a/n; this chapter is dedicated to my lovely friend Kelly who suggested Snape's favorite dance, and to my wonderful Beta reader, who inspired Nezza's lab partner.

Minerva McGonagall stood by her classroom door, waiting patiently for the last of her 6th year Transfiguration students to finish filtering in. While normally this class would take place immediately following lunch, there was always a lag, waiting for the students to finish getting the schedules sorted out. According to the roster that she had received that morning, she was still waiting on 3 more students in addition to 17 already seated, one of those 3 being the transfer student that Albus mentioned to her this morning at breakfast. Worried though she was, that adjusting to such a unfamiliar concept of a transfer student in her class would prove difficult, especially facing the challenges the school already was, she was more than keen to see what foreign educations foster in her field. She also couldn't help but feel for the girl, knowing even as little as she did. Grew up overseas, never in the same school more than a year, and now to be starting NEWT levels in a new school new country. . .
Before she could ponder this more, an unfamiliar student scuttled towards the Transfiguration classroom. "Miss Sova, is it? How are you this morning?" She asked the dark haired girl.

"Bit hungover, now that you ask," The girl's words slurred, and McGonagall thought her accent was entirely more local then she had presumed it would be.

Trying to give the girl benefit of the doubt, Minerva settled with a disapproving raised eyebrow. "And why, pray tell, is that?"

"Ah, y'know, the usual. Wild, drunken orgies in the Slytherin common room."

"Somehow, I doubt Professor Snape sanctions such activities. Furthermore, I know better than to think that such things go on without his knowledge, so I'd hardly call it 'the usual'. Now, if you'd care to take your seat." She ushered the girl into the room, her aplomb not affected in the least by her Student's outlandish statement.

The girl shrugged as she continued. "Suppose you're right. He does seem more like the 'get drunk quietly in your room' type." Shuffling to the back row of desks, she threw her bag underneath the chair, and collapsed in it, looking much like a discarded rag doll.

"Alright class, settle into your seats please. I'd like to take a moment to say that I am pleased that so many have chosen to continue their Transfiguration studies into NEWT levels. However, like all years, I will remind you that this is a complex and dangerous magic, especially the advanced work you will be attempting. Do not think that having passed 5 years previously in this course entitles you to become indolent or so cocksure in your abilities that you are exempt from the rules. There will be no messing about in this class room or you are out." The stern professor made sure to make eye contact with every single student. That was her secret to success in teaching. Stare them down. Show no fear. Always worked. Little hooligans could seldom meet her steely glare. "Now, for our first lesson we are going to do a simple piece of work that you should all be more then familiar with, just to refresh our skills. On your desks you will find a bag of sand. I want you to transfigure it into a moving figurine. Extra credit will be given on whether or not the doll is recognizable as a specific person. House points to whoever makes their doll's movements the most creative. If you have any questions, you can consult the diagrams in the appendix of your text. You may begin."
In a rush of robe sleeves and bags being shuffled, all the students seemed to reach simultaneously for their wands, and soon the class was abuzz with the sounds of 20 students comparing notes and muttering incantations that slowly started morphing the lumps in front of them into small, people shaped lumps.

As McGonagall paced the aisles, observing their progress and offering her assistance where needed, she was amused by the shapes the projects were taking - parents, siblings, friends, crushes and Quidditch stars - even a mini version of her herself, waving regally, transfigured by a particularly cloying Slytherin boy - and for each of these she had a comment or suggestion. It wasn't until she hit the furthest seat from the front that she found herself speechless.

There, atop the desk was an unmistakable likeness of Severus Snape, complete with swirling black robes and sullen expression, only he was . . . "Miss Sova? Why on earth do you have Professor Snape dancing the Charleston?" She tried to keep her tone even, struggling to hold back anger, mirth and admiration at the skilled transfiguration work.

"So, what do all the cool kids do during the free period?" Nezza quickly caught up to Jade and Onyx after finally being released from McGonagall's stern reprimands and admonitions to show more deference for the dignity of professors, as well as her quietly awarding of full marks and extra credit.

"Well . . . we're going to the toilet." Onyx offered, sounding unsure if that was the answer she was looking for.

"Right-oh then, I'll just follow you."

"Oh, do you have to go too?"

"Nah, I just am a firm believer in propagating the myth that girls have to flock to the bathroom."

Her companions thought such a statement was purely sarcastic, until, upon entering the girls 6th floor lavatory, she did not actually enter one of the stalls, but simply decided to seat herself on the edge of one of the sinks.

"So how bad did McGonagall yell at you for that stunt in Transfiguration?" Onyx tried to make conversation with their lavatory companion, from behind the stall door.

"Are you seriously making conversation while you wee? Ick." Nezza seemed truly appalled.

Oynxy 'eeped' in embarrassment, but Jade was undaunted. "Oh, please, your the weirdie that followed us in here. Chances are the Gryffindor Battle axe didn't bawl her out too badly. She's a sucker for anyone skilled at her own subject or Quidditch. Although, I'd be careful if I was you Anezka. Just because she didn't punish you for that, doesn't mean Snape won't flip shit if he hears about it. I mean, he's real good about making sure none of Slytherins serve detention or lose house points or anything like that. But he can still make your life a living hell, have no doubt."

"What'd I do? I just made a little dancing version of him! I'm sure the Charleston was really popular back in his day and age."

"He's not that old!" Onyx laughed a little, finally convinced it wouldn't be thought strange if she continued the conversation. "I heard Mum talking about him once. He was only a year or two behind her and Dad in school."

"Whatever. I mean, it could have been worse. I could have had him doing a Gavotte, or worse still, something modern like the Macarena or break dancing or what not . . . "

It was that exact moment, that a mousy looking Ravenclaw girl darted into the bathroom, and leaned over one of the vacant sinks, sniffing loudly and rubbing her puffy eyes.
"You alright?"

The girl, she seemed to be about a seventh year, looked up, surprised. "Do you really want to know?"

Nezza shrugged. "Not really, just thought that was what I was supposed to say."

The girl didn't take that as a cue to be silent, but started to explain, pushing long brown curls away from where they were sticking to her tear stained face. "My boyfriend . . . " she disintegrated into tears.

"Oh, lord." Nezza gave a martyred sigh. "Dead or in jail?"

"Neither!" The girl looked shocked at such suggestions.

"Then what the fuck you crying over?"

She sniffled some more, wiped her nose on her sleeve and twisted her mouth into a sneer. "I haven't seen him all summer, and he's barely said two words to me since we got to school!" Nezza motioned her on, as if to say that hardly was a reason to cry. "I wouldn't mind that so much. I mean, I know he is Head Boy and all that and has loads to do. . . ." She started crying again. "As if it wasn't bad enough that that wretched, fat cow is in his house and gets to see him all the time, and that she and her friends are all conspiring to steal my boyfriend - I mean, really! It's the first day! How much studying could they need to do? Jumped up 6th years!" Her words were punctuated by hiccups and sniffs. "It's not my fault she has a bigger chest then I do!" She looked at Nezza for sympathy.

"Oh, another tits man. Aren't they all such charmers?" The girl started sobbing even worse. "Oh, well, hell, I got a potion what can help you with that!" Nezza pushed herself out of the edge of the sink.

The crying girl looked suspiciously at the Slytherin crest on the front of Nezza's robe. "I don't want to kill her!"

"Not that kind of potion! What do you think I am? A flipping hit wizard!"

"Well, then, what kind of potion are you talking about."

Nezza grinned maniacal. "All's fair in love and war, including sabotage and plastic surgery in a potions jar." She darted for the door, motioning for the weeping girl to follow.

By the time her twin classmates emerged from their cubicles the room was abandoned. "I guess she really didn't have to go to the bathroom . . ."

Lupin didn't know what happened to his day. It had started well enough. Just first and third years earlier and the third year class did particularly well with his Boggart lesson. But now, as he scanned the current class, he felt a migraine coming on. He half wondered if Severus had set him up for this. The girl was his student after all, and probably not adverse to bribery

"Look, if I have a just reason to Avada Kadavra someone," The whole class gasped in shock at her use of the words. "who the bloody fuck are you or any old ponce in the ministry to tell me that it's Unforgivable?" He didn't even know when the subject had turned to the Unforgivables. He didn't even know if it should have come up. But here was this mouthy know-it-all Slytherin girl arguing Curse ethics with him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, in an attempt to fight the pain behind his eyes. "But what would you call 'just' cause?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course! I'm sure that Sirius Black thought he had 'just cause' to kill those ten Muggles."

"What if he did?" She tossed her head in challenge. "What if he did but some knob in the ministry decided that it's Unforgivable, and now every one's running around trying to kill the guy. What makes them any better than him?"

He didn't hear any further then the first four words. "How could the murder of ten innocent people be just." He tried not to raise his voice, with mixed success.

"Alright, let's put it in terms your morally colour blind eyes can cope with. What if, by killing ten innocent muggles, Melancholy Black, or whatever his name is, could have ended the war and spared thousands of people, muggle and wizards alike. Wouldn't those few be worth the many?"

"But what repercussions would there be? How many would die at the hands of that regime?"

She barely let him finish. "I'm not talking about He-who-shall-not-be-sane's dogma, and even if I was, who cares? I'm not arguing politics. You have to admit, all outside factors aside, ten dying to save ten thousand - it's obviously the greater good."

"The greater good? That is the exact turn of phrase used years ago to advance the idea of Pure-blood supremacy."

"Ok, fine! If good old Voldy where here, right now, unarmed and only guarded by three death eaters, would you kill those death eaters to get to him?" Her face could only be described as jeering.

"Absolutely!"

"Why?"

"To protect the world from his evil!"

"So In other words . . . for the greater good?"

"YES! I mean . . . no! Not like that . .. to protect the innocent . . ."

Grey eyes rolled in the girl's pointy face. "Uh-huh . . . So, you'd kill them cause your dogma tells you to for the greater good, just as they would kill you cause their dogma tells them the exact same thing."

He wondered why he was still arguing, but he couldn't stop himself. "Only, my actions would be ruled by moral consciousness of what is acceptable and humane, eliminating the Unforgivable curses."

"So you can jinx, curse and kill with any spell up to and including any slicing, stabbing, hacking, strangling, burning, drowning or all the above, and that is the moral high road, but a curse that is two simple words that will leave my enemy dead before they can even feel it is tantamount to putting babies on spikes. Yeah, ohh-kay. So glad I have such an upright, morally guided person teaching me what is dark."

"Are you quite finished?"

"For now, unless you keep going around saying stupid things."

"While I can't promise that I won't say anything else you will regard as 'stupid', I feel such philosophical debates are best suited to times outside of class. Now if you would all please to turn in your texts to page five," He knew, almost by instinct, that he had not won this argument, but he had most certainly not lost, just by virtue of having ended it at a stalemate. Too be sure, this would not be the last time there were such outbursts in his class, but as long as he could contain such debates to more appropriate times, he couldn't be upset. Perhaps she was misguided, but certainly not stupid. If nothing else, she knew how to set a verbal trap, and while it was a more Slytherin trait, Lupin couldn't help but regard it in certain esteem - a verbal battle fought bravely was no different from any other kind of battle.

"I haven't seen her since that spectacular exhibition in DADA." Onxy gossiped to her sister as she poked at her jacket potato, seated in her usual spot on bench at the middle of the Slytherin table.

"I know! Wasn't that insane, she barely speaks three words all morning, except to swear and occasionally say something random. Then all of a sudden, she won't shut up!" Jade stabbed a piece of fish with her fork. Anezka's quick disappearance after the last class and subsequent absence from lunch was sadly the most interesting subject of conversation. It was either her, or the Dementors, that whingey Potter kid and Sirius Black, and they were already more than tired of that subject.

"Well, and thank god that Squiby third year Gryffindor had that boggart incident that will keep Professor Snape from hearing much about his dancing diminutive version from Transfiguration."
Before they could speculate on how much more angry their Head of House would be if he knew that he was the subject of two student's projects, Nezza came running up the aisle of the Hall, shoes in one hand and and empty cauldron in the other. Flinging herself between the two girls, she grabbed a few dinner rolls and shoved them into her face, and started running back down towards the door.

"Cnt stpp, gttu gu slll smfing. . ." was all they could make out of her words.

"Guess she's not too hungry?"

"Which do you care to explain first, Miss Sova? The fact that you are late to your first potions class or the fact that you are barefooted?" The sixth year potions lesson had begun 15 minutes previously, and Snape had hoped that the missing student would stay missing, but was more irritated than disappointed when she came skidding into the dungeon, even more disheveled then when he last saw her after breakfast.

"Well, if you must know, I was late because I'm barefoot." This confession was made as if it was deeply personal. "Couldn't find my flipping shoes, could I?"

"I will spare myself and the other student's the reason they are missing."

Nezza nodded. "Probably wise. It's a tragic, cautionary tale involving myself, an unnamed intoxicant and a very badly aimed shrinking spell." She winced at the memory. "So, where do I sit?"
Ignoring her feigned, bubbly excitement, Snape glanced around the dimly lit room, to find an empty seat for her. The class was mainly populated with Ravenclaws, a selection of the cleverest Slytherins, a handful of irksome Gryffindors, and one lone, brave Hufflepuff, who's brilliance with brewing earned him a grudging and silent respect from Snape. Mixing 2 houses cause enough problems, but as so few went onto NEWT level potions meant he had to deal with all four Houses in one class. It proved volatile at best.
"Sit next to Rossi." He motioned to the tall, dark haired Hufflepuff, who had no partner sitting at his bench with him. "And make it quick." He mentally added You shan't be in that seat long if I have my way.

Her feet tapped against the chilled stone floor as she scuttled towards the assigned seat. "So, you're last name's Rossi, eh? Italian? Il mio aeroscivolante รจ pieno di anguille." She greeted merrily as she sat down.

"Um, I don't speak any Italian . . . I was born in Bedford." His kind brown eyes looked a touch concerned that he might offend her.

"Oh, thank fuck for that, neither do I!" She breathed deeply. "So, what we brewing?"

"Draught of living death." He nodded towards his cauldron that was letting off a characteristic blue steam.

Her cheeky grin deepened. "Starting off slow for the first class I see." Without hesitation, or being at all concerned with the boys look of wonder at her referring to this potion as 'easy', she procured for herself, without even consulting the book, her cauldron, a vial of asphodel, already infused with the wormwood tincture, Valerian roots and sopophorous beans.

By the time Snape started circling the room, she was lazily stirring the potion that was quickly fading from dark to light purple. "Miss Sova, I do not tolerate cheating in any form in my class. Clearly, you've induced Rossi to split his potion with you to catch up with the rest of the class."

"Really?" She gave a pointed look at what was bubbling away in the cauldron next to hers, where a very fine, yet still very dark potion bubbled. "You think? Wonder how I managed THAT then." She nodded down to her own concoction.

"Very well. What is your next step then?" She shot her professor an incredulous look, then grabbed the small cutting board that the sopophorous beans sat, next to the knife that was to be their doom.

While, she appeared to be entirely intent on extracting juice from the slumberous legumes, she didn't fail to notice the look of sheer terror and hatred that quickly flashed in Snape's dark glance as he watched her hands. With a quick fury, he snapped up the copy of Advanced Potion Making that sat before her untouched and flipped through the crisp and bright pages, flipping to page 10. Apparently, not finding what he sought on the page, he looked at her again. "Why are you deviating from the instructions in the text?"

"Well, about two years ago I was brewing some of this up, yeah, and I was completely toasted. And as I was coming back to add the Valerian, I tripped over my shoelaces - got a problem with them at times y'know, mum used to have to superglue them into a knot, but I still managed to get them undone . . . thats when Dad said that maybe he should invent a self-tying spell for shoe laces, so that like every time they'd come undone, they'd instantly tie themselves. Well mum just shot him a filthy look and went out and bought a set of velcro shoes at Marks and Spencer's, which I hated, till I discovered that they lit up, or well, I liked that quality until I discovered light up shoes aren't much good when you're trying to sneak out at night. . . "

"Come to the point Miss Sova!" Snape growled.

She froze, pondering for a moment to what her original point was. "Oh, yeah, so anyway, tripped over the laces and my hand landed on the cutting board, smishing the flat edge of the knife into the beans. Got so much juice outta them that I never went back to cutting them."

The look the professor shot the student was one torn between outrage, revulsion and something else entirely, which neither Nezza, nor even the man himself entirely understood. "I will fail you without hesitation if the potion fails to turn out perfectly."

With a roll of her eyes, she went back to her stirring, seven times anticlockwise, before she quickly changed directions and stirred once clockwise.

About to question this second divergence from the recipe, Snape stopped himself, fearing another ten minute soliloquy on her reasons. For the rest of the class, he watched her carefully, both appalled and amazed at how she handled herself in front of a cauldron. Gone where her clumsy movements and constant state of half distraction and in their place was a skilled, if albeit slightly unorthodox, method. A constant awareness of where her ingredients, combined with a calm ease defined her posture, and at least ten minutes before even his best student achieved a clear liquid, she was carefully pouring the draught into a vial. He almost was impressed.

However, the minute she stepped away from the desk, whatever little begrudging respect her brewing skills had earned her, was lost, either by the sight of her bare feet, or the fact that she approached his desk with a mocking bow. "Please sir, may I approach the bench, sir, if I may sir . . ."

He ignored her but quickly opened his palm to receive the vial holding her assignment, and set it aside without a word. It wasn't until after classes were over for the day that he was loathed to find that he couldn't give her anything other than full marks.

The last class had ended and Nezza had nowhere to be until dinner. She was the first back in the common rooms, having skipped out as soon as she handed Snape her potion, the others still waiting for the bell. She collapsed on what was quickly becoming her favorite couch and pulled a fist full of coins from her bag. "Two galleons, 5 sickles, 3 knuts, not bad for a first sale. Now if only I could find my shoes . . ." She looked at the end table and saw it was her move in the silent chess game against her unseen opponent. After a full ten minutes staring at the board she called her move, then curled into the corner of the couch. She was fast asleep and snoring by the time the first students started filtering in to while away their free time.