#I swear this goes beyond just being clumsy at this point it's a family curse lol

[kiradrinkalot]

When I went to work at night it was around 10°C so of course I being a dumbass didn't bring a jacket...

Guess who's waiting for the bus in just a shirt... while it's fucking snowing lol

Oh yeah and I managed to hurt my ankle, knee and shoulder in one fall. The pain will go away but I fucking lost my favorite knife too.

Dude who saw me fall asked if I was okay and then asked if I was drunk so I told him no I'm on my way to get drunk!

[dadsnape]

Snape’s Snakes #2

Snape’s demeanour isn’t always the most pleasant but when it come to the well being of his snakes he really goes above and beyond. In a way when each Slytherin is sorted into his house they gain a father in Snape, regardless of whether they had one before.

Augusta Rookwood is the daughter of Augustus Rookwood the now imprisoned Death Eater. She’s found that there are those willing to hold that against her especially those who’s families were victim to her father’s crimes. 

(Trigger Warnings: Bullying, Swearing)

"Finite incatatum." The spell around Augusta's legs finally faded. She tried to move, relieved when she was able to bend her legs once more even if they were a little stiff. She sighed bringing her knees to her chest. That leg locker jinx had been unexpected and she was sure she was already late for Potions. She wiped her damp eyes deciding Snape would likely be just as angry at her for being five minutes late as he would for twenty minutes. There was no point in rushing down to the dungeons.

Her head hurt a little and when she touched the source of the pain her fingers came away red. She winced, she’d hit her head against the wall when she’d fallen. She hadn’t been ready for the attack and when she drew her wand to cancel the jinx a disarming spell had sent it flying down the stairs. No one had helped her, no one ever did. Not that she expected them to.

The laughs from her attacker had echoed in her ears as she eased her way down the staircase, dragging her bound legs along like dead weight. As she moved she’d cursed herself for allowing this to happen, it had only been a momentary lapse in concentration and her attackers had got the best of her.

She’d finally reached her wand and thankfully it was unbroken. She didn’t know what she’d do without her wand. Without it she was defenceless and that was a feeling Augusta wanted to avoid at all costs.

Augusta stood slowly, using the wall to support her. She slipped her wand back into her pocket and made her way on unsteady legs towards the girl’s toilets. The toilets were empty, not that Augusta expected there to be many people there. Most students had class now and those with free periods wouldn’t spend it on the first floor of all places. She stumbled over to a sink, turning the water on and carefully rinsing her face. It took her a long moment before she was able to look up at herself in the mirror.

Her lip curled back over her teeth as she touched the small graze on her forehead gingerly. It bled steadily but luckily the wound was minor. She just hoped she didn’t have another concussion she was getting fed up of explaining to Madame Pomfrey where all these injuries were coming from. Lucky for her the Matron seemed content to believe her lies about accidental falls and would only chide her for being so clumsy.

Augusta retreated into a stall, grabbing some toilet paper and holding it to her head. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes as she waited for the bleeding to stop. The words of her attackers were burned into her mind, they repeated over and over leaving her stomach churning with things she didn’t want to think about right now. Evil, vile, dirty and worst of all, Death Eater.

She returned to the mirror, checking on the bleeding, glad to find that it had slowed to a stop. She drew her wand and banished the wad of toilet paper before pointing it towards her head.  

“Dissimulato.” She said clearly, waving the her wand over the graze. Her skin blurred before her eyes and looking at her reflection she could see a blurry shape almost the same colour as her skin concealing the injury. She sighed hoping it would work for now. At least it was less obvious than the red mark that had been there before, only Dowson and her gang would know to look for it. It still hurt of course but there was little she could do about that unless she could get her hands on some salve for it.

It was about time she made her way to Potions. She gulped not looking forward to facing Snape’s wrath. He wasn’t going to be pleased but skipping wasn’t an option, he’d be angrier if she skipped entirely, he might even throw her out of his N.E.W.T level Potions class entirely and she couldn’t have that, she needed to pass that class.

As she made her way down to the dungeons she imagined Dowson giggling to her friend at her entrance. How their eyes would skip over the glamoured mark on her forehead. She wondered how many students would have heard what happened. Dowson wasn’t exactly the best at keeping her mouth shut.

She took a deep breath as she stared at the door leading into the classroom, brushing her hair over her forehead just in case Snape were to notice that a patch of her forehead wasn’t quite the same colour as the rest. Waiting wouldn’t make anything better, if Snape found her skulking out here he wouldn’t be pleased. With this in mind she opened the door, ducking her head as she entered.

Snape was giving a lecture at the front of the class, a huge cauldron in front of him. The room smelt strangely of woodsmoke and something else extremely distinctive that felt so familiar yet she couldn’t quite place. She heard sniggering from across the room and noticed Dowson grinning at her.

“Silence!” Snape snapped, sending a glare her way before turning his attention to Augusta. Augusta shrunk back under the black look he fixed her with. “Nice of you to join us Miss Rookwood.” He hissed, his voice dripping with venom. Augusta cringed back but gave him what she hoped was an apologetic look “If it isn’t too much trouble then perhaps you could take your seat and cease this disruption of my class.”

“Yes sir, sorry.” She said clearly as she ducked her head and made her way towards her seat next to Gemma Farley. The girl looked at her questioningly but quickly turned her attention back to Snape.

She sat down quietly and looked over at Snape. She could feel his dark eyes scrutinising her and she wished she could shrink back in her seat. He quickly recovered continuing his lecture as if she’d never entered. Augusta tried to follow along but it was tough having missed the first part. The potion she gathered was Amortentia. A powerful love potion that smelled different to each person according to what attracted them. That explained the wonderful scent coming from the cauldron.

“As such this potion is extremely dangerous. Today you will be brewing an antidote for Amortentia I expect your potions to be finished within the hour and on my desk.” Snape drawled. “I’d advise you to put great effort into your antidote for I’ll be grading it to Newt standard.” He paused looking over the class with a look of distaste. “Well. Why haven’t you started?” The classroom erupted into activity, people making their way to collect their cauldrons and start brewing.

Augusta took a deep breath savouring the scent of the Amortentia before Snape banished it with a flick of his wand. She quickly pulled out her potions textbook finding the recipe for the antidote and moving to gather the ingredients she needed.

Most of the class were already returning to their cauldrons when she entered the storeroom. Only a Ravenclaw boy she couldn’t remember the name of remained. His eyes widened when she entered and he flinched back as if she’d hurt him. Augusta fixed him with withering look trying to ignore the way her heart ached to see him afraid of her. He had nothing to fear. Not from her. The boy sidestepped around her a darted out of the room as if he’d been stung.  

She went to take a sprig of peppermint from the container in the storeroom only for the bowl shoot up in the air and tip its contents over her head. A cruel laugh sounded behind her.

“Oops.” Dowson sneered, her wand in her hand. She supposed she should be glad it was only peppermint this time, last time it was sloth brain mucus and it had taken hours to wash that stuff out of her hair. “Careful Rookwood you’re causing a mess as usual.”

Augusta glared at her, pulling her wand out in one smooth motion. Dowson took a step back, pointing her own wand at her threateningly. “You going to curse me?” She asked harshly. Augusta flinched but met her gaze evenly, even as her brow furrowed at her words. “Go on do your best.” Dowson hissed. “I’m sure Snape would love to see what sort of dark magic you come out with.”

Augusta looked away, her stomach churning. She lowered her wand, she wouldn’t fight Dowson. Especially not here, there was little she could do anyway. Any spell she could throw at the other girl would only confirm what they all thought of her. That she was nothing but the daughter of a Death Eater, someone who would join the Dark Lord as soon as he returned, if he ever returned.

Dowson scoffed looking at her with an expression of contempt. “What’s wrong? Can’t remember anything your pathetic excuse of a daddy taught you?” She sneered, Augusta tensed, a shock-wave running through her as if she’d been cursed. “Or was he too busy to teach you? Huh? Too busy murdering muggles. Tell me did he not want anything to do with you after torturing my sister?” Augusta inhaled sharply, her words like a knife between her ribs. Her lips curling over her teeth as she raised her wand, aiming the tip directly between Dowson’s eyes.

“Shut up.” She snarled, she could feel her eyes burning with tears, she willed them not to fall. If she cried now she wouldn’t be able to live down the humiliation. Dowson only laughed, raising her own wand hesitantly.

“Oh hit a nerve have I?” Dowson jeered, Augusta held her ground, staring her dead in the eyes her wand at the ready. Dowson wouldn’t get a free curse in this time. She noticed the way the other girls hands shook slightly and smirked.

“What’s wrong Dowson? Scared? I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave. Or do you prefer targets that aren’t ready to fight back?”

“How dare you!” Dowson snarled. “You’re one to talk about courage. With your coward of a father, not even brave enough to go kill defenceless muggles on his own. How many families did your scumbag father murder? How many children?” Augusta’s lip curled back over her teeth, she took a step forwards her eyes blazing ready to wipe that smug look of Dowson’s face one and for all.

“What is going on in here?” Snape barked, appearing in the doorway. Augusta shrunk back, the fire inside her dying immediately leaving only an empty numbness accompanied by guilt. She had forgotten herself, she had intended to really hurt Dowson. She would have proved to everyone they were right. She hung her head, her hands shaking very slightly.

Snape looked between the two girls with a look of utter rage. Augusta quickly shoved her wand back into her pocket. Looking away from him. The colour was draining from Dowson’s face as she looked up at Snape, Augusta supposed she should be pleased to see the girl knocked down a peg or two but instead she just felt vaguely sick.

“As I would hope you’ve noticed though perhaps not considering your dunderheaded actions, this is a potions storeroom not a duelling ground.” Snape hissed, Augusta glanced at him, his words were directed towards Dowson not her. “Put your wand away you foolish girl. Thirty points from Gryffindor for starting fights. Another ten for choosing such a senseless location, an errant spell in here could be disastrous, I shouldn’t have to explain why to sixth year students.” Dowson flushed, putting her wand away quickly sending a glare Augusta’s way as she did so.  

“You have your ingredients Miss Dowson now get to your potion.” The girl turned picking up the ingredients she had already gathered that she’d dropped on the floor when Snape entered and rushed out of the room. Augusta wiped her eyes quickly hoping Dowson hadn’t noticed the few tears that had nearly escaped her.

Peppermint still littered the floor and sat tangled in Augusta’s hair so she worked on plucking it out. She kneeled down to clean up the mess on the floor. Snape was silent for a long moment as he turned his dark glare to her. “Make haste Miss Rookwood, I will not be making allowances for partially brewed potions.” He snarled. “Get your ingredients and start brewing now.”

“But sir.” Augusta looked at the mess. Snape waved his wand and the loose peppermint vanished. Augusta tried to ignore the instinct that screamed at her to draw her own wand at the sight of his.  

“Your potion Rookwood.”

“Yes sir.” Augusta said quickly grabbing the rest of what she needed almost knocking a jar of flobberworms over as she did so, she grabbed it in shaking hands just in time pushing it back onto the shelf unharmed.

“Miss Rookwood if you damage any more of my ingredients I assure you you’ll be helping me harvest bubotuber pus for the rest of the month.” Snape warned  as she stood aside to let her out of the cupboard.

“Sorry sir.” She could feel Snape glaring at her as she rushed past him with her ingredients in her hands.

“Dirty Death Eater.” She heard Dowson hiss as she passed her. Augusta ground her teeth together but made her way towards her cauldron. Snape returned to patrolling the classroom, occasionally stopping near someone’s cauldron and disparagingly commenting on their potion.

Augusta began chopping her ingredients while waiting for the base, which for this potion was purified water, to boil. She felt something hit her back and flinched, itching to hold her wand and send a defensive spell over he back. She could hear snickering behind her. Something hit the back of her head and she ran her fingers through her hair pulling out a billywig wing and placing it in her pile of the useless parts of the ingredients to be thrown away later. She sighed as more pieces of random ingredients landed over her work space getting mixed up with the neat piles of ingredients she was preparing. She picked out the contamination as best she could but knew her potion wouldn’t be her best work today.

Augusta worked quickly, adding the ingredients at the correct intervals and stirring carefully. The potion bubbled quietly turning a dark blue. She frowned knowing it was supposed to be light blue at this stage. Something flew past her ear and if it hadn’t been for her reflexes, swinging her arm out and knocking it away it would have landed in her mixture. She could hear Dowson giggling loudly behind her.

“Miss Dowson! Concentrate on your potion or leave my class.” Snape yelled suddenly. “And five points from Gryffindor for the disruption.” The giggling stopped abruptly and luckily so did the flying ingredients. Augusta sighed, looking down at her potion and trying her best to focus on it despite the twisting in her stomach.

Snape finally came to her cauldron. He leaned over it, wrinkling his nose as he peered into the dark coloured liquid. Augusta kept her head down as she cut up her billywigs. Hyper aware of Snape who stood silently by her cauldron. She waited for him to scold her brew, she knew it was far from perfect not that it was entirely her fault. She doubted it would even have its intended effect. As much as she hated to admit it Dowson’s words in the storeroom had rattled her which had made concentrating on her potion difficult even if it hadn’t been for the girl’s constant attempts to sabotage her.

When Augusta looked up Snape noticed him looking at her oddly. “See me after class Miss Rookwood.” She frowned, wondering if her potion was really that bad, she slouched in defeat. It looked like she wouldn’t be catching a break today.

“Yes sir.” She mumbled, staring into her potion. She could hear Dowson sniggering behind her, she wished she’d stop.

“Death Eater’s in trouble.” She hissed loudly to her friend as soon as Snape had moved on. Augusta scowled into her potion, adding her billywigs a little more roughly than she intended and splashing the desk in boiling fluid. She jumped back just in time to avoid any coming in contact with her skin.

The rest of the lesson passed uneventfully. Mostly, Dowson seemed keen on mocking her behind Snape’s back even after he snapped at her and deducted even more points from Gryffindor. It took him threatening to throw her out of the class for her to stop.  

With Dowson’s distractions and the lump that was forming in her throat Augusta had barely managed to complete the potion in time. She knew the substance she placed on Snape’s desk was substandard. She just hoped she’d get an acceptable grade at least. She couldn’t afford to fail Potions. She couldn’t afford to fail any of her subjects.

She sat at her desk fiddling with her bag while the other students filed out, waiting until they’d all left before approaching Snape. She’d rather the other students didn’t hear her Head of House chew her out. Especially Dowson, she was sure Dowson would have a field day listening to that.

Snape didn’t look up at first, instead writing something on a piece of parchment whilst half hunched over the table. He rarely sat in the worn chair behind his desk, Augusta often wondered why it was there at all. When he finally acknowledged her it was to give her a scrutinising look. “You do realise the importance of attending your classes on time Miss Rookwood?” He asked icily.

“Yes sir.” Augusta nodded, hoping her tardiness was the only issue he had with her today. Perhaps he’d decided that she wasn’t at fault at all for what happened in the storeroom or the dire condition of her potion. “It won’t happen again sir.”

“Indeed.” Snape sneered, straightening to his full height. “And yet, you have been late to three of my classes this term. Not to mention the reports I’ve been hearing from your other professors.” He picked up the vial of her potion squinting at it distastefully. “Substandard work is being turned in, not only to me but to Professors Quirrel and Flitwick.”

Augusta gulped, she hadn’t thought her work was bad enough for them to mention it to her Head of House. The lessons she shared with Dowson were always the hardest, the girl seemed intent on distracting her no matter how hard Augusta tried to ignore her taunts. What had her professors been saying about her behind her back? She knew she wasn’t exactly the most popular student. Most teachers seemed more likely to side with the outgoing and friendly Dowson rather than the quiet, surly girl with an imprisoned Death Eater for a father.

Only Snape stood up for her, but Snape stood up for all the Slytherins. She was surprised Dowson had started her usual routine of tormenting her during Potions class. Gryffindors weren’t renowned for their intelligence but she would have thought even Dowson would be wary of evoking Snape’s wrath.

She stood rigidly waiting for Snape to continue. Waiting for him to tell her just what her professors had been saying to him. He may be her Head of House but that didn’t mean he was above turning his deriding tone to his Slytherins if he felt they deserved it.

“Well?” Snape asked, gesturing to her with one hand. “Is there a reason for your lacklustre performance?”

“I’m sorry sir, I’ll try harder.” She promised through gritted teeth, her stomach churned as she said those words. She had to try harder, she was set on getting O’s. She wouldn’t let Dowson of all people prevent her success. No number of hexes, jinxes and words could stop her from achieving her ambition.

“Do you still wish to become an Auror?” Snape asked suddenly, not taking his eyes off her for a second.

“Yes sir.”

“Then you understand you will need at least five O’s at Newt level.” Snape stated, folding his arms across his chest. “And yet you are achieving A’s at best. It seems strange to me that a student as diligent as you should suddenly experience such a drop in performance.” Augusta forced herself to meet Snape’s gaze, his eyes glittered dangerously as he fixed her with another one of his scrutinising glares.

Augusta wanted very much to scream and possibly throw something. She inhaled slowly trying to gain control over her emotions even as he gut twisted into knots. She’d be getting those O’s if Dowson and the other Gryffindors would just leave her alone. She remembered the Ravenclaw boy from ealrier, the way he’d looked at her with terror and her anger dissipated slightly only to be replaced with guilt.

They feared her, they all did. Except the Slytherins of course, at least with them they just saw her as just Augusta not some Death Eater to be. Not as the daughter of Augustus Rookwood. Augusta swallows her heart aching as she remembered her father’s name. Even if she dropped her family name she was still connected to him. Even if she changed her name entirely his eyes would still look back at her whenever she saw her reflection. Her stomach churned, she felt sick again.  

“What happened to your head?” The quiet question caught her by surprise almost as much as the sudden change in tone. Her first instinct was to duck her head and cover the glamoured area with her hair but that would only draw more attention to it.

“What do you mean sir?” She asked quickly, feigning confusion. Snape rolled his eyes, drawing his wand. Augusta’s hand instinctively went to draw her own, her heart skipping a beat as she prepared to fight her way out. Snape gave her an odd look as she gripped her wand without pulling it from her pocket. Her skin prickled with adrenaline as she fixed Snape with a challenging glare. He raised an eyebrow, lowering his wand slowly and holding his other hand up in a gesture of peace.

This was Snape, she reminded herself. He was about as far from Dowson and her friends as you could get, there would be no curses from him. Even if he wasn’t a teacher and forbidden to harm his students he wouldn’t dare. Slowly she released her wand and let her hands fall to her sides.

“I can see you have cast a glamour over your forehead Miss Rookwood.” Snape said smoothly. “A glamour I might add that is wearing off and by the looks of it, you haven't merely hidden a spot underneath.”

“It’s nothing sir.” Augusta told him, her brow furrowing as she looked away.

“Then you won’t mind me taking a look.” Snape raised his wand deliberately, not quite pointing towards her. Augusta sighed, slouching in defeat, she shrugged, throwing her hands up in the air to tell him to go ahead. She knew he wouldn’t let this be.

“Finite incatatum.” Snape waved his wand lazily and Augusta felt a tingling of magic as her glamour charm faded. Now Augusta ducked her head, not that it mattered now that he’d seen the graze. She tried to ignore the wave of shame that washed over her that Snape was seeing this. That now he’d think she couldn’t defend herself. Snape was silent for a long moment, Augusta wished he’d break the silence. He watched her with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“I fell sir, that’s all.” She answered his unasked question, it was technically the truth after all even if it wasn’t the whole truth.

“Hm.” Snape grunted, raising his wand casually. “May I?” He asked, it wasn’t really a question. Augusta knew she only had two choices here. Snape or Pomfrey. It was a choice many an injured Slytherin was presented with in their time at Hogwarts. Minor injuries could be healed by Snape with his potions while he’d send students to Madame Pomfrey for anything more serious.  

Augusta preferred hiding minor injuries if she could and only went to Madame Pomfrey if she had to. It was better to go to the Infirmary yourself if you had something to hide. The Matron was much easier to deceive than Snape with his searching looks and seemingly endless questions. But Snape had already seen, and there would be questions regardless of whether she went to see Pomfrey or not. With this in mind she nodded, raising her head and brushing her hair away from the injury so Snape could see it properly.

Snape muttered a diagnostic spell and a light appeared around her head. Moments later it was gone. “You’re lucky. There’s no sign of concussion. I will give you a salve for the wound but it’s shallow, it should heal quickly.”

Augusta didn’t respond instead watching him as he rifled through the drawer in his desk. She caught the sight of a few potions within, a box of pale blue vials that looked like calming draughts, pots of burn salve next to them and what looked like an antidote to uncommon poisons. He pulled out a round tub and handed it to her.

“I expect you’ll want to use that now.” He said brusquely, Augusta nodded, twisting the lid and squinting at the pale green paste within. “Apply generously twice a day until the graze has healed. I suggest mornings and evenings.” Snape advised as she scooped some out with her fingers and smeared it over her head. The pain faded instantly and she sighed in relief.

“Thanks” She grunted in an extremely unladylike way, if her mother could hear her she’d have a fit. She sighed looking anywhere but at Snape. She half hoped he’d let her go now but knew he’d have questions. He always had questions.

“You say you fell. How did that happen?” Augusta nearly laughed but managed to keep it in. Here they were the questions she didn’t want to answer.

“I just fell sir.” She told him, shrugging nonchalantly. She replaced the lid of the salve and shoved it into her robe pocket. “It happens sometimes.”

“I see.” A glance at Snape revealed a displeased expression on his face. “Am I correct to assume you fell on you way to my class?”  

“Yes sir.”

“Were you alone?”

“No sir.” Augusta resolved to keep her answers a short as possible. She didn’t want to talk about what had happened. She was sure Snape could guess if he wanted but she wouldn’t talk about it.

“Who were you with?”

“I don’t know sir.” Augusta sighed irritably, she wondered what it mattered if she was alone or not, she tried to ignore the churning in her gut. “A bunch of people in the corridor.

“Which corridor?”

“The second floor sir.”

“And no one helped you up after falling and hitting your head?” Snape asked his voice carrying an edge to it.

“Why would they?” Augusta snapped, finally turning her fiery gaze to him. Surely Snape of all people would know that no one helped a Slytherin. Let alone the daughter of a Death Eater. She supposed if there had been other Slytherins in the corridor they may have stopped but there hadn’t, not that Augusta had seen anyway. “No one helps a disgusting Death Eater! No one helps someone who’s father’s a murderer!” She screamed, why didn’t he understand that? He was supposed to be the Head of Slytherin he should know this. 

“I wasn’t fast enough. I should’ve known Dowson would be heading the same way. But I wasn’t and she fucking got a leg locker off on me.”

“Language Miss Rookwood.” Snape warned, bringing himself to his full height.

“No fuck you!” Augusta roared, now she’d started it felt extremely good to shout and just let out her frustrations. “You don’t know what it’s like!  Every single fucking day I have to on high alert in case those Gryffindors try anything. All because my father is a piece of shit murderer. He’s rotting in Azkaban and I’m here being tortured because of him.” She could feel her eyes burning but she didn’t care, she let the tears fall freely now. “As soon as I let my guard down this happens!” She waved her hand over her forehead before throwing her hands in the air.

“I’m good at curses. I could beat any one of them in a duel but I don’t. You know why? Because it’s what they’re waiting for. Waiting for Death Eater Rookwood the second to hex one of them into oblivion so they can say they always knew I was a no good Death Eater. So I just sit there and take it. I’m always late because they get me in the corridors, they mess up my work when I finally get to class. Everyone is just waiting for me to snap, to prove to them I’m like my father. Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs look at me like I’m going to do something awful to them. I’ve done nothing to them, I’ve done nothing to warrant them looking at me like that but they know of my father. They think I’m him.”

She should stop now, but Snape hadn’t moved, instead just watching he with an unreadable expression.  “I’m not a Death Eater.” She said firmly, her voice quieter now. Snape raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to become an Auror and I’m going to round up scum like them and put them where they belong.” She continued savagely.

 Snape’s lips twitched. He opened his mouth to speak but Augusta deflated looking away in thought. “I’m not going to be like my dad.” She mumbled, slumping in defeat, she wiped her eyes turning away from Snape sure that her outburst wouldn’t go down well.

She heard a long sigh coming from Snape. “Are you quite done?” He drawled, pressing his lips together as he stared at her with the same unreadable expression. Augusta didn’t respond, instead looking down. “Five points will be taken from Slytherin for foul language and speaking disrespectfully to a professor.” Augusta resisted the urge to roll her eyes, after all she’d said did he really think she cared about points?

“As for what you’ve said.” He summoned a piece of paper and a quill. “I’ll need the names of all involved in harassing you along with the specifics of as many situations you can recall.”

“Sir?” Augusta frowned in confusion.

“You don’t think I will stand by and allow such behaviour. Especially not directed towards one from my own house.” Snape hissed. Augusta shook her head. If he stepped in it would only make things worse.

“It’s fine sir.” Augusta shook her head, she did not want Snape involved. “I deserve it anyway.”

“Why do you say that?” Snape’s voice had an edge to it that made Augusta cringe. She wasn’t so angry any more now only filled with feelings of guilt and shame.

“My dad sir…. He tortured Dowson’s sister.” She muttered, it wasn’t like he didn’t already know. He would have seen the Daily Prophet article that told the world what kind of man her father really was.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully Miss Rookwood.” Snape took a step towards her. She raised her head meeting his eyes cautiously. He had a very serious expression as he unfolded his arms slowly. “Your father’s actions are not your own. You do not owe penance to those your father harmed.” Augusta swallowed, her lips shaking slightly, she lowered her gaze unable to continue looking into Snape’s dark eyes. She felt a solid pressure on her shoulder and looked up to find Snape squeezing her shoulder gently. “You are not your father.”

Augusta nodded slowly as Snape released her. To her shame she felt a few tears escape her eyes. She shook her head wiping them away with her sleeve, how she wished she could stop crying. The brief pressure of her teacher’s hand had been comforting, a thought that only seemed to add to the hollow ache in her chest.

She was momentarily reminded of her childhood. When she had been very small her father would return from work and take her in his arms. Laughing as he called her his little princess and holding her tight while she giggled and hugged him. She forced those memories away, she hated them. Hated how she now knew her father had been returning to her after doing unspeakable things.But the day before her father’s arrest had been the last time she’d experienced such casual comfort, her mother wasn’t exactly the maternal type and was much more interested in raising her to be a proper young lady. 

Snape sighed, turning away from her very slightly. “You are capable of making your own choices. Independent of those your father made.” He told her firmly. “You told me you wish to become an Auror, I know you are more than capable of achieving the required grades, if you put in the effort. I expect you’ll go far in the Auror Office.”

Augusta stared at him, amazed and confused that he believed in her. Her own mother had scoffed when she’d told her of her intentions to join the Aurors. Telling her she’d be better off finding a rich, pure blooded man to marry. But Augusta was determined to succeed. She felt a warmth flooding through her chest that she couldn’t quite explain, she supposed it was nice to know her Head of House, if no one else, believed in her.  

“I’ll put in the effort.” She assured him firmly, standing up straighter. 

“Then I expect to hear only of your improvement from your professors.” He fixed her with a scrutinising glare. “And if you are assaulted any further I expect you to inform me. I will not allow such actions to go unpunished. Do I make myself clear?”

“I… Yes sir.” Augusta wasn’t sure if she would tell him. She didn’t want him getting involved if she could help it. He scowled at her as if he knew what she was thinking and slid the parchment towards her.

“The names and specifics Miss Rookwood. I’ll need them on my desk by this evening.” He told her firmly. “And if you should ever feel the need to talk about this further my door is open. Perhaps this will prevent any further outbursts.” Augusta flushed, grabbing the parchment from the desk.

“Yes sir. I’m sorry.” She mumbled, feeling incredibly foolish for blowing up like that.

“Good, then I suggest you make your way to lunch.” Snape told her nodding to the door. Augusta nodded turning to leave, before exiting through the door she paused turning back towards her Head of House.

“Thank you sir.” She called after him, darting out of the room without giving him a chance to respond. This time she meant it.

((A//N: Thank you to my amazing partner for giving me the idea for this character))

[pomme106]

Reunion (MC/Asra)

Summary: Asra goes to the Lazaret, following the magic of his lover he separated from after they chose to stay and search for a cure to the plague. Painful memories of their life drive him to search for a way to bring them back as he drives himself to the farthest points of exaustion.

Fluff/Angst

Feat. Apprentice Pomme (They/Them)

Word count: 3,230

“I’m sorry,”

The words echoed in some kind of space. Sorry for the pain, sorry they couldn’t do anything, sorry for the argument, sorry they didn’t just listen.

Asra felt it, though he couldn’t hear it. He felt the remnants of their fleeting magic clinging to the putrid air of the Lazaret and he knew he was too late.

The last pieces of his lover’s magic led him to their remains. If anyone could even call them that. Ashes mixed together from so many others, bones splintered and black that were crushed underfoot and buried unceremoniously by thin layers of other people’s remains.

The feeling of willow leaves brushing against his skin told the magician he was there, standing amid the remainder of them.

He fell to his knees, clothes stained with the ashes of those lost to the plague, gripping at the blackened sand as he dug. They had to be there. There had to be something left of them, something for him to hold onto or… Or say goodbye to.

Asra’s fingers bled and itched as the sand and ash mixed together over his cuts, but he didn’t wince. There was too much at stake for him to take even just a second away from his pursuit. They had been in much worse pain than he was, he owed it to them to keep going.

Something foreign poked just barely out of the earth beneath his hands and the magician dug as if his own life depended on the discovery of the treasure.

A single leaf from a willow tree twirled between his thumb and forefinger and he knew exactly what it was. Nothing green or pleasant grew on the cursed island where the sick were sentenced to die. Everything was charred black and dying on this disgusting piece of land in the middle of the sea, but not this.

This one green leaf shone so brightly in the dark decay of this world that Asra knew exactly what it was. A final manifestation of his lover, their favorite tree, the place they took Asra for their first kiss, the solid form that their magic took whenever they conjured or reached out to touch Asra’s mind.

His watering eyes were so focused on the leaf that he almost missed what else was unearthed in his frantic assault on the beach. A bit of yellow tassel sewn onto magenta fabric, the same he worn slung around one shoulder.

“It matches your outfit and travelling cloak! Come on, Asra, I’ll wear it too, if you’d like. There’s only four left and he said he would give us a discount! Think how nice it would be in the shop!”

A memory, a phantom tugging at his mind. So painful now he screamed as the tears fell down his cheeks. His heart pounded and ached, threatening to burst away from his ribs and tear itself apart.

Still, there was something else in the dirt. Asra didn’t want to pick it up, he didn’t want to see it, or know it still existed. If it wasn’t there, wasn’t real, then his lover would still be here, still be alive.

With trembling fingers he scooped up the last remaining piece of them and touched the gem that hung from his neck. A golden earring with a blue crystal dangling from the end, the crystal a near perfect twin to the one on the cord around his neck.

He remembered this earring so well, remarking at the clumsy craftsmanship that brought it together. He made it so many years before; before he thought any of this life was a possibility.

He sat behind a magic shop trying to sell masks and jewelry he made for extra coin. The night of the Masquerade would certainly bring him more business than usual. And it did! He already made enough money to buy he and Muriel a few decent meals and some fruit from the market.

Things might have been looking up for the orphan when a slender shape fell into his makeshift stall, swearing at the crowds just outside for pushing them around.

Asra stared in wonder at the stranger, never seeing anyone so beautiful in his entire life. When they noticed the dirty boy, they smiled and apologized for their harsh language and Asra knew he was lost at the way their bellchime of a laugh circled around his heart.

They looked at the things Asra sold and their face lit up as they noticed his simple necklace, the first he ever made. Asra offered to give it to the stranger, but they declined with a gentle chuckle.

“I would love some earrings with that same gem if you ever happen upon it again,” They had said and Asra eagerly agreed. The stranger slipping a hand into their pouch and setting more than enough coins on the tattered fabric the trinkets laid under. “I hope I can see you next year, your creations are beautiful.”

A down payment he hadn’t even asked for, all for some earrings. But he made them, dozens of them, just so the stranger would stay longer and Asra could just listen to them, talk to them.

They saw each other for so many years after that it seemed only natural that Asra would move into the magic shop the stranger (No longer a stranger, now) shared with their aunt. Great Aunt Fleur gave Asra a job immediately, complete with a room and meals and a safe spot to practice magic. The stranger he fell in love with had been known to use magic as well, making them an easy favorite at the theater where they lived as a dancer and performer.

They fell in love. And everything seemed wonderful. Their magic melded so nicely with Asra’s it was almost insane to think they weren’t meant to be. The stranger… No. Pomme. Pomme was a light Asra never thought he needed, and dare he imagine… He was happy and life could be happy, and he would continue to be happy.

Until life said otherwise.

The plague that chased through town after town finally took hold in Vesuvia and Great Aunt Fleur was one of its first victims. She tried to beat it, tried to mix remedy after remedy to beat it away from her Vesuvia, but she just couldn’t fight it anymore.

Great Aunt Fleur was all Pomme had left. The same plague ripping their family apart one by one until they were the last with the name Monell.

Asra was scared-- terrified-- of losing Pomme, too, and he begged them to run with him, to leave Vesuvia and find somewhere where they could live together away from the looming cloud death cast around them.

But Pomme said no.

Their whole family was gone and everywhere they looked, they saw other families being torn apart by the same disgusting sickness.

There was a group of doctor’s who were studying the plague, trying to find a cure, and a Doctor Devorak had agreed to take Pomme as an apprentice.

They weren’t a healer, but maybe their magic could do something.

There was yelling.

There was crying.

There was begging, bargaining, pleading.

And there was stubbornness.

And then there was a door slamming and the sound of rain on the roof.

Asra would always regret that night.  He could have stayed. He could have made them leave. He could have done a lot of things.

But now he would have to live with his choices as he dragged himself from the beach and into the boat that would take him back to his life.

The empty magic shop groaned in the night as Asra stepped through its door, still covered in ashes, still clinging to the last pieces of Pomme he found.

There had to be something he could do, something to reverse time, or the plague, or… Something to let him be with Pomme again.

It took time but Asra found Julian Devorak and learned that the Count Lucio had hired the doctor to cure him of the plague. Rumor had it that Lucio had brought the plague from some far distant land that he laid claim over in his pointless wars. Maybe if Asra couldn’t bring Pomme back, he could at least get revenge for them and their family.

Asra joined the doctor and marketed himself as an entertainer for the Count and a spiritual counsel, “Someone from beyond may have an idea how to stop this plague,” Asra had said. No amount of magic was needed to convince the dying Count, desperate to save his own disgusting life.

It took even longer for Asra to learn the patience he needed to deal with Lucio and Julian. Both whiny, both needy, all in different ways. His only solace was Countess Nadia, a level head to confide in and trust.

Days and weeks passed before Asra had found a solution. An old ritual talked about in an even older book stashed in the oldest part of the library of the palace. It was risky to say the least, but any chance he could take to bring back Pomme was well worth it.

It was difficult to convince Lucio to proceed with the ritual to contact the Arcana, but the dying man listened and forced his wife, doctor, and courtiers, to participate in whatever way the magician needed them to. Julian was making no headway with his science, and so magic seemed the best possible choice from there.

The night came and Asra tried his best to feign his nervousness. Any chance to be with them again, any chance to be with them again, any---

“It’s possible, but I’ll need something in return.” The Magician ran a nail through the hair on his chin, a sly smile dancing across his face.

“Anything,” Asra was almost too eager to reply. All caution thrown to the wind in his hunt for resurrection.

“My, my,” The Magician laughed. “So quick to make a deal before you know what I want. Then I’ll forgo my usually monologue and get right to the point,”

Asra watched as his teacher paced around the space between them.

“You’ll need to give up someone in exchange, not necessarily an equal just---”

“Lucio.” Asra wouldn’t hide the disdain in his voice and the intensity made the Magician laugh.

“Very well,” The fox continued. “And then you’ll need to give up something for Pomme to return, to live. It’s harder than you think to bring someone back from the dead.”

Asra felt his heart drum in his chest, pounding against his bones and sending blood rushing through his veins. His hand flitted up to cover the spot his heart was and felt the vibrations beneath the skin and muscle.

“The deal is struck.” The Magician cooed without Asra even needing to say a word. A brilliant light flashed before Asra’s eyes, blinding him, and a searing pain ripped through his chest, like his heart was being torn apart by greedy hands.

Asra woke on the floor of the magic shop a dull throb in his temples as his eyes stung against the morning sunlight. People were shouting in the streets about the palace, and nothing good was being said. A fire broke out mysteriously and the Count was dead, burnt so fiercely that nothing but ashes remained and settled in his chambers. Doctor Julian Devorak was to blame but he was nowhere to be found and the Countess--

Asra shut the windows, blocking out the sounds of the world.

Lucio was dead and Asra was still alone, no matter what he did or sacrificed. Pomme would never return to him.

The magician had given up, lost his lust for a future and delved into the darkness of his depression, thoughts occupied by memories of his lover and plans on how to join them in the afterlife.

But then… Then something happened. Faust slithered along the countertop of the shopfront and hummed eagerly until Asra looked at her. He felt something and could tell Faust felt it too.

The snake swayed anxiously, tail pointing towards the stairs until Asra woke enough to pay full attention to her.

Friend! She urged. Friend!!!

Up the stairs? Friend upstairs where Pomme’s things were? Pomme? Up?

Asra’s feet drove him to the stairs and up the cracking wood two at a time until he nearly fell face first into the wall of the small living area. The small bed was closed off from view by a woven tapestry hanging by a low hanging beam and Asra took hold of it roughly and ripped it from its resting place to reveal

Nothing.

Just the bed and mountain of pillows and blankets and thin layer of dust. Asra nearly collapsed as the icy grip of realization pulsed through his veins.

Faust slithered along the floor of the living space, tongue flicking as she went, he path clearly set to the small window facing towards the docks.

“Faust don’t do that.” Asra grumbled, a sob choking his words. “Don’t get my hopes up. Pomme isn’t here, they’re--”

There!!! The little voice of his familiar screamed in his head as she pressed her tail forcefully against the glass, pointing towards the docks.

No, past the docks. Out on the water. Out to the Lazaret.

Heart! Oh, if only the snake could communicate in complete sentences.

“Faust, do you mean?” He didn’t have to finish his sentence as the snakes head bobbed furiously up and down.

Pomme was there. Faust could feel their heartbeat, Asra’s heartbeat calling through the wind. Asra felt something familiar, too, and opened the small window only to feel a full force blast of the magic he would recognize anywhere. Leaves tickling his face and hair so urgently that he swatted at the feeling with no relief.

The sensation petered out but was still there, a faint trail that Asra could follow.

And follow he did.

The tapestry was still clutched in his hands as he ran full force to the docks, jumping in the first empty boat he found and setting the ocean into a frenzy as he forced the tides to carry him out to the island coated in death. The gondolier yelled obscenities at the young man from the dock but made no attempt at chasing the magician, especially when he realized the course his boat was set towards.

The sense of magic grew stronger the closer to shore Asra got and the boat had just barely touched the sandbank when Asra lept from the vessel and ran across the black sand, into the forested land, and out again onto the sandy plain he had been led to before.

What he saw made him drop onto his knees once again.

Covered in ashes and curled into themselves was the naked form of his lover, in the flesh, alive, breathing, trembling.

Hot tears rushed down Asra’s flushed cheeks as he crawled towards the form, each step brought Pomme’s name to his lips as he sputtered and grasped at their arms, shoulders, waist, anything he could feel to know they were real.

Their body was cold from the night in nature and Asra’s vague realization of the fabric in his hand came quickly as he covered their body in it, rubbing their arms to start heating them.

He was so excited to see them alive that he hadn’t noticed that they hadn’t noticed them. Pomme hadn’t lifted their head, hadn’t moved their arms, legs, body, anything even as Asra touched them.

Cradling their torso and head in his head, Asra lifted them into his arms and moved their long curls away from their face to see them, preparing for the worst. But what he got was somehow more terrifying than when he learned they had died in the first place.

Pomme was staring at Asra, awake and something that Asra would describe as alert, but their eyes were glazed over, staring at his face with no recognition of who he was.

“Pomme, are you alright? It’s Asra. It’s me, Pomme. Do you hear me?” Eyes searched the dirty face as empty eyes stared back, inspecting, analyzing.

They were alive but they were not much more than a shell. Their memories were gone, they couldn’t speak, couldn’t walk, couldn’t do much more than blink and breathe.

Asra carried them to the boat, set them in safely, and carried them up and along the docks towards their home.

People who knew the dancer gasped and hurried away from the sullied magician as he walked the streets of Vesuvia. They had never seen anyone return from the Lazaret, especially when they heard that no one on the island was alive anymore. But there they were, just as if they were never sick.

When Asra closed the door of the shop, he wasted no time taking Pomme up the stairs into the living space they shared. Asking the salamander in the stove to heat the kettle and some water as he balanced the form of his lover on their feet in front of the bathtub.

Barely did Asra even release his grasp on Pomme did the latter stumble and fall into Asra’s arms. He noted that they gripped his shirt for help, refusing to release the fabric even as Asra steadied them into the tub and lowered them to sit in the warm water.

For weeks the magician was patient and slow. He spoke to Pomme often, almost nonstop as he waited and hoped that they would reply. He helped them wash and feed themselves as the use of their arms and legs slowly returned to them.

When Pomme was sleeping, Asra would sit in the dark shop trying in vain to contact his teacher, the Magician of the Arcana, seeking answers and solutions. But the cards were silent, so the white haired magician poured over every magical text he had gotten his hands on.

No help would come from the books or scrolls, and Asra had pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes to fight off the overpowering exhaustion that plagued him, an irritated groan escaping his throat as he sighed in defeat, his patience for their recovery stretched to its breaking point.

Nothing would help and maybe Asra had done the wrong thing after all.

The creak of the stairs startled him out of his thoughts as he whipped his head to look at them, a dizzy spell causing his vision to blur momentarily.

Blinking the spots from his eyes, though, Asra saw something he never thought he’d see again.

Pomme stood at the bottom of the stairs, wearing nothing but his shirt, and bracing themself against the wall as they stared on in confusion and concern.

Asra had already stood from his seat and crossed the room to the beautiful figure, wrapping an arm around them to steady them as he cupped their cheek with his free hand. Tears filled his eyes as Pomme looked into his face with recognition of who he was, the person who cared for them in their lame state of being, the first face they saw, the first sensation of love they knew.

“As… Asra,” Pomme’s voice broke, sounding hoarse from months without use and Asra felt his breath stop, a smile pressing the corners of his cheeks as he kissed Pomme gently.