Delyth Snape

The visitor

Summer had stretched on like a rubber band, pulling me further from the routine comfort of Hogwarts and snapping me into the uneasy quiet of Spinner's End. The house, with its dark, narrow corridors and creaking floorboards, always felt smaller when my father was home. I suppose it wasn't his presence, exactly—more the way the air seemed to hold its breath when he walked into a room.

I was sitting in the kitchen, the window open just enough to let in the sound of the wind rustling through the sparse trees outside. A letter from Hannah lay unopened on the table in front of me, but I hadn't worked up the energy to read it yet. Instead, I stared at the empty teacup in front of me, thinking of nothing in particular.

That was until there came a knock on the door. Not many people came to Spinner's End. Certainly not unannounced. My father rarely had visitors outside of his work, and even then, no one dared to show up at the house. Except, it seemed, for Lucius Malfoy.

I didn't need to open the door to know it was him. There was a rhythm to his knock, slow and deliberate, like he expected the world to wait for him.

"Miss Snape," he said as soon as I pulled the door open. His voice was smooth, but cold, like the polished marble floors of Malfoy Manor. His eyes scanned me with the same sort of detached curiosity that always made my skin crawl. 

"Mr. Malfoy," I replied, stepping back to let him in. I never knew what to say to him. There was always this sense of distance, like we were playing a game where I didn't know the rules. 

"I'm here to speak with your father," Lucius said, glancing briefly around the front room, as though it were beneath him to fully take in the place. "Is he home?"

"He's in his study," I said, my fingers tightening around the edge of the door. "I'll let him know you're here."

Lucius didn't bother to respond, already dismissing me as he moved into the sitting room. I quickly left him to fetch my father, my mind already whirring with questions. It had been years since Malfoy last visited the house, but he always came for a reason. Nothing with the Malfoys was ever casual.

I found my father in his study, hunched over a stack of parchment. His quill scratched furiously against the paper, and the low light from the candle cast long shadows across his face.

"Lucius Malfoy is here," I said quietly from the doorway.

He barely glanced up, though the grip on his quill tightened. "Tell him I'll be there shortly."There was no point in lingering. I nodded and returned to the front room, where Malfoy was now pacing idly, one hand brushing against the mantelpiece as though he were weighing whether it deserved his attention.

"He'll be out in a moment," I said, feeling my skin prickle under his scrutiny.

"Good," Lucius replied, though his tone suggested he hadn't expected otherwise. His eyes lingered on me again, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn't kind. "You really have grown, haven't you? You remind me of your mother."

His words hit me like a punch, and for a moment, I couldn't find my voice. He didn't know anything about her. He couldn't—not when I barely remembered her myself. I felt my jaw tighten, but I said nothing. Instead, I offered a curt nod and moved to leave the room.

Upstairs in my room, I finally tore open the letter from Hannah, desperate for a distraction. Her handwriting was messy, the ink smudged in places, but the words were clear enough.

Delyth, do you know anything about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? Dad says there's all sorts of rumors flying about, and I'm dying to know who it is.  Write me back soon! 

When I heard the front door close, I knew Lucius had left. I took that as my chance.

I found my father in the sitting room, staring into the fire. His expression was unreadable, but there was something tense about the set of his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed softly against the armrest.

"Who will our new teacher be this year?" I asked, crossing my arms as I leaned against the doorway. My curiosity about the position matched everyone else's.

My father's gaze flicked to me, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"He is a fool," Severus muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Incompetent."

I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"And dangerous," he added after a pause, his tone sharper. He glanced back at the fire as if the flames held the rest of the explanation. But no more words came.

"Why dangerous?" I pressed.

"That," my father said, his voice cold and final, "is not your concern."

The conversation was over. I could tell by the way he stood, his back straightening as he moved toward the staircase. He always left me with more questions than answers.