Another Dark Star

Chapter 5; - 7th year


The first day of term, Sadira sat in Potions class, last period trying to slice her Black Cohosh without making too much of a mess. This was proving more difficult than previously anticipated.

Professor Snape had noticed her struggle as he watched his class. He wondered why one of his best students, who he knew usually prepared her ingredients with a combination of speed and accuracy, was today finding a simple task so difficult. He noticed also that she was shooting suspicious glances round the room to ensure no-one had noticed her struggling.

As he swept around the class, inspecting his students offerings he leaned over her.

“Is something the matter, Miss Prewett?” he inquired softly, so no-one else could hear.

“No, Sir,” came her curt reply. He reached out for the arm which seemed to be failing her but she snatched it back with a hiss of... what? Anger, or pain?

“Miss Prewett, see me after class.” He ordered, striding away to intimidate a Hufflepuff girl whose potion, rather than being the desired shade of indigo, was as turquoise as her hair.

Sadira took her time clearing her things away and shuffled to Snape’s desk with a vial of her work after everyone else.


“My office, now.” He snapped, striding in after her and sitting behind his desk, observing her over clasped hands.

She hovered nervously in front of the desk and waited to receive his furious tirade.

“Was there a problem today?”

“No, Sir,” she replied innocently.

“Then please explain why one of my brightest, straight O students had such difficulty with a relatively simple solution?” he inquired.

“I’m sure if you test it you will find it to be satisfactory,” she replied coldly.

“Silence! You will show me proper respect.” he spat, jumping to his feet.

“Sorry Sir.” She mumbled, head down.

He passed around behind her and without warning, grabbed her arm again and pulled back the sleeve of her robes to reveal ugly purple bruises. She turned her face from him in shame as he stared at them. He pulled her other arm towards him and this time she didn’t struggle. The same ugly marks were on this arm also.

“Who did this to you?” he asked softly.

She turned to look at his face and was shocked by the concern she saw there. Sure, he looked out for his Slytherins, but in nearly 7 years of school she had never seen him really care.

“It doesn’t matter Sir.” She replied evasively.

“Miss Prewett, I have asked you a question and I expect answers.” He pushed.

“I don’t want anyone involved. This is my problem and I will deal with it,” she defended. He spun her round, face inches from his with an unreadable expression.

“If you do not tell me, I will find out by other means. Now; your last chance to volunteer this information. Who gave you these marks?”

She looked at him, then stared at her shoes before muttering almost too soft to hear.

“My step-father.” Snape was incensed.

“How dare he manhandle you in such a manner? And what of your mother? Where was she?” He paced his office, white with fury.

“Please Sir, don’t say anything. It’s over now.” she pleaded.

“Why do you not want justice? What happened?” he insisted.

“My mum’s having a hard enough time as it is.” she sighed evasively.

“Enough! I will get to the bottom of this. Legilimens.” He shouted.

Suddenly he saw a tall blond man shouting and raising a hand to a short red haired woman, a young Sadira crying in the corner. Then the same man approaching Sadira as she was now, raising his fists to her. Wrenching her arms by the wrists, shoving her into her bedroom, leaning over her...

“Stop it!” she screamed and he was thrown from her recollections.

She was paler than usual and shaking. The stoic, tough, unshakeable Head Girl was weeping in her Head of House’s office. As shocking as this was to Snape, it paled into insignificance with the realisation that at least some of her life seemed to mirror his at that age but worse, much worse. ‘This man had tried to violate her. Had he succeeded? Or were her bruises because she had managed to fight him off?’

Without realising what he was doing, he instinctively wrapped a protective arm around the poor girl’s shoulder. He couldn’t understand why he had done it but before he could back away, she had turned and clung onto him, burying her face in his robes, soaking them with her tears.

They stood like that for what seemed to the bewildered Potions Master like an eternity. Unsure of what to do, he settled for stroking her hair to try and calm her. He noticed it was soft and silky, quite pleasing to the touch and the motion of it through his hands was doing much to calm him as well as her, the aroma of Honeysuckle drifting up from her.

Once the tears and shaking subsided, Sadira stepped away from him, mascara streaking her very red, embarrassed face.

“I’m sorry Sir, I... um... probably should go,” she stammered.

“Very well. I will not report this to the Headmaster yet, but I should hope that you would know to come to me as your Head of House if you are having problems. Believe me when I say that suffering this particular problem in silence will only make it worse.” He said softly.

“Yes Sir.” she replied, puzzled but left the office somehow feeling better.

That night, Sadira entered the common room very late after completing her duties as Head Girl. She was about to go up to her room when she heard a soft sniffling noise. She crossed the room as quietly as she could. Peering over the top of a sofa she found a small boy, clearly a first year, with white blond hair crying softly.

“Hey, are you ok?” she whispered kindly. He jumped in alarm, masking his sorrow with what looked like a well practiced sneer.

“Who are you? What do you want?” he snapped. She didn’t take offense. She knew very well from her own experiences that Slytherins were expected not to show any weakness if they wanted to survive, especially the boys.

“I’m Sadira Prewett, the Head Girl. What’s your name?” she replied calmly.

Usually she was of the opinion that life was every man for himself, particularly for her housemates, but she felt sorry for this little firstie.

“Draco Malfoy,” he replied sullenly, but with a hint of pride.

“Well Draco, what’s the matter? Is someone picking on you already? Because if they are...” she asked.

A furious expression crossed her face, ready to do battle with a gang of fourth years that she believed were the most likely suspects for tormenting the littlest ones. The boy snorted derisively.

“No-one messes with a Malfoy. My father has a great deal of influence in the Ministry, and he’s a school governor.” He boasted.

“So, you were crying for fun then were you?” she countered.
Malfoy looked humbled and muttered, “Promise you won’t tell?”

“I promise. Look I’m nice, honest! Just don’t tell anyone else that!”

“I...I...I miss my mum.” He confessed. She sat next to him on the sofa and patted his shoulder.

“It’s ok to be homesick you know.” She told him, wrapping a comforting arm around him, remembering how Professor Snape had done the same for her earlier.

“I bet this is the first time you’ve been away from home isn’t it?”

He nodded and laid his head in her lap. She didn’t push him away, but stroked his hair as she continued to think about her strange first day back. First the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter had started, in the same house and year as her little cousin Ron. Then Snape had got her to confess what her home life had really been like for all these years and he’d been so very understanding about it.

‘Snape was never nice to anyone, why had he been nice to her? She couldn’t stop thinking how nice it had been to be pressed against him and have him stroke her hair. No-one would believe her if she told them that Snape had been so gentle, affectionate even, not even to his ‘teacher’s pet’. And if she had any friends she could trust, they would definitely think she was insane to have a crush on this particular teacher. What was it they called him? ‘Greasy, ugly vampire bat?

She didn’t find his appearance scary or repulsive like the others did, but why? She admired his attention to detail, respected him for always pushing them all to the limits of their ability and envied his ability to always appear in control. But fancying him? Well, that just proved she was messed up. She had always been attracted to anything dark and he was about as dark as you could get. Apart from his monochrome wardrobe, everyone knew he wanted the Dark Arts job and knew more about the Dark Arts than any other teacher, except maybe Dumbledore. There were even rumours he was once in league with You-Know-Who.’

She was furious with herself for letting a stupid crush interfere with everything she had worked so hard for. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and doing so disturbed the little first year who was all but asleep, curled up on her lap.

“Come on Draco, time for bed. You have classes tomorrow.” She urged him gently. He roused himself and headed toward the dormitory as she headed toward her room. He turned before he left.

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?” he repeated.

“I already promised and my word is my bond, I take great pride in that. Trust me, I’m good with secrets.” She assured him. He smiled back, ‘Aww, he’s got a cute little smile. Bless.’ she thought.

“And Draco; if you need someone to talk to, come and find me.”