It was a Wednesday afternoon, and Lindsay found herself in the increasingly familiar company of Jackson. He was seated next to her with his arm slung across her shoulder, an action that was quickly becoming a habit. He'd forgone his own homework under the pretense of helping Lindsay with her Charms and Transfiguration essays, which she didn't need and hadn't asked for. He slid his arm a little further down her shoulder and she rose. Her intention wasn't made clear to him though, as at the same time Lindsay rose, her door opened with a bang and was accompanied by disgruntled shouting from Wately as he entered and paced the room in a temper. Wately was another sixth year student and Jackson's best friend. They were of equal height, slightly above average. Wately's stocky frame contrasted sharply with Jackson's much leaner build.
"He caught me! I can't believe it! Two years I've managed to slip him, and he caught me!"
"What are you going on about?"
Wately stopped pacing and answered his friend as calmly as he could manage. "Snape caught me and took my mags. I've got detention with Filch for the next month."
"It's bad luck, mate, but you knew it was bound to happen sooner or later," said Jackson
A paper airplane arrived for Lindsay as the boys were speaking. "Sorry to interrupt, guys, but I've got to go." Lindsay grabbed her violin and bag.
"Dumbledore again?" said Jackson.
"No, Snape."
Jackson tried to offer more encouraging words to his friend, but Wately wasn't listening. He silently watched Lindsay leave the room. "Don't you think that's odd?"
"What?"
"She never takes her violin with her when she sees the Git."
Jackson reached for the letter Lindsay had laid on the coffee table. "He told her to."
"Let me see that."
"That's all it says, Tom."
Wately read the note aloud. "Come to my office. Bring your violin. ~ Professor Snape. Don't you think that's a bit odd, John?"
"No, sometimes she goes to the teachers' offices for theoretical lessons. She goes to their private rooms sometimes too. I know she's been in McGonagall's and Lupin's rooms a few times."
"But this isn't McGonagall or Lupin we're talking about here. It's the Greasy Git. The only place he invites anyone is to detention." Wately balled up the letter and flung it into the fire.
###
Lindsay raised her hand to knock on Snape's office door and was told to enter before her knuckles rapped the wood. "It's amazing how he does that." She entered into a cold, stark, dimly lit room that was piled from floor to ceiling with potions and potions ingredients. "Someone's been a busy little beaver." There was no decoration in the room, no hint of the man's personality. There weren't any pictures or keepsakes that usually adorn a person's desk. Snape was seated behind his desk grading student essays. He set aside his quill and stood as Lindsay entered the room. "Are we brewing in here, Professor? Seems a little cramped for that."
"No, this isn't a lesson. I," Snape hesitated, looking uncomfortable. "I merely wished to hear you play."
Lindsay set her bag on the floor and placed her violin case on a nearby table, the same table that she'd watched Snape upend a few nights before. "I don't need much encouragement to play. I've always been a music lover. Oh, dear, it looks like Fred broke a string and forgot to tell me. You don't mind while I restring this, do you?"
"Not at all." There were two leather-bound chairs in front of Snape's desk set for visitors. He turned one around to face Lindsay.
"I'm feeling a bit bold tonight, Professor, so I'd like to ask you something. Would you mind sitting for me sometime?"
Snape gathered his robes about him and sat upon the chair in such a theatrically elegant way that Lindsay burst into laughter. Snape was expressionless. "You do know what I mean, right?"
"I do. I'll let you know when I have the time. Where would you have me sit?"
"My rooms would be the most convenient. I have all my art supplies set up there." She turned back to her violin and began removing the broken string. Snape's presence didn't unnerve her, nor was she bothered by his obsessive studying of her, but his near perpetual silence was oddly unsettling. Lindsay knew many people who weren't talkers, and their frequent silence never bothered her. There was something different about Snape's unobtrusiveness; the silence from him was so much like an unpleasantly pregnant pause that it made her uncomfortable. She began to prattle.
"I've had this violin since I was twelve. It was a birthday present from my parents. I'd started with a child-sized one that had been my sister's. My parents wanted to get me something new and expensive; they thought that would make it special. I saw this in a bookstore, of all places. My mother was friendly with the owner, who'd found the violin in her attic. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to have it. It needed a little work, but it played well. It's got scratches and dings and it's worn from use, but those things just give it character. I wonder sometimes about all the hands that have played it. I think of all the fumbling mistakes and all the proud moments when a piece has been learned and played perfectly. All that history is much more special than something shiny and new."
Snape stared at her in silence. Lindsay wondered if he'd listened at all.
"Is there something specific that you'd like to hear?"
"The piece you played for the Headmaster."
"Ah, you're a man of discerning taste, Professor. Paganini isn't easy to play."
Snape observed her as she played. His supposition had been correct. The more she focused on the music, the easier it was to enter her mind. She looked at the violin and not him, but he had a good enough view of her eyes to see some of her thoughts. He was very careful not to penetrate her mind too deeply for fear of triggering her natural defense mechanism. His snooping had to be subtle or he'd risk alerting her photographic recall to his covert shenanigans. The fact that she had an eidetic memory made it that much easier for him. Her thoughts were clear, well arranged, and easily triggered by indirect visual stimuli. Something as simple as holding a magazine or charming a streak of Weasley-red into his hair would make thoughts flash through her mind. He was overwhelmed by the vast amount of information her mind could hold at one time, and had to choose his prompts carefully. Information would rush by so quickly that he had difficulty grabbing useful material. He was so pleased with his goldmine of information that he requested she play for him several nights a week. Not surprisingly, the amount of detentions given to rule-breaking students increased dramatically, particularly for Gryffindors.