White Heather for Protection

Out of the Woodwork

Slashing streaks of crimson ink across the atrociously-written essay on the various uses of pufflepod seeds, Severus resisted the banal urge to cast a Tempus. Again. It would only tell him the same thing as the past three times. Quarter past eight. Half past. Quarter to nine. Still no sign of the wretched brat. His quill stabbed the parchment viciously as he wrote another scathing comment about this particular Gryffindor's incompetence.

A soft knock on the door had him almost lurching out of his seat. Carefully unclenching his fists, he took a deep breath.

"Enter."

Severus stoically kept his gaze on the essay he was supposed to be marking. He waited impatiently as timid steps made their way in. With a mien of disinterest, he looked up.

He couldn't help the frustrated disappointment that washed over him at the sight of his seventh year Prefect. Nonetheless, he gave the boy an imperious look as he began speaking.

'Get a hold of yourself, Severus!' he berated himself. 'You are behaving like a spurned Hufflepuff!'

With one last instruction to the Prefect for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend, Severus sent him off.

Vexed beyond belief, he succumbed to the impulse and cast the time spell. Almost ten. Damnation! Of course Heather wasn't coming today.

Never mind that she had not missed a single Wednesday session since they had started them in her first year. The irresponsible, capricious little wretch. At least some forewarning would have been polite.

'You know why she didn't come,' his inner voice whispered viciously.

And he did. He recalled the disastrous circumstances of their last parting. As always, his explosive temper had gotten the better of him and he'd done something regrettable.

Their Legilimency lessons had always been based on the foundation of trust. Trust that he would keep everything confidential. Trust that he would not abuse his position. And he had callously broken that trust in the heat of anger.

Even now, their previous conversation brought his blood to a boil. Hadrian Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. He sneered in disgust at the thought. Just another reckless, idiotic boy who spared no thought for the worry he would cause his loved ones.

(Heather's despairing expression, etched indelibly in his mind.)

Then he remembered the ferocity with which Heather had defended her brother from the greasy git of the dungeons.

Oh, the resentment burned. Another bastard of a Potter had cost him someone dear.

"Mudblood!" Usually sparkling emerald eyes, tainted with hurt and anger.

He flinched at the wisp of memory. Perhaps it had been ill-done of him to compare her to her mother. He had set himself up for this fallout. History always repeated itself, after all.

But even he had not expected her to take after Lily quite so much.

Straightening from the defeated posture he would never be caught seen in, he firmly locked away the torturous thoughts. His interactions with Heather were a pretty dream, one someone like him wasn't deserving of. He should be content with what he'd already had. The now-constant ache in his forearm simply emphasised the point.

Just as well. With the Dark Mark darkening by the day and whispers of His rising activity, Severus could afford no distractions and even fewer suspicions of his allegiance.

Deatheaters didn't associate with green-eyed, beautiful spitfires - especially not if they were related to the Boy-Who-Lived.

~~~