Chapter 10: We're star-crossed lovers… or something…

Blaise Zabini

Hogwarts, Great Britain

I considered the second day of classes my real first day. Unlike yesterday, I wasn't horrifically sleep-deprived. As soon as I finished negotiating with Daphne and Tracey, I beelined for my dorm, took a shower, and went to bed. I thanked Slytherin's dead ass for the privacy charms on the curtains that drowned out the noise. I was out in seconds.

It meant I got to wake up at seven, a full hour and a half before class, with a clear head devoid of the fog that clouded my thoughts yesterday. And the first thing I did was lambast myself for what I did the day prior.

It wasn't that there was much else I could have done with Daphne, not without any preparation, but I should have postponed the meeting for another day. What I said wasn't the issue as much as how I said it. Looking through old-Blaise's memories on pureblood etiquette, I could see a dozen different things I'd done that could be considered faux pas in more elitist circles.

Things weren't so bad with Daphne, she was clearly used to more informality thanks to her cousin, but I'd have to keep my state of alertness in mind for future negotiations, lest I make enemies instead of clients.

Tired-Blase was a rude, acerbic smartass. Noted.

A sense of alertness wasn't the only thing that came with a good night's sleep for me. The aches and pains from residual dark magic coursing through my body were diminished. Hell, I'd swear my own magic responded more eagerly, as if it had been waiting for me to finally get a hold of myself.

I quickly washed up and returned to my dorm. With an hour and a half before class, charms with the puffs first today, I could afford to do a bit of scrying. First things first was the soon-to-be bane of my existence: Astronomy.

I didn't know if it was something Professor Sinistra enforced when she began teaching or if it was just part of Hogwarts tradition, but all seven years had a mandatory midnight class each week, which meant my sleep schedule would suffer every Wednesday without exception. At least, until I found a way to get out of it.

I fully intended to approach the professor about my narcolepsy. She wasn't unreasonable from what I gathered, though she was almost obsessively in love with her subject. I had a genuine medical reason for why I shouldn't attend, but between trying to convince Sinistra on my own or having my head of house advocate for me, I honestly felt I'd have better luck going it alone. Charisma was Snape's dump stat.

To that end, I had to show that I wasn't simply trying to skive off the least convenient class. The best way I could think of was to show my own interest in her subject and my willingness to put in the work outside of class time, which was why I had my ball on my lap and a roll of parchment by my side.

I closed my eyes and focused on tomorrow's lesson. I'd already been in the Astronomy tower so it helped to know what I was working with. The stars weren't going to magically wink out of existence and the planets weren't about to dip out of orbit. What I was doing might be precognition, but there were few things more set in stone than the rotation of celestial bodies.

I trickled a hint of my magic into the crystal ball and opened my third eye. Doing this always made me feel so small, like I was a leaf floating in the middle of an ocean of possibilities.

I used the astronomy classroom as my focus, using it like a lighthouse to center me. I reeled in my focus until I could see one possible future, the actions of my professor. Then, I did what every dutiful student did: I took notes. By the time I finished, I had her lecture notes as well as the assignment, a worksheet on general astronomy knowledge, filled out. Hopefully, I could convince her that I actually did give a damn about her class.

With the answers right in front of me, and with the focusing enchantments of my crystal ball, the task only took half an hour. By this point, my roommates were starting to rise so I packed my bags and made sure to take my crystal ball with me. A bit of insight throughout the day was worth the risk that I might possibly lose it.

"Morning," I called as I got ready to leave.

"Morning, Zabini," Heath grunted. "You're up early. Goyle was thinking about getting another bucket of water."

"What can I say? I love my sleep."

"What do we have first?"

"Charms with the duffers," Nott chimed in. Only our second day and he was already showing that house pride. "Maybe we'll actually cast something today."

"We did. Lumos is a spell."

"Bloody hell, Parkinson, lumos is a spell like a gecko's a dragon. It's not the same."

I opted to ignore their budding argument and headed off to the great hall for breakfast. I found that I wasn't really hobbling quite so much anymore. I still needed the blasted pimp cane, but now that I was better rested, I could afford to not rely on it constantly.

I sat with the rest of the boys my year. One of the downsides of being half-Italian and spending much of my time on the continent was that I wasn't particularly close with my peers. Even before my insertion, Blaise was something of a wallflower, if a boy could be described as such, always there among the scions of the so-called pureblood elite, but never quite part of their number. He'd tried the penpal thing, but quickly grew bored of the attempt.

Not that they would've been the paragons of friendship and warmth otherwise, but my position in the house of serpents reflected my position outside of it. Though I wasn't excluded, no one saw fit to draw me into conversation. That Theo likely felt scorned by my refusal to give up the suite probably didn't help matters.

Was it juvenile? Yes, but we were, in the end, fourteen.

The girls arrived a few minutes after us. The food appeared on the tables, a veritable feast of breakfast options. I reached for my newly materialized goblet, tipping it subtly towards Daphne and Tracey. I brought it to my lips, but froze before the orange juice touched my mouth.

I felt a sharp pain on my nose. Then, as I watched, it took on the consistency of taffy or melted wax, before some invisible force took hold of it. It stretched out painfully, swelling out long and red, until it was almost a foot long. There was a stuffed, overfull sensation that left my nose feeling awfully congested.

Then time resumed again, leaving my face unmarred. The me of the present was seated at the table, having just greeted Greengrass and with the cup raised before my lips. I quickly realized what had happened: Like when I heard my dear aunt open the basement door, my Sight had activated on its own, triggered by what I perceived as impending harm.

My eyes flitted rapidly to the Gryffindor table. Sure enough, a pair of identical redheads were snickering to themselves. They glanced at the length of the Slytherin table every few seconds. They were subtle about it, but now that I knew the end result, the culprits were obvious.

'At least they're not singling me out,' I mused, setting my goblet down.

I thought about how I ought to deal with this. To tell or not to tell? But with only a few seconds, the decision was taken from my hands. I already saw a few people around the table begin to take a sip.

"Don't drink," I called, making some of them pause. Others ignored me or didn't hear. "The juice is drugged."

One of the older students, a second or third year I'd yet to get the name of, frowned. "What are you talking about, firstie?"

Then it started. Our quarter of the hall was filled with the surprised squawks of students who'd failed to heed my warning in time. Pained, nasally wimpers echoed around our table, mostly near the younger years' end. It seemed that after a few years, testing your food for potions was just a habit that older Slytherins picked up, maybe because of the Weasley twins, maybe because of each other. I wasn't sure which option was sadder.

In hindsight, perhaps I could have found a way to subtly warn only a handful of people. That might have made clear what being in my good graces could get them. I could sit back and act all-knowing while people considered what they'd offer me for my services.

I snorted. That sounded pretentious as fuck even in my own head. Worse, it'd make me a shitload of enemies. There was being mercenary; then there was being an insufferable asshole. It was a fine line, one I wasn't sure I could walk perfectly. I'd try to stay on the right side of it though, if only for my continued comfort.

As it was, none of the first years drank. Neither did a handful of the second years who heard me in time. The ones with engorged noses were proof enough of the validity of my warnings anyway, no need to be a dick about it.

"That's what I'm talking about," I said, nodding to the second year. I tapped the goblet in front of me. "House elves, if you are listening, may I have a goblet of filtered water?"

The orange juice in my cup disappeared, funneling through a drainage pipe effect. Seconds later, clear water bubbled up, replacing the goblet's contents. I raised it to my lips and, when no vision was forthcoming, took a contented sip before thanking the elves.

"Huh… You couldn't have warned us any sooner?"

"I could not. I spoke up seconds after I received the vision. Really, being a seer isn't nearly as all-powerful as people like to think it is."

"Well thanks for the save, firstie."

"House unity and whatnot. I noticed that none of the seventh years said anything though."

"Why would they?" the older boy snorted. "The older years like to talk about unity, but it's mostly hogwash. Don't get me wrong, if you're getting bullied or hexed in the halls, we'll back you up, but unless something keeps you from doing well in class, the house likes to let you make your own mistakes."

"So long as you don't make the house look too bad with those mistakes?"

"Exactly."

"Well that's nothing to worry about," Lyra spoke up from further down the table. She picked up her goblet and took a long sip. When her nose did not pop a boner, she smirked triumphantly. "You see? Those weasels are nothing."

"Come off it, Malfoy," Daphne snorted. "You've got an enchanted ring that neutralizes most harmful potions."

I almost laughed as her face pinched in consternation. Her hand went to a beautiful, golden ring on her finger. Enchanted rings were expensive as hell, often heirlooms, but they weren't unheard of. I had one myself after all, albeit not enchanted with poison negation. I wondered if Lyra wanted to make herself seem mysteriously powerful.

I rolled my eyes. Of course she did; this was Lyra Malfoy.

"Ooh, is that an enchanted ring?" Millicent cooed. "No wonder you're fine. Lord Malfoy must have spent a fortune."

"Of course he did," Lyra replied, getting back in the swing of things now that she was showing off daddy's money. "Father only gives me the best there is."

"It's beautiful too."

I promptly tuned out the rest of their banter. Daphne's eyes met mine, just long enough to nod subtly in acknowledgement. Maybe I hadn't spoken up to help her and her cousin specifically, but I wouldn't mind them thinking otherwise.

Breakfast passed mostly peacefully after that bit of drama. The older years looked vaguely amused at everyone else's plight. The ones who were suffering now, third and fourth years especially, were plotting revenge they'd likely fail at thanks to the Marauder's Map. The younger years got to see me do something unambiguously seer-y firsthand. Really, it would have been perfect had it not been for the twins.

The twins looked rather disappointed that only a few were caught in their pranks. They looked especially closely at us, the first years who'd gone completely unscathed. Judging by the way Parvati was chattering and their narrowed gaze at me in particular, they'd connected the dots, and quickly too. They were jerks, but no one ever called them stupid.

I had a feeling I'd be the target of their pranks in the future. Testing themselves against a seer seemed like exactly the kind of thing they'd do.

"Well, at least this year won't be boring," I mused as I gorged myself on eggs, bacon, and toast.

X

"Let's get started where we left off yesterday," Professor Flitwick said in his squeaky voice. His thick mustache was immaculately groomed and bounced jauntily with every twitch of his lips. "Who can tell me what a charm is? How about you, Miss Blustrode?"

The half-goblin professor was an animated liked to lecture on the move, with big, flourishing motions of his hands. Because he was so short, the man had built several towers of thick tomes to act as pedestals from which he could observe the class. He hopped from one to the other, always with a surety that was as baffling as it was fun to watch.

The pudgy girl started in her seat, uncomfortable with being the center of attention. Flitwick was quickly becoming my favorite teacher, but he had a habit of volun-telling students to keep us engaged. Part of me thought he liked seeing us squirm a bit.

"Umm… A charm is a spell cast through a wand?" she said, unsure of herself.

"Corect! Take a point to Slytherin. Although, that's not all of course. Tell us more, Mister Hopkins."

The Hufflepuff boy, whispering with his seat partner, winced as the attention shifted. "Crap. Ah… A charm is temporary and doesn't change the form of something, unlike transfiguration."

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Yes, that's right, a point for Hufflepuff. Now listen closely. In full, a charm is a catch-all term for any named spell cast with a wand. Notice I said 'named spell.' This means that accidental bouts of magic, with or without a wand, are not charms, strictly speaking. Miss Bones? Did you have a question?"

"Yes, professor. You said charms are wanded spells. Does that mean transfiguration spells are also charms?"

"My dear, it depends on who you ask. Why, Professor McGonagall and I have had fascinating debates about this very subject. There was a time in which they were considered charms, yes," he said with a sly nod. "The truth is that magical education has evolved over the millennia. As wizards and witches developed more spells, they found that this catch-all definition of the word 'charm' wasn't very useful, even if it is technically true. So, we as a society decided that transfiguration, the art of changing the form of a living being or object, should be addressed as a separate subject.

"However, it's worth noting that there is still considerable overlap and debate over where exactly one specific spell or another should be classified. For example, animated transfiguration, often seen in high-level dueling, combines both charms and transfiguration spells to devastating effect. Conjuration spells, such as avis, which creates a flock of birds, can fall under either branch but are often taught in transfiguration classes because the mental discipline needed to cast the spell most closely aligns with a change of form.

"Oh, I'm getting a little off track, aren't I? I suppose the takeaway is this: The taxonomy of magic is in fact a highly complex and nuanced subject. However, this taxonomy was made by men, for men, not by magic itself. It's important to remember that going forward. Magic, in the end, is about flexibility. Does that answer your question, Miss Bones?"

"Yes, professor," the redhead nodded with a smile.

"Excellent. We'll get to more discussion in the future. Let's table my lecture on magic theory and taxonomy for the day and get to actually practicing some spells."

With a jovial wave of his wand, the center of the classroom opened itself up, all of his books lifting into the air and slotting themselves perfectly onto the nearby shelves. I could have sworn there were more shelves now than there were when we came in. In fact, the room looked a bit bigger, though I couldn't tell for certain if it was because of the sudden cleanliness or because Professor Flitwick just cast a silent space expansion charm.

I wouldn't put it past him. The little man was by all accounts among the most talented charms-masters in the world.

He had us start with lumos again. Those of us who could cast it and nox flawlessly were permitted to come to the center space and practice the knockback jinx, flipendo, against conjured targets. This way, the ones who needed a bit of extra help could receive the professor's attention while the rest of the class could continue to progress and begin to hone our aim.

We were lined up in rows of four so as to not get in each other's way. I stood at the back of one line, watching my classmates take their shots. The spell wasn't particularly difficult, as were all first year spells. The goal of the year's curriculum was to teach our bodies to channel magic through our wands and in a specific direction while gradually incorporating wand motions, incantations, and correct timing into our casting.

In front of me, Theo looked back with a meaningful stare. He'd picked me out as his rival in the dorm now that I'd refused to step down from the monthly leaderboard. When his turn came, he stepped up with a confident smirk.

He held his wand in front of his face like a sword and dipped his head in a quick bow reminiscent of a duelist. Then, with a flourish, he jabbed his wand towards the target and said, "Flipendo!"

His wand sparked, but nothing came out. That didn't stop him from strutting back with a swagger in his step though.

To be fair, no one had gotten it so far and I was no different. When I went next, all I got was a dim glow of my wand. I returned to my place in line without a word. It was more challenging than expected, especially with my wand that seemed to shy away from aggressive spells. Or was that just my imagination?

The advice Flitwick gave us was that we should perform the final jab as if we were pushing something back, but getting our magic to comply was harder than any of us had expected.

In the end, I decided to study how others did it. I spread out my own senses much as I'd done in Diagon Alley. Back then, I'd been able to see the flow of the enchantment in the brickwork. I'd used it to determine the pattern needed to open the entrance.

Observing spells as they were being cast proved to be noticeably more difficult, especially as I wasn't holding their hand or anything. It didn't help that Hogwarts was one of the most magical places on earth. The sensation of so broadly opening myself up to the world around me was akin to waking up and stepping out into the noonday sun. I found myself recoiling instinctively from the brightness of it all but forced myself to persevere.

The first to get it right was Susan Bones, the busty redhead from Hufflepuff. It only took her two tries. I watched as her magic coiled around her, before jetting forward with her jab as if it was one of those spring-loaded boxing gloves in cartoons. She stood there, wand jutted outward, with a surprised frown on her face as though she herself hadn't expected that to happen.

"Bravo, Miss Bones! Ten points to Hufflepuff!" Flitwick cheered. "Remember, it's all about visualization."

"M-My aunt showed me the spell," she stammered, rosy-cheeked. It seemed she wasn't the type to take praise well.

Her familiarity with defensive magic made sense considering who she was related to. Madam Amelia Bones was the director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It didn't surprise me that she'd teach her niece a little extra on the side.

I smiled and watched the lines move forward. Each student took their shot, some better than others. I studied the way their magic moved. Some students' magic poured out in force like a stream, which I felt put an overemphasis on their raw power, while others resembled something akin to a puff of air or a deflating balloon, pressured, but not nearly enough to give it range. I wondered what each said about their visualization process.

I skipped my second turn to observe and decide on an image I wanted to replicate. Then, when it came time, I stood at a leisurely stance, left hand balanced on my cane and right hand holding my wand.

I forced myself to still as I looked inward, reaching out for the magic I already couldn't dream of living without.

My wand was not a powerful one, nor one that embraced overt displays of magic. It was subtle and precise, shying away from committed strikes. If I had to liken it to a weapon, it was like a rapier; a little shorter than some swords, but lighter and with more finesse.

With that in mind, I willed my magic into shape. A jab. A thrust. What was the difference? I didn't need power here; I needed precision.I did my best to replicate Susan's tight coils. Then, after imagining a spring-loaded gun, I jabbed forward.

"Flipendo."

A bolt of magic, a subdued red that wasn't as Susan's lanced out and struck the target. As the second to get the spell correct, Filtwick awarded me five points. By the end of class, most everyone was able to cast the spell, though I noticed I was the most accurate of us all.

X

After came potions, the most dreaded class of all, at least for three quarters of the school. This was less so for us Slytherins, but I'd be lying if we weren't at least a little nervous. Our head of house had yet to step foot in the common room even once and he'd somehow managed to cultivate an aura of mystique, as though he were some great demon lord who should never be summoned for frivolous reasons.

Personally, I was less intimidated and more curious. Severus Snape, or Prince if you wanted to be an insufferable nerd about canon, was the single most controversial figure in the setting. Even dismissing the rampant fan theories, he was either a redeemed martyr or a petty, unrepentant bully who took what vindictive joy he could from helpless students. Either way, he was a man who was mired in the past, both the memories of his first love and his bullies.

What would he be like here? Would Violet's gender influence their relationship? And if so, for the better or worse? Would she remind him more of Lily than James now that she didn't have a penis? Would he dote on her and be some kind of silent guardian angel like he was in so many fanfics? Or would he find her to be a corruption of his image of Lily?

Hell, there was a solid chance that if Snape tried the guardian angel schtick, Violet would just find him overbearing and creepy.

Not that I'd blame her. My personal stance on Snape was that he was a huge fuckup of a man whose circumstances could pardon only so much. In fact, I'd even go as far as to argue that the bulk of his circumstances were created by his own actions. I wasn't sympathetic.

I'd had a lot of time to consider how I wanted to deal with Snape. Interacting with him would have been necessary, even had I not been placed in Slytherin, but especially now that I was a snake. Most of the benefits I wanted from topping the house leaderboards were things he could grant, which meant I'd have to impress the man regardless of my opinion of him.

For that, I'd have to get his attention.

I intentionally separated myself from my housemates and occupied a seat at the very center of the room, on the fringe between Gryffindor and Slytherin partitions. I tapped the table as Violet and Parvati passed, shooting the Girl Who Lived a pointed look before someone from my house could claim the seat next to me.

The pair of them shared an unspoken conversation and separated. To my frustration, it was Parvati who sat with me.

She noticed my annoyance and shot me an admittedly cute pout. "Are you really that unhappy to see me?"

"It's not you. I had something to give to Potter, that's all," I said quietly. I pulled out a slip of parchment with a short, numbered list of seemingly random items and discreetly placed it on her lap beneath the desk. "Do me a favor. Go to Potter and pass this along as if you wrote it."

As expected of the resident gossipmonger, her eyes positively glittered at that. "Aww, that's so cute. Is this a confession?"

"No. But if she doesn't have this, she might be rather miffed with you. Please?"

"Hmm… I want a prediction from you then."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, just go, before Professor Snape sweeps in."

She did so. I could feel Violet's eyes staring at me in confusion, two seats behind and to my right. She'd figure out what it meant before Snape started asking his questions. Or she wouldn't and it'll be hilarious to be a smug little shit at her. Either way, she couldn't say I hadn't warned her.

I wasn't just doing this for the sake of messing with Violet of course. Truthfully, this was a bit of a litmus test on my end. Out of every canon character, Snape was the one who might have deviated the most as a result of Violet's gender. I wanted to see how reliable the books and movies would be. If he made the same vainglorious speech and asked the same questions, that may or may not refer to flower language, then I could shape my future interactions with the man around that information.

If he didn't, then I'd have to observe him more before going to him for any favors in the future.

Before I could ruminate more, a side door in front of the class slammed open, startling the students. Professor Snape swooped into the room, cloak fluttering like a bat. I'd always cringed at the description in fanfictions, but the man really did remind me of a budget Dracula.

He didn't waste any time before jumping right into his speech.

"Put your wands away. There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even," he paused dramatically, staring out at Violet, "put a stopper in death."

I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. The man was a drama queen of the highest order. Alas, we were his captive audience. I found my own lips moving along in boredom, mouthing his speech under my breath.

"Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not pay attention." He stomped towards Violet and sneered. "Miss Potter… our new celebrity…"

Yup. It seemed he'd be just as much of a pain in the ass as in canon. Whatever good he might do in the future, that didn't change the fact that he was a colossal dick to his students. As a former college librarian, and an educator myself in some small fashion, seeing him pull this shit in real life annoyed me like nails on chalkboard.

"I didn't ask for this," Violet sneered right back. She was older; she wouldn't be cowed as easily. "You think I want to be me? Sure, I'm so happy the day my parents got murdered is a national holiday to you wankers. Do you have any idea what that's like? For the whole bloody world to dance on their graves? Do you, professor?"

The whole class fell deathly silent at that retort. We had the unique privilege of seeing Severus Snape reel back like he'd been slapped.

He studied her like she was an alien animal, some rabid thing he'd never seen before. Then, he collected himself and nodded. "Perhaps you are not the empty-headed dullard obsessed with undeserved fame. Twenty points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter, and detention for two nights."

"What the fu-"

"Three." Her mouth clamped shut with an audible click. "Let's see if you're just hot air, hmm? Tell me, Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"How should I know?" she demanded, more out of reflex than anything. Then her brain caught up to her mouth and remembered what I'd given her. I could tell the exact moment the dots connected because her eyes widened and flickered my way. "The draught of death or something."

"Living death, girl. Let's try again. Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

"The apothecary. Or goat stomach, I guess."

"Once more. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"They're the same plant, professor," she bit out. The forced civility was obvious to hear.

Snape looked at Violet disbelievingly. None of this was first year material. Even if it was, Snape was one of the few who were fully aware of Violet's upbringing. He knew damn well that her stumbling on the information by coincidence was astronomically unlikely.

He turned around, scanning the room to see if there was a trick he'd missed. Leontes had his hand waving like a loon behind Violet's seat, but he largely got what he expected, a room full of stupefied teenagers.

Until his eyes roamed the center of the class and found me.

I locked eyes with my head of house and subtly nodded, confirming what was obvious. A seer arrives. A student appears supernaturally gifted. Snape wasn't an idiot; he could do basic math.

It's not as though I was trying to hide. Hell, my entire plan could be summed up as refuge in audacity. This was just one part of that.

I allowed my eyes to flicker towards Violet, then Snape, and wrung my hands in open nervousness. I looked at Parvati, who looked suitably mystified, and back at him. Then I seemingly steeled my resolve and did my best to stare him down.

I wouldn't be winning any Oscars, but my mediocre acting wasn't important. The point was twofold, a two part message to Snape and to the school at large.

Part one: Violet Potter had my help. Somehow, through an unknown price, she earned my support.

That had merit on its own. Prestige itself was something Slytherins strived for and you couldn't get more prestigious than the Girl Who Lived.

I expected this to be a polarizing decision on my part. Some in the house would say I was a "traitor to the house," whatever the fuck that meant, while others would want to associate with Potter for one reason or another. It'd make life interesting for me, but I saw this as something that eventually had to happen regardless: I'd have to pick a side and it sure as hell wouldn't be Voldemort's.

But by far the more important point was the message I sent to Snape. I was taking all his emotional buttons and stomping on them like a monkey on crack.

A girl in Gryffindor? Check.

A boy in Slytherin? Check.

An abnormal display of fondness and protectiveness on the part of the Slytherin? Sure.

Said boy's willingness to isolate himself from his house to befriend her? That hadn't been Snape. He caved to peer pressure in the end. And yet, whatever else he was, he was a man of a great many regrets. It wouldn't surprise me if this was chief among them.

That all of this was happening before his eyes between the daughter of his dearest love and a boy who, by all expectations, should have been as dark as could be?

All arguments could be distinguished into three types: logos, ethos, and pathos. Logic. Morality. Emotion. And emotion was a powerful thing.

This was the Snape I knew from the books and movies. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have asked these specific questions or made that specific speech. If he wasn't, my slip of parchment would have been disregarded as nonsense and I'd never be in this position in the first place.

But he was. He was the same Snape, the man who loved and lost so desperately that his patronus, the magical manifestation of his greatest joy, took on Lily's form.

In my opinion, the most powerful form of argument was pathos. People killed and died for their passions. People abandoned reason and morality in the name of their beloved. And I was leveraging every bit of my knowledge of the man to make this emotional argument: Blaise Zabini and Violet Potter were mirrors of Severus Snape and Lily Evans.

What better way to receive his help, however subtle, than by playing on his sympathy? What better way to play on his sympathy than to force him to see himself in me?

Professor Snape whirled to the front of the class, saying no more on the subject. Still, his attention never left my table, which was precisely what I'd wanted anyway.

In the words of weebs everywhere: All according to keikaku.

Author's Note

I figure even if Snape behaves as normal, an older, more rebellious Violet wouldn't take that lying down. Blaise isn't really a good person. If you think about it, he's literally using a man's dead love and childhood trauma to manipulate him.

Animal fact in honor of the Weasley twins' first prank: The male proboscis monkey has the longest nose among primates, jutting past their mouths and sometimes even past their chins. The longest nose on record was seven inches.

Notice I said males. The proboscis monkey inflates their nose to make a trumpeting mating call. Scientists found that females find longer noses more attractive, meaning they've been selectively breeding themselves to have a seemingly pointless sexually dimorphic trait. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that I guess.

And yes, their noses do look like dicks. Thank you, ZeFrank, you are a national treasure.

Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.