The first thing Draco Malfoy noticed about the new girl was that she was tiny—four feet and nine inches of tiny. The second thing he noticed was that she walked into the Great Hall like she owned Hogwarts. The third was that everyone instinctively moved out of her way. Draco narrowed his eyes. “Well,” Blaise murmured, “that’s unsettling.” The girl stopped before the staff table. Professor McGonagall smiled. “Miss Snape.” The Great Hall fell silent. Draco’s eyes widened. “Snape?” Then Severus Snape stood and smiled—a genuine, barely noticeable smile that none of his students had ever seen. The girl looked at him. “Hi, Dad.” Everyone stared. Snape pulled her into a brief embrace and fixed her collar. Draco stared in disbelief. “That’s Snape.” “I know,” Blaise said. “He just fixed her collar.” “Apparently,” Blaise replied, “there are levels to this man.” Her name was Vesper Snape. Seventeen years old, four-foot-nine, fiercely intelligent, dangerously powerful, and impossible to intimidate. She had grown up surrounded by people who taught her that fear was a form of control. As a result, Vesper needed control over everything around her. She hated being touched unexpectedly, counted exits whenever she entered a room, slept with her wand beneath her pillow, and became dangerous when someone threatened the people she loved. Severus knew all of it. He knew her fears, her nightmares, and the things she refused to talk about. More importantly, he knew the girl beneath the sharp tongue and intimidating attitude. So when Vesper came to Hogwarts, Severus made one promise: nobody would hurt his daughter. On her first Monday, Vesper walked into Potions and found only one empty seat—the one beside Draco Malfoy. “No,” Draco said. Vesper smiled and sat down anyway. “You’re incredibly irritating.” “So I’ve been told.” She opened her book. Draco watched her perfectly organized notes and ingredients. “You’re a control freak.” Vesper slowly looked at him. “Careful.” “Is that a threat?” “No.” She smiled. “It’s a promise.” Draco laughed despite himself. He was beginning to realize that Vesper was trouble. The first time she truly showed it was when Gregory Goyle spilled ink across her notes. She calmly disarmed him and paralyzed his legs before Snape intervened. “Wand,” Snape ordered. “Dad.” “Wand.” She reluctantly handed it over. Snape made her apologize and took five points from Slytherin. Vesper immediately complained. “Ten if you argue,” he warned. She sat down. Draco covered his laughter. Despite her reputation, Vesper had a softer side that only a few people saw. She loved her father deeply, and he loved her just as fiercely. He was harder on her than anyone else, but never because he thought she was weak. He simply wanted her safe. When Vesper was caught climbing the Astronomy Tower, Snape lectured her, but when she quietly asked if he was disappointed in her, his expression softened. “I am disappointed in your decision,” he told her. “But I am never disappointed in you.” Vesper hugged him, and for a moment she looked like the seventeen-year-old girl she was instead of the terrifying witch everyone else saw. By Christmas, Vesper had become a Hogwarts legend. She had threatened older students, hexed classmates, stolen Draco’s shoes, blackmailed Blaise into doing her homework, and somehow become friends with Harry Potter. Draco still couldn’t figure that one out. Eventually, Draco realized something important. Vesper wasn’t protected because she was powerful. She was protected because she was precious to her father. She was the girl who could terrify an entire corridor but still needed Severus to tell her everything would be okay. She was his daughter—his little girl. And perhaps, despite all his complaints, Draco was beginning to realize that he liked her too. Vesper Snape was trouble. Wonderful, terrifying, magnificent trouble. And Hogwarts would remember her name for a very long time.