Silence is the Price

----- Harry Potter and his wonderful world belong solely to J.K. Rowling, who has my apologies for mangling her brilliance like this.






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Henry and Padma were already at breakfast when she came downstairs the next day. They were last-minute-cramming for transfigurations, but put their books away as Amy approached.


“Did everything go all – Oh! Amy what happened?” Padma’s face was a mixture of horror and sympathy as Amy sat down and she felt her heart leap into her throat… could Padma know? How could she know?


“What?” she asked, managing to keep her voice cool. Henry looked up from his toast and gaped at her.


“Whoa, sweet shiner Ames.”


She put a hand to her cheek, saw a flash of brick and black robe, a burst of remembered pain flashed across her temple… she suppressed an urge to vomit. There were also, she noticed, dusky smudges around her wrists as well. Quickly she dropped her hand back into her lap, surreptitiously pulling the sleeves of her robes over her hands. “Wild bludger at practice last night.” Where else might there be bruises? She remembered his arm across her neck, stifling her windpipe… her collar would cover that… Padma was saying something to her.


“Did everything… go all right?” she asked significantly, passing Amy the bacon. Amy fought the sudden impulse to laugh.


“Yeah, great, not a hitch.” Her voice was unnaturally shrill. Padma, occupied with her French toast, didn’t seem to notice, but Henry gave her a sharp, penetrating look. He looked as though he was about to say something, but kept silent. She was just beginning to contemplate the possibility of putting something edible in her mouth when a hand fell lightly on her shoulder and all thoughts fled.


“Excuse me Ms Price, Mr. Abbot. Ravenclaw seems to have collected all the salt and pepper. Professor Dumbledore would like some at the head table.” The pressure on Amy’s shoulder increased slightly as Snape leaned forward to pick up the little crystal shakers. Her hands were trembling violently in her lap and it took a tremendous effort to keep the rest of her body from following suit. She could feel the blood draining from her face; she thought she might be sick, or faint…


And then, as quickly as he’d come, he was gone. She glanced up and saw him making his way to the teachers’ table, pausing to take points from Henry’s younger sister Hannah for spilling her pumpkin juice. She noticed that he was limping. Suddenly he looked over at her and their eyes met for a split second before Amy dropped hers back to her plate, another wave of nausea rolling over her.


“Amy are you sure you’re all right? You’re white as chalk,” said Padma anxiously. “I know Snape’s a git but don’t let him put you off your breakfast.”


Henry was looking at her again with that thinking look on his face, and for a wild moment she thought he must know what had happened, wanted him to know. But then she thought of the letters hidden away somewhere by Snape, reminded herself of the decision she’d made over the course of her sleepless night; it was too dangerous to risk telling anyone. Even Henry and Padma couldn’t know. Henry still had that calculating gaze, he opened his mouth.


“What –”


“I’ll see you guys in class.” She stood up so quickly her wobbly knees knocked against the bench, making her lose her balance and sit down again with a thump. She fumbled for her bag, rising once more.


“Amy what’s wrong?” Amy didn’t look at Henry as she stood up.


“Lavatory,” she mumbled, “must’ve eaten something bad.” She managed to extricate herself from the table and hurried out of the Great Hall, Padma’s confused voice followed her out.


“But she didn’t eat anything.”




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She changed her shirt, scrubbed her already raw shoulder where Snape had touched her. She tried to cover the bruise on her face, the ones on her neck and wrists and breasts, with a makeup charm, with some success, but there was still a hint of shadow on her face. She debated, then rejected, going to Madame Pomfrey before collecting her books and leaving for transfiguration.


She’d also thrown up.




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Henry was very worried about Amy. Although she insisted that she was fine she seemed sick. But it was more than that. She was pale and clammy, had hardly touched her breakfast and been sick afterwards, but she was also jumpy. She fidgeted in her seat, her hands were never still. She was distracted last period in transfiguration, her favorite subject, barely managing to turn her necktie into a snake and failing completely when they moved on to switching spells. Now, in potions, she was positively crawling out of her skin. He took the bowl of lungwort she was threatening to spill, and handed her a quill.


“Why don’t you keep notes while I add ingredients?” he said gently. She nodded and took the quill.


The writing seemed to calm her, she wrote smoothly and quickly, and Henry was beginning to think she’d put whatever it was behind her. That is, until Snape came up behind them to observe their progress. Snape’s glowering presence seemed to destroy Amy’s already frayed nerves; her handwriting went from smooth and sure to tiny wobbly letters that seemed to hide in the lines of the paper. Henry was adding powdered root of asphodel when she reached for the inkpot.


“Ms Price.”


She jerked violently, upsetting not only the inkwell but their entire cauldron also. Snape sneered at them.


“Detention, Ms Price, for your carelessness.” Any protest Henry might have had would have been drowned out by the sounding of the lunch bell.


“Please remain behind to clean up this mess. The rest of you may label your potions and leave them in the cupboard to cure.” The class shuffled out as Amy miserably swabbed at the slimy mess dripping onto the floor. Henry bent to help but Snape stopped him.


“Mr. Abbot, leave that for Ms Price. You may go.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Amy stiffen and shoot him a furtive glance before turning back to her task. Snape fixed him with an icy stare.


“That was not a suggestion, Mr. Abbot.”




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Padma was waiting for him outside Snape’s dungeon.


“Where’s Amy?”


“She knocked over a cauldron. Snape wouldn’t let me help clean up.” They began making their way up the stairs to the Great Hall.


“What are you thinking about Henry? You’re never this quiet.”


“I’m worried about Amy. She’s sick or something.” Padma nodded in agreement.


“She got back to the girl’s dorm really late last night. She was supposed to wake me up,” she lowered her voice,” when she got back from the library, but she didn’t. She was just there this morning when I woke up.”


Henry was thinking… he was having the beginnings of an idea, in fact.


“Padma, didn’t we see Cedric Diggory and the others come back just after dark?”


“Uh-huh.”


“When did you go to bed?”


“Well, I waited up for Amy as long as I could… maybe Midnight… twelve-thirty. Why do you ask?”


“I was just thinking. So Amy was gone for at least three hours after the rest of the team got back… probably more if you were deep enough asleep not to hear her come in. That’s a long time just to burn some parchment.”


“You think something else happened? She’d have told us, wouldn’t she?’


“Yeah…” Henry didn’t sound so sure. Would she tell them if something had gone wrong? She would have spoken up right away if something had happened to the letters… but what if it was something else? Maybe not…


“Padma,” he said slowly, “does Amy strike you as a timid person?” He put his hand to his eye as Padma laughed, exactly where a bruise might form if here were hit with a bludger or…


“Timid is the last thing I’d call Amy. Are you nuts?”


“No, I wouldn’t call her that either. She’s very confident…”


“To say the least!”


“I mean, if someone were to try and hurt her…”


“She’d take a decent chunk out of them, if she didn’t kill them outright.”


Henry looked at Padma but what he saw was Amy’s pale face over toast. A hand on her shoulder… Snape was limping today… and impossible idea was shoving its way to the front of his brain, but if he was right! And he’d left her alone down –


“I forgot my herbs book!” He turned to go back downstairs, heard Padma behind him.


“I’ll come with you.”


“No! No, go upstairs. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall.” He heard her voice fade away behind him as he raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time.


He burst through the dungeon door, panting slightly. Snape was sitting behind his desk, grading a stack of papers, but where was Amy? He looked at Snape, who gazed coolly back.


“Is there a problem, Mr. Abbot?”


Amy’s head popped up from underneath her chair looking mildly confused. She rose, rinsed her potions-soaked rag under one of the jets of water from the gargoyle’s mouth, then turned to Snape.


“Finished, Professor,” she said quietly. Snape turned back to his papers.


“You are excused, Ms Price. Your detention will be here, at seven o’clock.”


Amy collected her bag and left, careful not to look at Henry walking beside her until the dungeon door closed behind them.


“Are you okay?”


Amy looked up at him, a quick dart of a glance, before looking back to the stone floor. She was hunched into herself, and was keeping a careful distance from him; just out of arm’s reach.


“I’m fine.”


He changed his pace to close the distance between them, laid a hand on her shoulder.


“No!” She shrieked. She flinched away, dropping her bag in the process, before she seemed to recollect herself. She looked at him and her cheeks were flushed. Her breathing was heavy and she seemed near tears as she snatched up her bag and backed away. Her voice, when she spoke, was hoarse.


“Just leave me alone Henry. Please.”