The Confession of Miss Price

Much later, he would attribute his use of my first name that night as a product of his delirium and exhaustion. Yet it seemed from that point that we could no longer completely refuse to address each other directly, pretending for all the world that we barely had an idea of the other's name. And so he began to call me, ever so politely, "Miss Price." I never felt terribly compelled to mention that my proper title was "Healer."

We saw each other only occasionally that spring. I could sense the anxiety among the staff and students. I personally knew and cared very little about the politics of Hogwarts though I heard occasional whisperings in the staff room about the ministry and the tyranny of Professor Umbridge who I had seen but never been properly introduced to. But these conversations were always quickly ended in my presence.

Although the others, including Professor Snape seemed agitated by such bureaucratic workings, I passed my days quietly in the castle. Truthfully I was often frustrated by the dullness that had become a regular part of my life at the school. I sensed that there was an undercurrent of danger and excitement at Hogwarts that, despite my occasional helpfulness to what seemed like a key player in this drama, I was repeatedly sheltered from. Though I had started my service at Hogwarts determined to stay out of such things, my boredom and curiosity were fast becoming my undoing.

Some of my curiosities were sated that June, when You-Know-Who's return was finally exposed. But I was not satisfied, though I was busier. A battle at the Ministry of Magic had produced a small influx of students at the hospital wing who had, improbably enough, actually fought against Death Eaters.

The return had heightened the general feeling of anxiety in the castle during those last few days of the term and I was not immune the distinct uncertainty characteristic of that time. Every day I thought of a new question. Would my position remain unchanged? Would the danger to Professor Snape be greater now? Or less? My mind was so full of thought that I was entirely unable to focus on any one in particular.

With none of my questions answered on the last day of the term, even by Madame Pomfrey herself, I had decided that, in the general excitement, I had been forgotten completely. It was at last Professor Snape who came to me that afternoon. I had been standing in a corridor near the school's principle courtyard, watching students saying last minute goodbyes when my reverie was broken by a soft request at my left for "Miss Price." Turning, I found that he had indeed snuck up on me, silent as ever.

"Professor Snape," I answered, surprised.

"I've come to say goodbye," he stated brusquely, "Your services will not be required over the holiday." He spoke harshly, but his dark eyes were unreadable.

I took a deep breath, not sure, or perhaps not willing to be sure, why his words make the pit in my stomach swell. "And in the autumn?" I finally asked.

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes not meeting mine.

"Possibly."

Impulsively, I reached out, bringing my hand to rest on his arm. His eyes flew to mine, a multitude of emotions flashing across his face. Surprise. Confusion. Anger. And then a slight softening, almost imperceptible, almost wistful. My hand dropped back to my side, hoping I hadn't actually offended him.

"Do be careful," I mumbled.

He paused, his head dipped in a slight nod. And then he was walking away, his black robes billowing behind him.