The Mentor

Chapter Two:

Ugly People

Draco Malfoy stared absently at his scroll. Damn. He was still six inches short and he had the uncomfortable feeling that Snape wouldn't let him fudge the rest by writing meaningless fluff in a somewhat larger script. This was a punishment, not a school assignment; a one-scroll report detailing why talking in class was detrimental to his education and could result in his failure of Potions. It was a very stupid assignment. He and that Trenton girl had barely exchanged five words.

"I'm going to talk to Father about this." Even though he was in the library Draco did not bother to lower his voice. Madame Pince glared at him over the top of the enormous pile of books she was checking in. "I've never had extra work from Snape. I wonder what crawled up his arse and died?"

Sophia Trenton looked up from her scroll and smirked. She suspected that she could have told him exactly what had crawled up Snape's arse and died, but she remained silent. She was certain that the punishment was Snape's way of letting her know that shared birthday cake and a dance did not entitle her to special privileges in the classroom.

"Not that I'm mad that I have to spend time with you," he said a little more quietly, and was rewarded with her blush.

"Sitting here with you doesn't exactly break my heart either," Sophia murmured.

He grinned at her wolfishly. For almost six years he had been only vaguely aware of her, much in the same way he was aware of the chairs in the common room. She was just some skinny girl who shared a room with Pansy and occasionally laughed at his better jokes about Potter. What she needed, his father would say, is a little self-promotion.

* * *

Draco had sauntered into Potions that afternoon with Pansy Parkinson at his side and Crabbe and Goyle lumbering behind him. Draco had stopped in mid-stride and Crabbe and Goyle nearly knocked into his back.

"Who's that?" He had pointed to a vaguely familiar looking girl sitting on the Slytherin side of the room. She had frizzy black hair that gleamed with emerald highlights. No one in his class had green hair; his first thought was that the tiny girl was a lost first-year and he tried to work up a suitable insult to hurl at her.

Pansy looked at Draco, looked at the girl, and narrowed her eyes. Oh, here we go, Draco had thought. Pansy was on a never-ending quest to ingratiate herself as his girlfriend, and part of her campaign included insulting every other girl around them. He let her think that it impressed him; actually what impressed him was his ability to manipulate her into performing ever-greater feats of nastiness. Her blind adoration was flattering but dull and somehow annoying.

"Oh, Sophia, you must tell me what charm you used on your hair," Pansy had gushed with phony enthusiasm.

Sophia had pulled her nose out of her book and coolly looked Pansy up and down. "I'm glad it meets with your approval," she had said and immediately went back to her book.

Draco didn't know what kind of response Pansy had expected, but being casually dismissed after being laughed at certainly wasn't it. Red faced, she had puffed up indignantly but Draco had cut off whatever insult she had in mind.

"I like it," he had said with a smile. "It shows real Slytherin pride."

Sophia had glanced up at him. The green in her hair brought out the green in her otherwise muddy hazel eyes. "Thanks."

Draco plopped his book bag down next to her and gestured to Crabbe. Crabbe sat down, leaving a glowering Pansy squashed between Crabbe and Goyle. Serves her right, he had thought. She could chase after him like a puppy dog all she wanted, push her way into sitting next to him in the Great Hall and in class, but none of that made her his girlfriend, after all. It was about time he showed her that.

They had just sat down when Professor Snape swept into the room, his pallid face even more frigid than usual. He held a mass of scrolls in his arms.

"I have never, in all my years as Potions Master, read such abysmal tripe as these scrolls." He did not raise his voice, rather he spoke in the deadly calm tone that every student knew meant that he was even more dangerously angry than usual. "We covered attribute augmentations for half the term, and this is the best you could say about them? If this is your idea of a joke I am not amused."

Snape had skimmed down the aisles like a vampire bat, his black robes billowing around him as he loudly slapped scrolls down on the desks before their owners. He didn't bother to make snide remarks as he did so, not even to Longbottom, who was visibly sweating. That was not a good sign.

Draco opened his scroll. 'Good work, Malfoy' Snape had written in his spiky handwriting. Well. That was to be expected. He was a good student, but of course his father's old friend wouldn't fail him. His father said that life was more about whom you know than what you know, and Draco had no reason to doubt him.

He had glanced at Sophia. Her lip was curled with disgust and she hastily rolled up her scroll, but not before Draco saw Snape's comment. 'Not bad, but you can do better.' That wasn't surprising. Sophia wasn't a complete Squib like Longbottom, who managed to blow up or melt a cauldron every term, but no one fought to partner up with her either.

"I will be generous enough to cover some of your weakest points before continuing the next unit. That way maybe some of you will live to see your twentieth birthdays." Snape had pulled out his notes.

Sophia had pushed her hair back over her shoulders and picked up her quill to take notes. Draco looked at her profile. Her nose was too thin and too long, and her general skinniness made her cheekbones and jaw a little too prominent. Still, she was more interesting to look at than Pansy. She certainly wasn't determined to chase him like Pansy was. She hadn't looked at him once since he had sat down. Actually, that annoyed him; Draco Malfoy did not like to be ignored. Draco reached over and wrapped one of her curls around his finger.

"Very, very nice," he whispered, admiring the emerald shimmers.

"I'm glad you like it," she whispered back.

"Malfoy! Trenton! If you please!"

Draco had looked up to find Snape glaring at them with a look of such hatred--not dislike, hatred---that he had actually shrank back into his chair. He was immediately angry with himself for allowing Snape to bully him, but Snape, satisfied that he had their attention, was already back to his lecture.

* * *

Draco pushed aside his scroll and leaned across the library table. "I'm tired of this. Are you finished?"

"Yes."

"Give me some, will you?"

"Just make sure you reword everything so he doesn't notice." Sophia pushed her scroll towards him.

Sophia watched him as he filled out the rest of his scroll. She shook her head with wonder. She was sitting at the library table writing a punitive essay with Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, who, for the first time in six years, actually saw her. Malfoy, who was the most popular boy in House Slytherin. She was slightly revolted by how happy his attentions made her feel; popular or not, he was still unendurably vain and about as subtle as a bag of bricks. Still, it was delightful to be noticed and not treated like part of the scenery. Determined to enjoy the moment, she squashed her reservations into the back corner of her mind.

If I'd known it would be this easy I would have tinted my hair green a long time ago, she thought ruefully. She had been feeling all at sixes and sevens lately, so restless, like she had to do something, anything out of the ordinary, or she'd go mad. So yesterday, as she stared out the window at the wet green field that stood between Hogwarts Castle and the Forbidden Forest, she did not think twice when the most absurd idea flitted through her mind. She ran to the library, read a bit, and performed the charm this morning. She'd pretended to ignore the whispers and stares and had walked the corridors with her head high. Professor McGonagall had glared at her, but it wasn't until Potions that anyone confronted her directly.

Draco was really quite good-looking, she thought. He was tall, broad-shouldered and handsome with fine, high cheekbones, icy-gray eyes and chin-length white-blonde hair. She found herself idly wondering if it felt as soft as it looked, if it would brush her cheeks like feathers if he leaned his tall body down to kiss her. Crimson faced, she quickly opened her Potions book and tried to read their new assignment.

Unbeknownst to Draco and Sophia, from deep in the shadows of the tall bookshelves, Severus Snape stared at them with haunted black eyes.

* * *

Part mentor, part headmaster, part father figure...Snape was not surprised to discover that his legs mechanically carried him to the door guarded by the stone gargoyle.

"Bernie Botts," he said, and the door opened. Snape stepped inside and the stairs elevated him to a large circular room decorated with the portraits of past headmasters. Faulks, the scarlet and gold phoenix, cawed a soft greeting.

"Ah Severus, so good to see you. Please join me for my before-bed tea."

Somehow Severus was not surprised to see two cups on the tray. Years ago Dumbledore had been the Transformations professor, but Snape was always surprised that Dumbledore's specialty wasn't Divination.

The tea set knew him well and expertly prepared his tea, one lump sugar and dash of cream. Albus gestured to the tray of biscuits.

"Please try one, Severus. They're quite scrumptious."

Severus did not care for sweets, but he took a biscuit so as not to offend the headmaster. The two men sipped their tea in silence. Dumbledore, he observed, looked particularly tired tonight; his long white beard and hair seemed almost dingy and his face was not simply lined but distinctly old in the firelight.

"Sir, it is late and you are very tired. What I have to say will wait until morning."

"It's not so late Severus and I am not so tired. Besides, I have tea for two; it would be a shame to waste it."

Now that it was time to speak Severus felt cornered and irrationally angry with Dumbledore for not letting him make a graceful exit. Suddenly his whole purpose for visiting the Headmaster seemed stupid. He nibbled the biscuit to buy time. It was rather good, neither too sweet nor too plain. Severus suspected that Dumbledore had the house-elves deliver them just for his visit.

"Headmaster, you know of my past in the Death Eaters," he said quickly, knowing that the hardest part of the story would be starting it.

Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his blue eyes alight with interest. Severus sat with his back so strait, so tense, that his shoulders started to hurt. He rested his saucer on his knee and frowned, trying to find the right words.

"I do not know if I can adequately explain the...the allure that simply belonging can have to a shy and solitary person, sir. Ultimately it is that which drew me to Lord Voldemort. To be...accepted. No, to be wanted."

Snape paused, his mouth twisted in a wry imitation of a smile. He thought back, almost nostalgically, to the tall, skinny boy with the oversized nose and lank black hair whom no one called a friend. Life had been so simple then. At sixteen years old Severus Snape had had two goals; to expose James Potter as the vapid, smarmy little twit that Severus knew him to be, and become the greatest Potions Master in the world. Service to Voldemort had offered him all of that, and more. Now...James was dead, long gone, and his son was everyone's golden child, and only Snape's brilliance in Potions had kept Dumbledore on his side. Severus was certain that personal feelings would have meant nothing to the headmaster had Severus not been useful.

"It was an embarrassingly easy task for Lucius to win me over. What didn't he offer me? Power, popularity...all he wanted was my soul."

Severus snorted and finished his cooling tea in one gulp.

"Pardon my poetics sir. But that was exactly it. I traded every ounce of...integrity...that I had for false friendship. And I was too stupid to notice until it was too late."

"That was many years ago, Severus," Dumbledore said gently.

Severus met his blue gaze levelly. "The past is repeating itself sir. Voldemort has risen and now it is Draco Malfoy who does his dirty work."

"It does not do to blame the son for the sins of the father," Dumbledore took another biscuit.

"Sir, I see it happening."

"With whom?"

Severus stared hard at the tealeaves in his cup. He was glad that Professor Trelawny wasn't there to foresee death in the wet brown squiggles.

"Miss Sophia Trenton, sir."

Dumbledore tapped the side of his long nose for a moment. "Ah yes. Fifth year. Flitwick's prize student. The one with the green hair. It seems that they discover that particular charm once every decade or so. I have particularly fond memories of a young lady with shocking pink hair."

Snape was in no mood to discuss coiffures. "Sir, he's expanding his group of followers. We must stop it."

"I think you will agree, Severus, that the boy is much less of a threat here, under observation, that running about unsupervised. And certainly we cannot dictate who may befriend whom. Yet I understand your concerns quite well. This seems to fall within your duties. But I warn you that you are one of our most valuable agents. No matter what your personal feelings may be, you cannot afford to endanger yourself."

Dumbledore fixed him with such a hard look that Snape almost squirmed in his chair like a schoolboy. Dumbledore knew, somehow, what had happened on Valentine's Day. He was certain of it.

"I understand sir."

"Then I leave it in your capable hands."

* * *

Severus slid into the marble tub of steaming water. It was hot, too hot, almost scalding hot, but it took a bath this hot to make him feel even vaguely clean. He slumped down until the herbs he had scattered on the surface lapped wetly at his chin. The water simply cleansed his flesh. The herbs simply perfumed it. His filth, his stench, went down to the bone.

The enchanted undercurrents caressed his feet and rolled over his knotted shoulders. The herbs and charmed water gave the experience the aura of glamorous opulence that Severus loved.

He remembered the spark in Sophia's eyes as she looked at Draco and shuddered. She was certainly more cunning than most Slytherins her age, but not nearly as suave as she wanted to be. She was as proud, as naïve, and as vulnerable as he had been.

Severus lifted a red, steaming arm out of the tub and picked up a loofah and some soap. He scowered his shoulders and chest and reviewed his conversation with Dumbledore. Snape was a clever but not very articulate man; he could never explain what joining the Death Eaters had really meant to him. He couldn't even explain it to himself. How could he explain what the promise of total acceptance meant to a misfit? As Voldemort's potions master he had been praised to the skies. Everyone wanted to be in his good graces, to be his friend. Women threw themselves at him.

He paused his scrubbing and considered this. Perhaps that had been his ultimate weakness; sex. Friendship was a great pull, but even then he had known how politically charged his friendship with Malfoy and his gang had been. One mistake and they'd happily use the Cruciatus Curse to torture him to death on Voldemort's command. Admiration for his skills with potions was flattering, but he had heard so many compliments for so many years that they were merely to be expected. Severus knew himself to be ugly to women, greasy and big-nosed. Women may not have loved Severus for himself, but they loved powerful men, and Severus was shocked to discover that power gave him the luxury of picking and choosing his bedmates. They flocked to him, as singles, in groups, and he had quickly found that when he wasn't in his lab he was drowning himsel in soft female flesh.

Severus shifted slightly, and a warm current of water wrapped itself lazily around his testicles. He groaned and closed his eyes. Older women had liked him for his stamina, and Severus enjoyed their experience, but his absolute favorite had been the young girls near his age. He had used them shamelessly. Every girl he bedded at that time was the embodiment of every girl who had ever laughed at him, made fun of him, or rejected him. Sometimes he was a sensual lover who didn't stop until they begged him to cease. Sometimes he pinned them down and rutted like an animal.

Now, when his missions for Voldemort took him to the Muggle world and the demands of his flesh grew too strong he would occasionally charm a prostitute for his use. It was not pleasurable for him, though the charm gave her a feeling of ecstasy. It flattered his ego to look down into her sweaty, pink-cheeked face and listen to her pant, but the act itself was always a let down, more like aided masturbation than intercourse. He had no desire to run his hands or mouth over her, and was nauseated by the idea of her touch. He spread her legs, he used her viciously, and he left her smiling.

Severus was startled to discover that his hand was coiled around his hard penis. The herbs smelled beautiful and the hot massaging water had kneaded much of the tension from his body. He reclined his head back and relaxed. He lazily stroked his penis and allowed his mind to cast about for a good fantasy.

Sophia, in the thinnest shell-pink panties and brassiere reclined on his dark bed, her legs flung carelessly wide. She was so pale that a fine map of blue veins networked across her shoulders. She smiled and lifted her arms, beckoning him to her, and her hands were hot as they---

Severus sprung out of the tub, sloshing great tidal waves of water all over the room. He ran to the shower and hosed himself down with icy water. He scrubbed himself vigorously, trying to block out the beautifully obscene vision...her nipples hard under the pink silk...her inviting smile...the heat of her tiny hands...he remembered that heat from when he danced with her...she did not flinch from his greasy touch...

No, it was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong. He couldn't say why exactly, but he was revolted almost to the point of nausea by his lecherousness.

Severus stepped out for a towel and found that they were all soaked. He looked about his soggy bathroom somewhat sadly; he had almost been clean.

* * *

Draco led the way back to their dormitory. He insisted that he knew a shortcut and Sophia followed him guilessly. She had done relatively little exploration of the castle, but she had a feeling that the unused halls, much like the stairwells, sometimes rearranged themselves to relive their boredom. There were no suits of armor here, only long corridor after corridor. The thick wooden doors to the rooms stared at them like empty eyes. Their footsteps echoed loudly and a thread of danger, warm and delicious, crept up Sophia's spine.

Sophia did not know much about boys, but she was a Trenton. And Trenton women did not suddenly turn around and snog the boy next to them, no matter attractive he was. So let Draco walk too close to her, brush his hand on her shoulder and make the nape of her neck prickle with delight; she would not be seduced. She didn't know exactly what kind of relationship he and Pansy Parkinson had, but she was not about to become yet another easy conquest.

They finally stopped before the mossy brick wall that hid the Slytherin common room. Draco leaned in close and smiled down at her. "It's too early to go to bed. Would you like to take a go around in the gardens?"

Sophia ducked her head in what she hoped looked like shy embarrassment but was actually an attempt to hide her smirk. How gullible did he think she was? "Oh, it's late enough for me. I'm quite tired."

Two fingers lifted her chin. Draco's eyes glimmered with victory. "Don't you have anything you want to give me?"

Years latter Sophia would wonder what would have happened if she had followed her instinct and given him a knee in the groin. What would her life had been like if she had been a little less desperate for attention, a little less willing to accept a rotten apple, because at least it was an apple?

She drew close to him. He was wearing musky cologne, sexy and heady. She reached an arm around his side. He smirked at her triumphantly---and then burst into surprised laughter as her fingers tickled his ribs.

"Patronize!" she shouted, and the wall pulled aside to reveal the Slytherin common room. Sophia leapt inside. She tossed him a teasing smile over her shoulder.

"Coming?"

He returned her smile with a slow, predatory grin. She tore through the common room and took the stairs down to the girl's dormitories two at a time.

* * *

Sophia didn't bother to brush her teeth or wash her face that night. She slipped into bed and closed the forest-green curtains tight. She didn't think that she could handle a confrontation with Pansy Parkinson just then, especially since she'd bring Millecent Bulstrode and Blaise Zabini into it. Ursula Howard, her fourth roommate, would probably just stand back and watch, since she was too cowardly to take sides.

Sophia knew that she was playing a very dangerous game. Draco wouldn't be caught off guard like that again. She remembered his grin and shuddered; perhaps she'd aroused his interest a little too high and a little too well. Of course it was far too late to fix it; the best she could do now was to make sure that their future "confrontations" came out a draw. It was either that or slink back to obscurity or become Draco Malfoy's play doll.

Still, this was her first brush with popularity and it intoxicated her. She briefly considered telling the others about Snape's birthday. Everyone would want to hear about it and she'd be the center of attention for days. No one would be able to keep a strait face once she made it to the cake with "Happy Birthday Severus" written on top.

Revulsion rose up and almost choked her.

She wouldn't do it.

She couldn't do it.

Sophia was embarrassed to discover that she possessed an almost Gryffindor-like streak of nobility, but there it was. Even if she didn't think that her story would somehow backfire on her and make her the joke, she just couldn't spread the story. True, Snape had threatened her with extra detention but really, for Snape, he had been almost convivial. He had been a wonderful dinner companion and he had danced with surprising grace. He didn't even make fun of her when she had stupidly admitted that she was hiding in the dungeons because no one wanted to take her to the dance. They had connected somehow that night. Sophia was startled to discover how fierce was her desire to protect the memory and Snape himself for ridicule.

Sophia rolled over and pulled the blankets up to her chin. She closed her eyes and remembered what he had looked like when he took her into his arms for a Valentine's Day dance. He was just as ugly up-close as he was at a distance, perhaps even more so, because when he stood near her she could see the big pores on either side of his nose. As greasy-looking as he was, she was surprised to discover that he didn't smell bad at all; rather nice actually, like a cross between book dust and nutmeg.

No, she resolved, she would handle Draco and this new popularity on her own. There was no need to drag Snape into her problems.

* * *

"Pass me more sausage, Crabbe," Sophia said.

Crabbe grunted and passed her the platter. Sophia glanced to her right and met Draco's smirk with her own. He shrugged. Really, if Crabbe and Goyle were content to be treated like servants, then who was going to bother arguing with them? Certainly not anyone in House Slytherin.

Pansy Parkinson smiled nastily at Sophia's plate. "You're lucky to be able to eat so much sausage. Some people just break out into huge spots when they eat all that grease."

Sophia felt her cheeks redden as she met Pansy's eyes. She had awakened that morning to discover that a huge whitehead had mushroomed smack in the center of her forehead. Of course she meant to see Madame Pomfrey for some Bubotubor Pus, but that had to wait until after breakfast. Her mouth twitched into a thin, unpleasant smile.

"Of course, it makes others fat," she said softly, and her grimace turned into a genuine smile of pleasure as Pansy's pug-nosed face turned an ugly shade of red. Pansy was not truly fat, but she had gained a noticeable amount of weight in the past few months. Certainly she seemed bulky compared to Sophia.

"Go grow some tits, you stick."

A loud sloshing sound and a wave of warm porridge that soaked her sleeve interrupted Sophia's tart reply. Next to her Ursula Howard gingerly plucked the Daily Prophet out of her dish. Sophia mopped at her sleeve with her napkin and glared at the retreating owl. At least, she glared at a retreating owl. There seemed to be a lot of post owls this morning. Within moments practically everyone was holding a paper or looking at one over someone else's shoulder. Voices jabbered, concerned, frightened, indignant, and Sophia heard Ron Weasley's "Bloody hell," deep and clear, over the rest.

Ursula went limp and white with shock. Sophia impatiently pulled the sticky paper out of her hands.

HASTINGS ATTACKED!!! SEVENTEEN DEAD, MORE MISSING!!!

Below the headline was a black and white picture of the scene. Buildings had crumbled into the streets, blocking the fire engines. Muggles and people that Sophia suspected were Witches and Wizards in Muggle costumes directed hoses at the fires smoldering in the rubble. The Dark Mark, Voldemort's personal insignia, was sketched into the sky with ugly smoke. Sophia stared at the skull and snake.

"There are many people in Hastings, Ursula," she said somewhat dully, still mesmerized by the destruction. The scene reminded her vaguely of the old pictures taken during the Blitz, but the immediacy of the danger and the nastiness of the Dark Mark made the threat a thousand times more frightening. Still, Sophia came from a long line of Slytherins, taught from birth to hide her fear. Besides, she reasoned, as a Slytherin and a pureblood she was safe from Voldemort. The Dark Lord's rise to power was disturbing, but it really wasn't her problem.

To Sophia's surprise Ursula began to silently cry, there in the Great Hall, in front of everybody. She mutely pointed to the list of confirmed dead. Sophia scanned the list and stopped halfway down

Howard, Darlene, aged 39 years

Howard, Agnes, aged 10 years

Howard, Douglas, aged 1 month.

Ursula Howard's family is pureblood too, she reminded herself, and their purity didn't save them. They were...what did Draco call such people...they were collateral damage, sacrificed for the cause. They must have done something very stupid to put themselves in Voldemort's way, like live in an area highly populated by Muggles. Sophia was glad that Trentons had enough sense to not only maintain a small estate, but to remain carefully neutral in such conflicts, so she and her family were quite safe.

Ursula turned wet and vulnerable eyes to Sophia. Her lower lip trembled violently. "I just got an owl from Aunt Darl yesterday. She said how excited Agnes was to come to Hogwart's next year."

From Sophia's other side Draco snorted impatiently. "Look Ursula, we're at war. You have to accept some casualties."

"Dougie was just a month old!" To Sophia's shock and horror, Ursula then committed an unpardonable breach of Slytherin conduct and collapsed onto Sophia's shoulder, keening loudly. Her cries rang over the din in the Hall and soon practically everyone--Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs--were stealing pitying glances at Ursula Howard. Sophia was mortified for her. Contempt and sympathy mixed together and filled her with the conflicting desire to slap Ursula and comfort her somehow. She instinctively patted her shoulder and tried unsuccessfully to block the larger girl from public sight with her own body. As humiliated as Sophia was by Ursula's conduct, she was determined to uphold the dignity of the House as best she could. She was suddenly aware of the faint scent of book dust and nutmeg.

"Take her to Madame Pomfrey," Snape said in a low voice, not kindly but without his usual rancor either.

"Yes Professor Snape," Sophia said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

* * *

The students were unusually subdued and tense that day, which irritated Snape almost beyond endurance. Of course he could create reasons to hand out punishments, but it was so much more soothing when the students caused it themselves without his prodding or digging. Considering the great perils to which he exposed himself the least the little buggers could do would be to give him safe targets against which he could lash out. If past experience proved correct, the children's tension would ease in a few days. Snape's would only increase. He wasn't entirely sure what the southern attack was about, a diversionary tactic perhaps, but he did know that it heralded the next phase of Voldemort's plan.

He was running out of time, damn it.

He glared at his sixth-year class as they bent their heads over their surprise tests. It seemed that Sophia Trenton's stunt had inspired a crop of fools to charm their hair as well. Reddish-orange hair on the Gryffindor side of the room....greenish hair on the Slytherin side. Almost no one had normal colored hair anymore. It was odd, how an otherwise non-descript girl could start such a trend.

A new idea smacked him right between the eyes, such a strange idea, so perfect for the war that he knew was to come that for a brief moment Severus wondered if fate wasn't was such a cruel mistress after all. He stared at Sophia. Her forehead was still shiny with Bubotubor Pus, though the pimple it covered was nearly gone. She had tied her black and emerald curls back from her face but short, frizzy trendles escaped from the hair band and stuck to her forehead anyway. She nibbled at her quill feather, lost in thought.

Yes, he thought to himself. This girl can do it. She has to do it.

Sophia shifted in her seat and suddenly looked up and met his proprietary gaze. Pink-cheeked, she dropped her eyes to her scroll and scribbled away madly.

NEXT: Snape implements a new plan, and Sophia makes a new friend.