Chapter 39: 22
Year 2, Chapter 11:
The final Quidditch match of the school year was between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and it seemed the majority of the school was abuzz with anticipation for the entire week preceding it. Even all of the professors were going - even Calista's father was going. He and Professor McGonagall had been exchanging mild banter about it, even as Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint both got detentions for fighting in the corridor.
Calista still didn't much care about Quidditch, but it was hard not to get caught up in the general excitement. The match was to be on a Saturday afternoon, and it didn't seem like anyone in the Slytherin common room was doing any homework Thursday or Friday. Someone had hung a banner along the east wall that said "Go Slytherin" and then someone else had put a smaller sign under it that said "Crush the Gryffindor wankers".
Olivia became even more interested than usual in the male players of the Slytherin team; she kept simpering and acting silly around them, like she had with Colin that day at the stables, and putting her hands on them, touching their shoulders, acting as if they were best friends all of a sudden. A few of them didn't seem to mind it, but Conor Quinn had coldly told her to sod off, and Calista had grinned behind her back. Probably Kim had told him something about the way she treated Calista, or at least that was what Calista chose to believe.
Unfortunately, end-of-year exams were also coming up, although most of the students seemed to have temporarily forgotten about that. Calista was not among them - she had taken to holing herself up in the library again when the common room got too boisterous. She was desperate to do well enough on her Transfiguration exam to avoid being in remedial lessons against next year, especially since she didn't see how she could possibly take all the elective classes she wanted to in addition to extra lessons with both her father and Professor McGonagall.
She flipped through the pages in her textbook, periodically attempting to change a beetle into a button; she had given up on the mouse to snuffbox spell as well as the pencil to ruler spell. She re-read the section in the book on the incantation half a dozen times, but, as she expected, it did no good. She thought perhaps her beetle had gotten a little shinier, but nothing else about it had changed. How could it be possible that she was getting even worse at the subject?
She sighed, and set her wand down across the spread of the pages she was referencing. This was useless. She actually wished Marcus was here, studying with her, so she'd at least have someone to talk to while she failed miserably, but of course he was focused on the upcoming Quidditch match. Emily would have made a good study partner, too, if she wasn't too busy doing Olivia's homework for her. She rubbed her eyes, trying to re-energise herself somehow, picked up her wand, cast a Freezing Charm on the beetle before it could scuttle off, and attempted the spell again.
She heard robes swishing, and looked up to see who else had decided to hide in the library during all the excitement. Percy Weasley was striding down the row of tables, several textbooks in his arms. He paused when he saw her, eyed her uncertainly. She could see him deciding whether or not to greet her; he glanced around, probably, she thought, to make sure Olivia and Portia weren't nearby.
"Hi, Percy," she said, deciding for him, and he returned the greeting with a nod.
"Calista. I'm surprised - I thought I'd be the only one in the library two days before the big Quidditch match."
"Me too," she said, and then amended, "I mean, I thought I'd be the only one, obviously. I guess I care more about how I do on my exams than who's better at throwing balls around."
"I couldn't agree more," Percy said firmly, beginning to relax a little. "Quidditch is all well and good as a hobby, but exams are in only a couple of weeks, and they have far more bearing on the future than a game." He shifted his books to one arm, craned his neck to see which book she had open in front of her. "What subject are you studying for?" he asked, "Maybe we could study together. Sometimes it helps the material set in better if you go over it with someone."
"Oh," Calista said, and she felt herself flushing red. "I… er, I was just finishing, actually."
She closed her book hastily, and pulled it towards herself, trying to hide it. Too late, she realised she had forgotten about the still-motionless beetle on the table.
"Beetles into buttons?" he guessed, noticing it. He set his books down on the edge of her table, and his expression pinched into one of concern. "Do you think that will be on the exam? I haven't practised that one since the beginning of term."
"Er, probably not," she said, "But I was just… you know, just in case."
There was no way she was going to admit to Percy Weasley, of all people, that she was still hung up on such simple transfigurations. She willed him, silently, to go away, now regretting her decision to greet him.
"Mind if we practise together, then?" Percy asked, sliding into the seat opposite her. "I haven't even begun to review old spells, I've just been practising Badgering, you know, turning smaller animals into badgers. I've only tried with mice though, d'you reckon there will be other animals we have to transform for exams?"
"You think Badgering's going to be on exams?" she echoed, unable to keep a note of panic out of her voice. She wasn't even allowed to try that spell yet; McGonagall had told her to keep trying to turn her mouse into a snuffbox instead of a badger.
"Well, I'd expect so," Percy said, "Since we've been spending so much time on it. But I hadn't thought of going backwards, of course there's bound to be more than one spell on the exam… can you still get the buttons to come out right, then?"
"Uhm." Calista said, "Not… not really."
Percy peered around his books, and prodded her beetle with the tip of his wand.
"Er… do you think perhaps it's because your beetle is dead?" he asked, tentatively.
"What? It's not dead." She aimed her wand, undid the Freezing Charm just to make sure. The beetle immediately began crawling away, but she froze it again. "It's just frozen, see?"
Percy pushed his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. "Hang on - did you manage to keep the beetle frozen the whole time we were talking?"
She nodded. "Yeah, that's… I'm good at Charms," she said, and then added darkly, "That's not my problem."
"That's really good," Percy said, and he sounded almost envious. "Mine doesn't last nearly that long. Do you suppose that will matter?"
"I don't know," she said, and then, hopefully, "Maybe something is wrong with my beetle, though. Maybe that's why I can't get it to work."
Percy lifted his wand, waved it, and recited the proper incantation. The beetle changed obediently into a sturdy, shiny black button. He waved his wand again, and it turned back into a beetle.
"Seems fine to me," he said, and looked at her curiously. "What sort of trouble are you having?"
Calista took a deep breath, and tried to clear her mind. She refused to think about how many times she had already failed at this spell, tried to pretend that it was her first time trying to cast it, and followed the instructions McGonagall had drilled into them in class. She couldn't fail in front of Weasley; he'd make fun of her horribly, she was sure of it.
Her beetle's legs shrank to little stubs, and its shell grew hard and shiny, but it was still far from a button.
Percy winced. "Have you gotten it to work before?"
"No," Calista said glumly. "I wish I could just drop Transfiguration now, instead of waiting until sixth year. I hate it."
"Really?" Percy sounded incredulous, "But it's a wonderful class, and an important magical discipline. It's my favourite."
"Yeah," Calista said, "But you're not rubbish at it."
"Neither are you," Percy said kindly, although he wasn't in her class, so how could he know? "Just because you have trouble with one spell doesn't mean you can't do it at all - it took me ages to get Avifors to work properly."
"It's not just one spell," she said, miserably. "It's all of them, I don't know how I can possibly pass the exam. I just don't want to be stuck in r- uhm, I don't want to do badly." She had almost accidentally revealed that she was in remedial lessons, before she'd remembered who she was talking to. Percy seemed okay for a Gryffindor, but his best friend was Oliver Wood, and if he found out, she'd never hear the end of it.
"Maybe I can help," Percy offered. "It's my best subject, and Professor McGonagall had me tutoring a first year a little while ago. Just tell me which spell was the last one you got to work properly, and we'll go from there."
"Uhm, no thanks," she said quickly. Imagine if he found out she hadn't even managed to turn a match into a needle yet, she'd never hear the end of it. "I mean, that's really nice, but I already have people helping me. It's just… it's just going to take me time, is all." Like forever, she thought darkly to herself.
"Is it Avifors you're stuck on?" Percy persisted, "I was too, until I realised, it's more of a twist you do with your wrist, you want to keep the wand itself pretty still."
"I don't need your help with stupid Avifors," Calista snapped, clutching her book tightly to her chest and fixing Percy with her best scowl.
"Well, which one, then?" Percy laughed good-naturedly, "I mean, it can't be all that bad, it's not as if you're still trying to turn a match into a needle, or something."
Silence stretched out between them, during which Calista hoped fervently that her subconscious would take over, give her some burst of unexpected magic, and she'd somehow manage to turn herself invisible in that instant. She could feel her face heating up, and Percy looked taken aback.
"Well, if you've really never even completed the most basic transfiguration properly," Percy said, recovering and drawing himself up stiffly, "Then what are you playing at, trying more complicated spells?"
"Sod off, Weasley," she said, and folded her arms. "What do you care, anyway?"
"Well, obviously, I'm trying to help," Percy said, affronted. "You don't have to be such a Slytherin about it."
"I didn't invite you to sit here and make fun of me!" she said shrilly. "You don't have to go poking your stupid Gryffindor nose into everything, you know!"
"You're mental," Percy said, disbelieving. "I'm not making fun of you, I'm trying to help you, or weren't you listening the first time I said so? I thought… you know what? Nevermind. I obviously thought wrong."
"No, go on," she said defensively, "What did you think? That I'm daft because I can't do your stupid bird spell? That I must be a troll, to not even be able to turn a matchstick into a needle?" And then she seized on something else, something he hadn't even really said, but that she herself had sometimes feared, that being in the same house as her mother meant something she didn't want to face. "Or is it that I'm an evil Slytherin?"
Percy's jaw dropped, and he shook his head, closed it again. "No, none of those things. I thought - and clearly I must be mistaken - that we were becoming friends, but you're not really treating me much like one. I suppose next Potions class you'll be sitting with those other girls again, and making fun of me, throwing things into my cauldron."
His face was red now, too, and Calista could see that he looked wounded. He started to gather his books, quickly. She was startled; was he really worried that she'd do that?
"Percy," she said, "Don't be daft - I'm not going to make fun of you, as long as you don't make fun of me. I'm just… I'm used to stupid Olivia saying she's going to help me with something and then stabbing me in the back."
"You shouldn't be friends with people like her, then," Percy sniffed, still looking as if he might leave any second.
"I know that now," she said, "That's why I'm trying to make other friends, but I'm just not very good at it, obviously."
"Hmph, obviously," Percy agreed, peevish. He added, "You can start by not calling me stupid, nosy, or daft. I wouldn't call my friends anything like that."
"You did say I was mental," she pointed out.
"You're right," Percy said, "And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
"Thanks," she muttered, "I guess."
"This is the part where you're supposed to apologise for all the things you called me," he prompted.
"Oh," she said, "Right. I'm sorry. You're not daft, obviously. You are a bit nosy, though."
"Only because I was trying to help," Percy said again, in long-suffering tones.
"Okay," Calista said, "If you're my friend, and you want to help me, then you can't tell anyone how bad I am at Transfiguration."
"Do you really think I would go around telling people anything like that?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said, "Maybe. But you can't."
"I wouldn't do anything like that," he said, "I'd never make fun of someone for academic problems - how would they ever improve, if they were afraid to keep trying?"
"I would," Calista admitted, "I have. I called Marcus Flint a troll before he was my friend, and I make fun of Portia and your friend Wood all the time for being rubbish at Potions."
"Well," Percy said, "Maybe you should stop doing that. Especially if you ever want to become a Prefect."
"Who said I wanted to be a sodding Prefect?" she scoffed, but then she tilted her head, a cautious curiosity entering her voice. "Do you really think they'd ever make me one?"
"Well, it's still too soon to say, isn't it? But I've been trying to make sure I'll be considered seriously, and if you want a chance at being one, you ought to do the same. You know, keep up with your schoolwork, keep your nose clean, try to help younger students out a lot, that sort of thing."
Calista considered it. Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing to aim for; at any rate, if she became Prefect, that would mean Olivia wouldn't, and that in itself was worth something.
"I don't know what I'll do if I don't get chosen," Percy confessed wistfully. "Charlie and Bill were both chosen, and Bill's Head Boy now. I can't imagine being the first in the family not to make it."
Calista looked at Percy's face, really looked at it, for perhaps the first time. It was still a little pink around the cheeks and ears from their argument a few minutes ago, and it clashed with the smattering of freckles against his otherwise pale skin. Worn-looking horn-rimmed spectacles framed a pair of often serious blue eyes, and a splash of bright red hair made him easy to spot from a mile away. A solemn frown creased his face, now, and a wrinkle appeared in his forehead, above the chipped bridge of his spectacles. In that moment, his face was so drawn, so very sincere, that it sparked a surge of emotion from Calista she hadn't expected to ever feel for Percy Weasley when she'd first met him on the train.
It was just that he looked so vulnerable all of a sudden, and while her gut reaction to vulnerability was more often than not disdain (or was that even true anymore? She wasn't sure), she found that instead of wanting to tear him down, she wanted to bolster him, restore the prissy confidence she had come to expect from him.
"I'm certain they'll choose you," she said, with a deliberate generosity to her tone, "They'd be mental not to."
Percy found a small smile. "Thank you, Calista. That's very kind of you to say."
Their gazes locked for an instant, and then both hastily looked away. Percy's eyes fell on her textbook in front of her again.
"Good heavens," he said, and in that instant he became his good-naturedly bossy self again, "Neither of us will ever make Prefect if we don't study for our exams. We'd better get started. Have you looked over the notes for History of Magic yet? Perhaps if we quiz each other on the dates they'll be easier to remember."
"I haven't," she said, and stood up, clutching the hated Transfiguration book. "I'll go get my things then, and meet you back here? We can make cards with the dates, that's what Emily always does and she swears it works."
He nodded, and she swept out of the library, wondering at the little bubble of warmth she could feel swelling in her chest. She'd always thought that being kind, giving praise to others, would mean having to give a piece of her pride away, would somehow diminish her, but she was finding, to her utter astonishment, that the opposite was true. It didn't make her feel smaller at all; it made her feel more, bigger. Better.
It made her want to smile, even in the face of studying the International Warlock Convention of 1289 for the next umpteen hours.
(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)
Calista walked towards the Quidditch pitch, a bit behind the rest of the group of Slytherin spectators. She scanned the crowd, wondering if she should attach herself to Kim and Conor's friends again, or if she should just bugger all of them and sit with Percy - but he'd be with the other Gryffindors, and as much as she was starting to like him, she didn't much care for the rest of them, and she certainly didn't want to give the appearance of supporting any team that Oliver Wood was on. She saw, somewhere ahead, a flash of blue hair; she could sit with Tonks, that wouldn't really be supporting one House or another, would it? But she'd heard that most of the Hufflepuffs were supporting Gryffindor, and even if it weren't for Wood, of course she wanted Slytherin to win, because Marcus, Kim, and Conor were all on the team, and they were her friends.
That was the problem - most of her friends that were in her own house were on the team, and she definitely couldn't sit with Emily, because she was still following Olivia and Portia around; she could see all three of them, up ahead. She was still considering the matter when a familiar hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up to see her father.
"Dad," she said, and she could feel her face spread into a smile, to see him outside of lessons. "You really are going to watch the Quidditch match, then?"
"I am," he said, slowing to match her pace. "I thought I'd sit with you, unless you have other plans."
"I don't have other plans," she said, "But you have to promise not to spring any surprise Occlumency tests on me."
"Fair enough," he said smoothly, "I'll wait until dinner, then."
She scowled half-heartedly at him, as they approached the Quidditch pitch, and found seats in the stands. She'd been afraid he was going to want to sit with all the other teachers, and she'd be the only student among them, but they sat behind a group of Slytherin students, sixth and seventh years, by the look of them, although Peter and Ethan weren't with them. She spotted them much further down, in the first few rows. A few of the students in front of them turned around, greeted their Professor and Head of House, glanced at Calista, but she was used to the double-takes by now, when people realised whose daughter she was.
The match started, and Gryffindor took the lead right away, scoring three goals in the first five minutes, before Kim Avery sent a bludger viciously towards one of the Gryffindor Chasers, who dropped the Quaffle, and Conor sailed underneath her and plucked it away. He went straight for the Gryffindor goal posts, but whatever Calista thought Oliver Wood's shortcomings were, he was an excellent Keeper, even though he was only a second year. He blocked Conor's shot, and Gryffindor took the Quaffle again.
They scored twice more before Marcus took the Quaffle back for Slytherin, and finally eked a goal past Wood. Calista cheered with the rest of the Slytherin supporters. She glanced up, and saw her father clapping, too. She didn't think she liked Quidditch much, but actually, she found that she enjoyed watching the match with everyone else in the stands; again, she was caught up in the crowd's excitement, and found herself wincing when Marcus took a bludger to the arm, and dropped the Quaffle.
It wasn't long after that before the cheating started; mysteriously, the Beaters on both teams suddenly lost their aim, and more than one player was clipped directly by a club. Calista yelled "Foul!" with everyone else in their section when Conor was nearly knocked off his broom by a sharp elbow from a Gryffindor Beater, and she groaned in frustration when Kim was given a penalty and temporarily removed from the game for retaliating by smashing the Gryffindor Beater with her club. Marcus hadn't been kidding; out there on the pitch, Kim looked positively vicious, and as soon as she was allowed back in the game, she sent a bludger crashing into the Gryffindor holding the Quaffle, winning it back for Slytherin.
The Slytherin team rallied after that, rapidly scoring enough goals to tie the score. Three more players were temporarily removed from the game - Marcus for intentionally slamming into one of the other team's chasers, the other Slytherin beater for hitting Wood with a bludger when the Quaffle was nowhere near the goalposts, and a Gryffindor beater for hitting that player with his club. The Slytherin players seemed to benefit from being sidelined though, because whenever one of them returned to play, Slytherin scored another goal, and they were soon ahead.
It was looking good for the Slytherin team now; they were ahead by seven goals, and the green-clad section of the crowd was cheering madly. And then, suddenly, their cheering shifted to an outraged groan, as Charlie Weasley began circling the pitch, fist held high in triumph. Something gold glittered between his fingers; he had caught the Snitch, and won the game for Gryffindor.
Many of the Slytherin students were hissing and booing now, and one of them in front of Calista started to say something that began with, "You bloody f-" but his friend had poked him and they'd both glanced back at Professor Snape sitting behind them. The one who'd started to speak flushed, and closed his mouth quickly, but it didn't appear as if the Professor had noticed; he was scowling in the direction where the other professors were sitting, more likely than not at McGonagall's red-faced, wild cheering.
Calista followed him when he moved to leave the stands, half-jogging once they'd reached the grass to keep up with his longer strides.
"Cheer up," she called, from a pace behind him, "The day's not over yet; you still get to ruin my weekend with extra lessons."
"Ah, yes, extra lessons," he said, snappishly, though he did slow his pace. "An investment of my time which you are so grateful for that you consider it to be ruinous to your day."
"Not just the day," she said, with a grin. "The whole weekend. How can you stay angry with that to look forward to?"
He rolled his eyes, but obliged her with a half-smirk. "You really are a terrible brat, you know."
They walked peaceably despite that back to the castle. When they had gone inside, Severus looked down at her again.
"You're welcome to take dinner with me in my quarters. We can have your lessons, as well."
"Am I welcome not to?"
"Nice try. Your presence is merely requested at dinner, but it's required afterward for Occlumency lessons."
"I feared as much. All right then, I'll eat dinner with you, I guess."
"Oh, please do try to contain your excitement," he said drily, as they both headed down towards the dungeons.
Halfway down the stairs, he lightly brushed against the outer edge of her mind, testing for her barriers.
They were firmly in place, and as strong as he thought he'd ever felt them, even though she was walking with a steady pace, and conversing with him at the same time. He registered with some surprise that his initial brush against them hadn't been strong enough to break through them; if he'd wanted to send her a mental message, he'd have needed, for the first time, to push it through her barriers, instead of just letting it float against them.
She was getting stronger, every day, and he wondered if there would come a day when he couldn't break through if he wanted to. He wondered, too, which he felt more profoundly in that moment; pride, or sadness?
(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)
The final weeks before the exam were a frenzied whirlwind of studying, practising spells, quizzing herself or one of her friends, and studying again, for Calista. She studied History of Magic with Emily and again with Percy, and Transfiguration with Marcus. Percy had offered, again, to help her study it, but she was still too embarrassed to let him do that, although she did spend half a day practising Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts with him.
She helped Marcus with Potions, as much as she could, anyway. He seemed to forget things nearly as soon as he had learned them, and she'd had to explain to him what "a dash" of an ingredient meant, again. She studied Herbology and Astronomy with Emily a bit, but then Olivia had wanted to study with Emily, and Calista had left, to finish studying on her own. Now that she'd decided once and for all to be done with Olivia, she avoided her as much as she possibly could, and so far, she hadn't regretted it.
All too soon, exams came around. Calista knew she'd done horribly at the practical portion of Transfiguration, which had included Badgering after all, just as Percy had predicted, but she hoped her essay portion would be good enough to at least get her out of remedial classes.
She was surprised at how confident she felt sitting most of the other exams, though; she'd known Potions would be easy, and she generally did well at Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts, but she'd felt far more confident than she had last year with both Herbology and History of Magic. She supposed it had paid off to study with her friends after all, if her feelings after the exam were any indicator. Percy had been right about something else, then.
She'd known she'd done well on most of them, but when her final marks came in, she'd grinned ear to ear.
Top marks in Potions, which wasn't a surprise, given all her private lessons, but she'd made top marks in Charms, too, and her DADA and Herbology scores weren't far behind. She recalled how she had botched part of the practical exam for Charms last year, and it made her doubly proud to have done so well this time around.
Professor Flitwick had personally congratulated her on her scores, and lamented once again that she hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw. Calista resisted the urge to tell him he might change his mind if he'd had to watch her painfully subpar attempts at Transfiguration, but she was glad for the praise anyway.
She had even done very well in History of Magic, and well enough in Astronomy, considering she was usually very sleepy by the time class started at midnight.
Oddly, she hadn't been given her Transfiguration marks along with the rest of her scores. Calista hoped fervently that her marks had gotten lost, that she'd just be given a pass automatically, although she suspected she'd never be that lucky.
The reason for her missing Transfiguration marks became clear during one of the final days of term, when she was summoned to Professor McGonagall's office after dinner. She supposed the Professor had probably thought it was kind to let her eat before having one of the Prefects fetch her from the Slytherin common room, but Calista wished she hadn't, because as she made her way to the Professor's office, she was so nervous she thought she might be sick.
No one ever got summoned to see Professors after normal class hours unless they were in very big trouble. She couldn't think of anything she had done that would warrant big trouble lately, which she reflected glumly was something of a miracle in itself, so she had a sinking feeling it was about her Transfiguration marks. They must have been even worse than she'd expected.
Outside the office door, she took a deep breath, and steeled her shoulders, before tapping on the door and turning the knob.
She stopped short when she entered the office, and saw that there were two people inside of it: Professor McGonagall, as she'd expected, sat behind her desk, but her father was there too, standing in the corner and watching the doorway, presumably for her to arrive.
"Dad?" she choked out, her eyes darting to his face, to Professor McGonagall's, and back. She tried to read their expressions; McGonagall only looked as stern as always, and her father's was so neutral she suspected it was deliberate. "What's going on? I haven't done anything - I swear I haven't, if someone says I have then it's probably Olivia trying to set me up-"
"You're not in trouble," Severus said quietly, "Sit down, Calista." He nodded towards the chair across from McGonagall's desk, and Calista took it because she didn't see that she had much choice, anyway.
As soon as she had sat, Severus was behind her, with his hand on her shoulder. It struck her immediately as a protective gesture, and this alarmed her further. What could possibly be going on here? She craned her neck up to look at him, but he was looking at McGonagall again, and she only succeeded in getting a very good angle on his nostrils. She lowered her head again, and followed his gaze to the other Professor.
"Miss Snape, I'm certain it's no surprise to you that I'm concerned about your progress in Transfiguration. I understand very well that you have been struggling this year, despite remedial lessons and help from your father and some of your peers."
"Please don't put me in remedial lessons again," Calista said, and she hated how whiny her voice sounded, even to herself. "I'll try harder, I'll catch up, I'll study all summer."
"I believe that you will study all summer, if I ask you to, but I'm afraid I'm not convinced it will help you, at this point. I've observed you trying very admirably in remedial lessons, and I'm not certain any student in your year has studied the text quite as much as you have this year. To be honest, Miss Snape, I feel that I may have done you a disservice earlier this year, when I promised you that you would be able to catch up to your classmates if you were willing to learn, because you've certainly demonstrated that willingness, and yet we haven't made progress to speak of."
Calista felt tears spring to her eyes, gritted her teeth to keep them from falling. This was awful; what was Professor McGonagall trying to tell her, that she was a troll who would never be able to properly do magic? Were they going to kick her out of Hogwarts?
"In light of how well you performed on all your other exams, I must say that I found myself inclined to believe that perhaps you were suffering from factors beyond your control, so I sought out your father to discuss it with him."
Great, Calista thought, The two of you sitting around discussing how daft I am.
Perhaps she had unintentionally broadcast this thought to her father, because he squeezed her shoulder gently.
"We both understand how hard you've been trying, Calista. We've discussed this quite a bit, and we both feel that it seems there are some - ah, quirks - with your attempts that seem unusual."
Professor McGonagall produced a pencil, and set it deliberately on top of her desk, and Calista felt her heart sink as she squinted at it through her tears. How many times were they going to ask her to try this spell, and how many times would she fail? She felt one of her tears slip out of her eye, and she reached her hand up to wipe it away fiercely. She sniffled, even though she didn't want to - it was just preferable to having bogies slide down her face as well. Then, the Professor produced a ruler as well, and set it down a fair distance from the pencil.
"Go on and attempt the spell," Professor McGonagall prodded her gently, and the softness in her voice only made Calista feel even more as though she were being ostracised, "Look at the ruler while you cast on the pencil."
She sniffed again, ran one hand over her face to wipe away any moisture while she withdrew her wand with the other hand. She took a shuddery breath, and pointed at the pencil, fixing her stare on the ruler as instructed. Even with her voice shaking as she said the incantation, the pencil changed obediently, so that there were two precisely matching rulers on the desk.
Professor McGonagall waved her wand, and changed one of them back into a pencil. She withdrew the other ruler, and nodded at Calista to try again. Feeling utterly foolish, she obeyed, and of course the spell didn't work. The pencil flattened a bit, but nothing else happened.
"It would appear, Miss Snape," Professor McGonagall said, removing the hated pencil-ruler hybrid from the desk, "That the problem is not that your magical ability is insufficient to complete the transfiguration, and nor is it, judging by the essay portions of your classwork as well as your exam, that your mind doesn't understand the spell. These are the typical reasons why a student may have trouble with this subject, but in your particular case, it would seem that the problem is that you are unable to connect those two things into a proper spell, without visual stimulation. It is a very unusual circumstance, but the happy news is that we do not believe, Professor Snape and I, that it is a hopeless one."
"I informed Professor McGonagall that you faced some difficulties before beginning as a student at Hogwarts," her father said, and she felt panic rise in her immediately; she didn't think she was letting any of it slip beyond her barriers, but her father's free hand came to rest on her other shoulder, and words appeared in her mind, slipping neatly through her outer layer of defence.
I did not disclose any of the details, I promise. She only knows precisely what I'm saying now.
"That there were some unfortunate things you had witnessed, that I thought it best for you to forget. In hindsight, I am beginning to suspect that altering your memory may have had unintended consequences."
Wait a minute, she thought, exerting her effort to project the words towards his mind; she wasn't very good at legilimency, but he had his mind partially open to her, so she was able to reach him. You altered my memory?
Later, he responded into her mind, and she felt his own mind close off, force her neatly but gently out of it. "It is impossible to predict with complete accuracy the way that areas of the mind interact with each other," he said aloud, "And I am concerned that perhaps the link between your ability to understand transfigurations and your ability to perform them has been corrupted in some way as a result."
She wanted to send him another internal message, but he had closed himself off, and she wasn't nearly strong enough to force her words through. She opened her mouth instead, asked her question aloud, although she phrased it considerably more politely than she might have if it had been only her father who was able to hear her.
"What are you saying, then? I can never do Transfiguration?"
"That's precisely what I'm not saying," he replied, "Calista, I'm telling you that I think we may be able to fix your problem, if I go back into your mind and reforge the missing connection."
She didn't understand; what missing connection? How had he modified her memory? What had he taken from her, that had caused her to be useless at magic, and how the bloody hell had she not known about this before?
Professor McGonagall was speaking again. "As things stand now, I'm afraid I have little choice but to place you back into a first-year Transfiguration class," she said, and Calista could feel her face draining of any colour; her forehead felt hot and prickly. And to think, only moments ago, she'd thought it couldn't possibly get any worse than remedial lessons.
"However, if this… corrupted connection due to a modified memory does turn out to be the cause of the problem, and the problem is able to be fixed, I can offer you a choice. You can, of course, begin next year in a first-year class, and I give you my word that I will move you up accordingly as your abilities improve."
Calista must have looked as horror-stricken as she felt, because McGonagall continued, "Alternatively, if you can demonstrate, upon your return to classes next year, that you have made progress - that is to say, that you can transfigure anything at all, thus proving that the problem has been addressed - then I am willing to allow you into the third-year class with your peers, provided you agree to remedial lessons with me and twice weekly lessons with a peer tutor until you've completely caught up. I understand that this is difficult for you, and I'm willing to accommodate that."
"What - yeah, of course. I mean, yes, Professor. I'll… I'll do the extra lessons. Just please don't put me in with first years, I couldn't stand it if that happened."
Professor McGonagall nodded. "Well. I believe that's settled for now, then," she said, "I'm quite hopeful that when I see you at the beginning of term next year, you'll have something to show me, and we can put all of this behind us. You're a good student, Miss Snape, and I want to see you succeed."
Well, of course she would say that, with her father right there in the room with her, wouldn't she? Still, Calista found that she actually was inclined to believe that the professor was sincere.
"Thanks, Professor," she mumbled, and as she rose from her chair, she felt her father's hands lift from her shoulders. One of them came to rest in the middle of her back, between her shoulder blades, as he guided her gently from the office. From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod politely to his colleague as they left.
(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)
To Calista's credit, she waited until they had nearly reached Severus' own office before she whirled on him, eyes narrowed.
"You modified my memory?" she asked him, in voice that was no less outraged for its low volume.
He opened the door to his quarters instead of his office door, and ushered her inside. He wanted her to sit in his small study with him, but she would not let her anger be delayed long enough to sit down in a chair, so she wound up shouting at him from just inside the entrance to the room.
"Is it true? Did you really alter my memory?" She looked very much as if she wanted him to deny it; he wanted, perhaps even more, to deny it, not only because she was so upset, but also because she had been so much better off without knowing about it.
But he would not lie to her; he had promised her that, once, and it was a promise that he was steadfast to, even when it was in both of their best interests not to be, because he had determined that she needed someone she could trust even more than she needed to be shielded, and that was as true now as it had been when she was six.
"I did," he said, "After Bellatrix attacked your mind."
She looked betrayed, and he hated it; it tore at his heart, it made him viciously angry with himself, it left him feeling hollowed out and isolated. It even made him angry with her, a little bit, because she couldn't possibly understand what it was costing him to be honest, what it always cost him.
"How could you do that, without asking me?"
"As I recall, you did ask me, once, to help you forget. At the time, it seemed unwise, because I didn't think you understood what you were asking for."
"But then you still did it? How could you hide that from me?"
"I didn't hide it," he said. "You never asked, and when the topic became relevant, I was forthcoming."
"Relevant? Isn't my own mind always relevant to me?"
"If you'd asked if I had changed anything, when I forced Bellatrix out, I would have told you the truth, Calista. But you didn't ask, and you were so much happier, so much better. Understand this, I am not sorry for what I did; I'm sorry it's so upsetting to you, and I'm sorry for any unintended side effects, but what I did was necessary."
"How?" she said, and her eyes glittered with tears again. "How can it have suddenly become necessary, when it wasn't before? You told me I could decide, and then you went ahead and did it anyway. What did you even take? What am I missing?"
Her distress was palpable far beyond the tears that he could see beginning to slide down her face now; her hands shook, and there was an edge of hysteria creeping into her voice.
He ached to reach for her, to comfort her as he would have done if she was smaller and had woken from a nightmare; but he knew that she wouldn't allow it, not now, when he was the one who had upset her.
"Calista, please calm down. I'll explain what I can, but I need you to really listen to me."
"Why?" she shot back, "You obviously didn't listen to me, and now everyone thinks I'm a bloody idiot because I can't do even a speck of Transfiguration, and on top of everything else, now I find out I've been bloody hating myself for the better part of two years because of something that probably isn't even my fault? You know what - to fucking hell with you, I don't have to listen, either!"
He had been allowing her some leeway, but she had just crossed the line, and both of them knew it. He could see surprise register in her face; he didn't think she'd known what she was going to say.
"You will not speak to me like that," he said, in a low, silky voice that brooked no nonsense. "Do you think you are too old to copy lines? We respect each other, Calista, and I will have you writing it all summer if you forget it again."
She released a shuddery breath and fixed him with a weak glare, but much of her defiance had faded.
"Sit down," he said quietly, and this time she obeyed, retreating to the closest of the two chairs. He took the other one, and waited a moment before speaking further, until he thought both of them were calmer.
She sniffled, and wiped at her face with both hands, waiting for him to speak.
"I'm not sure how much of what happened two years ago you really remember," he said, after several moments had passed, "You weren't - you weren't really present the whole time. Your own presence in your mind was fading under Bellatrix's attack. But I did give you a choice, Calista. I separated you from your bad memories, but showed you how to recover them, if you chose."
"And I did," she said quietly, "I chose to remember. I chose to be strong."
"You did," he agreed, "And you are. This doesn't change any of that."
"What am I missing?" she asked again.
He felt a small sense of relief, in the knowledge that he couldn't tell her yet. Her Occlumency skills were not yet sufficient to block Bellatrix from invading her mind again if she had those memories back. But one day, she would ask him this question again, and she would be strong enough, and he would have to return them to her. When that day came, it would not allow Bellatrix to destroy her in the same way she had nearly done two years ago, but the effects of it on her psyche would be no less severe than they had been in the first place.
He wanted, more than anything, to be able to keep them from her forever; he couldn't do that. But he was justified in keeping them from her now.
"There were a very small set of memories that Bellatrix found a way to exploit, and she used them to torture you inside your own mind, to infiltrate and hurt you. I don't know precisely how she managed to twist those memories, but I do know that she could do it again. That's why you're learning to guard your mind, and you've come a long way, but Bellatrix learned Legilimency from the Dark Lord himself."
"You won't tell me, then," she said flatly.
"Not yet," he said, "But I give you my word that I will, some day, when you are an accomplished enough Occlumens."
"How much am I missing, if you won't tell me what it is?"
"Only a very small handful of closely related memories. Think of it as a dittany plant, with just one leaf blighted. With the leaf intact, the blight might spread to the rest of the plant; but once you remove it, the plant is healthy, and if you never saw it there before, you'd never know it was missing."
"I'm a plant now, then? A blighted plant?"
"That's not what I said. And I don't want to minimise how dangerous the memory could be, if you had it back to be exploited again; but you don't need it to still be you."
"What about my magic?" she asked, "Do I have to wait to learn Transfiguration until then?"
"I believe that is something I can fix now. I have to admit, until Professor McGonagall and I discussed your exam scores and everything else in depth, until we compared your work in that class to the work in the rest of your classes, and analysed the implications of the ways in which your spells failed, it never occurred to me that I might have made a mistake."
"What if you can't fix it?"
"Why don't you let me try before we worry about that?"
She exhaled audibly, looked at him. "I'm still angry with you," she said, "Even if you fix it, I'm going to be angry."
"What could I have done differently to prevent that?" he asked, "Short of not taking the memory, which I truly didn't have a choice in, and not making a mistake, which I was not aware of making?"
"You could have just told me," she said, "The way you explained it just now, right after it happened."
"Even your knowing I had modified your memory wouldn't have prompted us to discover the potential effects on your ability to transfigure things any sooner," he pointed out reasonably.
"But it's not just that," she said, her voice rising with emotion, but not quite veering into disrespect again. "You always say that we have to respect each other, and trust each other, but you were hiding something really important from me. I get that you can't tell me everything yet; I don't like it, but I get it, I guess. I don't get why you kept the whole thing secret from me."
"I made an error of judgement," he told her, meeting her gaze directly. "I wasn't looking at it as keeping a secret, but as omitting something that might upset you that I didn't think you needed to know. I didn't think it would matter, if I couldn't tell you what I'd changed."
She blinked rapidly several times, and dashed tears away from first her right eye, then her left. "It does matter."
"I can see that it matters to you, although I'm still not sure I understand why."
"It matters because… because it's scary. I know you could enter my mind any time you wanted to, and I also know I'm not strong enough to stop you. It usually doesn't bother me much, because mostly you only do it to help me, but when we're having Occlumency lessons, you always tell me you're there, either out loud or by letting me sense your presence, you know? But now it turns out that you've gone into my mind when I wasn't aware, and changed something, and I might never have found out about it for years if you didn't make the mistake with my transfiguration stuff."
"It never occurred to me that way, until now. I'm sorry, Calista."
He thought he understood now, what it had cost her each time she had been honest with him. He'd always thought it should have been simple for her to go to him when she needed help, never comprehended why she'd often tried to hide her mistakes and fix them herself before admitting she was in over her head. But now he was reminded of something he had learned a long time ago. It was not easy to admit a mistake in the first place; when that mistake negatively impacted someone you loved, put you at risk for being on the receiving end of their disdain, or rejection, it was exceedingly difficult.
"Thank you," she said quietly, and he thought she understood that quite as well as he did.
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