Chapter 3: The Missing Earring

She woke before dawn with her neck stiff from sleeping at an odd angle. The dormitory remained dark except for the faint grey light creeping through the windows, and her roommates' breathing created a steady rhythm that filled the silence. Rolling onto her back didn't help the tension in her shoulders, which probably came from hours bent over those dusty cupboard shelves.

Getting out of bed seemed like too much effort, but lying there meant thinking about how sore her fingers still felt. She sat up slowly, careful not to wake anyone, and reached for her uniform hanging over the chair. The fabric felt cold against her skin when she pulled it on, though that might have been because the dormitory heating hadn't kicked in yet.

Her reflection in the small mirror beside her bed showed dark circles under her eyes. Great. She looked exactly like someone who'd spent their first night back at school reorganizing potion ingredients instead of catching up with friends. Running a brush through her hair helped somewhat, though nothing could fix how tired she actually felt.

Breakfast wouldn't be served for another hour at least. She considered trying to sleep more, but her mind had already started replaying yesterday's detention. Snape's inspection of her work, his complete lack of acknowledgment beyond that cryptic comment about house points. She still couldn't determine whether he'd been satisfied or simply too annoyed to bother with criticism.

The Great Hall was nearly empty when she arrived. A few early risers sat scattered among the house tables, mostly seventh years who probably had studying to catch up on. She slid onto the bench at her house table and reached for a piece of toast, not particularly hungry but needing something to do with her hands.

Someone had left yesterday's Prophet on the table. She pulled it closer and skimmed the headlines without really processing the words. Something about new regulations at the Ministry, a complaint about Quidditch referee decisions, and an advertisement for improved cauldron polish that promised better potion results.

More students filtered in as the morning progressed. The noise level rose gradually from murmurs to the usual breakfast chaos. She poured herself tea and added sugar, watching the liquid darken as she stirred.

Her hand moved automatically to tuck her hair behind her ear. Her fingers found bare skin where metal should have been. She touched her earlobe again, more carefully this time, confirming what she already knew. The earring was gone.

The other ear still had its earring in place. She touched it to make sure, feeling the familiar weight of the silver backing. But the left earring had definitely disappeared somewhere between putting it on yesterday morning and right now.

She tried to remember the last time she'd felt both earrings in place. Yesterday morning, before leaving home, definitely. During the train ride? Probably, though she hadn't really paid attention. In McGonagall's office? Maybe. Walking to the dungeons?

The toast sat forgotten on her plate while she mentally retraced every step from yesterday evening. Her dormitory when she'd first arrived and dropped her trunk. The corridors leading to McGonagall's office. The spiral staircase she'd climbed to reach the second floor. McGonagall's office itself, where she'd stood in front of that massive desk trying not to look as frustrated as she felt.

Then the route down to the dungeons. She'd passed the entrance hall, taken the stairs down past the ground floor, and navigated the increasingly dim corridors that led to the Potions classroom. The earring could have fallen anywhere along that path. Stone floors wouldn't exactly cushion the fall, but they might have bounced into a corner or rolled under something.

Or it fell in Snape's classroom. That seemed most likely given how much time she'd spent bending over those cupboard shelves. All that reaching and sorting and checking labels meant plenty of opportunities for an earring to slip free without her noticing.

Her tea had gone lukewarm. She drank it anyway, using the cup to hide her expression while she thought through the problem. Going back to search McGonagall's office seemed impossible without a good excuse. Asking to retrace her steps through the dungeons would raise questions about what she was looking for.

If the earring had fallen in the Potions classroom, Snape would have found it during his disposal of those ruined ingredients. Or this morning when he arrived to prepare for classes. Either way, he'd know it belonged to her since she'd been the only student in his classroom yesterday evening.

She touched her remaining earring again, a nervous habit she needed to stop before it became obvious. The earrings had been a gift from her grandmother two years ago, real silver with small green stones that caught the light. Losing one felt careless in a way that bothered her more than it probably should.

Around her, breakfast continued with its usual noise and activity. Someone laughed loudly at the Hufflepuff table. A group of third years argued about their Transfiguration homework. Owls swooped through the high windows delivering mail and packages.

She forced herself to eat the toast, which had gone slightly soggy from sitting too long. Her bag sat beside her on the bench, and she pulled it closer to check the pockets. Nothing. She checked again, running her fingers along the seams in case the earring had somehow gotten caught in the fabric. Still nothing.

Her first class was History of Magic, which meant sitting in the back and trying to stay awake while Professor Binns droned on about goblin rebellions. She gathered her things and headed for the classroom, touching her ear periodically to check if the earring had somehow magically reappeared. It hadn't.

The classroom felt warm despite the early hour. She took her usual seat near the window and pulled out her parchment and quill. Professor Binns floated through the blackboard right on time, not acknowledging the students in any way before launching into his lecture.

She tried to focus on taking notes. The Goblin Rebellion of 1612 had something to do with mining rights, though Binns' monotone made it nearly impossible to determine which details actually mattered. Her quill scratched across the parchment, recording dates and names that blurred together into meaningless information.

Binns continued his lecture, completely oblivious to the fact that half the class had started passing notes while the other half had simply fallen asleep. She added another line to her notes about goblin territorial disputes, then caught herself reaching for her ear again.

Lunch provided a temporary distraction. The Great Hall was filled with students eager to escape their morning classes, and she let herself get swept up in the general chaos of finding a seat and filling her plate. Food seemed less appealing than it should have been, but she ate anyway, mechanical bites that required no thought.

Her afternoon schedule included Potions. Double period with Snape, covering whatever new torture he'd planned for seventh-year students this term. She'd face him across a classroom and have to decide whether to ask about the earring or just accept the loss and move on.

Asking seemed humiliating. Excuse me, Professor, did you happen to find my jewelry while disposing of ruined potion ingredients? It made her sound careless and unprofessional, exactly the kind of student Snape already seemed to think she was based on yesterday's detention.

Not asking meant potentially losing the earring forever. If Snape had found it, he might just toss it in with other random student property that accumulated in forgotten corners. Or he'd keep it in his office until someone claimed it, though approaching him later to ask wouldn't be any less awkward than asking today.

The walk down to the dungeons felt longer than usual. Other students chatted around her, discussing their mornings and complaining about homework. She stayed quiet, running through possible ways to phrase the question that didn't make her sound incompetent.

Snape's classroom looked exactly as it had yesterday evening. Same dim lighting, same cramped desks, same jars of questionable ingredients lining the walls. Snape himself stood at the front near his desk, arms crossed, while he watched students file in.

She took a seat in the middle row, not too close to seem eager but not so far back as to appear disrespectful. Her bag went under the desk, and she pulled out her textbook, quill, and parchment with movements that felt too deliberate.

Snape began the lesson without preamble, launching into an explanation of the Draught of Living Death with the kind of detail that suggested he expected them all to fail at brewing it. She took notes, careful to record the exact measurements he specified for wormwood and asphodel.

Throughout the lecture, she watched him for any sign that he'd found her earring. His expression remained unchanged from his usual severe demeanor, and he made no comments directed specifically at her. When he began moving between the desks to observe their preparation work, he passed her station without even glancing at her setup.

Maybe he hadn't found it. The earring could still be sitting on the floor near that supply cupboard, wedged between stones or hidden in some shadowy corner. That would be better than the alternative, where he'd found it and simply hadn't bothered to mention it because student property didn't warrant his attention.

She measured out her ingredients with careful precision, aware that Snape could appear beside her desk at any moment to criticize her technique. The wormwood needed crushing to a specific consistency, and she worked slowly to ensure the texture matched what the textbook described.

Snape paused at the desk in front of her. "Your chopping technique is abysmal," he told the boy sitting there. "Five points from Ravenclaw for wasting ingredients through sheer incompetence."

The boy's face flushed red, but he didn't argue. Snape moved on, continuing his circuit of the classroom with critical observations that left most students looking miserable.

When he reached her desk, she kept her attention on her mortar and pestle, grinding the wormwood with steady rotations. He stood there for several seconds, long enough that her shoulders tensed, waiting for criticism. Then he moved to the next desk without saying anything.

She couldn't decide whether that counted as approval or just indifference. Snape's teaching methods didn't exactly include positive reinforcement, so silence might be the closest thing to praise any student could expect. Still, she'd hoped for some indication that her detention work had registered as competent.

The class continued with the usual rhythm of tense preparation and Snape's cutting remarks. By the time he dismissed them, she'd managed to complete her potion to a passable standard, though whether it would actually induce death-like sleep remained questionable.

Students filed out quickly, eager to escape the dungeons. She gathered her things more slowly, debating whether to approach Snape's desk. He'd returned to his marking, quill moving across parchment with the same methodical precision he applied to everything.

She made it halfway to the door before losing her nerve. Turning around seemed too obvious now, and Snape had just looked up from his marking with an expression that suggested he'd noticed her hesitation. Walking back to ask about the earring would confirm that hesitation meant something.

The corridor outside felt warmer than the classroom. She joined the stream of students heading back toward the main stairs, frustration building with each step. Tomorrow, she thought.