Students scattered as the Potions Master stalked down the corridor to his office. Even the Slytherins refused to trifle with him when he was in a mood. That was probably for the best. He had been known to verbally attack students, no matter the House, when he was like this.

He made it to his office without incident and sank into his chair with a soft groan. That man was infuriating! He spoke in riddles every single time he opened his mouth! What did he mean he would he seeing Peterson soon enough? Was he talking about literally running into her outside of his office?

He tried to grade papers, but that simply made his irritation worse. His fifth years were worse than his seventh years, which was a feat to be marveled at on a good day. Today it made him want to throw himself off the astronomy tower or smack each and every one of them upside the head.

He had been rude to her when he had bumped into her outside of the Headmaster's office. Now she would probably refuse his help with his class. She was going to pass the class with or without his help, so why subject herself to the extra time with the Great Git? Why would she even want to try to improve in his class? Within six months it wouldn't matter how she did in her Advanced Potions class. No one ever went into the potions field. It was full of old witches and wizards that would die out and be replaced by the back end of middle-aged wizards and witches. There was very few young people involved anymore.

He shook his head and growled softly in frustration as someone tapped on his office door. Now what?

She lightly rapped again on Professor Snape's office door. She felt stupid showing up at his door so late at night. Almost as though she was silly for even requesting his help. She probably was. He'd probably take one look at her and laugh, note be damned. She wasn't one of his precious Slytherin anyway. Or her luck would be that he was still angry over whatever happened earlier. Then she'd really be in trouble.

"WHAT?" The door jerked open with an angry Professor Snape glaring down at her. She shrank and blushed crimson, her eyes immediately going to her feet.

"I-I'm sorry, s-sir. I can come back tomorrow." He was going to throw her in detention and never help her now. Why had she even come this late? Why hadn't she waited until tomorrow? Because she was stupid. That's why. She was definitely in trouble now.

The professor let out a sigh that sounded a lot like a growl. "What do you need, Peterson?" His tone sounded slightly softer, so she ventured to peek up at him. He looked slightly less pissed. That was good, right? She held up the note, which was less than gently removed from her hand.

In Dumbledore's spidery handwriting, it said:
Severus, Miss Peterson would like to be placed in a remedial potions class for assistance with her potionmaking.

He looked her over slowly, feeling quite a bit of stress and, oddly enough, worry draining from his body. "Is this true?" The girl looked up at him with surprise and fear as she nodded. That was good. Very good. So she had been on her way to Dumbledore for assistance reaching out to him.

He could use Legimens and get a quick peek into her mind. He would know why she went to Albus rather than approach him. And why she wanted help. Why she cared. But he refrained, uncertain of why he did so.

Instead, he moved aside so she could enter his office. She looked up at him again, her eyes still afraid, but still she entered. He should consider that a victory. She did not back down, so it must be important to her. He closed the door and reclaimed his chair as she perched precariously on the edge of the wooden stool across from his desk.

"Why do you want to be placed in remedial potions, Peterson?"

She swallowed softly and took in the austere appearance of the office. Small. Bookshelf lined with potions books. Just a desk. A somewhat comfortable looking chair for himself. And a wooden stool for his unlucky visitors. Meant to discourage long visits, she supposed.

Why did she want remedial potions? Her eyes slid back to him, though not back to his eyes. She worried that she'd make him angry if she wasn't careful. Well, angrier. "I need to bring my grade up, sir. Well, more than that, I need to truly understand what I'm doing in your class. I need potions to be second nature to me. Brewing needs to be like breathing."

She watched as his posture changed slightly and he leaned toward her. "Do you mean that, Miss Peterson?"

She shivered slightly. His tone held an undercurrent of something new. Something slightly unsettling but she wasn't sure what. "I-I do, Professor."

He leaned back, forcing his face to reveal nothing. He could not let her see how she had gotten his hopes up. Had he found the one student that truly cared about his classes?

"If that is the case, you may come to the Potions room every night at 7:30 sharp. If you are late, I shall terminate our agreement. Understood?"

She nodded softly and met his eyes, looking considerably more at ease than when she entered. "Yes sir. When will these lessons start?"

She had agreed! "Tomorrow." His tone betrayed nothing. "Good night, Miss Peterson." She stood and thanked him before fleeing from his office. Blessed solitude. He had time to think now. She had agreed to the lessons! Did these mean that she truly cared about potions? She was willing to risk him in a foul mood for her class. Was this typical Ravenclaw behaviour though? There was no Ravenclaw in his memory willing to cross him for anything. That was the Gryffindors' job.

That was another thing that bothered him about her. Muggleborn Ravenclaw. She could so easily be a Gryffindor. She had faced something obviously frightening because she felt she needed to. He sighed and shook his head. Maybe it was for the best that she was in Ravenclaw. He doubted he could stand a green-eyed Muggleborn Gryffindor.

He let out a soft sigh as he stood and silently extinguished all light around him. Tonight would be a bad night. He could already feel it. But he would deal with it as always. So he made his way to his quarters. He was calling it a night.