Linuxia

PAP: Congrats! You found the plot-holes-that-aren't-actually-plot-holes! All this was to be explained later, but you had to know now, didncha?

1)Sammy got a letter. Narcissa, the asshat-Malfoy-bitch, destroyed it, and unlike with Harry, it was only sent once. Sammy is only an aristocrat, not the Boy Who Lived.
2)Sevvie was close to LUCIUS! Not the family. (Draco is like six months older than Sammy, thus they weren't Christened at the same time. He was a Godfather before a father.) Also, if you were Lucius, would you really tell Severus Snape, the sexy-as-hell-and-twice-as-deadly Potions Master that you are opressing his daughter?
3)Severus assumed that Lucius wouldn't be such a bitch to Narcissa and would allow Sammy to attend Durmstrang as Draco nearly did (see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire). He found out from Karkaroff and Maxime that this was not the case, and bided his time. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and Sevvie let it sit in the icebox for a few years. Don't worry. Lucy's about to get an earful. In public.

Severus lived in deadly fear that his parents would discover Samara's existance, which will be explained later! You gotta have a leetle patience! It will all be explained, promise!

Keep your hands in your pants and your flames to a minimum! ( I only have so many marshmallows) ENJOY THE RIDE, AND THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING RukbatLupa!
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“Darling?” Severus knocked on his daughter’s door. “Sammy, It’s half-seven.” The house-elves and Betsy all had learned that despite her sweet disposition during the daylight hours, Miss Sammy hated waking up with a passion matched only by her father’s stubbornness. Her answer was not polite.
“BUGGER OFF!” She buried her head under the pillow, pulling the covers tighter around her body.
“Darling, we must be out the door shortly if we are to make it to London on time!” He was being firm, yet gentle. If Sammy knew how gentle he was with her, she probably would not try to work him over so much.
“Five more minutes, you old sod!” She yelled, than whimpered into one of her many pillows. She HATED waking up, didn’t he know that?
“F But But I expect you to be a bit more cordial when I return.” He chuckled as he walked down the hall to his study. She had gotten his hatred for waking up, but what he didn’t know was how different the reasoning was. . .

Sammy lay in her bed, thinking about the previous night’s dreams. She had spent time with the boy from Gringotts, though funnily enough she didn’t even know him. They had spent the past week together in her mind, learning aboach ach other. Their hopes, their dreams, their favorite things. He loved Quidditch, just flying around, and Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. She had spent what felt like hours telling her about her horse, her love for chess, and how she loved Licorice Wands. She always ended up with her head in his lap, having her hair braided lovingly, and playing with the bluebells and daises that seemed to grow nowhere and everywhere all at once. She was falling in love, and she didn’t even know his name.

Sammy sighed, her reverie fading. He was so perfect, his plush lips smiling at her, his green eyes sparkling as they rolled around on the hills of her dreams, playfully wrestling and tickling each other, laughing as they recovered. He was gentle, and kind. So the opposite of- Sammy stopped mid-thought. Draco Malfoy had raped her. Why should she think of him, when her ebony-haired companion had been the most prevalent in her mind? And yet, unbidden, came thoughts of Draco. He was cruelly beautiful, a healthy young man. Sammy jerked herself out of bed and brought her thoughts to those of school as she dressed. How would she cope? Well, she thought as she put on her wooly white sweater, I’ll worry about that at Hogwarts.

She and her father took the Jag to London’s King’s Cross Station. There she wondered how her life at Hogwarts would be, how the girls would like her, what the boys would be like, though none could ever match Harry. That was the name she had decided to give her fly-by-night suitor. He looked like a Harry. A simple name, but one which meant “he with the strength of armies.” It would be lovely to see him again, tonight in her dreams. Little did she know it would be much sooner than that . . .

She kissed her father goodbye and went onto the platform. He had said he’d see her again in short order, being a teacher, but told her to be careful on the train. “You never know what might happen.” Sammy smiled.
“Father, he’ll listen to ‘no’ from me now. He knows who I am, your daughter. I doubt he’s even entertained the notion that quiet, submissive Linuxia is now Samara, the true Snape-Child.” Another quick kiss to his nose. “I love you.” She then rushed off.

The train was so crowded, compared to the empty halls and parlors that Sammy had grown used to around Snape Manor. She had been to at least four compartments, all of which were full, save one, which had contained a rather occupied couple. She knocked on a fifth door. A black boy nearly as tall as her father answered it, cheerily smiling. “Yeah, right, Sea.” He turned to her. “Hullo. Can I help you. . .” He trailed off and proceeded to stare at her.
“Can I sit in here? Everywhere else I’ve tried is full or too hormonal.” She smiled.
“ . . . .Yeah, come on in . . .” He looked back to the sandy-blonde boy he’d called Sea. “Erm . . . I’m Dean Thomas, and this is Seamus Finnigan.” Seamus Finnigan smiled, the shamrock around his neck glinting in the sunlight.
“Top o’ the day, lassie.” Sammy smiled.
“Good day to you both.” She started to lift her trunk. Seamus and Dean were soon both at her side.

“Here, let me help . . .”
“Oh, that must be heavy, Lass, here . . .” Very soon she was in-between them, giggling madly.
“I can get it! It’s not at all heavy! Oh, fine!” She let go of the middle, and both boys groaned. “Not that heavy, lass? It must weigh at least uch uch as my little sister!”
“Yeah, this sucker weighs a goddang ton!” Seamus glared at Dean.
“There is a LADY present!” Dean smiled an apology.
“Rather weighty, this.” With much effort, they finally got it up in the rack.
“Thank you. You have both upheld the Code of Chivalry, and now may get on with your lives.” Seamus laughed, a lovely sound. Sammy started humming, and Seamus recognized it.
“And in the lilt of Irish laughter, you can hear the angels sing . . .” Sammy chuckled.
“Sorry. Daddy sang it to me once. He said it reminded him of mum.”

“Speaking of, do you have an name, or shall we just invent one for you ?” Sammy chuckled again. She rarely giggled, just a few moments ago quite the exception, as she found it an annoying sound.
“My name is Samara. . . Sammy.”
“Mm. No last name?” Dean queried, his eyebrow cocked in a way that reminded Sammy very much of her father when he didn’t buy the line of BS someone was handing him.
“Of course, but I figured you would just want to talk at first.” She smiled. “Samara Snape, since you’re so insistent.” Seamus’ jaw dropped, his eyes going wide as tea saucers.

“Snape???! Tell me you’re a cousin. Please tell me you’re not his daughter or something.” Sammy laughed.
“Sorry, Seamus. I am Severus Snape’s daughter.”
“Oh, Fuck. There went that idea. So let me guess. You’re Malfoy’s girlfriend?” Sammy’s eyes flared black fire when the notion was mentioned. “Or not.”
“I would never dream of dating that self-absorbed, over-dressed, stuck-up, narcissistic, twisted excuse for obsequiousness!” Seamus’ eyes widened yet again, a feat Sammy had not thought possible.
“I was only fooling, lass . . .” He smiled nervously. “I didn’t know you’d be so mad about it.” Sammy checked herself, sighing and letting her tensed shoulders drop.
“I apologize. I inherited my mother’s temper, sadly enough.” She sat next to him. “I do not associate very good times with that name.”

“So are you his ex, then?” Dean asked gently, his dark hand resting on her shoulder, a warm and comforting weight.
“No. Can we talk about something else? Where are you from, Dean?” Dean smiled.
“South Africa, near Jo-burg, originally. Mum and Dad moved here, here being just outside of Frome, when I was seven.”
“I’ve heard Africa is beautiful.”
“It is. I remember seeing the animals on the preserve, meerkats, especially. They weren’t very much at home, though. They’re desert animals.”
“Any lions?”
“Not that end of Africa!” Dean laughed, a lovely sound, though deeper than Seamus’.

Seamus went on to explain about his ancestors, how they fought against the Roman invasion, and how the shamrock around his neck was to remind him of who he was, and where he had come from. “As if, being Phinneas Finnigan’s son, I could forget! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph . . .” Dean and Sammy both shared a love of drawing, and art. Seamus sharemmy’mmy’s ‘any excuse for a good time’ attitude. In shorter terms, the three of them became fast and deep friends. In fact, they were deep in discussion over the latest news and sports events when there was a knock at the door. Deaenedened it, and there stood a young man with raven hair and emerald eyes. Sammy’s heart stopped.

“Hiya, Dean. Can I sit in here with you? Herronnie is driving me insane.” ‘Herronnie’ was the name that had been given to Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, who, since the end of fifth year, had been inseparable.
“No problems, mate.” Sammy thanked her lucky stars that she was partially hidden behind Seamus as her breathing quickened. “How are the lovebirds?” Harry got an extraordinarily disgusted look on his face.
“About a yard down each other’s throats by now, judging by the saliva they’re swapping. How much you two want to bet ‘Mione loses her ‘V’ by term end?”
“Sucker bet, my man. Sucker bet.” Seamus chuckled. Then he stopped. “Oh! Harry, this is Sammy. Sammy, Harry.” Sammy blushed furiously and stood.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you earl-” Harry gasped. “You’re the girl from-” Sammy cut him off, before he said something foolish.
“Gringotts, yes.” She smiled. “We just keep running into each other, hm?” She sat, still blushing.
“Oh, I hate that. I’m blushing. Stop it, Samara! This is not dignified!” She rubbed her cheeks. “Of all the un-Snapish things to do!”
“Snape??” Harry’s eyebrows shot up.
“Yes.” Sammy looked up at him, and oddly, the blush disappeared. “I am Samara Snape. You can call me-”
“Sammy. You love licorice wands and daises.” Seamus glanced between the two of them. Sam cut to the chase.
“I do. But I don’t know how you knew that!”

Harry looked as though someone had slapped him, and sat heavily on the seat next to Dean. His mind was running at three hundred miles an hour, it felt like, and he was trying to figure the past few nights’ dreams out. He knew Sammy. He knew that he knew her. They knew each other. Why was she pretending not to? It hit Harry like a ton of bricks. Those that could communicate through dreams were rare. She was probably keeping her silence because she knew that, and didn’t want to make a bad impression. Or worse . . . she didn’t want to know him. Harry was quick to banish that thought. The night before, just the night before, he had kissed her. Long, soft and sweet, amid the bluebells and daises, he had kissed her as he had never kissed a girl before. It felt right, it had stirred his heart and warmed his entire body. Not like when he kissed Ginny. Ginny always felt like a third cousin, or a sister, not a girl- Oh, Holy poo on toast! Ginny. He had not yet told Sammy about his girlfriend. He’d meant to, but . . . Sammy had that way of shorting his brain to ground that Harry enjoyed. Too much, if you asked the reasonable side of his brain. The part that shut down whenever she was close.

That evening, as they arrived at Hogwarts, Harry watched Sammy’s every move. She walked like her father, but her manner and looks were entirely different. She looked vaguely Hispanic, though there was something that left no doubt as to her British heritage. She was a beautiful young lady, as many of Harry’s mates were quick to notice. Except Ron, who would probably notice at the End-of-Term Feast. Harry was astounded at how slow being around Hermione made Ron.

Sammy was extraordinarily nervous as she made her way to the end of the platform. Her father said he’d be here to pick her up, but she didn’t see him. A delicate hand on her shoulder made her yip. A lot of people seemed to like sneaking up on her. “Samara Snape?” She turned. There stood a man whose looks she could not have explained in a million years. He was rather plain, but something about the way his light-brown hair fell, or the way his honey-colored eyes seemed to flare with an inner fire made him devilishly attractive. Then Sammy noticed the wrinkles under his eyes, and the white strands beginning to pepper his hair. Attractive, yes. Young, probably not. He was still more fit than he should have been. Sammy nodded, mute. “You look for all the world like your mother.” That WAS fresh of him!
“Excuse me, bho-”ho-” He cut her off.
“Beg your pardon. I am Remus Lupin.” He smiled, improving his rather marred good looks. Sammy offered her hand, which he took and gently kissed. Sammy blushed, having never been treated like a lady, except by her father, who of course would not do something as flirtatious as kiss her hand.
“Ah, a double wolf.” Remus smiled at her, kindly. “Your name.” She smiled, nervous for some reason. “Forgive me. Father crammed a bit too much Latin into my head.” His smiled wid.
“.
“I see nothing to forgive. It was a good observation. In fact, touché.”
“Excuse me?”
“I made a rather personal comment about your mother earlier, so, touché.”
“Again, excuse me?” Remus chuckled.
“Latin, but not French? Hm. It is a French expression, meaning . . .” He cleared his throat, and looked rather deep in thought. “Touch, literally. It is a fencing term, in most uses.”

“Ah.” Sammy said, not truly understanding, but she felt that she could fake it easily enough. “So why are you here, again?”
“I am here in lieu of your father, who couldn’t make it down here, supp-”
“He didn’t want to embarrass me.” Sammy was getting just a little annoyed at her father’s quirks and eccentricities. She began looking for her trunk out of the corner of her eye.
“Or himself. Your father is not a gentle man to his students.” He chuckled. “The house-elves will see it to your House. Don’t worry about it.” Sammy’s eyes widened.
“Are you a psychic?” Remus shook his head.
“Shall we?” He held out his hand. Sammy took it.

Remus was an intriguing person, much to Sammy’s delight. He had a lot of experience with dark creatures, and he was quick to share them. “Well, you see, it’s not daylight that the vampires are afflicted by. It is the renewal of energies, freely given. It is something that is rarely given them, something which they have to steal.”
“Given?” Remus sighed. They were in a carriage on the to Hto Hogwarts. It smelled bad, like mouldy straw.
“It occurs, sometimes, that a virgin will, out of the kindness of her heart, give a portion of her blood. The most effective method is in a specialized silver chalice. This chalice must be presented by the virgin to the vampire in question. There is then a bond made between the two. The vampire can never harm her or any of her family, but she will have to see all of them die before she herself can. I have heard of this being done by men, too. But those cases are . . . raritéés dans des raritéés . . . . rarities within rarities.”

“Why the French? Did you study there? At . . .” Dammit. Sammy hated when she forgot these things.
“Beauxbatons? Non.” He smiled. “I lived there for a time. With my lover, Iolanthe. She . . . She couldn’t take it. Kicked me out. Three happy years we spent together. Helás, mon amour.”
“Couldn’t take what?” Remus blushed.
“I’m not easy to live with.” He seemed to be growing steadily more uncomfortable, so Sammy dropped the matter.
“Neither is father.” Remus grunted in a way that encouraged her, so she continued. “He babies me, a lot. I know I needed it the first little bit, but after he gave me his spells and such, I feel like he’s smothering me.” Remus chuckled.
“Typical 16-year-old. Continue.”
“I’m seventeen. He just . . . I don’t think he sees that I’m a lot stronger than I was.”
“Perhaps, forgive me, it is because you are not aware of howd Hod Hogwarts will be for you. Wherever you were before, this is the best wizarding school in the world. Everyone knows it, but no one will admit it. And he knows that all of your gods-given abilities, as of now, mean exactly dick.”

Sammy was perplexed by the time she was led to the castle, past the entrance and great Halls, up the marble stairs, past the many suits of armor, to an oaken gargoyle. “Licorice wand.” Remus spoke clearly and firmly.
“What are you-?” Sammy yipped as the gargoyle leapt aside. She seemed to be yipping quite a lot lately. Remus led her up onto a moving staircase, into a perfectly round room, all paneled in oak. There sat the stranger from when she had first come from Malfoy Manor.
“Well, well, Miss Snape. Here you are. Now, when I last saw you, you were dressed as a lady. But now, I daresay in your neat pleated skirt and fuzzy white sweater, you look more like a lady than I could ever have imagined.” He smiled, and chuckled merrily. “Please, sit.” Sammy took one of the chairs in front of the desk, blushing slightly. Dumbledore stood and went to a shelf, picking up an old tattered hat. “Time for this, I think?” Sammy blushed more deeply.
“For what, sir?”
“Why, for your Sorting!” He plopped the hat on her head.

“Oh, so here you are finally!” A tiny voice in her ear whispered, excited and rather more chirruping than Sammy would have liked. “The next of the Snape line! Always interesting, you lot are!”
“Excuse me?” Sammy was duly ignored.
“AH, so that’s who was twisted enough to marry him! Why am I not surprised . . . yes, yes, . . . oh, hm . . . here IS a quandary.” Now, THAT was just insulting! Being ignored by a hat!
“What’s a quandary?” Sammy was irritated.
“Oh, you have the same problem Harry Potter did. . . he too, would do well in either Slytherin or Gryffindor.” Sammy was still irritated, though less confused. “Now, let’s see- oh, my!”
“WHAT!!!!!?” Sammy shrieked. “WHY DO YOU KEEP SAYING THAT!!!!”
“ . . . .” For a beautiful two minutes, the hat was silent. A weak whisper emerged from it. “Slytherin . . .” Sammy whipped the hat off of her head and hurled it at the floor.
“IRRITATING HEADPIECE! I OUGHT TO INTRODUCE YOU TO-”
“Samara, calm down . . .” Dumbledore tried to soothe her. “What is it?”
“He touched something in me . . . something I haven’t seen. Something I hate. And he saw . . . he saw what happened before I left Malfoy Manor . . .” Sammy fell to her knees. “He saw everything.” She started crying, and shaking madly. “He saw everything . . .”

Sammy was escorted to her house table a few minutes later, having been calmed by the good tea Dumbledore had given her. She sat next to a girl with honey-red hair, grey eyes, and a rather unfortunate height, making her look, at first glance, like a bean pole rather than a girl. On her left sat a young man with more muscles than brains, by his look, but the fact that he was reading Latin threw that theory out the window. He had hair the color of summer straw, neatly plaited to the middle of his back. “Blaize, Ronan?” The boy and girl turned, the boy revealing his rather fine features, and soft blue-violet eyes. “This is Sammy. She’s new here, and I want you to show her the ropes.”
“Yes, Professor.” They chorused, and nodded.
“Samara, I leave them to you.” With that, Remus walked up to the staff table, leaving Samara to them.

“Hi.” She blushed. The boy was eyeing her. “I’m Samara Snape. Sammy to most.” The girl was blushing deeply.
“I’m Blaize Zabini. This is Ronan Nott. Good luck getting him to speak English.” Blaize smiled. “Won’t you sit down?” It was Ronan’s turn to speak.
“Belle. Lilium intra spinas, non?”
“He says you’re beautiful. A lily among the thorns.”
“Uh . . . thanks.” Sammy sat down. “Why doesn’t he speak English much?”
“Il est putida.”
“It’s filthy.” Blaize sighed. “He doesn’t like it. I don’t know why. He won’t tell me.” Draco Malfoy walked by.
“Still buried in the Roman Empire, Nott?”
“Odi te quia bellus es, Draco. Res es putida bellus, et Draco. Bellum denique malo quam Draconum. Tabescas unitam, Draco! Belle!”
“I’ll translate later.” Blaize whispered to Sammy. “The two of them hate each other. The Gryffindors think Potter is hated, they don’t know about Nott.”
“Ah, Zabini. Still translating?” He looked at Blaize in a way Sammy had gotten used to. Judging by the shiver going through Blaize, she wasn’t used to anything that hateful. Draco’s head jerked back. “Samara? What are you doing with these . . . excuses for mudbloods?” Ronan jumped up.
“THAT’S A LIE, MALFOY! AND YOU KNOW IT! MY FAMILY CAN BE TRACED BACK TO MERLIN!”
“Got you to say it in English.” Draco smirked, and stalked off.

“Ronan, you shouldn’t answer him. It only encourages him.”
“Moecho Putida.” Samara sniffed. That was NOT polite of him. But it was Draco, so she quickly laughed. Blaize joined in.
“To translate earlier, ‘I hate you because you’re a pretty-boy, Draco. In my book, prettiness is a dirty word. And so is Draco. I prefer war to Draco! Draco, go to Hell. Prettily.’” Sammy laughed.
“Amen. He is such a brat.”
“You know him?” Sammy sighed.
“Long story. I wasn’t his girlfriend, but I don’t want to say here.” Blaize patted her shoulder.
“Don’t worry. There isn’t a girl in Slytherin House that hasn’t had Draco Malfoy do something bad to her. He’s an incredible example of the male harlot.”

The Start-of -term feast went surprisingly well, except that Sammy had to see the stupid hat again. It’s song struck her, both deeply and in a way she would never be able to describe.

May I make my fond excuses
for the lateness of the hour?
But I accept your invitation
to bring to you the knowledge flower.

Harken back to the old great day
when the four did all intertwine
their cunning, courage,
wit and patience
to educate those of eager mind.

Slytherin of Fen did seek out
those ambitious, those of shrewd mind.
Among the dark and cooling dungeons
Slytherin would keep his kind!

Hufflepuff, of Valley spreading
did bring close those t’were ever loyal
those who full well knew they were treading
the path that would bring them toil.

Gryffindor of Moor, the lion!
The courageous one, did seek
those whose wills were ever stronger
those whose hearts would not be weak.

Ravenclaw of Glen did know
that reason had its place
she balanced with the arcane arts
those who knew well Logic’s face.

These four kindred came together,
they all agreed,
this was the plan.

To educate those of sorcery!
Thus our beloved school began.

But sadly, as they sometimes do,
two paths did find a part.
In Slytherin’s leaving of the school,
He took with him a young girl’s heart.

She was of Gryffindor’s noble House,
of Godric’s proud line.
Though she knew her kindred’s hatred
Said she to Salazar ‘My heart is thine’

But he left all the same,
leaving her with tears flowing, a heaving chest.
Her spirit’s never left this place
She never knew eternal rest.


Until the day she found again
her love and her joy.
But oh, cruel fate,
oh burning ice!
What happened to that boy?

He had turned into a monster
he had let ice creep into his eyes
until they were no longer human
a snake’s, just like the blood
on which he chose to thrive.

So now she waits, in further sorrow
till at last someone may bring.
An ending to eternal morrow,
or to bring her back her king.

I leave you now with only this,
but please bear it in mind.
What you do today, in your youth
may keep or kill you down the line.

Keep well your brotherhood.
Make peace with your foe.
For only where seeds of Love are sown
does the Tree of Greatness grow.

I am only but a hat,
with borrowed brain in cloth
but keep close to you what I said
A thousand years
I have counted off.

So place me now upon your head
and think right into me
I will give it a little thought
and put you where you ought to be!


So that was it, Sammy thought to herself. That’s what happened. Why do all of history’s best quarrels start over a woman? Sammy shrugged and went back to looking for her father. Ah! There he was, at Dumbledore’s left. He looked immensely bored with the entire thing. A rather severe-looking woman marched up, followed by a bevy of eleven-year-olds. There was a general whispering that seemed to be along the lines of “Fresh meat!” from those at her table. Sammy turned her focus to the First Years.

“When you are called, sit on the stool, I will place the Sorting Hat on your head, and it will tell us where you will be.” She unfurled a list. “Avery, Boris?” A young, but burly man shuffled up. Sammy recognized him. He’d been to visit over the summer with his father. He was a real dunderhead. The hat considered, then . . .
“SLYTHERIN!” Sammy watched her father’s face twitch.
“Axandere, Alexa?” A cheery girl, with beautiful long brown hair. She took longer.
“GRYFFINDOR!” The table most across the Hall to Sammy’s cheered. She saw Harry at the very end, inviting Alexa Axandere to sit next to him. She blushed and accepted. It was surprisingly endearing.

Down through “Zabini, Jordan?”, a Slytherin, they went, until the woman rolled up the list and took the stool and hat out of the Hall. Very shortly, Blaize, Ronan, and Sammy were joined by the young girl who had offed the list.
“Hi, Blaize.”
“Joardi! Can’t find a place to sit?” Blaize immediately scooted over, as did Sammy. Jordan took the seat. “Joardi, this is Sammy. Sammy, Jordan. My little sister, the cute one.” She added in an undertone. “Got mum’s looks, the little bitch.”
“I heard that.”
“So that fresh meat belongs to you, Zabini?” An eerily familiar voice grunted. Vincent Crabbe. Sammy should have known.
“Back off, Crabbe.” Blaize’s hackles were up.
“Yeah, Vinny. Back off. Or I tell everyone about Mr. Binky.” At the mention of a rather infantile name, half the table turned to listen. Crabbe’s face contorted into what Sammy recognized as his ‘oh-you-are-SO-about-to-die’ face.
“What do you know about it?”
“Plenty. Back off.”
“Kinda mouthy for a chick, ain’t ya? What say we improve that attitude of yours?” Goyle.
“As if you could, Gregory. I’ve seen better moves on a chess board.” Goyle cracked his knuckles threateningly.

Sammy had learned two things in Malfoy Manor when it came to Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle II. They were not stupid, just slow; and they were both of them suckers for a pretty face. Neither of those could help her now, seeing as she had just verbally fish-slapped the both of them. Maybe she could use the former to befuddle them. “What I meant to say was, Vinny, I only want to tell everyone you’re more than just a hired buffool for a spoilt brat.” She smiled winningly. “To show everyone how sensitive you are.” She turned the Snape Dazzler to Greg. “And Greg, you really are very good at chess, considering how little time you get to do it.” They bought it. Hook, line, sinker, and skiff. “So why should you spend any of your time on an ickle firstie, when you could be spending it WITH . . . me, say?” Greg and Vincent both beamed, looking thrilled with the entire prospect. Blaize looked like she was about to become violently ill.

Dinner passed with no further consequence, lest you count Dumbledore’s closing speech warning everyone not to wander around the grounds or even parts of the castle alone. “The Death Eaters are growing in power and influence, whatever you may read to the contrary. We must all be careful.” With that, he bid the student populace goodnight, and directed them to bed.

Sammy had a lot to think about that night on the way to Slytherin House. Why had the hat said that?? Why had her father been so bored? Her father was never bored, this much Sammy knew. He was either scared to death or elated, depressed or confident. NEVER bored. So much was turning on its head so quickly- what was that?! Sammy noticed a flickering movement in the shadows. “Blaize? Ronan? Did you see that?” They looked where she was looking, her face paling. “Something . . .” A skinny black dog moved from the shadows, a silver star over one eye.
“Canis familiaris.”
“We know what a dog is, Ronanlaizlaize snapped. Sammy knelt, tutting quickly, like one would to call a cat.
“Felis? Es Canis, Samarae.”
“I know. Come here . . . come here, boy.” The dog trotted ientiently over. “This isn’t someone’s pet. Look at this mud. This is a stray.” Ronan recognized the look on Sammy’s face, probably because his mother had used it so many times. His head fell to his hand. “We should clean him up and give him a place to sleep.” She ruffled the dog’s ears. “What should we call you?” The dog sniffled heavily. “Snuffy?” The dog looked at her incredulously. “MM . . . Not Snuffy. Snuffles?” The dog nodded.

“He’s awfully well-behaved.” Blaize commented as they rubbed soap into his fur. “Most dogs can’t stand baths.”
“Well, it’s probably the warmest he’s been in a while.” Sammy replied, rinsing him off. “Is that it Snuffles? Are you warm?” She looked back at Blaize. “Also, he’s a Newfoundland or a Bouvier, looks like. Those dogs like water.”
“When I first saw him, I thought he was a moorhound.” Blaize chuckled. “Fancy me believing in things like moorhounds! Next I’ll be saying, ‘be wary of old Padfoot . . . The devil hound!’ Crazy, isn’t it!” Blaize giggled madly. Snuffles seemed uneasy all of a sudden.
“Oh . . . you upset him! It’s okay, Snuffles. Blaize didn’t mean you were any of those things.” In all good truth, Sammy had no idea what Blaize was on about. Something she’d have to sneak into her father’s library about, later. Her father! Sammy turned very pale all of a sudden.

“What is it?” Blaize poured some water down Snuffles’ back as Sammy blanched.
“My father. He doesn’t do dogs. He prefers cats or owls.” Blaize chirruped in response.
“Don’t worry! You’re daddy’s little princess, after all. And look how well-behaved he is.” There was a knock on the door. For the sake of privacy, they had used the Prefect’s bath. “Who is it?” Instead of a response, the knocker just walked in.

There stood Harry Potter. Snuffles’ ears perked up, and he yipped happily. “Sorry, didn’t know that you two were-” Harry’s eyes widened. “Snuffles!??! What are you doing here?” Blaize recovered first.
“You should take better care of your animals.”
“Oh, he’s not mine! He’s . . . a stray I know.”
“How did you know his name?” Sammy asked quietly, fetching a towel. “Here, boy.” Snuffles got out of the water and walked obediently over, standing just over the drain in the floor. Sammy started drying him off.
“I told you. I happen to know him.” Harry watched as his Godfather was dried off by the young heiress to Snape Manor, and felt a twinge of jealousy. “Snuffles, you’re behaving really well.”

Later, Snuffles saw Blaize and Sammy back to Slytherin house, but refused to come in. “Maybe he just doesn’t like the smell or something.” Blaize volunteered. Sammy knelt by Snuffles’ nose.
“It’s okay, Snuffles . . . you can come in.” Snuffles whuffed. “If you want to come in later, just yip or scratch at the wall, and I’ll let you in.” She rubbed his ears and walked into the Common Room. Snuffles watched her go, then felt a sharp pain at the back of his neck.

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Dun dun dun . . .