Chapter Three

Author's Notes: Tremendous thanks goes out to my incredibly capable and persistent beta, mw48, who truly did not let me get away with ANYTHING. She plugged scores of plot holes, disdained my excessive use of hyphens, and made me strive to be better. Also, thank you to Annietalbot for holding my hand and giving this piece a look through and mrs_helenesnape for being one of my biggest cheerleaders! And finally, thank you, Exchange mods for putting up with my endless excuses and whinging; you all truly are amazing!

Kribu's Prompt: The Grangers meet Snape. Could be a "parents meet daughter's new boyfriend," could be a series of meetings for random reasons, could be them meeting Snape-as-Hermione's-friend (or colleague) and mistaking him for something more, could be them walking in on something, etc.

The second time I met the man was more than a year later.

I, of course, had spent many mornings after his first visit waking up and hoping that it had all been just a nightmare. There were times I would have given anything for Jeanie to not be a witch, for no strange man to have appeared at my door, and for the three of us to carry on just like any other family. It wasn't until after we had sent Jeanie off for her first year at Hogwarts that I finally got used to it. I'd seen her reading her new "books" if you could call them that. As far as I was concerned, they were just bound volumes of blank parchment, but Jeanie assured me that their contents were only invisible to me because I was Muggle. I took her word for it, but to my shame, Mr. Snape's prediction that we would have sent Jeanie to the asylum leapt back to mind as I watched her stare for hours on end at those empty books.

The second year was much easier than the first year. By then, I had really begun to believe that she was like any other child returning to boarding school. Almost. She did travel with quite the odd assortment of paraphernalia, but mostly, we thought we were over the worst of the surprises.

Until he showed up again.

I suppose it's to his credit that he had bothered to actually notify us this time of his impending arrival. That is, only if you counted a wrinkled piece of paper stating, "Drs. Granger and Anderson, expect me to arrive tonight with regard to an urgent matter, S. Snape, Hogwarts" as ample notice. I had the hyperactive owl that had descended upon me while I was at the clinic to thank for the forewarning. At least I knew what to do with the flapping fiend after more than a year's worth of magical correspondence with Jeanie.

When he arrived, drenched from a rainstorm, I showed Mr. Snape into the house immediately. His expression was grim. Jane and I sat and watched him fearfully, trepidation tugging at our hearts, for what would have sent this strange man back to our doorstep in such a rush if not Jeanie?

"Sir, madam," he began after peeling off his soaking garments, "your daughter has been gravely injured. She has been Petrified and is currently in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts."

The pit of my stomach plummeted to the floor as I was overcome by nausea. "Wh-what does that mean? Is it critical?" I managed to ground out.

"It means her body has been cursed into a state of frozen stillness, not unlike a statue. And no, not critical, though very serious."

"So, is she in a coma?" Jane asked worriedly.

"No. The brain is not affected and should recover when the curse is reversed," came the level reply.

"Oh, it can be reversed!" I exclaimed, relieved.

Mr. Snape held my gaze. "Only with time," he said. "The antidote is a potion. It requires as an ingredient mature Mandrake plant, all of which are in their adolescent stage right now. I will be overseeing the formulation of the potion myself."

"How long will it be, then?" I immediately asked.

"It can range anywhere from a few weeks to a few months."

We sat in shocked silence, trying to imagine our daughter lying still in a bed for all that time. I reached out and pulled Jane closer. I squeezed her trembling hand if only to stop myself from trembling.

"She was cursed into this Petrification state?" Jane repeated. "As in..." she gestured about vaguely, "an evil spell?"

"It is possible to incant a Petrification spell, but we believe in this case that it was caused by a dangerous creature known as a Basilisk."

"Dangerous creatures? What exactly do you have going on at this school of yours?" I demanded, hearing my own voice ratchet up several decibels. My mind was reeling.

"I assure you, this is highly atypical. Hogwarts has not seen students injured on this scale in fifty years."

"Students?" said Jane, plucking the thought straight from my own mind. "So, Jeanie was not the only one?"

"I am afraid not. Others were also harmed. You should know, however..." The professor stopped suddenly and cleared his throat, seemingly frustrated.

"Yes?" I prompted.

"Dr. Granger, we believe it is quite possible that your daughter intentionally sought to engage the Basilisk–"

"You blame Jeanie?" I interrupted coldly.

He held up a hand. Then in harsh tones, he began speaking again. "You will please assume that Miss Granger is an adolescent girl rather than a responsible adult. It is not out of the question that she should take some foolhardy risks. After observing the occurrences around her, she grew curious." He paused and appeared to have difficulty finding his next words. "Your daughter possesses... remarkable intellectual aptitude. She succeeded in finding the answer just in time, not only to save her own life but also that of a fellow classmate, Miss Clearwater."

My breath suddenly drained from me. "She could have died?"

The professor nodded and for the first time during his visit, averted his gaze. "The headmaster noted right before she was sent to the infirmary that Miss Granger had a mirror in her hand and a crumpled piece of parchment on which a single word, pipes, was written. We would have taken these artifacts from her for further inspection if there hadn't been so many other urgent tasks to attend to; however, even without the benefit of thorough analysis, we were able to infer from that word alone that the creature was a Basilisk dwelling in Hogwarts' pipes. Had Miss Granger met its gaze fully rather than in a mirror, she would have died."

"Then we must go see her as soon as we can!" said Jane, who had turned an alarming shade of white as the professor was explaining.

Mr. Snape sighed heavily. "Neither of you can gain access to Hogwarts Castle. I am sorry. It is certainly not safe to remove her from the Hospital Wing, and in her Petrified condition, it is unlikely she would be able to hear you."

"This is absurd!" I had finally resorted to shouting. "You come here to tell me that my daughter has been attacked by a vicious monster, and yet we are not permitted to see her. Are we simply supposed to sit here and do nothing? What kind of school are you running? Who is responsible for this creature, and why isn't it being contained? I thought you had all sorts of magic tricks up your sleeve!"

A vein pulsed in the professor's temple. "Were it for us to decide, which it is emphatically not, you would certainly be able to see your daughter. As for your other question, Hogwarts is steeped in history, some of which remains incomplete. This monster may have resided within our walls since the school's founding, thousands of years ago. It has been a hostile presence within the castle since at least fifty years ago, the last time it appeared, coinciding with a student's death then, too. We have as yet no means to expel it. "

I tried not to sink into panic as I grappled with the sensation of being so fully at the mercy of another. I stared at this Snape, my daughter's professor, who came bearing news of Jeanie from a world we could not see, of a crisis we didn't even know how to comprehend. He was too calm, too composed. His restraint was unnatural and practiced, but behind it all, I still sensed the haunted weariness of a tired man.

I slumped, turning to Jane, who was blinking rapidly, and searched her wet eyes, seeking their familiar comfort and finding in them the likeness of my daughter. After allowing myself the benefit of a few deep breaths of air, I extended my hand to Mr. Snape. "Please take good care of her."

A shadow seemed to momentarily pass through his eyes. "Her Head of House, Minerva McGonagall, is responsible for her care. She will do a fine job."

"But you'll be the one making the medicine?"

His head dipped once. "Yes."