The Disgraced of the House of Black - A Multi-Character Fanfiction - Part One

79. The Return

"Have a good term," Remus said as they came to a stop on the platform.

"I'll try," Althea replied. "Goodbye, Remus."

"Goodbye, Althea," he replied, accepting her embrace with a smile. "If you ever need me, I'm only an owl away."

Althea smiled, waving goodbye to him before making her way onto the train. Once she had boarded, she almost instantly came across the last person she wanted to see, but for once, he was alone. Althea came to a stop, holding her trunk in a suddenly much tighter grip.

"Something wrong?" Draco snapped, for once seeming ill-inclined to mess with her.

"Nothing," Althea said quickly, attempting to slip past him despite the fact that he was standing directly in the middle of the aisle.

After hesitating a moment, he moved out of the way. Althea continued along the train car until she finally spotted her friends sitting with, to her surprise, Neville.

"Hello," she greeted cheerfully, sliding open the compartment door and attempting to lift her trunk onto the rack.

"Here," Neville said quickly, taking it from her and lifting it up with ease.

"Thank you," she replied, sitting beside him.

As the boys began discussing the Quidditch World Cup, Althea drew out a book. It was a narrative book, following the adventures of a young witch running from the oppressive nature of her family around her and instead finding her home in the world of creatures around her.

.

While the students were making their journey to Hogwarts, the staff were already in place, putting together last-minute preparations for the year before the uncannily quiet halls filled with the usual boom of flustered activity of the school year. High above the clatter of dishes as the house elves prepared the feast in the lowest levels and above even the majority of the classrooms and teacher offices where staff were busy at work, Dumbledore stood in his own office, quiet and pensive as he listened to Professor McGonagall.

"It is utter foolishness!" she cried. "Allowing for such an event at a time like this!"

"Minerva, while I understand your concerns, there is no need for them," Dumbledore said again, forcing himself to maintain his patience. "We shall have Madames Pomfrey and Black on hand at all times in the event of an injury. It will be much safer this time."

"Albus," McGonagall chided. "Surely I am not the only one who has noticed the clear pattern of the last three years? Those four children always end up in the middle of some mess, and I'm worried it will be because of this tournament!"

"Minerva, it is done," Dumbledore said with an air of finality. "Nothing will change it now."

Letting out an irritable huff, she turned on her heel and disappeared. Floors below her, Madam Pomfrey was walking through the Hospital Wing, chattering distractedly to Eliana who was looking through the potions stores.

"Wonder no one's already owled to say there was a problem," she clucked, springing forward to correct a wrinkle on one of the beds. "We'll certainly be busy this year, Eliana."

"More than usual," Eliana agreed. "At least we won't have Quidditch injuries as well."

That comment sent her muttering anew, allowing Eliana to finish her check without any more speech.

Below them, Snape sat alone in his office, his lips pursed as he studied the brand on his forearm. In his Death Eater days, it had always stood out against his skin, a horrid red mark so bright it never failed to catch the eye. He remembered vividly how it would shift from red to jet black with that searing pain he never quite got used to.

It was nowhere near as vivid as it had once been now, but while it had since appeared to him as a faint shadow, it seemed to be growing in brightness. This had happened before. Once about two years after Voldemort's fall. Another time around three years prior. And again just a few months ago, but Snape had never given it much thought. He had expected it to fade like it had every time before, but it had not. It had steadily been growing brighter and brighter with each day that passed, so slowly he hardly noticed it until he spent weeks without looking at it before seeing it again.

The sound of footsteps outside the door instantly caused him to rip his sleeve back over his arm, looking up expectantly. Professor Sprout walked passed, carrying with her a small pot which he assumed was the latest in her series of plants she left in Hufflepuff Common Room each year for her students to identify and care for throughout the year.

He waited until she had left again before slowly pulling back his sleeve. Sometimes, if he stared at it long enough, he thought he saw it move, but when he had been looking long enough, he quickly covered it again. There was no need for such ponderings now. He was being ridiculous, he must be.

Was he ridiculous too for being unable to stop thinking about what Amara, his only sister, his twin sister had said?

"He was the closest thing to a real brother I ever had," Snape muttered bitterly. "What rubbish."

Even still, he wondered if he had been wrong. Perhaps Amara was a better sister than he remembered. All he remembered was that each time one of their parents got it into their heads to remember they had children, it was him they lashed out at. It was always he who received the blow, the punishment, the reprimand.

But he remembered other things too. He remembered hiding with Amara under their bed to escape the arguing from the next room. He remembered Amara nudging him to finally introduce himself to the redheaded girl he found so interesting. It was she who tracked him down when he hid away, not to call him back, but to give him the very bread she herself was desperate to eat.

Perhaps he should have been kinder to her. Yet even so, it was not any of that for which he had grown to hate her. He loved her for her kindness to him, but he loathed her, loathed the very air she breathed because she dared to share it with Potter. Black was bad enough, but Potter too, the thief, the charmer, the snake who slithered into Lily's heart.

Snape instantly got up. He would not think about her, anything but her.

He had tried to love after her, but it had only ended in ruin. He knew he was resigned to loving Lily Evans in secret, forcing his mind away from her the moment she arose except in the moments when he felt most alone, when he needed to remember. Until then, he would continue to force her away.