The Theory of Magic (Book 1)

30 // Favors & Funny Tattoos

"Slytherin staff quarters," Snape replied, straightening the paper so he could fold it and set it aside. "Specifically the common area. You and I are now the only people in residence, as Sinistra chooses to remain in her tower."

"Hmm. I was perfectly happy staying in my office." He must have lived down here alone for quite some time. Fi could see how Snape's possessions had bled outward from his own quarters, a cauldron in the corner of the room on a scarred worktable, a few books left out, the detritus of old letters and a couple sheaves of unused parchment or the stray potion ingredient strewn here and there.

"That's just it, isn't it, Dullahan? It is an office. You're injured. The Headmaster insists you relocate to proper chambers and the burden of minding you appears to have fallen on my shoulders." He wore a distinctly unimpressed look. "As if minding a school of brats wasn't enough effort already."

Fi propped a fist on her hip. "It wouldn't have been an issue if I hadn't been stuck next to Quirrell's room! Honestly."

Snape shrugged and considered the paper. "Those are the auxiliary staff quarters. I imagine you were put there because your...loyalties were in question. I don't know. I'm not responsible for housing."

He said loyalties like battle lines being drawn in the sand by children, and Fi couldn't remember the last time she'd heard something so ridiculous. "Stupid," she muttered. Shapes flickering by the windows drew her eye, and for a moment they remained in silence, and though it wasn't quite companionable, it was nice. Simple.

It didn't last.

"Are you missing something, Dullahan?"

"Hmm?" She looked toward Snape, finding that his attention hadn't left her, the black strands of his hair framing his sallow face. The light of the dungeon gave him a distinctly villainous hue, his pallor becoming somewhat deathly, bruised shadows pooling beneath his glittering eyes. He looked somewhat like an Inferus that had come kicking out of the grave for vengeance, whereas he only looked tired in the sunlight.

Snape said something but Fi didn't hear him. She was trying to imagine what Snape would appear like after a full twelve hours of sleep and a healthy breakfast. He ate like a bird when he bothered to attend meals. "Beg your pardon?"

He held a wand aloft, poised between two long fingers rather than clenched by a fist in threat. The wand was familiar, but Fi couldn't quite remember when she'd seen Snape's wand before.

"I asked you if you're missing something, Dullahan."

"I don't know. No one touched my stuff in my office, did they?"

"Not as such." The wand spun between his fingers. "I'm speaking of something more...vital."

"I did lose a kidney, y'know, so if this is your idea of a joke, I have to say you have some rather dark humor, Sn—." Fi stopped, eyes on the wand still turning in idle circles. She dropped her hands as if to pat the pockets of her robe, but she wasn't wearing her robe, only a wrinkled tunic and her leggings. "That's my wand."

"I had begun to wonder if you'd ever recognize it."

Frustrated and in no small amount of discomfort still, Fi held out a hand and came forward around the sofa. Snape leaned, wand extended by the handle—and when Fi's fingers encircled the damnable thing, she did a very stupid thing and forgot to retract her Will from her fingertips. The sudden crack of wood breaking sounded, and Fi had only a moment to throw a shield around Snape before the magical backlash burst outward from the shattered wand and she went toppling backward over the coffee table.

"Dullahan!"

Fi let out a cough, then a groan. "Sweet Corchen," she grunted, waiting for the world to cease its spinning. "I bloody hate those things."