More Lessons

The holidays passed swiftly and the immortal girl remained in her bed, the excitement from Christmas Day having a negative effect upon her state of healing but a positive effect on her outlook on the future. Most days she was left alone, but during the evenings the snake like man would bring her something from the evening meal and perhaps utter a few words to her before leaving quickly. However short or harsh his visits seemed, to the girl they were what her soul longed for most; it was not the attitude that was important, often their visits resulted in a short, sharp argument, it was the fact that he always returned and he always brought her something to eat that mattered most; it was the fact that someone cared for her, truly cared and was not about to exploit her, hurt her, or sweep her aside.

Once the holidays were through the girl found herself strong enough to attend her classes, but during the evenings, after the evening meal, she would return to the hospital wing unlike the others of her house who would return to the Slytherin common room. The other students would watch her returning to the hospital wing and soon it became common place to whisper rumours about just how she got into the school. If she were as poor as she looked, how did she afford her books, robes, and supplies? Perhaps her scars were on account of being caught thieving her books from Flourish and Blotts or from former students, but in the end no one knew; the only thing that was certain was that she had them now even though she rarely used them. Her robes however were a much different matter. They looked to be the rags of a former school uniform, however, much out of date. There was something terribly strange about the girl, but no one, not even the headmaster, dared to question.

January at the school was perhaps one of the bitterest and wildest on record. In their potions class, the students would huddle around their cauldrons, and even the snake like professeur would keep close to them. One afternoon on one particularly frigid day, the girl limped into the dungeon classroom for her potions lesson, but as usual, she uttered nothing of the discomfort she was feeling.

"Mac, remove your cloak while you are in my class, now..." hissed the professeur. Carefully she spoke back to him,

"Please Professeur, I am cold and I am tired, let me keep it over my shoulders, I mean you no disrespect in wearing--" She had been cut off.

"Mac, get over here..." The students watched in horror as their professeur glared at the girl with a deep loathing, and a vindictive nature.

"I will not." The man nearly flew into a rage.

"How dare you girl! Detention for your lack of--" The girl cut him off.

"Sir, I can barely walk, my legs are numb and my feet are frost bitten. It must be nice to have money and to keep oneself warm." She removed her cloak to reveal her bare shoulders and stood, not in defiance, but with a calling certain amount of respect towards herself as she stood without fear of his terrible glare. The professeur looked at her and walked towards her. When he was no more than a foot away he stopped.

"Come with me to my office" he hissed softly, grabbed at her shoulder, and helped her to the room adjacent to the class. Silently he had her sit down in a chair and knelt before her. Her feet were bound in strips of cloth from the ends of her cloak; carefully he unbound them and without expression, he went to his personal cupboard and brought back a salve and smeared it over her icy white and icy cold feet. "You are a fool Mac; is it your intent to subject yourself to this idiocy? Your robes are a disgrace, your illnesses easily avoidable, and your attitude... Mac, what game are you playing? Are you looking for pity? Are you so deprived of attention that you create a frail and submissive character... you are unworthy and unfit to bear the Slytherin name..." She looked as though she would cry and softly stated,

"Thank you sir" rose to her feet and hovelled out of the room.

That night at the evening meal there was a noticeable absence from the Slytherin table; no fire haired maiden sat at the far end and no hijinx set the hall into fits of laughter. It was a sombre meal. In the hospital wing, the door to the girl’s room had been left open, just as she had left it that morning to attend breakfast and classes; and just as it had been left during the day, the room was empty. The witch doctor, believing that the girl might have decided for herself to leave the wing and return to her house, hurried to the staff room to have words with the snake like man, head of the house of Slytherin.

"Severus Snape, where is Mac? How could you have let her back into your house when you know as well as I that she is still much too unwell to return to that terrible room in your house." The man turned his head to look at her properly.

"Can you not keep a better watch on your patients Poppy; she has not returned to my house."

"Oh? Well, if she is not in your house and not in my wing, then tell me where in fact is the girl? Her bed is undisturbed and everything left exactly as it was this morning when she left it." The room fell silent, the other staff members now watching and listening to this conversation.

"You mean to say she gone...?" For a moment a look of terrible guilt washed through his eyes and a pit formed in his stomach.

"Yes she is gone! Haven’t you been listening to what I have been saying?"

"Silence Pomfrey!" He rose from his seat, took a spare cloak from the ancient wardrobe where the teachers sometimes kept their spare robes, and exited the room with his wand poised and ready.

He found her shivering in a corner of a classroom, tear stained, and alone; he bit his lip, put his wand away, and wrapped the cloak about her shoulders.

"Mac," he sighed "what are you doing? Have you no pride?" A silence filled the room and hung over the man like smoke choking his throat. He turned his gaze away from her and was about to make as though he were to speak again when at last the girl spoke.

"I do have pride sir, just not in the same things you do; sir, you’ve had a family, you’ve had a home, you have damn shoes..." her voice began to waiver and her strange golden tears began to run down her cheeks again, but she continued. "Sir, I’m tired, I’m in pain, and do you know something? When this year ends, I’ll be back out on the streets again, but thanks to you, I at least have a fighting chance now. I stole my robes, I stole my books, and yes I stole my supplies. Next year I probably won’t return because I’ll be rotting away in some prison, that’s if I’m not dead already. Aye, can it get any better than this?" She looked up at him. "This is what it’s like to be forgotten sir, how old do you have to be before someone remembers?" Snape studied her and suddenly felt something change inside of him and he knelt down before her resting his hands on her knees.

"Mac," he began, "you will be looked after once the school year ends; unless you make the choice to return to the street, you will never have to go back." She hurried to him and hugged him tightly, burying her face into his shoulder, finding her tears again; gently he stroked her hair and hiss whispered, "I’m sorry" and spoke nothing more.


The Executions