Sleepless At Four In the Morning [Open]

[Samantha Snape]

Black eyes flew open, thin and bony hands fisted in the sweat-soaked sheets and covers. Her teeth were clamped hard together, as she choked down the scream which threatened to tear from her throat. Shaking slightly, the tall girl tossed back the blankets and stumbled from her bed to the bathroom which was adjoined to the Slytherin fifth year girls' dormitory. Her movements were almost mechanic, as she closed and locked the door behind herself. She seemed to be in a slight haze, as she dropped to her knees before the toilet.

Lifting both the cover and the seat, she slipped two fingers past her teeth and to the back of her throat. It took a few tries by now, but she eventually gagged enough to begin bringing up what she had eaten for dinner. It had been a week or so since the talk she had had with Draco, and she had been trying, but it just wasn't something she wanted, or could do. After about fifteen to twenty minutes of purging her dinner, the redhead noted that nothing else would come up, save for stomach acid, and a bit of blood. Removing her hand from her mouth, she reached up and flushed the toilet.

Standing on slightly wobbly legs, she moved over to the sink. Turning on the water, she washed her hands and then rinsed out her mouth. Swallowing thickly, she winced at the damage she felt had been done to her esophagus. She didn't do this often, mostly because of the fact that she was usually good about not eating more than she should, but when she did it hurt like Hell. Another reason she didn't do it often. She could deal with the pain of hunger, but not of purging. Of course, whenever she had that dream - nightmare - it was just about an automatic reaction.

It started out as most dreams usually do. It had a fanciful tone to it. She would be a little girl again - perhaps seven or so - and she and her parents would be spending the summer together. She would laugh and run around, chasing butterflies and birds and squirrels in the woods near Spinners End. She knew her parents were always close by, but that they would be talking quietly, with expressions of love on their faces. That was what told Sam that it was a dream. Her parents had never so openly expressed their love - if they had any to begin with, she thought sourly, remembering the picture her father thought he kept hidden from her.

Of course, her little dream-self wouldn't know that. Her little dream-self hadn't yet seen the picture. Her dream-self would just think that the slight fondness with which her mother regarded her father, and the just-less-than-indifferent look with which her father regarded her mother was love. She laughed bitterly now, thinking of it. How blind was then - and still was, in her dream. Her parents had felt something for one another, yes, but now she knew what it was. Her mother had admired her father, and her father had only felt something at all for her mother because she looked and near acted exactly like Lily Evans Potter.

As soon as these thoughts began to creep into her mind, the dream would change. Her eight birthday party. Well, not really a party, as the only ones celebrating it were Sam and her parents. Emmet had sent her a gift that year, as he and his parents had been on holiday in France. The so-called party was a quiet affair; her mother would make something Sam really liked for dinner - she couldn't remember what it was - and then would produce a small, home-made cake. She would receive a present from her parents, and then that would be the end of it. Only this time, her mother mentioned a headache, and went to lay down after dinner. Sam didn't expect a cake, then, and was more than slightly disappointed when her father merely muttered a happy birthday, and then went downstairs to his potions lab.

As eight-year-old Sam would sit there at the table alone, and before she could get up to wash the dishes herself, the dream would change again. It would then be winter, and Sam would be holding her mother's hand, as the woman slowly and painfully died. The elder redhead would beg her not to tell her father, but eventually, Sam just couldn't listen. It was freezing, and since Sam couldn't yet do magic, and as her mother was far too sick to do it herself - they had never had any house-elves - the small eight-year-old set about making a fire in the hearth the muggle way, just as Emmet had taught her. Once she had a sufficient flame going, little Sam would then reach up for the pot of floo powder. Being only just too short to get good purchase, she would bring it crashing down beside her.

She would grab a handful - and slice her hands on the shards in the process - and then throw it into the fire. She had seen her parents do this enough times to know what she had to do. Half-sobbing, half screaming, "Potions Master's quarters, Hogwarts!" she would then thrust her head and shoulders into the emerald flames, not caring at that moment what might happen to her. Though her father was irate at being disturbed, when Sam managed to finally get out the story, he would tell her to go back to her mother, and then floo back to Spinners End himself - after informing Professor Dumbledore, of course.

Her dream would then change slightly again. Little Sam would be curled beside her mother on the bed in the master bedroom of Spinners End. The door would then burst open, and she would be yanked out of the bed, forced to let go of her hug on her mother's waist. She doesn't remember whom it was that pulled her out of the room, but she assumes it was her father, as no-one else was there, when the door was slammed in her face. Little Sam would then head to her room - the same one which had been her father's as a child, and which was still hers to this day - curl upon her bed, and cry herself to sleep. When she would wake the next morning, she would be alone in the house; her father gone back to Hogwarts, and her mother's body gone.

That would be the point at which Sam would wake in her bed in the Slytherin fifth year girls' dorms - seven years older, but still haunted by those memories.

Shaking her head to clear it, Sam ran a heand through her slightly matted hair, which was sticky with sweat. Sighing wearily, she turned off the water, and then turned to the bathroom door. Unlocking and opening it, she stepped into the dorm once more. Being careful not to make too much noise, she snatched her wand from her bedside table, and cast a freshening charm on both her bed and herself. She followed this with a neatening charm, glad that her hair obeyed the spell. Slipping off her rumpled trouser pajamas, the tall teenager dressed in her uniform.

As she was knotting the tie at her throat, she caught a glance at the clock on her bedside table. Four-thirty in the morning; an hour and a half before she would have gotten up anyways. With a soft sigh, she made her way out of the dorm, and then across the Slytherin Common Room. Once in the hall outside, she breathed a soft sigh or relief, and then made her way down the corridor. She had often traipsed the castle corridors at all hours, when her insomnia was bugging her, and so she knew the quickest way to where she wanted to go. Or, she really didn't know where she wanted to go, until she got there.

Leaning against the cool stone of the Owlery wall, Sam sighed again. Laying her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes and simply listened to the soft hooting of the school and student owls. She sometimes came here just to think, or when she couldn't sleep, like now. It was sort of... Comforting she supposed. She didn't really know why, but it was. She didn't know what compelled her to do it, but she felt as of someone had touched her shoulder, moving her mind to her morning ritual. Her lips moved, but no words came out, as she silently spoke her morning prayers.

"Christ, watch over me always, especially on this morning, or I fear I shall betray you like Judas..."

---

TAGGED: Anyone.
WORD COUNT: 1520.
OUTFIT: Slytherin boys' uniform.
NOTES: God, such a long and angsty intro post...

[Albus Dumbledore]

Albus Dumbledore was a man of many mysteries, and he often found himself pacing his study during the early morning hours before others were awake, simply pondering life. It was in such a state that he found himself one particular morning, walking about his study, observing his many possessions. There were few that he truly, deeply valued; he had always attempted to become amused by possession but not obsessed with any so that he could remain detached. He had found no remorse in passing along possessions to Hermione, Ron, or Harry when the time necessitated it, and he prided himself on his ability to let go of such things, proud of them though he was.

His pensieve had been particularly useful that morning as Albus chose to relive some of his prior conversations, visiting memories as though they were old friends. Of course, most of his memories truly were old friends, and he had no problem recognizing that many of them had led to his current state of being alive, well, and the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Still, memories, and the people in them, were no substitue to real people with whom he could converse, yet he feared waking any of the other teachers. Not truly feared, really; but he did not wish to wake them when they were already tired and needed sleep. Far too many had taken more of a workload than Albus would have liked to ask; in fact, he had even taken to helping out teaching classes when a teacher was called away for one thing or another. Yes, Albus knew that it would be some time before Hogwarts was back to normal.

Yet this morning, like many others, he felt the desire to talk to someone, but unlike other mornings, he actually acted on that desire. Looking at Fawkes, his familiar, a Phoenix, he merely waved a hand and watched as the bird took flight, exiting from the Headmaster’s open window. Albus had counted on Fawkes for many things, and he and the bird shared a deep bond that could be rivaled only by Hagrid’s bonds with his creatures. Few others held such a dear and close bond with a creature. Fawkes therefore was able to interpret Albus’s actions as a request for one of the school owls to deliver a message, which Albus began to write in Fawkes’s absence.

Dearest Samatha,

I realize that the hour is early, but I find myself alone in my study and desirous of another’s company. Perhaps I am mistaken, but I’ve found myself under the impression that you, like myself, have woken early on many mornings, and thus write you to say this:

You should find yourself awake at such an untimely hour, and should you desire some company, than I should request your presence in my study. I’ve often found that two tired souls with no sleep are better often mulling over thoughts together than in solitude. Please send me your response should you be so unlucky as to be awake.

Sincerely,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

Dumbledore finished the letter with his easily recognizable signature and sealed the letter slowly, looking up with delight to see Fawkes enter his study and take his place on a perch by his desk. He stifled a laugh as he saw a regal snowy owl of several years old, follow Fawkes a bit skeptically, as though unsure that the legendary headmaster would require his services of all of the owls. Dumbledore offered the owl Fawkes’s other perch comfortingly and nodded his approval to his own pet. The snowy owl looked frightened still but held out her leg as calmly as possibly, allowing the headmaster to tie the letter to her leg before sending her back to the Owlery with a smile.

It was this same snowy owl that flew back to the Owlery and circled Samantha once before settling on a nearby ledge and sticking out her leg for the girl to take the letter that she carried.

[Samantha Snape]

The fifth year's head snapped up, so hard that she was quite sure her neck popped. Her lips stilled, her words forgotten. She chastised herself, murmuring a quick, "Amen," before turning her gaze to where the white owl had landed. Or, where it had been, just moments before. As of now, it was flapping about the tall girl's head, and rather irritably at that. "Get down here, you stupid bird," she growled, but the lack of malice was clear. No, she wasn't in the mood for this right now, but she disliked being intentionally cruel if she could avoid it.

Once it had complied and returned to its' perch, with one scaly leg stuck out for her to retrieve the letter, Sam undid the sting, and unfolded the parchment. Upon seeing the way it was addressed, she all but groaned aloud. "It's the doddering fool," she muttered, again her lack of malice showing that she was just not in the mood. She disliked being called by her full name, especially by her father, but that was neither here nor there. As for being addressed so by Dumbledore, it usually meant he was being genial, or that she'd done something wrong - o, in truth, she usually had no clue what-so-ever the Headmaster's intentions.

Sighing, she scanned the rest of the letter. "...'Should I be so unlucky as to be awake'..." she echoed, almost without noticing, and then growled softly. "Old fool, he knows I have insomnia, why not just come right out and say it if he wants to talk to me...?" A pause. "Oh, right, that stupid teacher-student barrier thing..." She paused once more, and then deadpanned, "Why the eff I'm talking to myself, I don't know, but I may as well go see what he wants..." Without so much as second glance at the owl, Sam folded the letter back up, and placed it into her pocket.

The corridors were still empty, and still cold, she noted, hugging herself as she swiftly navigated the secret passageways, despite the Disillusionment Charm she had placed upon herself. She never knew whom else might be lurking around... And just because she was a prefect didn't mean that she wouldn't get in trouble for traversing the halls at this time of morning. Reaching the stone gargoyle, she paused. Brushing a strand of blood-red hair behind her ear, Sam mentally prepared herself for this. She had never been a good Occlumence, but her father had told her over the summer that she was getting better.

Giving the password - she'd been sent here for hijacking the schoolbooks of a Gryffindor girl whom had called her a "perverted dyke whom should burn in Hell" - Sam made her way up the revolving staircase, and to the doors of the Headmaster's office. Knocking, she waited a moment, and then slipped inside. What happened now, only time would tell. She just prayed that her Occlumency was good enough to shield certain behaviors from the Headmaster; if he knew, she might as well have dangled it in front of her father's face herself.

In short, it would be really, really, really bad if the Headmaster knew.

---

TAGGED: Dumbledore; anyone.
WORD COUNT: 547.
OUTFIT: Slytherin boys' uniform.
NOTES: Yay, I'm not alone anymore... Meaning that someone still wants to rp with me XD.

[Albus Dumbledore]

Albus smiled to himself as he watched Fawkes calmly flutter to the perch where the snowy owl had stood only moments prior. The phoenix had several placed to perch in the headmaster’s office, but his favorite was the one closest to Dumbledore. It was only out of respect for the headmaster’s needs that Fawkes allowed owls to sit on that perch for his familiar’s convenience in tying letters to the smaller birds’ legs. Fawkes, of course, was too important a creature for such meager tasks, and few of his kind were tamed by wizards; but Fawkes knew that Albus Dumbledore was a very special wizard and that he was worthy of such a rare familiar. Plus, the two had shared a bond since Albus had helped heal his hurt wing many years ago before Fawkes had the time to cry tears to heal himself. Ever since, the bond had been made and the two had helped each other plenty of times.

“Tell me, Fawkes, do you think Samantha will make her way to my office this morning, or will you remain my only companion?” he asked, reaching out his hand to pat down a stray feather, smoothing the bird’s coat of brilliant feathers. The phoenix merely turned and tilted his head at Dumbledore before giving a very brief cawing noise. Albus smiled; yes, even if the bird was his only companion for the day, he would be content. He truly loved his familiar.

Honestly, Dumbledore thought that the girl would come to his office. He had chosen her as a prefect because she usually followed all of the rules and was one of the few model Slytherin students. Additionally, he felt like she could handle the responsibility. It had little to do with what some of the teachers had guessed – that he was extending a hand of thanks or of trust to Severus Snape, the girl’s father. No, Dumbledore and Snape trusted each other and had no reason to attempt to find themselves in better favor. Dumbledore had made the choice based on the girl and her alone, not her father.

Dumbledore smiled as Fawkes tilted his head toward the door. Yes, Sam had decided to accept his offer; Fawkes could hear her footsteps. Albus had found it unnecessary to give her the password, as she knew it from a previous scuffle with a Gryffindor – typical house rivalry, her father had told him after the event, though he only knew of his daughter’s actions and not the words that provoked them – and merely remained seated until the doors to his office opened with a creak.

Standing, Albus made his way to the stairs as they brought up his visitor. Remaining a few feet from them, he smiled as he saw the bright red hair of the Slytherin Chaser. Extending a hand, Albus spoke calmly, “Hello, Samantha. How are you this morning?” he asked with a slight twinkle in his eye, as though she were going to tell him of some wild adventure that he could go participate in at any moment. Yes, his signature twinkle was never to be left of him. With a smile, he used his right hand to beckon her to the couch that sat across another one, which promptly became his sitting place. Fawkes let out another soft cry, whether or greeting or disappointment at no longer being petting, no one could truly know. But Fawkes was indeed interested in Sam, so he flew to a perch near her and observed her slowly.

||You never were alone! We just don't have enough students. >.<||

[Samantha Snape]

Black eyes narrowed slightly, as the tell girl observed that the Headmaster had been waiting for her. With only a mentally audible click, her Occlumency shields went up. She knew she couldn't keep the Headmaster out of her mind for very long, and if that damned twinkle in his shrewd eyes was any indication, he would be trying to manipulate what he wanted to know from her as soon as they began speaking. Either that, or he would be poking at her shields, looking for any weak point he could pounce on - and all the while making it look like he had her best interests and well-being at heart.

Crafty old bastard that he was, Sam couldn't help but respect him. If she had the ability to manipulate people like that, while still seeming innocent... Well, she wasn't sure what, exactly she would to with that kind of power, but it appealed greatly to her Slytherin ambition. And to the fact that she wanted power, so that her father would eventually be proud of her - and perhaps, one day, tell her so. As for now, she would continue to do her best in lessons and in Quidditch; her prefect duties were something she never even considered slacking off with, as those were things that wouldn't only gain her father's pride, but perhaps give her a bit of leverage with the teachers.

Oh, yes; Sam was nothing if not a cunning, calculating girl, one whom knew how to use her own talents to her advantage. She was every inch the Slytherin. Brushing a lock of her brilliant hair behind her ear, Sam paused for a moment before seating herself on the couch opposite Dumbledore's own, mulling over best how to formulate her answer. When she was sure what she could say without giving too much away, she tucked her hands - looking more bony and pale than they had when she ad Draco had conversed - into her pockets and seated herself on the couch. Her scarlet hair fanned out behind her back, some of the more medium and short-length strands and pieces falling over her shoulders.

"I'm fine, Headmaster; just a bit unsettled by a dream." She spoke at length, making sure her pale face remained unreadable. She didn't intend to give him any more details unless he specifically asked for them. Thinking better of it, she strengthened her Occlumency shields as much as she was able; her father was a good Legilimence, but this... This was a true test of her skills. Mostly because, if she could keep the Headmaster from seeing her dream, then she could keep him from seeing her weakness - any of her weaknesses.

So far as Sam was concerned, if someone could see your weaknesses, then that person would have power over you. She wouldn't give Dumbledore the satisfaction of knowing she could be blackmailed by anyone - least of all him. Sitting up straight - not even the soft couch was comfortable on her bony frame - the redhead turned to lock gazes with Fawkes. The phoenix is beautiful and majestic; both things Sam liked about the bird. She also found it slightly funny how her red hair was the same crimson hue as the bird's plumage, and that both their eyes were dark, and held many secrets. That was something else she liked about the bird.

A small, quickly-gone smile tugged at her lips, as she gave a nod to the bird. "Hello, Fawkes," she murmured, even though she knew the bird couldn't reply - at least, not in human voice.

---

TAGGED: Dumbledore; anyone.
WORD COUNT: 666
OUTFIT: Slytherin boys' uniform.
NOTES: I know, I know... And Dumbledore seems to be enjoying calling her Samantha, even though she hates it... XD It's funny. O.O 666 words... Eeep... *hides*

[Albus Dumbledore]

Albus caught her eyes narrowing yet made no outward sign of it. Being one hundred and fifteen years old gave the man an advantage in reading people yet remaining completely neutral to their actions. It was an acquired skill that he had gained from years of practice, and he relished it as one of his best. Still, his eyes glinted with mischief, which was another signature trait of his. Very few had seen his eyes any way different, and most didn’t like it when they did. Albus would not know that Samantha Snape had put up her occlumency shields, for he was not trying to penetrate her mind. Of course, he knew of her ability to shield her thoughts – it was one her father had mentioned to him once, since her father could practice the same ability and Albus had once wanted him to share such knowledge with a certain Harry Potter. And yet, Albus also knew that should he want to penetrate her mind, he would have been able to do so with relative ease. Again, with one hundred and fifteen years of experience compared with the girl’s what, fifteen, sixteen years? She would have been an easy target, but Albus preferred to speak, where people were given the chance to offer their own answers, rather than invade their mind, an area which should be kept private unless in emergencies.

Yet Albus sensed before him a girl nothing short of a true Slytherin. From what he had observed – and no one could doubt, Albus managed to observe quite a lot, even if people did not see him – she had the traits of a Slytherin, just like her father – quick and cunning, seeking to advance, whether for selfish reasons or other ones. He smiled as he watched her take a seat, noted yet again her tiny frame. He had heard the whispers that she ate little, if at all; of course, he had seen such things himself before hearing the whispers, but there was nothing he could do about that. He would meddle in certain parts of students’ lives, yes; and he would talk to them about such things if he felt it necessary, yes; but he would not force students to do anything they did not wish. It was not his place, and if it wasn’t the student’s choice, it would mean little. He made a mental to mention the girl’s eating habits to Professor Snape in passing, yet nothing in his face gave him away save that unreadable twinkle in his eye of which no one seemed able to truly understand the meaning.

“Oh yes, dreams can be a bit unsettling at times. I’ve had quiet the experience with them myself, you see. I’ll not bore you with my own dreams, though. I’ve found that few find such things as interesting as I do. Though when I do have such a dream, I try to remind myself of what from the dream is reality, and what is clearly false. It helps, sometimes,” he offered with a smile, determining not to ask for any details as he felt the girl would not likely care for such an intrusive.

He smiled at the seeming conversation between Sam and Fawkes. Fawkes had leaned out his neck so that she could pet the top of his head, which he thoroughly enjoyed, and gave a soft caw in response to her greeting. Dumbledore interpreted for her, “I believe that Fawkes would like to say hello, and ask you to scratch his head, while you’re within range of it. A peculiar habit, Fawkes has. He observes my visitors and decides which he wants to have scratch his head. If he allows it, he sees something in you he truly likes. If he doesn’t, then he either dislikes you or wants you to prove yourself to him. Apparently you’ve done the latter already,” he said, his voice even and unprobing. He wasn’t really looking for a response; rather, he seemed to enjoy just talking for no purpose.

Still, he knew that the girl before him wouldn’t want to sit in his office and listen to his speak. “My apologies, Samantha – or do you prefer Sam? An old man like myself tends to ramble far too much for others’ liking. I’ll give you the floor to speak. Tell me, are you enjoying your classes? What do you think of Professor Lawrence, the potions mistress? Of course, some students find the subject rather difficult, but the majority seem to like her. She’s not your father, clearly, but she’s well on her way to making a mark in the field as he has.”

||Oh, Dumbledore. xD I honestly would've added an extra word somewhere. haha Sorry for rambling a bit.||

[Samantha Snape]

"I see,"[/b] Sam murmured. A hand slipped from her pocket, and moved to Fawkes' head. Very gently, she raked her nails with the path of growth of the crimson and gold feathers. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards for a moment, before her face became expressionless once more. She listned to the old man rattle on about dreams. She agreed, that they would end up driving you mad if you didn't know how to separate the reality from the untruth, but...

"What if the dream is completely real, all of it - more like a memory with shifting time, than a real dream? What if it is like that, and it... begins to drive you mad?"[/b] Her throat burned at her words; it seemed she'd overdone it a bit this time, with her purging. Sam hated that she felt safe here - that she had already begun to say things that she would never say to anyone, even if it were simply under the guise of a rhetorical question. Part of her wanted to run, but a larger part said she needed to stay and stand her ground.

"I like it better when people call me Sam, sir, but usually, it's Miss Snape from the teachers, or Snape from anyone besides my friends."[/b] Her brow furrowed. Damn, there she went again, saying things that she shouldn't say. Maybe she should just stop talking... "Come to think of it, though, my friends - all three of them - haven't been around for quite a while... I sent them letters during the summer, but they never wrote back, and though I sometimes see them in the Great Hall, we never speak, since I can never find them anywhere else."[/b]

She shrugged; though she was curious, she didn't honestly care. She only had friends because without them she would have been labeled more of a freak than she already was. And, really, being labeled a freak wasn't conductive to getting ahead in life. "My classes are fine, as always, Headmaster. It's O.W.L.s year for me, as you well know, so I'm aiming for as many O's as I can get. Professor Lawrence... Well, I like her well enough; she makes potions more challenging than I doubt anyone but my father could. I suppose you could say that I like any teacher whom can give me a mental challenge, and then not be condescending of me if I work harder than they think I should to achieve it quicker than they think I should."[/b]

Her black eyes flashed with determination, but she forcibly calmed herself, returning her face and gaze to their usual emotionless state. She made her voice neutral again as well. "She, that is to say Professor Lawrence, has asked that I come by her office Monday evening after dinner. We're to discuss my becoming her apprentice, something I'm looking forward to. As for Quidditch..."[/b] The redhead shrugged again; her hand at Fawkes' head never stopped in it's gentle scratching/petting.

"I'm just looking forward to playing again, that's all."[/b] And that was the truth, plain and simple; even if she had left out the part about herself wanting to make her father proud with every perfect game she played.

---

TAGGED: Dumbledore; anyone.
WORD COUNT: 655.
OUTFIT: Slytherin boys' uniform.
NOTES: Rambling is fine; gives me wore to work with, even if I can't make myself produce anything more than the upper end of six hundred words on a normal day. This time, the evil number hasn't been reached, thank goodness... XD

[Albus Dumbledore]

Fawkes made a noise that could only be interpreted as one of appreciation as he leaned in closer to the young girl. He was clearly enjoying her visit, whether or not she or the headmaster was. Albus, however, gave no indication either way, similar to the girl, except his sparkling eyes, which one could contribute to the face that he was no longer bored. Albus found amusement and delight in nearly all conversations, and even if the girl did not want to tell him much, he would still enjoy what she did. It was his way.

He listened intently as she opened up more than she ever had to him previously; whether she was speaking from experience or not, the headmaster could reason that she was, but would not know for sure as he inwardly agreed not to attempt to penetrate her mind, easy as it might have been. Judging that she was speaking from experience – her question was too well worded for it to be a mere shot in the dark – he smiled and pondered her response. “Well, if that were to be the case, I’d say that something about these memories must be bothering or deeply affecting the dreamer. If the dream is a happy one, perhaps the person is wishing to relive such memories. If the dream is a disturbing one, which is more often the case, then the person clearly has something in his or her past that he or she has not dealt with, something that is eating away at the person, so to speak. Does that make sense?” he asked, leaning over to grab one of the sweets sitting on his disk and offering her one by sending the bowl to the table next to the couch on which she sat. “I would suggest the person making use of a pensieve to actually look back into the memories as a third party rather than as the person,”[/color] he mused, the dreamy look returning to his eyes behind his spectacles, making him look a bit comical if outlandish.

When she spoke again, his eyes focused once more and he smiled. “Well then, Samantha – my apologies, it’s a force of habit to use full names – I’ll attempt to use Sam or Miss Snape. Old man’s habits, you know. They can be difficult to overcome at times. As for your friends, they are fifth years also, yes? Perhaps they’re busy with their O.W.L.s also,”[/b] he mused also, nodding to himself as though that were most likely the cause for their apparent disappearance and nothing more. One’s fifth year in school was often considered the most difficult, except for the seventh, which not everyone completed. Still, he was glad to hear that her year, though busy, was strong and productive. It was students like her who would live up to Hogwarts’s excellent name.

“I’m glad to hear it. Yes, yes, aim high of course. And always appreciate the good challenges; take them in stride! I made plenty a teacher frustrated by being more intelligent than they wished, but no matter. The good ones know how to respect just intellect. Any idea as to what you wish to do after school? I know you’ve probably had some future counseling from the teachers, but I don’t get to hear much of that. Any job peak your interest more than the others?”

He gave another small smile at the girl’s determination. Yes, she would go far if she continued on her current pat. His eyebrow raised curiously at the news that Professor Lawrence was considering taking on an apprentice. “Is that so? Sounds wonderful. You are truly gifted in the art of potions, just like your father, aren’t you? It’s rare that a potions master or mistress take an apprentice, so you must have proved yourself quite well. And as for Quidditch, we all await the continuing of a brilliant season. You are a gifted chaser as well.”

||Dumbledore just seems like the type who'd ramble when he talks sometimes. xD||