Hello, everyone. It's been a long time, I know, but I had a kid in the hospital a week before we moved, and now we've finally moved and gotten settled in a bit, and it's all just been insane, but I finally had some time to write, thank goodness! At the end of this chapter is a bit of a...not quite a rant, but I had some confused and angry readers from last chapter, and to those still reading, there's a bit at the bottom for you :)

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please review! XOXO.

FRESH RAIN

CHAPTER NINE

OPPORTUNITY

I wake in the morning to find myself alone in Mary's bed. I can hear the shower running from down the hall, though, and assume she's in there. A long look around the room tells me what I was too preoccupied to take in last night. It's a decent sized room, enough to hold a bed and chest of drawers. There are framed pictures littering the chest, and jewelry haphazardly strewn about the top. Clothes are flung over a simple rice paper screen and on a chair in the corner. The bed is against the window, and the deep window-ledge is also scattered with baubles and knick knacks and pictures. Mary is not a tidy person, and her room makes my fingers twitch to fix it.

Instead, I rise from the bed swiftly and cast a simple cleansing charm over my skin as I hear the water stop through the open door. It'll have to do until I can sink myself into my own tub. I attempt to shake the wrinkles from my clothing, but am unsuccessful; a charm will not do to remove them, as I long ago learnt to imbue my clothes as to be impervious to magical manipulations. As I'm buttoning the last button at the neck of my shirt, Mary enters the bedroom, wrapped up in a towel. She gives me a small smile on her way to her chest of drawers and begins picking out her clothing.

"Good morning," I greet.

"Morning. Did you sleep well?" She disappears behind the screen to change.

"I did. Yourself?"

"Very well." She gives a self-conscious chuckle. "Better than I've slept in ages. I always seem to sleep better with someone in the bed next to me." The teal terrycloth towel lands atop the screen with a dull wet snap.

I merely hum, unsure how to respond. She's always so frank and honest, no coyness or shyness.

I have no such ability to bare myself to others. I think and overthink until any situation, any remark, is warped from off-handed and innocent to cruel and biting. I have no need to assume the worst or mull over conversations with Mary, and I appreciate it. She never blends her words, never sugar-coats.

The only thing I wonder now is whether last night was a mistake or not. As Mary rounds the screen, I clear my throat, searching for something to say. "Thank you for last night." I'm appalled as soon as the words leave my mouth. Surely I can do better than to make her sound like a prostitute.

Miraculously, she simply smiles and pecks me a kiss on the cheek. "My pleasure."

I stand, rooted to the spot, unsure what to do. Should I leave? Do I offer to take Mary to breakfast? Before I can let myself overthink too much, I force myself to respond to her bluntness in kind. I clear my throat and ask, "what now?"

She grins. "Are you hungry?"

Not really, but I nod anyway.

We end up eating at a little cafe down the street from Mary's flat, and when we're done we apparate our separate ways—I to the Hogwart's gate, Mary to work. Before we go, she asks me to meet her for lunch the next day, and I agree with a smile. She leans in and kisses me sweetly, her smile curving against my mouth, and with a cheeky wink, she's gone.

The rest of Christmas break, I manage to get quite a lot of work done. I restock Pomfrey's medicines and work a bit on an article about the benefits of Rocky Mountain sapphires I intend to submit to Potions Monthly. Between the grading done earlier in the break and the extra week bestowed by Albus, I find myself with an abundance of free time for the last few days before school resumes.

And when it does resume, it brings with it a letter, written in a feminine, hurried script, and splotched with ink and what I expect is a potion of some kind. It's written in Spanish, with a translation spell placed on it, though I am able to read it anyway.

Professor Severus Snape,

When you were a boy in school, Horace Slughorn wrote me numerous times about your brilliance in the art of potion making. I heard much less about your illustrious abilities as your years at Hogwarts came to a close, but always held out hope that we would meet.

Imagine my surprise when none other than Albus Dumbledore sent recommendation that I should consider you for apprenticeship. He claims you have grown in your talent and knowledge, and I sent word that I am quite intrigued immediately. If nothing else convinces me, the trust Albus placed in you to become Professor before obtaining your Mastery. If you are still searching for a Master—Mistress, as case may be—to study under, I urge you look no further.

I have been a Potions Mistress for eighteen years, have traveled the world—magical and muggle—refining my craft, and have impressed that knowledge on to no less than thirteen apprentices, all of whom came through their Mastery exams with flying colours. I daresay, with no touch of modesty, that I hope you have read some articles of mine in a few European and American periodicals.

As for what I can offer you, Professor Snape, I have a quaint cottage behind my laboratory, which is on the same plot of land as my own home, though rest assured, in a thicket of trees to provide your privacy. Room and board will be provided—you will be able to shop for your meals on my accounts. A monthly stipend will be arranged at one hundred fifteen Galleons per month. Holidays, of course, can be arranged, however I am agreeable to perhaps a week around Christmases, and the odd long weekend here or there, as I understand from Albus' letter that you wish to collect your hours as quickly as possible.

If you are interested in the position, please send word back, along with any accommodations you would like for me to consider, and a sample of your work, anything would do.

I do so look forward to hearing from you soon, Professor.

Yours, Bianca Marckwordt

My blood runs hot and cold at once, adrenaline and fear disarming me of any ability other than to sit in my seat and breathe raggedly and re-read the letter twice, thrice.

A guaranteed apprenticeship. She was practically begging me to study under her. The adrenaline I knew was from the approval, the no questions asked approval of my studying under Mistress Marckwordt. The utter fear of not measuring up to her expectations of me. I knew I would have to send in something exemplary. Veritaserum might do it. Or Living Death. Even a Polyjuice, though no, that would take too long to brew.

Oh. But the cauldron simmering in my private lab, only three days away from its test, which I would have to take to Lupin tonight anyway...that may do. I had been able to alter the taste, and potentially the potency. The encapsulation of mint and a pinch of sugar in coconut oil has worked for the taste, Lupin says, and the armadillo bile was unable to dissolve the oil in my early tests, so I have high hopes that it could work. The smell remains horrid, but the taste, according to Lupin, is much more tolerable. Theoretically, if I could be able to apply the same technique to the aconite, I could refine it so a higher dosage could be released steadily and non-lethally over a shorter period of time—perhaps as short as three days. My test subject—my lycanthropic guinea pig, as it were—places his willingness on taking that bet on whether or not my theory eases the taste but not effectiveness for this transformation.

It's nearly an hour early, but in my eagerness, I floo over to the dogs' home. Upon landing in their hearth, I startle them and embarrass all three of us; Lupin is cooking a steak for Black (at least I assume it's for him, as a raw steak sits under a warming charm on a plate nearby). The view from the fireplace at the centre of their living room awards me a straight view into their kitchen and dining room, where Black is pressed up against Lupin's back, nibbling on the wolf's neck, as Lupin emits a sound I never again wish to hear from the man, somewhere between an honest to goodness growl and a moan.

"Ahem," I clear my throat. Black jumps about three feet in the air, drawing his wand, but I am quicker to draw my own and unarm him. His wand flies into my hand and after his surprise wears off—in the matter of two seconds—he shoots me an irritated look and holds his hand out. I place the wand in it and smirk at him, "those kind of reflexes and they've still kept you on? Pity, we're all doomed, unless a gang of blue-haired grannies have begun a coup at St. Oswald's."

"Hilarious, Snape. What do you want? You know, Remus' fight-or-flight is heightened right now, he could've attacked you."

Lupin scoffs, "and lose my potions supply? I don't think so. Besides, I heard him coming." He tips the steak off the pan and onto a plate already loaded with potatoes and grilled vegetables. He brings Black's plate and his own—devoid of anything save from a bloody, raw steak—to the table. "I can cook you something up, Severus, if you're hungry."

I shake my head. "No, that's fine. I already ate," I lie. Lupin can tell it's a lie, but lets it go. Black, however, has already begun on his potatoes. He shrugs in my direction.

"What brings you by, Snape? I believe this is the first time you've been in our home for more than the thirty seconds it takes to administer the Wolfsbane Potion," Black asks as he spears a forkful of potatoes.

"I have it with me," I assure them as I reach into my inner pocket and pull out a goblet full of the potion, emitting a faint blue smoke.

Lupin jerks his head toward the kitchen counter. "Would you put it over there, please? The smell will put me off dinner." He nods a thanks as he takes a large bite from his food; blood spatters onto the enlarged plate. It's enough to put me off my own dinner. No prejudice toward Lupin, but werewolves' appetites are positively disturbing the week or so before the full moon. Nothing but raw meat.

After the potion is safe smelling distance away from even Lupin, I sit at their table. "Actually, there was a reason I wanted to come a bit early. I received a letter from a Potions Mistress in Spain who is very interested in having me study under her."

"Congratulations, Severus. That's quite the compliment, if she asked you."

"Well, Dumbledore sent her a letter first, however, she has heard of me from my own days as a student, and hoped one day she would have the opportunity to teach me herself."I say it off-handedly, but it comes out a bit boastful, and I brace myself for the looks of reproach.

Instead, Black, in a moment of absolute insanity, tells me, "you should be proud of yourself. That's not something most students or masters can say."

I blink in his direction, but he's concentrating on his own steak. I don't dare look at Lupin; the slurping sounds coming from him are enough to ward me from that.

"So what can we help you with?" After Lupin has devoured his last bite and drank his tumbler of water. He's finished both before Black can eat one of his portions on his plate.

I give my head a slight shake. "Right. Well, I was wondering if I could use the adaption of the Wolfsbane potion as my sample to send in to her. And possibly another theory I have in mind..." I briefly describe the possibility of encapsulating the aconite to alter the strength and dosage of the potion.

Lupin nods and rubs his chin when I am finished speaking, thinking. Black flicks his wand at the dishes, which scoot themselves into the kitchen sink and the brush begins scrubbing.

"If we could use Grimmauld Place to test it out—I would be willing to. We could use the basement, that's where we're going during this full moon," he says to Black. He looks to me, "just in case something goes wrong with your new potion."

Black's face darkens. "I don't like the idea of you being chained up in that place. Is there anyone else we know who could test it in place of you?" He asks his lover.

"You know there isn't," Lupin murmurs. "Besides, it's one transformation."

"Two, including this one. And if it doesn't work? Will you submit yourself to more trials? It's not good for you."

I sit back and watch the two of them hash out their argument, their voices rising, forgetting I'm still sitting at their table. It's entertaining to watch the two of them bicker, but the fierce protectiveness and fear Black has for Lupin blooms a distinct ache in my chest.

Finally, Lupin wrenches himself from the table, slams a hand down on the wood, and snarls, "how many more need to suffer? Werewolves everywhere are struggling to pay for just the Wolfsbane Potion, going hungry and homeless, just so we don't infect someone else, or suffer the pain of the transformation. If I can assist in putting an end to that, then I will, goddamn it!"

Black tosses his napkin on the table and rises to meet Lupin's eyes. "Seven months, Remus! I spent seven months not knowing if you were well, not knowing if you were alive, imagining the worst every time I looked up at the moon. Learning you only went three months without your potion was a relief, because I thought you were suffering the entire time we were apart, because like the near-sighted fool you can be, you refused to accept my help to pay for it. You cannot continue to martyr yourself for your pride. Don't you fucking growl at me, Remus. It's noble in some cases, but in this it is stupid. One month to see if Snape's theory works is one thing. I won't stand by and let you submit yourself like some lab animal for testing, when there are dozens of other wolves who would line up for the chance. I'm not budging on this, Remus. I won't watch you torture yourself."

Both breathe heavily for long moments, then Lupin turns to me. "Thank you for bringing me my dose. I will consent to trying at least one month of your test potion. After that, if it doesn't work...we'll decide from there." He turns his head back to Black, and I am effectively dismissed.

"Very well." I stand from the table and toss a pinch of floo powder into the fire and am whisked away home.

My empty home greets me, and I feel it profoundly. The clock on the wall ticks away, as I feel the silence press against me. I strip and sink into a bath, scrub away the day, and when my skin is pink and raw, I fold a bathrobe around myself and fall into bed, still dripping wet, the bed far too large.

The full moon lands on a Saturday, and considering what date it is, I am...if not eager, content to spend it in Black's childhood home, his lover chained in the basement. We can't go down to check on him, in case the potion didn't work, but judging by the lack of thumps and howls after the sun sets that night, I feel we can assume it worked.

It's only Black and I in this large house, and the air is thick with tension. We mostly sit in the front room reading silently in front of the fire—he a cheesy muggle murder mystery, I a sample of Mistress Marckwordt's writing. She's extraordinary—her work with milk thistle and clover honey proved to relieve pain from splinching better than any other method. I've nearly finished my letter of acceptance to her, after tonight's results I'll be able to finish it and send it off first thing in the morning.

At nearly eleven, Black stretches and yawns. "I think I'll go to bed in a few," he says through the yawn.

I nod. "I'll stay on the couch," I reply. Merlin knows I have no interest in sleeping in a Black bed.

The fireplace flashes green and roars to life, startling Black into a standing position. The hearth spits out Lily, who stumbles and adjusts herself quickly, and brushes soot off her bathrobe.

I stand from the couch and rush to her. "Is everything all right? Where's Harry?" At this time of night, a visit from her only incites worry.

"Harry's fine, he's asleep at home. I can't stay but a minute, I just wanted to give you this. Hi, Sirius," she smiles over at him.

"You scared the shit out of me, woman," he grumbles.

Lily rolls her eyes and tugs a long package out of her bathrobe pocket, handing it over to me.

I try to tamp down the flush that raises to my face. "You didn't have to do that, Lily."

She's still holding out the present to me. "I wanted to. I imagine you haven't had many of these since...well, since fifth year."

My birthday. A day I preferred to pass without fuss, without recognition. Albus has always ensured I receive a small bonus on my birthday, but Lily's correct—the last true birthday present I received was from her in our fifth year—a set of dragonhide gloves, inlaid with soft brown fur. I still have them, set with my winter cloaks.

I reach out and take the package gingerly. Despite my trust in Lily, there's a part of me afraid it's a trick.

"What? Is it your birthday?"

Lily nods for me.

"You should've told us. We could have had a...get together or something. Celebrate." His attempt to truly be kind to me is awkward and stilted, but somehow appreciated nonetheless.

Still—"No. No celebrations. It's simply another day."

Lily cocks her head to the side. "Severus has never liked his birthday to be celebrated. Every time I tried to give him gifts, he got all embarassed and flustered," she chuckles.

I glare at her, she ignores it and taps the package in my hand.

I pull the silver string from the brown paper wrapping and unfold it to reveal a long wooden box stamped with an Italian seal. Inside, cushioned in silver silk, sits a griffin feather quill with a silver nib.

"Lily..." I whisper, astonished.

"It's imbued with magic to protect your work—your treasures. It won't stop anyone from reading it, but they can't steal or copy it. I figured, with you creating your own potions and spells, it would come in handy."

I lift the quill out of the box—it's light, with a lovely balance and white and grey feathers. "Thank you," I say. "This is amazing."

Her face lights up and she grasps my hand, giving it squeeze. "I'm so glad you like it. You're impossible to shop for, do you know that?"

I smile and squeeze her hand back quickly before releasing it. "It's perfect. It will definitely be of great use."

"Good. I should get back to Harry, though. He's been sleeping through the night, but I'd hate for him to wake up and know I'm gone. Good night. Oh, tell me how Remus does."

We say our good-byes and she leaves up the chimney.

Black starts up the stairs shortly after, going to sleep. I stay on the couch, transferring my notes on my altered Wolfsbane Potion to a fresh notebook with my new quill. The words shimmer silver for a moment, setting the magic in the paper, then turn black.

Such is my excitement for my gift, I don't sleep a bit, instead scribbling everything I've been working on in this book, including the ideas Bobica and I considered when he came to my office the day term began again. After swearing him to secrecy, I showed him my Dark Mark and explained how it worked. Immediately, realization shone in his eyes, and he asked if the spell could be applicable to inanimate objects instead of people. I would have to find the spell the Dark Lord used and be able to alter it somehow, but I have a pretty good idea where to start. I just need to think of a way to get Narcissa to let me look through her husband's things.

At dawn, Black comes downstairs in a hurry. "Have you slept? You look horrible."

Without even looking up at him from my work, I reply, "you look horrible and you did sleep, so what are you basing looks off of?"

"Shut up, Snape. Let's go see if that potion worked."

In the basement—well, it's technically just a basement, but it's set up like a dungeon—behind a barred steel door, sits Lupin, naked and weak, but not bleeding. When he sees us, he reaches out and takes the robe Black hands him and put it on while the door is unlocked.

"How did it go?" Black asks as he pulls his lover into his arms. Lupin leans against him for a long moment and breathes him in tiredly.

"It went well," he murmurs in a scratchy voice as he pulls back. Black puts an arm around his shoulders to help steady him. "Nothing was different save for the taste of the potion. You did it, Severus." He grins widely at me, and the grin turns into a yawn.

I meet his smile with one of my own. "Perfect. Thank you for being willing to test it out."

"Thank you for making it."

"Yes. Thank you, Snape." Black reaches his hand out to me and I grasp it in my own, shaking it firmly. "I think I need to take him home now," he says when Lupin stumbles. "Would you mind locking up?"

I nod. "Go take care of your wolf. I'll secure everything here."

When I finally make it back to Hogwarts, I immediately set about writing a letter.

Mistress Bianca Marckwordt,

I was stunned to receive your letter. The eagerness with which you seek my apprenticeship is indeed flattering, and I gratefully accept.

My apologies for responding only after so long, however, I was testing out a potion this full moon, and wished to send in that sample as the one you asked for. A werewolf acquaintance of mine wondered if it would be possible for the potion to taste better and still be effective. Last night proved that it could. I used coconut oil to encapsulate mint and just a touch of sugar. The armadillo bile has no affect on the oil, but the test subject's stomach acids do, lending to the ability to taste something akin to toothpaste. The werewolf in question awoke this morning no worse than normal.

I also have other theories as to where this approach could go, and look forward to researching them under your guidance. I must see this school year through its end, and take some time to set my affairs straight. The first of July, I could be available, if that is agreeable with you.

Enclosed are the notes for the potion sample I am sending with you. My thanks again for your consideration, and I greatly look forward to begin working with you.

—Severus Snape

I ascend to the owlry, pick an owl that has not just come in this morning, tie the letter and small parcel of potion to his leg, and send him off.

Finally. A chance to be free of students. A chance to do with my life what I truly wish to do. A chance to make a good name for myself. I feel one step closer to being free.

So, to those who it may concern, I'd like to address the last chapter. There was a shitton of hate for last chapter, all revolving around Mary's involvement, especially after the chapter before last, and to be honest, I thought I've made it very clear that Severus—at this point—has no hope, no belief of chance that he will ever earn Lily's romantic love. He wants her, of course, but he doesn't believe he will end up with Lily, and after nearly six years without kind touch (22 without romantic touch), he's lonely. So when a woman who called him out on his barriers and offered an olive branch, asks him to bed, it's not a shock that he would agree. Severus is loyal, yes, but he's also not one to fool himself. He wasn't a good person in the books—he was cruel to the son of the woman he loved, and he ended up a hero, that's true, but he wasn't a kind person, and Lily would have been furious had she seen how he treated Harry. I want Severus to turn out different, but pining away for a woman he can't have—or thinks he can't have, anyway—will only end up unhealthy for him. Sex with a friend is not a commitment. It's not a proposal. Sex and love are two totally different things, and yeah some people feel they work better together—I know I do—, but not all feel the same. Those who pointed out that for him to go from not being tempted to wanting Mary, didn't read the part about his options being other Death Eaters or rape. He's human. He wants that connection and closeness and release. Perhaps I didn't explain that enough, and if the chapter needs revision in that aspect, then I'll do it gladly, but Mary and Severus' relationship is essential. This is Snily, so eventually, I promise you, it's gonna happen. But Sev has issues to work through, Lily is still mourning her dead husband, and I'm sorry, but if you think any situation where Lily goes, "oh, my husband's dead, may as well turn to my childhood friend who's just gotten back into my life" is a healthy one, then this story is not for you. This is a slow story, and we will get there, and beyond. Someone asked if Mary's presence was to teach Severus about sex, and it's as if they didn't read Mary and Snape's conversation last chapter. I'm not saying you have to like Mary, and if you don't like the direction this story is going, then fair enough, don't read it, that's fine, because I know others will. I understand and respect and take into account negative reviews—especially about writing style and ability in general, I always look to improve. But don't assume that because you don't like what's happening, I'm going to change my direction. I'm absolutely in love with my work, and with who Severus is going to be, and who he and Lily are going to be together in the future. I hope my readers will stick around to see them through their journey.

Anyway, sorry for the rant. I hope it cleared some confusion up, and I'm sorry if I offended anyone, I just needed to get all that off my chest. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. XOXO.