TOADSPAWN | H.P.

Chapter 19

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter World belongs to J.K. Rowling.

*

HEATHER HADN'T PLAYED WIZARD'S CHESS IN YEARS. She would have liked to claim that she was still as good as she was back in the day, but Ron Weasley was undeniably a chess prodigy.

Harry also got unusually heated when playing, too—in ways that Heather hadn't ever seen before, despite knowing him for his entire life.

"Squash him, squash him—he's only a pawn, you idiot—,"

"Harry," Heather laughed, leaning forward from the spot she was sitting at on the couch, "Take a breather."

"You're close—just—," Harry cut himself off as he realised Heather had spoken, glancing up with furrowed brows, "Sorry, Heather, what did you say?"

"Nothing," She said, deciding that this was far too amusing to try to stop him, "Just that you two are both very good."

"Do you play?" Ron asked, his eyes brighter than Heather had ever seen before. He was absently tapping a rhythm on the wood of the table as he surveyed the board, and Heather replied, "I used to. Travis was better, though."

"Next time he's here I should verse him," Ron said eagerly, before making his next move and returning his focus to the game.

Travis had been very silent after their visit to the hospital and seeing Frank and Alice. He'd told Heather that he wanted to be alone, and was now in one of the rooms upstairs, away from the noise of the first floor. She understood—she reallydid—the kind of pain that Travis was going through, and had left him to have his time by himself, even though she wanted nothing more than to hug and comfort him.

"Maybe next time," Heather responded with a light smile, hoping that neither of the boys could see the warring emotions in her grey eyes.

***

THE TEA THAT HEATHER HAD BEEN ENJOYING ONLY MOMENTS BEFORE SUDDENLY TASTED STALE.All she'd been doing was sitting, enjoying her afternoon meal of fresh bread and tea, when Snape had swept into the room and sat down in a seat further down the table. He effectively killed any sort of relaxation that Heather had been basking in.

"What the hell, Severus?" Heather couldn't stop herself from saying, a little distastefully, "Why are youhere?"

"Same as you, Black," He spat back, equally as irritated, "Dumbledore's orders. You think I wantto be around you and your people?"

Heather scoffed. Back when she went to Hogwarts (for the first time), she'd never gotten along with Snape. He was quiet at first, and she didn't mind him until he became a Death Eater and started being all shady with the purebloods. The rumours had been bad—word got around about the terrible things they'd do outside of school. Especially after what he did to Lily, and all the things he would say about the Gryffindors, Heather couldn't stand him. At the time, he'd been close with Carter Yaxley, and even after knowing that Heather despised Yaxley, he'd always still purposefully prod her with her arranged marriage. It was something that got to her more than she'd care to admit—particularly when she'd always been desperately trying to rid the marriage from her mind. Being Yaxley's stupid trophy wife had been her biggest fear and Snape didn't even hesitate at using it against her.

Even now, though technically they were on the same 'side', she would much rather have at least a twenty metre radius between her and Snape. Even the sight of his sour face made the room feel suffocating, and she heaved a sigh and just continued drinking her tea in silence.

"So, you and McKinnon lied to everyone."

Heather rolled her eyes, "It was far more than that, but okay."

Snape drawled, "All of that effort, time and energy—only to end up here, again, all alone. What a waste."

"You're projecting, Snape," Heather sneered, her grip around her teacup tightening slightly, "Please mind your own business."

She would never admit that even after all this time—Snape still knew exactly how to hurt her. Instead, she put up a hard expression and glared at him.

She was so angry that she barely noticed Sirius slip in and sit down at the table with his newspaper and tea—shooting Snape a glare as sharp as the one Heather had been directing at him moments before.

A few minutes later, Harry came in, too—looking confused and lost, and he cleared his throat awkwardly to announce his presence and cut through the tense silence.

"Sit down, Potter," Snape said, his tone icy in a way that made both Heather and Sirius prickle.

"You know," Sirius said loudly, "I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders, here. It ismy house, you know."

Snape scoffed, "Black, Dumbledore ordered me to speak to Potter. Alone." He gave Heather and Sirius pointed looks. Harry gave Heather and Sirius desperate, pleading looks—don't leave me in here alone with him.

Heather had never related to something more. She doubted anybody wanted to be left alone with someone as prickly as Snape.

"I'm his godfather," Sirius snapped.

Snape ignored him, "The headmaster instructed me to teach you Occlumency, Potter."

"What?" Harry said blankly.

"The magical defence of the mind against external penetration," Snape sneered, "I doubt you'll be able to pick it up fast enough, but Dumbledore wants you to know it."

Harry visibly paled at Snape's crude explanation.

"Who will be teaching me?" Harry said, sounding very worried as he glanced around the room at Heater and Sirius hopefully.

"I will be," Snape said silkily, and Heather's fist clenched underneath the table.

She was a well-versed, well-trained witch herself, and knew exactly what learning occlumency involved—absolute trust, and often invasion of memories during the process; whether it be accidental or purposeful.

Somebody like Snape, though...would no doubt happily abuse his job to hurt Harry—mock his memories, or distort the past such that he could justify his own cruelty. She really wouldn't put it past him to find joy in bullying a fifteen-year-old—because Harry was James' kid, and objectively more important than Snape was.

The blood drained from Harry's face and he looked seriously scared—so much so that Heather worried about how exactly Snape had treated him in the past, to instil so much fear into such a brave boy.

"Why can't Dumbledore teach him?" Sirius said furiously, "Or—,"

"Believe me, I did not beg for the job. " Snape said coldly, as he got to his feet with a loud scrapeof the chair, "If it were up to me—,"

"I'll teach him," Heather cut in, forcefully unclenching her jaw and also getting to her feet, matching Snape's eye-level and giving him a determined glare.

All eyes turned to her. She didn't falter.

"Black—," Snape began, a mocking retort on the tip of his tongue, but Heather was ready for it—she knew him too well.

"I'll teach him," Heather repeated firmly, blatantly cutting Snape off, "You're not the only one who can do it, Snape. I think you're overestimating your importance in all this."

An ugly flush suffused Snape's pallid face, "Dumbledore ordered—,"

"I'll talk to Dumbledore myself," Heather didn't let him finish, casting Harry a reassuring glance, "I'll make sure of it."

Some colour returned to the boy's cheeks, and Heather smiled.