A Potion For Everything (Severus Snape x Oc)

You're Not Special

No one truly is, if you think about it. A world full of people. There can never just be one person who is destined to be better than the rest. Only those who for some reason, fate or what they chose to have for breakfast gave an extra task to complete. But there is never one person who could claim to be worse off or better than someone else.

We are unique individuals. With unique perspectives. Unique experiences. Unique understanding of the world. The truth to one could be a lie to another. The fact still stands that life is more like domino's than checkers. We can claim to move the pieces about but in the end. They all fall. And eventually we all feel that crushing weight that is then distributed onto another. We all have a part to play but in the end. Isn't it the same part?

Magic is just magic. It's a concept, and not a defined one at that. We can't physically see, touch, manipulate the idea of it. We create its uses by pure intention. We don't wield anything we simply ask permission to conjure a shape, a desire, a domino.

Nothing and no one can be fully controlled. Eventually the domino's fall, and the magic disappears. And what will you be left with then? Change is constant. Inevitable. And sometimes you should be scared of it. Especially if you truly belive you're the one setting up those domino's.

Voldemort paced back and forth. The dry blood on the hard wood floor nearly missable in the dimmed candle light. His footsteps muffled by the sheer volumised pressure of his thoughts, so light one may have thought he wasn't even touching the ground.

He had killed him. Half of the link. A chain broken. Grindlewald was surly dead. He stopped. "Nothing has changed." He whispered at first. "Why." His head turned to face a corner of the room. Somehow darker than the rest of it. The shadows hiding the face but not the voice.

"Nothing changes instantly, my Lord. You yourself are proof of that alone."

The oily voice of a nameless loyalists trailed off as Voldemort stopped listening half way through. He had heard it before. He knew he couldn't change the wizarding world over night but this had nothing to do with the wizarding world. It had to do with Dumbledor. To weakening him. Nothing changed. Grindelwald, His lover and bond to a magic Voldemort didn't understand was dead. Yet there was no change.

"She must not know." Voldemort hissed, "She must never know. If he had power, it is with her now."

And Voldemort's only fear would ever be those who have power. Viola was a wild card. Demented, deranged and unforgivably delicate. A broken toy is no fun to play with. But a broken weapon is all the more detrimental to the plan.

Grindelwald was dead. Half of the magic that made the Witch who she was, is dead. That had to have changed something.

~~~~~

Snow. How Precious a thing like snow is. Real snow. Made from the product of how the world keeps itself. Regulating its own schedule. Proven time and time again that everything needs rest. However big or small. And perhaps it was this change in temperature and the little white flakes that began this transformation.

Staring at a mirror too long was never good for anyone. But something changed, and Viola wasn't sure. The hairs on her arms held a considerable jolt of magical static that traveled through her. Making her transformations almost impossible. Well not impossible just, different.

The Hufflepuff students she had made friends with along with the "sacked" (on probation) divination teacher. Have been helping her evolve her style. And thankfully she was able to use that as cover. No line the mousy little mushroom professor. With tan and brown as her newly friend. She was adorned celestial fines in gold upon her ears and neck. Trinkets of the bizarre bazar that Hogsmead held for the wandering witch and wizard.