Chapter 8 - Dreading Home

2025 edit: Welcome to what I believe is my weakest, most contrived chapter/storyline 😬🤡 hang in there...

A/N: Fun fact: my favourite Alan Rickman film is Snow Cake <3 If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend. It's available for freeeeee online if you look hard enough ;) Plus it features a young Stevie from Schitt's Creek!

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Hogsmeade Station was bustling with chaos as students pushed their way onto the gleaming red steam engine, trying to secure the best compartments with their friends.

Asha stood against the back wall of the station, trying her best not to think of tiny cold hands and the panicked wailing of a devastated mother. Her fingers had turned white and numb from the force with which she was clutching the handle of her trunk.

She'd known this moment would come. The moment in which she'd have to board the train and return to the Foster Home. For a whole year, Asha had been trying desperately to forget the events that had transpired last summer. But she knew that returning to the Home would send it all flooding back.

The last couple of months of the term had gone surprisingly smoothly since her supposed breakdown. Snape had given her a sleeping potion that knocked her out for a couple of days. She had woken up feeling like she'd been reset.

Without such severe exhaustion, everything became much more manageable. That was until the end of term started approaching and anxiety about returning to the Home had begun building.

The station platform was a lot clearer now. Hagrid was patrolling around, telling the final groups of stragglers to hurry up and board; the train would be leaving in a few minutes.

Asha's hands were clammy. She could feel her heartbeat in her teeth. She willed herself to get on a carriage, but her feet wouldn't move.

There were now only a handful of students left who had not yet boarded, and Hagrid was moving towards her end of the platform. In a split-second decision, she whipped out her wand and cast a disillusionment charm.

A sense of relief washed over Asha as she watched her body melt into the wall behind her. A steam whistle sounded, and the train heaved forward as Hagrid helped a final student pull their trunk through the carriage doors.

The loud rumbling and chugging of the Hogwarts Express eventually died away, leaving the empty station eerily quiet. Hagrid returned to the Thestral-drawn carriages and began herding them back around the lake, towards the castle.

Once he was out of sight, Asha lifted the disillusionment charm and faced her predicament. What the hell did I just do? Why couldn't I just suck it up and get on the train? What the fuck was I thinking - that I would just live on the streets of Hogsmeade for six weeks?!

Once again, Asha felt as if her very existence had become exhausting. But despite the fact her new plan of attack was apparently to live like a vagabond on the streets of Hogsmeade, she couldn't help feeling intensely relieved that, at least for now, she wouldn't have to return to the Home.

Asha decided that since everyone from Hogwarts had gone home, it would be safe to hunker down at the Three Broomsticks for the time being.

The inn wasn't too crowded since it was only 11 am. She tried her luck and asked for a glass of Firewhisky, but the barwoman only responded with a disapproving scowl, so Asha ordered two Butterbeers instead.

With her trunk in one hand and wand in the other, she instinctively levitated the drinks over to a back table before suddenly realising she shouldn't be using magic - it was now officially the school holidays.

The butterbeer warmed Asha's insides and calmed her down. She stubbornly decided not to worry about what she would do when eventually it started getting dark, and instead spent the next couple hours sipping Butterbeer and browsing through a copy of the Daily Prophet someone had left lying on the table.

She had just spotted a small column highlighting the success of Britain's Charles Weasley in becoming a registered dragonologist at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary when a scuffling sound began to pull at Asha's attention. For a moment, she tried to dismiss the sound, just as she was ignoring all the other noises of the inn. But seconds later, she realised she knew that shuffling sound all too well and, before she could think better of it, she whipped her head up and watched as a hunched figure cradling a scrawny black cat moved over to the bar, his eyes lazily scanning the room. Before Asha had time to react, their eyes locked. Oh shit.

"Well, well. What do we have here then, aye? A student who's missed the train home?"Argus Filch's eyes twinkled maliciously. "I've been telling Dumbledore for years, that big oaf doesn't keep a close enough eye on you nasty brats!

"You better follow me, girl. Oh, Sprout won't be happy when she realises she's going to have to organise your trip home, oh, no, no, no."

To Asha's confusion, instead of leading her on the long trek back around the lake, Filch shuffled his way up the street towards Honeydukes.

"Why are we-" Asha began.

"Oh, you'll see. You students think you know everything. Think you can hide your Belch Pellets and Dung Bombs where I won't find them. Hah! Well, I'll tell you I know that castle better than anyone. Been here over 25 years and there ain't so much as a loose brick I ain't found."

Filch entered the sweet shop and proceeded down into the cellar, Asha dragging her trunk behind him. Concealed beyond a stack of barrels was a small but heavy wooden door. Filch hauled it open, Mrs Noris still tucked protectively under one arm, and picked up a lit lantern from just inside.

"In you go, my dear," Filch said with a strange air of pride. Asha gave him a calculating look. He still looked ecstatic to have caught a student red-handed. She shrugged and entered the small dark tunnel.

She walked through the passage, listening to the caretaker's raspy breath following close behind her.

After about a hundred meters, Asha slowed to approach what seemed to be the end of the tunnel. Suddenly, there was the sound of rumbling and scraping rock. A crack of light grew into an opening that was just large enough for Asha to squeeze herself and her trunk through.

"What?" Asha exclaimed under her breath. To her amazement, they were standing in the Hogwarts corridors, having just emerged from behind the statue of the One-Eyed Witch. She realised they must've walked through some kind of geographic compression charm because it should have taken at least ten minutes to walk all the way back to the castle.

That lazy git! she seethed. Every winter, he watches students stumble miserably through the freezing snow to get to Hogsmeade, while he gets to use this cosy portal of a passageway! Well, I'll sure as hell be using this from now on.

As if he read her mind, Filch leered, "Now don't go getting any ideas, girl. I'm the only one who knows the password to get through from this side, so I doubt you'll be seeing the walls of that passage again." Asha watched grumpily as the hump of the statue slid back into place. "Now, with some luck, Sprout won't have left yet".

They made their way down the corridor and turned a corner, only to come face to face with Snape. It seemed he was on his way out of the castle; an old trunk was trailing magically behind him.

He looked to be in a slightly better mood than usual, but that quickly changed as he registered the pair in front of him. Now he looked annoyed. He gave Asha a quizzical look before addressing Filch.

"What's she doing here?"

"Found 'er holed up in the Three Broomsticks, Professor." Snape's eyes narrowed and he glanced suspiciously at the young witch. Filch continued, "I was on my way to take her to Professor Sprout".

"She's already gone," Snape stated coldly. The leer faded from the caretaker's face but returned a second later, his eyes shining with an even more malevolent gleam.

"Well, perhaps you'll have to deal with her, Professor." There was a heavy silence. Snape seethed a sigh.

"Fine," he finally hissed. "With me, Winters." He strode off down the corridor, not bothering to check whether or not she was following, his trunk bobbing in his wake.

Asha's mouth had gone dry again and her hands clammy. He would definitely send her back to the Home. In fact, since he would likely apparate her there, she'd probably arrive a couple of hours earlier than if she had caught the train...

As they reached the potions classroom, Snape waved his hand and the door swung open. Asha hardly noticed where they were as she followed him in. He pulled a black sack out of his robes and began fossicking through the ingredients cupboard.

"What in Merlin's name are you still doing here, Winters?" Snape drawled, his voice suddenly tired. He plucked up a miscellaneous bottle and stuffed it in the sack. "I thought I had finally reached that merciful time of year where I don't have to set eyes on a single pesky student for a full six weeks." He glanced at Asha, and she looked away. What could she tell him? She still desperately did not want to go back to the Home.

"I..." She trailed off. Those sickening memories started flashing through her mind again like a slideshow of horror. A lump was rising in her throat and she could feel her heart pounding once again.

Yet her expression stayed blank. She desperately didn't want him to see the distress she was in. No way would she ever make herself vulnerable like that again. But her legs were starting to feel weak and tingly.

She sat down in the nearest chair and placed her folded arms on the desk in front of her, gaze directed ahead at the potion-stained stone floor. She could feel Snape's eyes on her. She knew she needed to come up with something to say but it was like her mind was a jammed machine, unable to function properly.

Snape stopped rummaging through ingredients and gave her a proper look. Slowly and suspiciously, he pulled up a chair a couple of meters away.

Severus couldn't deny that he found Asha Winters slightly more intriguing than the usual adolescent brats that populated his class. No, that was a lie, he found her to be utterly perplexing. She oscillated between being a stupid giggling girl that everyone adored, to getting utterly intoxicated, punching cupboards and yelling in his face. His face.

And on top of that, she possessed magical abilities far beyond what she should be capable of, yet didn't want anyone to know about it. And now here she was, acting extremely odd and suspicious, having missed the train to London.

"Winters," he said, suddenly serious, "what is going on? Tell me." His voice was calm but direct.

Asha's chest tightened and her face felt strangling fuzzy. She actually couldn't pull herself together. Now, this was a terrifying feeling. She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat and brought her hands up to her forehead, elbows still propped on the desk. Then, realising that covering her face was a clear display of weakness, she quickly brought her hands back down and gripped the back edge of the desk, as if she were bracing herself to be jinxed.

She hauled her gaze up to meet his. Snape's expression was unreadable, though at least it wasn't angry. Something about his controlled, disciplined, no-nonsense aura gave Asha the strength she needed to speak.

"I can't go back to the Foster Home."

Snape's stare became more piercing.

"And why is that?"

Asha felt sick to her stomach. She swallowed and looked away, staring at the jars lining the walls. She couldn't bear to look at him because she was so ashamed. So guilty. So sickened by herself and so, so angry at herself.

Then she had a thought.

"Can I stay here over the summer?" She looked at him, unable to keep the hope and desperation out of her eyes. "I can look after myself and I swear I won't even set a foot outside the castle!"

"No. The headmaster doesn't allow students to stay ov-".

Asha interrupted in desperation: "No, that's not true! I've heard that some years Dumbledore has let students who were failing their classes stay - to give them a chance to practice magic over the break."

"I said no," Snape stated firmly. He hadn't raised his voice, but deep as it was, it seemed to boom through the classroom.

Asha went quiet.

"Besides, the headmaster is travelling for the next two weeks and I'm not sure any of the staff are staying in the castle this summer. I was about to apparate home. You will come with me to the Hogwarts Gates and I'll apparate you to this Foster Home."

Asha couldn't bring herself to reply, so she just gave a stiff nod.

The walk to the Gates took far less time than Asha would've liked. It was a hot summer's afternoon, so Snape had removed his cloak and carried it draped over his left forearm. They stopped just outside the gates and he held out his right arm. When Asha failed to notice, he sighed and drawled, "Take my arm, Winters, and tell me where it is I am taking you."

"Huh?" Asha had been staring off into the hills, fretting about what Madeline would do when she saw her. What could I even say to her that would be of any worth? She saw that Snape was offering his arm. "Oh, right..."

Severus watched as Asha hesitated, considering his outstretched arm. He saw her hand make a subtle twitch as if to grab her wand as she cast a furtive glance at the forest bordering the road.

"Don't even try it, Winters. I guarantee even you wouldn't last one day in that forest. Now tell me the address." His baritone voice was now laced with ice.

When she didn't reply, he said, "What is it that is waiting at this Foster Home of yours that is so formidable it could actually phase the fearless Asha Winters?" He arched an eyebrow, his inquisitive black eyes drilling into her. "Is there a big, bad bully or two, perhaps?" he mocked.

Asha knew he was trying to provoke the truth out of her. She squared her shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes. Snape was several inches taller than her, and despite her combative stance, her voice came out huskily and with a distinct fragility. She cringed at the sound of it.

"I can't go back there. Just... not yet. Not right now. I won't tell you the address. I won't do it." Asha could feel that terrible sensation of prickling behind her eyes. She knew this was pointless. Snape could easily look up the address in the school records.

"Don't be so ridiculous and childish," he spoke slowly and steadily with a tone that, while he had barely raised his voice, somehow channelled a spine-crawling fury.

His words cut through Asha like a hot knife. She bit her lip hard, wishing she could just disappear into a void. There was nothing for her to do. No escape.

She squared her jaw as if this would protect her from what she was about to do. It was the one remaining card she could play.

"I can't do it," she conceded through gritted teeth. She felt completely exposed and pathetic. Her stomach writhed at the supposed danger she was putting herself in by allowing her emotions to rise to the surface, but she didn't have any other choice.

"Please," she whispered, practically begging. She hated how weak she sounded. "Don't take me there. It will break me."

A dusting of unease settled over Severus as he found he was slightly perturbed by the girl's words. Or was it the sound of her voice? A voice he would've never expected from her. It awoke something within him. A distant, well-buried memory sparked in his mind: a conversation he'd had with Albus as a student. He remembered, clear as day, that desperate, burning fear and sorrow of not wanting to go home.

"Well, what would you have me do then!" he snapped.

His words rang out in the air.

Asha didn't know. This was all her fault. She should've at least taken the train back to London and... and what? She wasn't old enough to book a room or bunk anywhere. She had no one she could call. Not a soul on earth who could understand, let alone help her. But, then again, that was simply her life. How could she have forgotten? She turned her eyes on Snape.

Severus was struck by how stark and hard the girl's gaze had become. Her eyes suddenly read as ones that had been tried and calloused by the world. Eyes devoid of faith or trust. Eyes that were jarringly out of place in someone so young. Eyes that seemed to burn into him.

"Fine!" he hissed. He grabbed her arm and turned on the spot.