The Last Gryffindor (Sirius Black)

Sequel Ch VII

How much poor fortune was it fair for me to suffer in a single night?

"No trouble, monsieur, " I lied.

If I hadn't confronted him earlier, I might have been able to get out of this mess by shooting off some rapid-fire French until he gave up on surpassing our language barrier. Except, now that I considered it, that wouldn't work, either, due to him having walked in on a conversation in English. Rookie mistake on my part. I made a mental note to conduct all future conversations with Maellie in her native tongue to avoid eavesdropping by nosey Hogwarts professors.

Professor Severus Snape watched me carefully with a poorly veiled distaste that did nothing to hide how little he believed me.

"I do not treat with liars," he said coolly, and I wasn't naive enough to discount the possibility that he was a Legilimens based on his unwavering confidence. "What were you really up to? Tell me. Now."

The fact that it was a command, not a request, was not lost on me. I bristled at his tone. Something about it was undeniably demeaning for no good reason. It wasn't like Maellie had punched him, after all. I wasn't even a Hogwarts student, so the grudge Parvati claimed he carried against Gryffindors obviously didn't apply here. Besides, in all this time Snape hadn't so much as glanced Maellie's way, meaning his intense distaste had nothing to do with us and everything to do with me.

Pathetic. An adult man in his thirties had no business carrying such petty, personal grudges against random teenagers he didn't know. I, on the other hand, held no such stigmas. It was practically expected for my age group.

When I was too slow to respond for his liking, the professor's lip curled. "Do not make me repeat myself. Tell me. Now."

I snapped. Who knew when I'd get another chance to corner him to near this extent of privacy, Maellie notwithstanding. "No, you tell me!" I tossed his own words right back in his face. "What happened to Aeliana Gryffindor, Death Eater?"

Whatever he expected out of tonights encounter, that certainly wasn't it. He went still, unnaturally so. His features, seemingly carved out of large blocks of ice for their coldness and immobility, disclosed no great flash of recognition to indicate I hit the mark in any respect, but my gut told me what Parvati said was true: this man had indeed been a Death Eater, and if I could believe that much, it only followed to believe he had to know my mother in her last years before she disappeared. It was as good a lead as I'd ever gotten, or ever would get again.

"I know no person by that name," Snape replied dismissively after a time.

"Did you watch her die?" I pressed, hardly waiting for his response to leave his mouth for me to barrage him further. "How? When? What did she do to earn Voldemort's wrath when she was on his side? Did you help him kill her? Or," my heart leapt to somewhere high in my throat, making it difficult to swallow, "is she still alive?"

I didn't want to admit to myself how much my hopes buoyed at my own question - and then fell for a multitude of reasons, such as what that would mean for why she left me, and also Professor Snape's reaction to the query. With his one understated response, the subtle shifting of his eyes off me to somewhere distant for scarcely more than a second, I knew without a doubt she had died. My mother was not merely missing. She was gone. Horribly, irretrievably gone. Forever out of reach, and possibly her secrets with her.

I eyed Snape, and my lips thinned into a hard pressed line. No. Not her secrets. Those I could still scrap together, even if I couldn't do that for the woman — really she had just been a girl — herself. I'd rip the answers I sought from his deceptive tongue, and if his responses couldn't satisfy me, I would seek out Death Eater after Death Eater until I finally understood, including the traitor that was my father. Although, given that the whole of the Ministry also wanted to apprehend him, my odds weren't looking particularly favorable at the moment.

No matter. Their need to find him paled in comparison to my own. They wanted it, but I needed it. This unquenchable yearning to understand both myself and something so much greater than myself was eating me whole, and I doubted it would ever be enough.

"What is it to you, boy?" Snape said the last word with equal loathing to match my tone when I called him a Death Eater. "Let the past stay in the past. Why should you care about a long-dead agent of the Dark Lord? Don't pry in matters that do not concern you. This will be my only warning."

"Why would I care?" I repeated, increasingly aware of Maellie's presence to my left. "That's my mother! I think that gives me the right to some explanation, don't you?"

Without warning, or even time to blink, Snape shoved me against the side of the greenhouse running perpendicular to us, a forearm over my throat and a vice-like grip on my shoulder holding me in place. My head cracked against the reinforced glass.

"What are you doing?" Maellie's voice cut through the pounding in my ears. "I don't care if you're a professor or the queen herself, if you don't let him go, I'll–"

"Silence!" Although he spoke now in a harsh whisper, he seemed to drown her out. "You do not know what you are talking about! That girl had no children before she died, and if she did, they are far better off not being associated with her name." His intense eyes boring deep into mine, as though searching for something — proof, maybe? — he hissed, "As she no doubt intended."

Then, just as abruptly, he pulled away, dark robes whipping wildly about his lean form. It took me by surprise, it all took me by surprise, and I found myself slumping to the ground before my legs could remember how to hold my weight from the shock.

A warning. He was warning me about something, but why?

"All I want to know is what happened to my mother!" I insisted, allowing Maellie to pull me handily back to my feet. "Aeliana Gryffindor."

"Forget. Her. Name." Snape turned away, prepared to return to the castle, and I got the distinct impression he didn't want to look at me, that he hated to. "Or you will regret it. "

"Then tell me this, why have you been glaring at me ever since I arrived in October? It's because of her, right? Because you knew her? You recognized me, didn't you!"

He sneered, "I recognized you, all right. But not because of any perceived resemblance to a dead girl."

It took a second for me to understand what he meant, or rather, who he meant. My father. I felt an angry flush rise up my neck in response. "You won't tell me anything? Fine! I'll ask someone else. Convicted Death Eater Igor Karkaroff is within this castle, too, lest you forget. Mad-Eye Moody also has a penchant for drink, and might be amenable to revealing the location of accused other Death Eaters who escaped prison time while under its influence! I'll chase every single rumor until I get my answers, with or without you."

I flung each sentence at the professor like individual daggers. While I gave up on the idea of him being of use, I was nearly shaking in my fury and needed him to know how futile his resistance was, because I would figure out a path anyway, the way I always did. He wasn't special. His worthless warning could rot.

But I overplayed my hand.

Instead of returned vitriol, Snape resumed his cold, level drawl. "We'll see about that."

With those parting words, he swept away.

By the next morning, Professor Dumbledore and Madam Maxime arranged for me to take Floo Powder back to Castle Beauxbaton, correctly connecting me to the squabble with Elijah that neither of them should have ever known about, beyond the evidence of a purpling bruise marring my cheekbone. Snape was behind it. He had to be, but he shouldn't have known either, since Elijah stood to get in equal trouble if he revealed his involvement just to get me punished.

It was almost like he could read into my mind.

A/N
I love Alan Rickman as much as the next gal, but I stand by the knowledge that snape was supposed to be in his mid thirties, not late fifties.