Eaters, Voldemort, and people marked for death with chilling accuracy. He slammed the book shut, eyes wide and breath coming in hissed breaths between clenched teeth.

What sort of obscene joke was this? It could not be happening. No child should have such clairvoyance of vision.

          Eventually, his mind had to accept what his eyes saw. That within the pages of a Hufflepuff girl's diary were foretellings of plausible and accurate doom. He set the book aside, feeling as if he was profaning something deeply private, and then began to rub the bridge of his nose feeling the twinges of a headache.

* * * * *

          Heather was lost. Lost, lost, lost, lost. Her mind sung like a broken doll that, when you pulled her string, could only repeat a sickly half phrase. She was huddled among many shards of broken images, none of which were her. Pieces of things she didn't understand; emotions and things she never would do or have done. This one she grieved for the loss of her parents. This one she never had any. This one her father died, this one her mother. Over here, Professor Snape held her pinned to a wall, threatening her with things she didn't understand. Over there, someone touched her in a way no one ever did. A gentle kiss along the shoulder; quiet seductive words to turn any girl's head.

          But none of it was real. The horrors, the fantasies, the past, present, and future were all shadows of one reality that she couldn't find. She huddled on herself, covering her eyes and screaming with a thousand voices. Then the shadow. The ever present calm that took her to a place she did not wish to be, but always took her home again. She followed where the tall shadow led. A man with no face and hair dark as night. Who took her hands and held her steady against the chaos of visions she could not possibly grasp.

          "Why?" she asked, but as always he said nothing. Only showed her again blood on the snow and dead eyes. Terrible laugher and a horrible mark. Black as dried blood. Written in dried blood.

          Written in her blood.

* * * * *

          Heather woke with a start, sweat drenched and breathing hard. It took her some time to realize where she was, the astringent sterile smell finally telling her she was held in the medical facilities of the school. She could hear Madam Pomfrey busy with something across the room. The Nurse had obviously not heard Heather's waking. Which was fine by Heather. Carefully, she slid from the narrow white sheeted bed and, finding her shoes, sneaked past Madame Pomfrey, not an easy task and had a couple narrow escapes where the woman had nearly caught the Hufflepuff girl.

          Heather would be worse than mortified if Pomfrey made a fuss over her.

          Slipping out into the hall, she made silent way towards the student halls and her own bedroom. It seemed late enough that she might be able to slip into her bed unnoticed.

          Well, she had hoped that would be the case, but the Apparation of a particularly annoying school ghost rather killed those hopes.

          "A student? Out at this hour? I should tell Mr. Filch, I should!"

          "Evening Peeves, tortured any rats lately?" she replied cordially

          "You, always the stuck up one aren't you. Well, I'll get you this time I will!" the ghost exclaimed excitedly.

          Heather only raised an eyebrow.

"Ok, and I'll tell the Bloody Baron about it." Peeves went quiet.

          "You wouldn't, would you?"

          "I wouldn't have to if you would just mind your own business."

          Peeves made a face, then said, "Well you ain't a Slytherin so you likely can't even FIND the Baron!"

          Damn. She knew the ghost would figure out her ruse eventually, but she had only hoped to frighten him off long enough to get away.

          "What is going on here?" a cold voice and a shadow came up behind Heather.

          "This girl is wandering the halls after curfew!" Peeves crowed excitedly, smirking at the girl who only stuck her tongue out at the poltergeist.

          "I know. She was likely going back to her rooms after Madame Pomfrey released her. This is after all, the hall adjacent to the hospital wing. As I recall YOU, Peeves, are not allowed here," Severus Snape said with cool calm logic.

          Peeves stared with a dropped jaw. In fact, his ghostly jaw was likely to be found in the dungeons. The ghost faded from view and Heather didn't breath a sigh of relief, only turned to look at the teacher who stared at her as if sizing her up for something then pursing his lips like she wasn't quite up to standard but he didn't have any choice in the matter. Heather wasn't sure she liked this, being considered like a bit of beef at market.

          "Um... I should go."

          "Did Madam Pomfrey release you Ms. Fletcher?" he asked suddenly yet at the same time seemed to know the answer.

          She bit her lip and wouldn't meet his eyes.

          "I see," he said. "Very well follow me"

          "But...."

          "Five points from Hufflepuff! Follow me," he snapped and Heather could only firm her lip and follow.

          She didn't really know where he took her. Down many halls until she was completely lost and starting to feel distinctly uneasy. Then he turned, reaching into a sleeve. Heather was ready to run if he pulled his wand. Instead she saw her journal drop to the floor at her feet. She jumped and he raised a calculated eyebrow. He loves scaring people, doesn't he? she mused sarcastically to herself. She hated that he DID look amused. She didn't make a move to get her journal. Why did he have it to start with?

          He didn't leave her waiting long.

          "You have quite a vivid imagination, Ms. Fletcher."

          Of course, she thought to herself, he read it.

 "At least it seemed entertaining at the time," she replied.

          "You play these word games so very badly, Ms. Fletcher." He sounded so very bored it made her want to yawn. "Let's say I know what it is you see in your mind. What grips you in moments of complete insanity. What seems so very real but cannot be true."

          Heather was stoutly staring at her toes though she listened intently. He made a movement, not quite touching her but waving his long fingers before her eyes forcing her to follow them mutely to gaze into his cold saturnine face.

"You know of what I speak."

          She nodded biting her lip and feeling her chest constrict. Did he know? Did he really? Was she just going mad and he was now going to report her? Be rid of yet one more good for nothing half breed witch? Mudblood, her mind filled from those nasty whispers she'd heard so much in her dreams.

          "You see a possible future. One of many, but your vision is not clear. It's too distorted and unfocused yet. You don't understand what you see, thus you push it away only making it worse," he stated calmly, as if giving a list of ingredients for a potion in class. He waited a moment and when she said nothing he grew impatient with her. "Speak up girl!"

          "I.. I don't understand.. You say I, see the future like Professor Trelawney?" Snape snorted.

"I should hope a touch more reliably."

          Heather felt a blush creep to her cheeks. Many made fun of the Divination's teacher who tended to predict doom and gloom every other week. Heather had always just thought of her as a touch mad though in a harmless way. But to hear her dreams were like what Trelawney did made Heather a bit nervous. Would people view her that way too? Harmless but a couple bricks short of a load?

          Having her attention, Snape nodded.

          "Now. I want you to meet me after hours in my class. I will help you sort through these images you see. Once we have a clearer image, then we shall take this to Headmaster Dumbledore."

          All Heather could do was nod though Professor Snape's expression clearly said that he wanted a verbal answer. Swallowing hard, she nodded, again saying quietly, "Yes, sir."

          Snape again gave her the impression he was gauging her value and finding her lacking badly. Then with a an abrupt movement he turned on his heel.

           "Very well. I suggest you go back to your room now. I will expect to see you in the morning."

          Then he was gone.

          It took a long moment before Heather realized he had left her standing alone in an unfamiliar hallway. She stamped her foot. The least he could have done was taken her somewhere she'd recognize! Impossible man! If he knew she had visions why didn't he just take her to Dumbledore now? Why insist on personally ‘helping' her? She picked up her journal and glanced at it frowning. It seemed lighter somehow. Flipping through it she soon found why.

          Most of her notes and drawings were missing. She found herself fuming. Why did he keep them? After several long moments ranging in emotions between anger and complete embarrassment she turned herself and after awhile of wandering the halls found someplace familiar. Once she knew where she was, it didn't take long to find the Hufflepuff entrance and then her own bed without anyone noticing.

* * * * *

          Heather woke as she had for a long time now - with a headache and a cold sweat. She wrote down her dream as became her habit, carefully storing her journal sans half the pages under her mattress. She was not going to give the Potions teacher another chance to go merrily tearing pages out of her private property. She bathed before the other girls and went down to breakfast. Seated at the end of the table, no one joined her, as she was accustomed to. It had been several years since she joined the ranks of Hogwarts and she had never really made a friend. Her only real friend she saw on holidays back home. A Muggle girl with whom she spent their summer vacation reading teen magazines and playing by a small creek that ran behind the other girl's house. Neither of them wrote during the school year, both being too busy in their studies. But come vacation, they would always meet by the creek and eat Mars Bars and talk about normal girl things. No real fussing or personal things. Likely they would separate after school and find other things to do. Marry or move or go to university.

          Heather was musing about her own possible future as to whether she would try university or just stick with her high school education when she saw Madam Pomfrey scanning the Great Hall looking for someone.

          And to her horror the nurse's eyes fell on her with a certain grim tone.

          So Heather had to put up being made a fuss over in front of the entire school to her utter mortification.