Goodnight, Sweet Princess
Chapter 7- The First Session
He was avoiding her. Tara was sure of it. It had been a week since she had moved into his chambers, and she had hardly seen him at all. He would leave early in the mornings before she woke up, and come back after she was asleep. The only times Tara saw him at all, in fact, was at meals, where he made a point of looking at anything but at her. He was once again the cold, heartless git that mercilessly taught potions; Tara could find no traces of the kind, sweet man that had taken care of her when she was sick. Of course, she mused, it was quite possible she had imagined it all. It had been terribly uncharacteristic of Snape to be nice to anyone, let alone someone that had just invaded his personal space, so she had probably just hallucinated the whole thing. Tara settled back in the chair and pushed all thoughts of Snape from her mind. Thinking about him only stressed her out, and she really didn't need any more stress right now. Today was her first appointment with the dream analyst her parents and Dumbledore had arranged for her to see. If she was nervous, she didn't want it to show, so it was simply best not to even think of Snape until she was done.
A small click sounded behind her, and Tara twisted in her chair to see who was there. Dressed in brightly patterned robes, with his half-moon spectacles perched precariously on the tip of his nose, Dumbledore shut the door; careful of a small silver bowl he was carrying. "Ah! Miss Landers, how good to see you!" Dumbledore's cheerful demeanor made Tara relax, and she smiled at him. "Good Morning, Headmaster. Ho-" she started, but he cut her off. "Bertie Bott bean, Miss Landers?" He pushed a small glass bowl of them towards her. Tara leaned forward, and selected a black one, crossed her fingers, and popped it into her mouth. She smiled, and announced "Licorice!" happy not to have gotten nail polish or tar. "Well then, down to business." Dumbledore settled the silver bowl in the center of his desk; then moved to the fireplace. From a wooden box on the mantle he took a tattered leather bag, which he carried back to the desk. "I believe you know what Floo Powder is, how it operates?" he asked. "Yes, I've used it a few times." Tara replied, eager to go. "Good. Then I will give you this, wish you good luck, and see you off." Dumbledore handed her the small bowl, and walked her to the fireplace. Tara took a bit of powder from the leather bag, threw it into the fire and said "Shirley Keller, Diagon Alley." As she stepped into the fire it rose up around her, like crackling blue tongues, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
When she opened them, she was sitting on a soft carpet in front of another fireplace, a fine coat of soot on her clothes. "Oh! Hello there! You must be Tara, yes? I'm Shirley. You're early, but that's quite alright. Take a seat, and I'll be with you in just a second, 'kay?" A short, rather squat woman was bustling around the room, her bright yellow robes clashing terribly against the sea foam green walls and furniture. Tara raised a hand and brushed a bit of soot out of her eyes, and pushed herself up from the ground. "Ugh... where do you want me to put this?" Tara asked, holding the bowl she was carrying out to the woman. "Blast! I knew I forgot something!" said Shirley, who grabbed her wand, muttered a quick charm, and a small round table flew in through an open door, settling in the center of the room. "Right there, dear, if you don't mind." Shirley pointed at the table, and Tara could only gape at the boundlessly energetic older witch. "Now then, I'll be needing from you is the names and signs of the people in your dream, and where exactly the dream is set, then you'll be done for the day." Tara was now seated in an overstuffed wing chair. "Y-you mean that's it?" she asked. "Oh! Heavens no! But this is just your first time here. I need a chance to look at whatever dream it is you've been having, it is just the one, yes? Your Headmaster, I believe, said you are plagued with a recurring dream? Since it's just one dream, we wont discuss it until next time you come." Shirley paused, shot a quirky smile at Tara, then continued. "Think of this as introductions, rather than 'a session'. This isn't really anything like that dreadful muggle counseling I see on the telly." Tara shook her head, she didn't watch much TV, but she could imagine what Shirley was referring to, after all, there were no shortage of 'counseling shows' in America. Tara hid a giggle behind her hand, imagining the older witch watching Jenny Jones, Ricky Lake, or Jerry Springer.
"Well then, you just tell me who these people are," Shirley had turned to face Tara, revealing a small row of two foot tall miniatures of Tara, Snape and Lucien that she had somehow created, and she gestured at the dolls. "This one is quite obviously you, so lets just get rid of this doll." With a wave of her wand the doll that resembled Tara deflated and swooshed into the tip of her wand. "Alright, let's start with this gentleman, tell me who he is." Shirley pointed to the miniature of Snape. Tara smiled softly, she had been doing so well, she hadn't thought about Snape since Dumbledore's office, and now she was forced to think about him. "That's Professor Snape. He's the potions master at the school." Tara stopped; unsure of what other information Shirley wanted. "Ah yes, I've met Professor Snape a few times. Do you know his Sign Tara?" Shirley asked. Tara shook her head; she didn't have the faintest clue. "Ok then, tell me, what is your relationship like with Professor Snape."
For a moment, Tara was too stunned to speak. Then it hit her; Shirley wanted to know about their teacher-student relationship. "Well, I guess he's a good teacher, I don't really know him very well. He's not exactly the nicest person, but I don't think he means to be as cruel as he is." Again, Tara paused, trying to form her thoughts into sentences before she continued "And he's been so much nicer since I moved into his chambers, he even took care of me when I was sick." Shirley's pen scritch-scratched on her paper, the only sound in the room. "Ah yes, he is the professor you are staying with then?" Without giving Tara a chance to answer, she continued. "Now this handsome gentleman, tell me about him." "That's Lucien. He's my sire. He changed me about two years ago. I don't know him well at all, I only knew him for a few weeks. I think he's a Leo." A dreamy look had come over Tara's features, but her voice was full of bitterness and pain.
"I see. Now then, we've got the people done," Shirley paused; and with a muttered word both dolls were sucked into the tip of her wand, and she continued as a miniature house shot from her wand's tip. "You can tell me where this house is, and how you know it, if you please." "Oh. That's my plantation house. It's where I used to live, when we lived in America. It's where I grew up. My parents wanted to sell it, but I convinced them to give it to me." Tara began to drift off into thought, but Shirley interrupted her revere. "Do you still visit it? Is this where you were changed?" Not paying much attention, it took Tara a moment to respond. "Yeah. That's where Lucien changed me. I go back every summer, after all, it is my home." "Good, good. Right, one more thing, then we're done for the day. It says in your file that you've been having this dream for two years now, is that correct?" Tara nodded.
Shirley set her small notepad on her desk, and then bustled over to Tara. "You've done remarkably well, for your first time. I'll be reviewing your dream during the week, and we'll talk more next time you come, okay?" And suddenly Tara was in front of the fire, a handful of Floo powder in her fist, and Shirley was waving goodbye. With no other options, Tara turned around and Flooed herself back to the school.
////// Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts \\\\\\
Seated behind his desk, Snape paused to enjoy a moment of quiet freedom from the constant chatter of students. The whole situation was enough to put bats in anyone's belfry. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to erase the memory of Potter sprawled on top of the stupid Landers girl. Smack. Snape's fist slammed down on his desk. Even when he did all he could to avoid her; he could not remove her from his thoughts. Collect yourself, he chided mentally. Your students will be here in a few minutes. Do you want them to see you like this? The voice inside his head taunted him. Irritably, Snape shuffled a stack of papers, neatening, straightening, until everything was in perfect order.
Just seconds after he was done, the dungeon door burst open, spewing laughing students into his domain. Snape glared at them. Soon the room was almost full of students, settling into their seats. Snape surveyed the group. Slytherins, and Gryffindors. Seventh years. Inwardly, Snape cursed. This was Potter's class, and sure enough, a few seconds later Harry and his gaggle of friends entered the room. Detesting himself for letting anything Potter did get under his skin, Snape copied instructions for the afternoon's potion on the board; then, to capture his classes attention, he turned back to the class, letting his textbook drop onto his desk with a resounding thump. The trick worked, all eyes riveted to him, and he scanned the room, feeling particularly malevolent. "Your potions will be done, and on my desk, by the time class is through. This is a particularly difficult potion, and I will be deducting points from your grades for every error you make. Get to work!" he warned the class quietly.
Somehow, things managed to go rather smoothly, until approximately half way through the class. Then the trouble began. From the corner of his eye, Snape watched as Draco Malfoy shot a small, charmed paper airplane at Potter. The plane hit Harry's hand, which was hovering over his cauldron pouring powered wolfs bane into the thick liquid, causing the boy to pour more in than he had intended. Immediately, green smoke began to rise from the mixture. With a strained efficiency, Snape moved to the boy's desk and in seconds, the smoking potion was gone, leaving behind an empty cauldron and a scowling Professor. He sneered down at the boy. "Detention, Potter."