Broken Wings

            Finally, Heather had convinced Madame Pomfrey that she was fine. Which was just in time for Heather, barely making it to Professor Snape’s class. Last to come in, she took the only table with an open spot and sat waiting.

            “If everyone is now here,” Snape said, prowling the front of the class and acting as if Heather’s arrival was late, though the bells could now be heard ringing for class to start, “we shall begin.”

            He stood still for a brief moment by his desk.

“I assume everyone now has their essays ready to turn in?”

            Essay? Heather felt sick suddenly. She didn’t know about an essay. Her complete horror must have shown, for as Snape made his way down the rows accepting papers, he paused by her only long enough to say, “I expect to see you later to give you your make-up exam.”

            Her knees turned to complete gelatin. He didn’t expect her to know of an essay she couldn’t have known of at least! He brushed past, but Heather didn’t relax. Make-ups with Snape never happened. He expected one to get their work right the first time. She felt faint again. Maybe if she passed out she could put it off for a few days? Oh, but then there was the fact he demanded her meeting him over the Divination thing. She then knew her fate was sealed. She could never dream of escaping the ‘gentle attentions’ of the Potions Master forever. Why me? she thought to herself, her head pounding painfully and her breakfast an uneasy cold mass in the pit of her stomach. Any more personal attentions from the Professor and she would be very sick in her cauldron.

            Luckily, she did not have to worry about Snape paying more attention to her. After the comment and the following lecture over the sorry state of the hastily written essays, he had them take notes for preparation of the Transfiguration potion they would be studying. This one was much more complicated, involving many steps. If Heather had not felt so ill, she would have been fascinated. Even Snape’s dry dictation could not totally suck the life from something bordering on the side of interesting.

            Class continued and Heather was glad to be free of it as much as the other students, and while she was not the first out the door she was not the last either. Her day continued and while Charms had always been her favorite class, she found her mind wandering the entire time. She had to repeatedly force herself to pay attention to the diminutive voice of Professor Flitwick.

When lunch came, she hardly paid much mind to the food, as she was not feeling very hungry and also rather wishing for a cheeseburger. Pumpkin juice and everything else was fine, but there was something to be said for a Pepsi and a cheeseburger with fries.

            The afternoon dragged. She had another explosion of pain in her head, but no visions, sometime mid-afternoon, and spent the rest of her day with various people asking if she felt well. She was beginning to feel a touch put out about it. Heather stoutly refused to go back to see Madame Pomfrey. She rather wished everyone would leave her alone.

            With the descending feeling of ultimate doom, nightfall came and she found herself standing outside the Potions Classroom. It felt odd going in, knowing that Professor Snape was there and was expecting her. Straightening her robes, she pulled back her mousy hair into loose pigtails with no hopes of it staying, but at least giving her an appearance of more confidence than she actually felt.

            “You,” Snape did not even look up from the paper he was correcting at his desk as she walked in, “are late.” He glanced up briefly, dark eyes showing nothing from under pencil thin brows.

            Heather thought about giving an excuse, but had a feeling he knew how long she had been standing outside his classroom. So she said nothing at all. Just gave a one shoulder shrug and crashed into a chair near one of the tables. She rubbed her temples, really wishing the headache would go away.

            She was shocked when thrust under her nose was a foul smelling brew, uncorked, and she backed up with a sneeze, shaking her head. Snape’s expression was cold.

“Inhale,” he ordered and she had no choice but to comply.

            She blinked when she looked around, realizing the pain was gone. Professor Snape placed a stopper on the bottle and set it on the table next to her.

“Take this with you. When you feel even the slightest twinge of pain, breathe from the bottle. I expect you to pay more attention to class tomorrow.”

            She looked at the tiny bottle with its sticky greenish substance like a savior. She had already killed the bottle of Tylenol her father sent her when she asked for it. If she asked for more, her parents would begin to worry. Besides, the pharmaceutical drugs hardly even cut the pain that thudded dully behind her eyes.

            “Now. I need more details on these visions of yours,” Snape snapped before she could try and thank him, going to the front of the class watching her intensely. As if this was just another of his classes, and she was just the exceptionally dim student he was forced to put up with.

            So she began as clearly and precisely as she could. He would fling sudden questions at her at random intervals, throwing off her thoughts and sending her into a state of flustered confusion.

            When this happened he’d yell “CONCENTRATE!” and fly off with more detailed questions.

            She felt stretched and had to resort to the bottle of which she was unsure she wanted to know the contents.

            Feeling tired and thinned, she sagged in the chair while Professor Snape, to her complete disgust, seemed just as fresh as when he started despite being more active than she was.

            Finally though, the intolerable man sat behind his desk straightening papers and seeming deep in thought. Maybe he’s considering speeches to embarrass students for tomorrow? Her thoughts rambled as she cuddled the tiny vile of freedom from pain in her hands, colasped in her chair and feeling sleepy, mostly from exhaustion, lack of sleep, long days of work mixed with this evenings, hard thinking, and mixed emotions.

            Finally Snape looked up.

“We shall do your make-up exam.” His words were quiet and the comment was bland, as if he was making conversation about the weather.

            Lovely, she thought, of course he would wait till I’m too tired to think straight. Greasy haired, tallow skinned, sadistic freak.

            So the second inquisition began. By the end of it, Heather felt she hadn’t done too awful. She had always been better with her oral exams over essays. Professor Snape did not give any sign on to what he thought at all about the matter but after a few more minutes of silence after it was over he said darkly, “Well don’t nod off to sleep in my classroom. Get yourself to your own dorm.”

            “Here, tomorrow. 7:30 sharp. No excuses,” he said as she reached the doorway.

            She bit her lip and nodded, “Yes, sir,” and gratefully fled before he found something else to say. The halls were completely devoid of anything living and the moon had begun to rise over the lake. She hardly noticed anything till she got back to the Hufflepuff common room and found it also empty. It was late. Taking another inhale of the bottle, she tucked it under her pillow and, not bothering to disrobe, she kicked off her shoes and curled up, not even remembering when her head hit the pillow.

            ~~~~~~~~

            It didn’t seem so scary now, all the reflections. Heather stared about her, still feeling just as disoriented and confused. She spun suddenly when she felt the shadow over her shoulder. Staring at her was a figure she felt she should recognize, but could not place.

            “No! I don’t want to see that!” she shouted at the uncaring figure who continued to wait for her. Watching her.

            She didn’t know how it was, but she stood on an overhang, staring at a house burning against the sky, cold and clear. The moon, seen though the smoke, was red as blood and quarter full. Voices screamed and laughed on the wind, tossed with ash and debris and the smell of death. She pushed back her hair with a sob, turning to find her shadow.

“Why?” she screamed, as suddenly she found herself on her knees, pain tearing through her shoulder. A black mark hung before her blurring eyes. Written in her own blood.

            “What does it mean!?” She covered her head with one arm, the other hanging down at her side, weeping as the screams grew louder, as if the dead demanded that she recognize what happened and tell someone. She glanced up to see her shadow watching her coldly, as if expecting her to know what this all meant.

            “Who are you?” she screamed at the darkness. “Who are you?!”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

            Heather sat up when someone flung back her bed curtains.

“Wake up! You’re going to be late again, Heather!” She blinked fuzzily up at the cheerfully chubby face of her roommate. “First time in ages you’ve been in your own bed!”

Ginger looked pleased about it as if it was something she had done. Heather snorted, but got up and hunted for a clean set of garments. She frowned, as most her things where missing and then realized someone must have taken them to the laundry for her. She bit her lip and while Ginger satisfied herself that Heather wasn’t going to nod off again, bounded down the stairs to the common room.

            Heather found she was going to have to put something together that was not quite uniform. All she had was a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with Tweety Bird in one corner, holding a sign that stated “Go Away” in bold type. Her slightly rumpled robe from the previous day went over the ensemble and she hoped if she kept it closed a bit more in front, no one would notice.

            Of course this meant Professor Snape was the first to notice and there went yet another five points from Hufflepuff. Heather was beginning to get some dark looks from her classmates.

~~~~~~~~

            Professor Snape sat at his desk making sure he had the ingredients for the potion he would soon have the students make. Checking his supply lists, he pulled out a small silver pocket watch with the Slytherin House symbol on the cover. A gift one year from his young charges. Ms. Fletcher was late. He was aware she would be. After all, it had been him who arranged to have her things washed. The girl was incapable when it came to thinking of such things for herself at the moment. She would likely would be disgustingly grateful for the Fumes he gave her. A common enough potion to use in cases when such a strong gift started suddenly.

            The mind could not handle the flood of information, and unfortunately for Ms. Fletcher, her mind was lacking more so than normal. His lips twisted into a sneer, thus making her headaches proportionally worse.

            Five minutes to 8:00, the girl finally made her way into the dark dungeon.

             “You are late.”

            “I know. I apologize,” she said, at least having the decency to not beg and grovel, although that would have been amusing for Snape. He decided not to punish her this time and only nodded, leaning back in his chair while waiting for her to settle herself onto a stool nearby.    “Have the dreams become clearer, Ms. Fletcher?”

            She bit her lip and nodded that he was indeed correct. Severus raised a brow archly, wishing for a verbal answer. He needed her to begin talking of her own. Willingly. Or he may miss a crucial piece of information she may forget about in a panic. He steepled his fingers as she took a breath and gave a proper vocal response.

            “Tell me.” Severus waited patiently for the girl to gather her thoughts.

            About ten minutes passed before Ms. Fletcher spoke again, telling him, without glossing facts and details, what had happened. Same vision though with minor alterations and additions.

            Blood moon, fire, blood on snow and death. A dark mark written in her own blood. It was a specific event she spoke of, with a few images that could have more omen like meanings. One that she had repeated in varying forms for some time. Though he was glad it was in a slightly less dramatic way than the day she attacked the tables in his classroom.

            “What confuses me is the shadow. I mean I feel like I know him,” she finally finished.

            “Of course, this shadow is someone who is closely linked to this event. It is your focus,” he responded. “Not all visions have a focus. Some are brought on by emotions or what you think or feel about something. Or even by something that isn’t related to any of these and is what they then call a ‘prophecy’.

            “ Your location of Mr. Longbottom’s toad for instance, most likely brought on by feelings of pity for the hapless boy. This shadow is an outside force you use to direct your mind to these particular dreams. If we locate the source then more than likely the dreams may stop, or else stop when the event in them happens.”

            “December. It’s December. The moon is quarter full and the star patterns of to the north Draco, south Gemini and Saturn between them. Jupiter is right below the view of the blood moon.” she responded instantly. Severus raised a brow higher. So the girl did have other interests it seems than meet the eye. She blushed under his gaze.

            “I use to star gaze with my father. We spent a year doing nothing but study charts and making our own calendar of sorts in the backyard. Like a mini stone hedge among the pansies.” she elaborated as if she felt she had to defend where she gained this information.

            Snape shrugged slightly, his lips twitching in a touch of approval. With her eyes down to the floor, finding her shoes most interesting, she had not seen it. It took a lot of patience to map the sky. Even the astrology students were seldom that involved with what they observed, but it also gave a more defined time frame

            The last quarter moon was the 16th. Snape’s frowned deepened. Why the last quarter? What could anyone gain from that time frame? Or was it something else?

             There had been many names in her list of those marked for death, most he had researched and found slight connections to Voldemort. Some gave testimony against known Death Eaters. Some Aurors or a part of the Order of the Phoenix, but none were of high placement. Severus frowned deeply. Thinking hard, he was partially aware of when Heather began talking again, as if she was nervous and needed to fill the silence.

            Tuning in to her words, he realized that at least if she filled the silence, it wasn’t with useless chatter. She talked of detail in the images, some of the passing feelings that, for some reason, stood out to her mind. She described in great detail her source, though of that, there still remained precious little information. A silent shadow who both frightened her, but at the same time did not. It was some sort of authority figure to her.

            Male a figure of authority. Someone she was familiar with in more than mere passing then. He focused on her physical description. Darkness. It was more than just a vagueness. But then it must be related to what the figure did or was. Tall and very thin. Stalking the area like a caged animal. Graceful.

            Suddenly Severus’ eyes snapped onto the girl and she fell into sudden confused silence. He stood and began to prowl the room.

            No, it can’t be. It must be two ways. Some connection between both the Seer and the Source. His thoughts wandered trying to reason it out. All the improbabilities were suddenly coming together in a clear image that made him feel slightly ill. What was the connection? Something unconscious, perhaps? He rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as he concentrated.

            “Sir?” Ms. Fletcher sounded worried.

            Coming to a sudden decision, Severus stepped back into a shadow. She frowned, wondering why he did such a thing, until all that was left was a dark familiar shape.

            “Sir?” Now her voice held a touch of panic.

            “It seems we now know whom your source is.”

            It was Severus Snape. 

~~~~~~~~

            Heather was still in shock the next morning. The work and conversations of her visions lasted nearly till dawn. Figuring out her Source did not help. Professor Snape did not know why he would become her Source, but for herself it was easy, Snape was an authority figure in her life. Someone she looked to for guidance and answers. The student-mentor bond, but for Professor Snape it was not that simple to explain. Heather only had the feeling if she knew more about him then she might figure out why. She had a feeling it was an emotional link rather than a normal one. Everything else seemed to be emotional for her. Pity, love, and so on. Guilt perhaps? She did not see Professor Snape consciously or unconsciously seeking out a divinator’s mind for any other reason.

            Although admittedly it’s hard to see him choosing someone at all. He’s so self-contained. What is in these visions that he would want someone else to know? Something in his life? Past? Something he hated about himself or ... Her thoughts where cut into as she walked a hallway towards her first class of the day. Her thoughts were cut into as she walked down a hallway towards her first class of the day. She glanced up, as passing through the mass of students was the Headmaster, who was looking directly at her.

            “Ms. Fletcher!” he greeted jovially. Heather was starting to feel concerned, what had she done to get so much attention from the teachers and staff? Professor Dumbledore stopped a few paces before her. Students were glancing covertly as they made their own rushing way towards class.

            “Mind if I have a word with you?” he asked, eyes sparkling merrily.

            “Um…I have to get to class, sir. My house is mad enough at me for losing as many points as I have to Professor Snape.” Ok, that would work! she thought cheerfully.

            “Oh yes, we can’t have that, I shall walk with you then. Lemon drop?” His response made her sigh in frustration and it took a moment to register the small package in her face. She took one of the candies without thinking. Sucking on the slightly sour and very familiar Muggle confection allowed her to keep her mouth shut as the Headmaster rambled mindlessly on about many subjects. His subject of the moment being he had been having a problem with losing socks. He’d send two socks out to the laundry and only one returned. He even pulled up the end of his robes to show that indeed one sock was striped, the other was spotted leopard print. Heather pretended interest in the rumblings of a senile old man barely restraining a fit of giggles.

            “I must say, speaking of your first class with the Professor Snape, how is your extra credit going?” he suddenly said.

            “Extra credit?” she responded stupidly.

            “Yes, you are in his classroom often these days.”

            “Oh, no. Its not class, but something else entirely.”

            “Oh?” The tone said he would very much like to know.

            Heather had a sudden, and scary, vision of how that must have sounded. She felt slightly ill. It was true she had no boyfriends, but her and SNAPE? The thought made her want to go have a nice little picnic beneath the Whomping Willow.

             “No! I mean its nothing weird or anything, he just chose to help me with a rather, complicated problem.” She really didn’t want to spill her guts about the disturbing images to the Headmaster quite yet.

            Dumbledore looked at her sideways, eyes sparkling merrily as if he could read her thoughts at that moment.

“Very well, but he should have more respect for your sleep, Ms. Fletcher. You were hardly keeping your eyes open all through breakfast. I had expected any moment to see you nod off into your porridge.” She was saved from answering by the arrival at class. That moment the bells rung for class to start and Heather felt the familiar dead weight of breakfast in her stomach.

            “Oh dear,” Dumbledore said, “I am very sorry for keeping you. I will have a word with Professor Snape then.” He nodded his head like this was a wonderful idea and Heather wondered if he was really off his rocker. She would have just lost five points, but he wanted to talk with Snape. How many points would she lose now?

            They entered class together. Professor Snape paused, his frown deepening when he had looked up from his desk to reprimand Heather for her tardiness and spotted the Headmaster with her. Heather quickly got to an empty spot at a table trying her best to look as inconspicuous as possible. There was a quiet conversation at the front of the class between Dumbledore and Snape of which, no matter how the students strained, none could hear what was said. Heather sunk further down into her shell when she noticed the slightly closed expression of contained rage in the Potions Master. Then, with a cheerful smile Dumbledore wandered out of the classroom offering several students candy. Heather watched Snape fume more till the Headmaster was gone.

            Everyone waited in a state of near panic. It was obvious the Professor was angry; the twitch in his cheek as he ground his teeth, along with the sudden light to his normally dead black eyes gave him away.

            “Should you not all be taking NOTES right now?” Almost immediately, there was the industrious sound of quills and parchment. He wandered around the class, leaning as an intimidating cloud of malignant hate over students’ shoulders, watching them all carefully. Heather felt absolutely no relief for not losing her five points, instead resorting often to the small bottle tucked in the front of her robes to ease the growing headache behind her eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~

            A few minutes to 7:30 and Heather stood outside the dungeon classroom. At this moment it felt more as if she neared a dungeon. She bit her lip really hoping the Professor wasn’t still angry.

            She touched the door to find it suddenly yanked open. Heather flattened herself against the wall as Snape dived out of the classroom without even seeing her. She blinked in shock as he dashed, robes billowing behind him like figurative wings. Heather stood a long time plastered to the wall, trying to figure out why the Professor had just left so suddenly and not sure if he would return. Since she wasn’t sure and didn’t want to find herself in more trouble she entered the dungeon and made herself comfortable at one of the tables.

            She was nearly going to just nod off to sleep when the familiar and dreaded sound of cackling filled her ears,

            “Still here? He’s not, I know for who you wait.”

            “Peeves” she said in a tone of disgust, “I’m in the Potions Classroom, there can be only one person I’m waiting for and it is not you,” she replied with a touch of frustration.

            “Well, if you would be a little nicer, I may tell you where he went,” Peeves went on in his best ‘I know something you don’t’ voice.

            “And why should I? Next time I’m in the hallway you’ll just call Mr. Filch.”

            Peeves sniffed, insulted, “Maybe.”

            “Oh, no maybes about it, you exist to cause trouble,” she said dryly, knowing she was digging her own grave and not really caring at the moment.

            Peeves actually turned several shades of pale color. (Note: Perhaps you could say ‘several shades paler’) A fascinating thing to watch.

“Fine! Then I won’t tell you he’s in his private quarters!” and the ghost was gone.

            “Um…” Heather pursed her lips and decided not to say what happened to come to mind on that subject.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Heather stood outside Snape’s personal chambers chewing her lip and wondering what possessed her to do this. After a long moment of thought and feeling the complete idiot, she knocked.

            A long pause passed, then the door opened carefully. Snape looked out into the hall, then his eyes landed on her with a startled look of momentary surprise.

“Ms. Fletcher? What are you doing here at this hour?” His expression had returned to its normal impassive gaze.

            “I, er, well I was…” She really felt dumb now. All the million things that came to mind all disappeared before she could net in the elusive excuses.

            Professor Snape rolled his eyes and stepped aside.

“Come in. We might as well continue our study since you are obviously up.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Severus had been too tired to think of the consequences of inviting her into his rooms. A suddenly called Death Eaters meeting, that thankfully had been short-lived, had brought a more disturbing light to the facts revealed to him through Ms. Fletcher’s dreams. The small and warning conversation with Dumbledore had been forgotten. What he wanted was to see if they could re-direct her visions, get a clearer image.

            The chamber was a small room with a shelf of books along one wall a fireplace on the other and a door that led back into another chamber. A couple comfortable chairs were placed in front of the fire which burned low. Snape had been thinking in one of those chairs when he had heard Fletcher’s knock.

Resuming his seat, he waited for the girl to gain enough self-respecting courage to perch herself on the other chair, her eyes taking in every detail of a place no students had ever seen.

            He was amused for a moment, watching her take in his chambers as if seeing something very personal and not sure how she react.

            His snort brought her attention back to him with the wide-eyed gaze of an owl.

            “I think we should try something. I want to see if it is possible to direct your visions into a more channeled direction.”

            She nodded her face and said thoughtfully, “You want to see it too? See if there is something you may get that I miss?”

            “I do not believe I will be able to actually see your vision Ms Fletcher, I only wish to direct them more to an angle I wish to know.” he responded though intrigued by the idea of experiencing the vision himself.

            She nodded, and then looked thoughtful, her chin against her chest and her brow wrinkled.

“So how do we do this?”

            “I need you to relax. Sit back in the chair and just listen to my voice.” The girl obediently did as she was told, closing her eyes so she could relax and not be distracted by anything in the room. Severus turned his attention to the fire and gazing into it, he spoke softly, making Fletcher strain to concentrate on his voice.

            It was a complete shock when, not only did she fall into the desired trance, but took him with her.

~~~~~~~~~~

            Heather sat among the broken images again. She looked up suddenly when she clearly saw Professor Snape, and he looked rather ill.

            “Sir?” She stood from her crouch wondering if she was seeing him more clearly because she knew who her Source was now.

~~~~~~~~~~

 

            Severus’ eyes landed on the girl watching him with a growing look of confusion. He felt lost, tumbling among the images that she seemed to shrug off like water. Then he fell back and she ran forward shouting something he couldn’t make out. Falling through an endless darkness, there was a quarter blood moon in view. Foggy smells of smoke and blood. He landed in snow looking up to see Fletcher holding a wounded arm and staring into the sky. The air was much colder in the vision than should be for a winter day. Faceless masks danced around a bloodied altar where a figure he could not make out thrashed in pain as they used magic to stretch the poor bastard. A familiar hissing laugh mixed among the mocking voices made Snape’s blood run cold. Voldemort.

            Next to him, he saw the dead eyes of a woman, her hair mixed with the blood staining the snow red. The red spread, covering the entire scene. Turning black, into a mark, the Dark Mark. The same one branded into his forearm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            Heather came to, jolting out of her vision and covering her face with her hands for a moment, before seeking the potion for the inevitable dull pain.

            Next to her, Snape made a slightly strangled sound, then murmured into the silence that hung between them, “Do pass that over when you are done with it.”

            She blinked and handed it over meekly, not sure why he would want the potion. He inhaled and setting it on the small table between the chairs, covered his face.

“That went, better than expected,” he finally said.

            “You were there, then?” Heather found that would explain why it seemed she led instead of her shadow, why the image of Snape had been so clear.

            “I do not think it is advisable we try that particular thing again.” Heather grinned sarcastically. They sat in complete silence.