Beloved

CHAPTER ONE

She'd never been there before, never had cause to, but she looked around the room casually, coolly, as though she belonged there. The beautiful, bright bird sitting on his perch to one side of the room regarded her coolly, cooing after a few long moments.

"I hope you approve of what you see," the girl said, raising an eyebrow and leaning closer to the bird. Her fingers itched to touch the many objects crowding the room, yearned to study each and every thing, to learn its purpose.

"Your unquenchable curiosity is one of your most admirable qualities, Miss Middlemarch." Professor Dumbledore's voice seemed to fill the corners of the room instead of echoing off them. The bird preened under the mellifluousness, fluffing his feathers.

"Be that as it may, I managed to keep it on a leash this time, didn't I?" Her full mouth widened into a smile, and she dragged a hand through her bobbed, dark mahogany hair.

"It seems you did." Dumbledore eased into the chair behind his desk and steepled his fingers. "Your recent ... activities have come to my attention, Miss Middlemarch."

Eyeing the bright orange corduroy bowl chair that appeared in front of her, Amadea snorted and dodged the statement. "Did you take this from my parents' house, then?" She tilted her head and looked under the chair, then straightened with a gasp. Her initials were written on the bottom of the chair in bright purple crayon, just as they were on the chair at her parents' house. "That's remarkable."

"Please do not evade me, child, many have tried in vain." Dumbledore leaned forward then, his eyes bright. "Though it pains me to say so, Amadea, even the brightest of students will fail if they are determined to do so."

Amadea settled in the chair, tracing her fingers over the garish material. "I'm not determined to fail, Professor, only to succeed--"

"In your own way," Dumbledore finished, bowing his head slightly. "For as much distaste as you express for the ... way of life your parents have chosen to pursue, you seem to employ American logic when it benefits you."

Her dark brown eyes narrowed at this, and when she finally spoke, she fought the flat Midwestern accent that wanted to creep into her voice. "Is there something you wanted to do about my social failures? As amusing as it would be, you can hardly pay everyone to like me." She grinned then, clasping her hands between her knees.

He smiled, an enigmatic expression that both intrigued and frightened her. "Perhaps not," he said simply. "I just felt I should inform you that you aren't escaping everyone's notice." He waved a hand toward the door. "You're excused, Amadea. Enjoy your dinner."

Perplexed, the sixth-year-Ravenclaw stood and saw herself out.

~~~

She sat alone, a romance novel propped in front of her as she ate. On the cover a particularly fine specimen of a wizard was flexing his muscles, stopping periodically to sweep a buxom red-haired witch into his arms.

It was trash, and Amadea positively loved it.

"Hi!" A younger student chirped at her as she passed, wiggling her fingers in greeting.

"Hello." Amadea glanced up at the small blond girl and smiled openly.

The exchange had a pattern, a rhythm that she was used to. Many students said hello, even spoke, but none stopped and none remembered her name correctly. Smiling contentedly despite the apparent slights, she continued flipping through the pages of her book. She was nearly finished with the novel when a loud voice broke her concentration.

"Awwww, wook at poor sad Severus." The tall, black-haired boy spoke mockingly, dogging the steps of the student in front of him. "Old sour Snape."

Interested, Amadea closed her book, using her wand as a bookmark, and propped her chin in her hand. Of course she knew all of the young men, that was the way things were; she knew everyone, and no one knew her.

Severus Snape held his head down, a few locks of shaggy hair straggling into a pair of dark, nervous eyes. James Potter walked directly behind him, speaking as loudly as he could so his two constant companions could hear him. Sirius Black looked bored but amused, and Remus Lupin looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Such was the price, Amadea thought, for being loyal to your friends.

"Oh, no!" James exclaimed, taking one large step forward and landing on the trailing hem of Snape's robe. A low tearing sound reached her ears, followed by James's raucous laughter. Remus laughed nervously, and Sirius more good-naturedly.

Snape didn't laugh at all, only ducked his head lower as his face washed an ugly, embarrassed purple.

Her chin still propped in her hand, Amadea pulled the wand from between her pages, the bright yellow-orange of it misplaced in such a dreary situation. Petrified balsa wood polished with crushed root of goldhatch was her particular poison, and in this instance, the ultra-light wand was pointed directly at Severus Snape.

"Consuo vestis," she said airily, twitching the wand as the tear in his robe knit itself up.

The four young men turned to look at her in the only unified action they ever had--and ever would--take part in.

She had already turned her attention back to her book.

Unwilling to give up the upper hand, James sauntered past her table and tipped her book down with a finger, wanting at least a little attention. "Cool spell ..." he paused, at a loss for her name. "Anne."

"It isn't Anne," Sirius said, walking past James and heading for their usual table. "It's Amy."

Looking confused and a mite contrite, Remus caught up. "No, I think it's Amanda."

None of them spared her another glance, but Amadea had to grudgingly give Lupin a few points. He'd been close, at least.

"Fools," Snape said, brushing at the spot in his robe that had, only moments ago, been all but shredded. He hated to be obligated to anyone, to owe them so much as a thanks, but didn't want to be rude. In rudeness lay cruelty, and in cruelty lay everything Snape hated about his family, his surroundings, his life. "Well, your name, then, so I can thank you and be done with it."

Popping a grape into her mouth and regarding Severus with wide eyes, she tilted her head. "Amadea Middlemarch. But a very select few get away with calling me that. Call me Dea."

Shoving his hair out of his harshly-planed face, Severus blew out an impatient breath. "Thank you for the spell, Miss Middlemarch." Feeling his obligation was over, he stalked away, embarrassment hastening his retreat.

It was only after he was gone that Dea realized something.

Severus Snape had actually noticed her, and that went against the rhythm.