Chapter 9: 4-2

Friday. The day had finally arrived—the day of our double Potions lesson with the Slytherins.

"My brother told me about him. Snape always favors his own house," Ron grumbled, his face pale and haggard. Beside him, I watched Harry with a smile; he was blushing, his cheeks finally starting to fill out with a healthy, childlike roundness after receiving an invitation to tea from Hagrid. The letter was addressed to Harry, but it added, 'Dear Harry, Maria (I assume you’ll be there too, knowing you),' so I decided to tag along without reserve.

"Harry Potter. Our new—celebrity."

Harry, who had been in high spirits thanks to our after-school plans with Hagrid, felt his mood plummet to sub-zero temperatures at Professor Snape’s opening words. Snape’s voice was laced with a malice stickier than Hagrid’s treacle fudge, making my little brother tremble. Well, yeah... I suppose this was bound to happen.

As Harry sat frozen in terror beside me, I reached under the desk and squeezed his hand, just as I had done a few times before. In response to Harry’s pathetic state, a nasty snickering erupted from the Slytherin side of the room, which was neatly divided from the Gryffindors down the center. However, there didn't seem to be a clear ringleader this time. Usually, Draco Malfoy would be at the forefront of the mockery.

But Draco simply looked away, wearing a mask of total indifference.

I see, I thought. So that’s his game? He’s going to play the 'neutral' card from now on.

Draco’s strategy seemed remarkably effective. Ron already detested him due to his father’s influence, but Harry was looking at Draco with a mixture of shock and confusion he couldn't hide. He was likely thinking something along the lines of: 'Why isn't he stopping them? I thought we were friends.'

It’s actually better this way, my naive Harry, I thought. The "wicked" Malfoy of the past was far worse.

I listened to Snape’s speech—which sounded almost poetic if you heard it the right way—with a sense of hollow detachment. Then, for a fleeting moment, I felt as if our eyes met. It was so brief that I almost convinced myself I had imagined it, and he had already looked away. But come to think of it, that was the first time since I became "Maria."

Ah, even though your voice and gestures used to irritate me so much... the happiness of hearing your voice again is a sharp, painful sting. It hurts so much I feel like I might laugh.

"Potter!"

"Yes!" we both answered in unison.

"...I meant Mr. Potter," Snape drawled.

"...Yes, sir," Harry replied.

There was no way for Harry to have a good impression of the man at this stage. I had to stifle a laugh at my brother's bitter tone—he clearly felt he had been targeted by a nuisance.

I know exactly how you feel, Harry. I’ve been down this road before. Don't worry, as a veteran of Snape’s bullying, I'll listen to your grievances later.

Now then, what would the first blow be? "Points from Gryffindor because I don't like your face"? This "overgrown bat" actually would do something like that. Or maybe "Points off for making me listen to your unpleasant voice"? ...Actually, that would be kind of hilarious.

Taking advantage of the fact that Snape wasn't looking at me, I propped my chin on my hand to hide my mouth and watched the confrontation. And then...

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Aspho...?"

Harry looked as if Snape were speaking a foreign language. I felt a surge of memory and slumped my shoulders. That’s right! Snape used to pull this on me too—asking questions far beyond a first-year’s curriculum just because he knew I didn't know the answer! How unfair can you get?

I pulled a piece of parchment—the closest thing on my desk—and scribbled the answer before tugging on Harry’s sleeve.

"And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"Inside the stomach of a goat, sir."

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"There is no difference. They are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite."

"............Very well. It seems Miss Potter has been doing her pre-reading. Well? Why aren't you all copying this down?"

The class scrambled for their quills, terrified of becoming the next target of Snape’s displeasure. Harry and I shared a small, knowing smile. As Harry turned back to the front, words appeared on the parchment: 'Your explanation was sloppy. Learn it properly.' It was a fastidious scolding. I hid a smile, thinking, See? This is the part of you that’s just like Mum—

Suddenly, I felt those black, tunnel-like eyes boring into me.

The actual lesson was quite simple—at least for me, Draco, and probably Hermione. We were brewing a Cure for Boils.

I’ve never been great at delicate work, but I managed well enough. Harry and I paired up and were finishing a decent batch when a sudden scream and a cloud of pungent green smoke erupted from the next table. I didn't even need to look to know Neville had messed up.

Ah, how nostalgic. To think that round-faced, clumsy boy would one day be called "Professor." Neville was certainly no Squib.

"Maria! Don't just daze off!"

Harry grabbed my hand, looking frustrated that his twin was so relaxed in the middle of a disaster. But Snape was faster; with a wave of his wand, the spilled failed potion vanished before it could reach us.

"Idiot boy! I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire? Weasley, take Longbottom to the Hospital Wing. ——Now, Potter?"

"Yes!" we both said again.

"...The older one."

"I’m the older sister," I said.

"...The younger brother."

"I'm the older brother!" Harry insisted.

"Silence! Potter-Sister, Potter-Brother! Will that suffice?!"

" "Yes!" "

Snape glared at Harry, the lines of anger etched deep into his face as if they stayed there even while he slept. He was glaring only at Harry.

"Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? Eh?"

"Harry didn't have the luxury of watching others, sir. Neither did I. We are beginners, after all. You of all people should understand that," I countered.

"...I noticed you were brewing with quite a lot of confidence for a beginner."

"Were you watching me, sir?"

"............"

Really? Even now, you won't even glance at me, yet you’re looking at Harry so intensely? You were only checking Harry’s work, weren't you?

—Or were you actually watching me too?

"...Potter, two points from Gryffindor for your cheek."

Spitting those words out, Snape retreated to his desk. I could only watch his back. He didn't look back. He never once looked at "Maria."

The only thing anchoring me in the growing darkness was the warmth of my twin’s hand.

After class, I parted ways with Harry and Ron on their way to Hagrid’s, claiming I had forgotten something. I turned back toward the dungeons.

"Professor Snape. May I have a moment?"

As expected, there was no answer to my knock. I opened the door to the Potion’s store cupboard anyway. Snape was facing away from the door, tinkering with a cauldron on his desk.

"A question, Miss Potter?"

"Isn't it common courtesy to look at someone when they are speaking to you?"

"...I see you haven't had enough points taken away yet."

"Professor."

Even though his sarcasm was as sharp as ever, he wouldn't turn around. So, I decided to be blunt.

"Do you hate Harry?"

"I would prefer you limit your questions to the curriculum, Miss Potter. This time is valuable—"

"Then, what about me?"

"Miss Potter... I had evaluated you to be slightly different from your brother, whose head appears to be filled with nothing but air."

"Professor, look at me."

"I told you to be sil—"

"I am Maria!"

"I DO NOT CARE FOR YOUR NAME!!"

His greasy, dark hair whipped around as he turned. His hooked nose and eyes full of intense emotion were finally directed at me. The color I saw from the front was... pitch black.

"————"

And then, he looked away just as quickly. Ah, I know that look. I know that face. It’s the face of someone aching with regret.

"I am Maria. Maria Potter. No matter what anyone says, no matter who I look like, I am the child of James and Lily. ......Excuse me."

With disappointment heavy in my chest, I turned my back on him. This time, I felt his gaze on me. Even if I turn around now, you’ll just look away again.

"I know someone who looked at me the same way you do."

I placed my hand on the heavy, rusted door. As it opened, the cold of the dungeons crawled up from my feet.

"—Petunia Evans."

Whether those words reached him before the door clicked shut, I no longer cared.

"Looks like you crashed and burned."

"If that’s how it looks to you, then I suppose I did."

I gave a dismissive reply to the person waiting for me, leaning pretentiously against the castle wall.

The moon was bright. The air reaching my lungs was soft. Almost impossibly, the night above ground welcomed me gently. It was a world away from the temperature of that man, still clinging to the darkness of the dungeons.

"We can still make it to dinner if we hurry."

"I’m not in the mood."

"I figured."

Draco didn't try to comfort me; he just walked beside me. That distance felt right.

"I used to wonder why I was named Maria. Maria Potter... the answer is simple. I realized it immediately. I didn't even have to think about it. My mother is Lily, and the daughter is Maria. It’s a common theme."

"............"

"My name was inspired by my mother."

The Lily is the flower that symbolizes the Virgin Mary.

How straightforward. A name given while looking only at Lily—it was so 'typical' of him.

"Can I borrow your wand?"

"...Will that actually help you?"

"Yes."

I nodded, and Draco handed me his wand without hesitation.

"—Diffindo."

"What—!?"

My red hair, which had grown down to the middle of my back, scattered across the floor. A refreshing breeze brushed against my neck. It felt like a blessing from a sylph.

"What on earth are you—"

"I’ve decided."

I flicked the wand, vanishing the red "flowers" that had bloomed on the ground.

"I am going to save Severus Snape."

I will change the eyes of that man, who laments in eternal silence that he could protect nothing.

It was a nightmare.

To Severus Snape, the girl was a nightmare that forced him to face his sins.

The moment McGonagall called her name, it felt as though every drop of blood in his veins had frozen. From behind, the child was terrifyingly identical to her. Even the way she looked after her brother—the spitting image of the man he loathed—was gallingly similar.

Every time Harry Potter called out "Maria," he wanted to cover his ears.

Maria.

Ah, why did you give her that name? ——Lily.

A cruel, sweet voice was etched into his mind, carving into the sinner that was Severus Snape.

'Sev! Listen! A neighbor had a baby! She’s so cute... even though she’s so tiny, she grabbed my finger and wouldn't let go!'

'I wonder if I’ll get married someday and have a child of my own. They’ll call me "Mama." Tuney will be an aunt! Oh... I wonder if Tuney would hate being called an aunt...'

'Hey, Sev. ——What kind of name would you choose?'

The foolish, dreamy, idiotic boy had answered.

'No, I’m not talking about my child. I mean, if you were to name your own child.'

'...But that’s lovely. I was thinking of using flower names, like the ones Mama gave us—but that’s wonderful.'

'Maria——that’s a beautiful name————'

The friendship between Lily Evans and Severus Snape was never repaired, not even at the very end. It was all his own doing. And yet, why?

Suddenly, the girl, who had been tending to her brother as he clutched his scar, turned her eyes toward Snape.

"————"

Those hazel eyes glared at the man with pure hatred. The eyes of the man who had lost his beloved wife... were looking at the man who had taken her away.

He couldn't bear it. He instantly turned his face toward Quirrell, fleeing from those hazel eyes.

On this day, Severus Snape wished for a version of himself that would be killed by her.