Chapter - 37 : Diverging Paths

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"Remember anything about him?" he asked.

I blinked at him. I'd already told Ron. I assumed that, like most schools, that was all it took for information to get spread. It would probably only be a few days, a week or two tops before they knew anyway.

"I do, actually," I said slowly.

Malfoy blinked. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting that. Then his sneer fixed firmly back onto his face and he said, "You've got to be lying. You were only a baby."

Hmph, well so much for telling them. I was all set to be honest and accommodating, but if he wanted to be like that, then let the Slytherins stew in their curiosity for a while.

I let my eyes go distant and misty. The hand holding my fork slowly lowered to rest on the table. "I remember…" I whispered. The Slytherins leaned forwards. "I remember…" they were on the edge of their seats. It was hilarious. "I remember… that it's none of your bloody business," I finished sharply, letting the mask fade. My face took on an irritated expression and I gave Malfoy a dark look. He scowled and turned back to his food. I saw Zambini nudge him.

"Nice going," he rebuked.

"Shove off," Malfoy muttered.

I scoffed and continued on with my dinner. I was starting for the first time that I could remember, to feel full.

When everyone had finished eating, the plates cleared themselves magically, leaving the gold spotless and gleaming. Barely a blink later the dishes were full again, this time with desserts. There were cakes, pies, ice creams and toppings. I stared in awe. Sugar was a rare treat in my life, and now I was staring at an entire banquet table full of it, all for the taking, with no Dudley to take it before I could get a share.

I happily dragged a piece of apple pie onto my plate, topped it with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream, and drizzled caramel topping over it all.

"How'd you do that?" Lily asked, looking at my dessert a little awed. "It looks like something you'd get at a restaurant."

I looked at my dessert and shrugged. I supposed it might have been a little much to drizzle the caramel in artful zig zags, but I thought I might as well make it pretty since I had the option.

"I cook a lot," I said by way of explanation.

"Don't you have servants for that?" Parkinson looked like she was confused by the very idea of having to provide for yourself. I was really starting to dislike her.

"No," I replied coolly. "I always handled myself."

Going by the way Parkinson's eyes narrowed, she was starting to really dislike me as well, which suited me just fine. I dug into my dessert, taking a moment to glance up at the head table. Dumbledore was chatting with McGonagall. It seemed like they got on very well, considering the fact that McGonagall was smiling slightly and shaking her head at whatever Dumbledore was talking about. I looked down at Hagrid, whose plate was holding an entire pie that he seemed almost finished with. He caught my eye and waved a hand in greeting, though I couldn't help but notice that he looked a little uncertain about me now as well.

I recalled McGonagall's expression when she looked down at me. Disappointment. And Hagrid, who'd been so kind to me, now looked like he wasn't quite sure what to do with me. All because I was in Slytherin house. I couldn't decide whether I was unreasonably annoyed at my fellow housemates for the reputation they'd cultivated, or if I pitied them because everyone else seemed determined to only see the worst in them.

I knew one other teacher up there. Professor Quirrell in his odd purple turban was nervously wringing his napkin in his hand. He was speaking with another professor. This one had a sallow, gaunt face, long, greasy black hair, and a truly unfortunate hooked nose.

"Who's the teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" I asked. A few of the girls looked up to see who I was talking about. Daphne smiled slightly.

"That's our head of house," she explained. "Professor Snape. He teaches Potions."

"He favors us," Parkinson said smugly. "Always gives us points, and he takes them from Gryffindor all of the time."

"I see," I nodded.

"No wonder Quirrell looks about to wet himself," Bulstrode scoffed. "Everyone knows that Snape wants to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Almost like he knew he was being talked about, Snape stopped mid-conversation with Quirrell and turned to look at us. The other girls quickly dipped their heads, trying to pretend that they hadn't been staring at him. I was the only one that kept looking.

He met my gaze with his own black gaze, and the strangest expression crossed his face. Something like bitter longing. It was gone before I'd even fully registered it, and I wasn't confident I'd seen it correctly, but there was definitely something. He kept holding my gaze, one eyebrow creeping up, daring me to look away.

I didn't.

His mouth curled up into what looked to be an amused sneer and he looked away from me. I followed his gaze to Harry at the Gryffindor table. Harry was looking at him too. The amusement in his sneer turned to mocking. I got the feeling that Snape had already made up his mind to hate Harry, for no reason that I could discern.

Almost the moment he made eye contact I saw Harry flinch, smacking a hand to his scar. My grip on my silverware tightened in concern, but I knew I couldn't exactly just get up and wander over to ask if he had a headache. Ron leaned over, asking if he was okay. Harry said something and Ron seemed unconcerned, so I assumed all was okay.

When the dessert dishes had vanished, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Again the hall fell silent the moment he rose.

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