Introduction: Hi everyone! I hope you're all enjoying the story. As you'll notice, the scene where Hagrid comes asking for help to find Fangs is supposed to be on Athena's 3rd year, but I decided to anticipate it. Thanks again for the all sweet reviews! I love reading your opinions! I have a very random question for you today: what's your favorite chocolate? I'm between Toblerone and mini M&M's. As you already know, any comments, critiques or concerns, feel free to contact me!

Chapter Eleven – Enlightening

It has been a quiet month ever since my friends encouraged me to pursue with our plans. It still bothers me that they might end up hurt, but they seem to be quite thrilled about it.

The end of February brings a warmer breeze, meaning that spring is just around the corner. Even my nightmares stopped bothering me and Merula hasn't done or said anything too. I haven't spoken to Tulip about her suspicious conversation with Merula, but maybe it's like Rowan said; maybe it will do Merula some good if she has a friend. Even if it's a fellow Ravenclaw.

In a particularly calm morning after the choir practice, while Rowan and I are discussing useful potions that Penny may brew for our quest at the frozen door, a thunder-like voice calls my name.

"Athena," Rubeus approaches us, his beetle eyes sparking under the sunlight. "How yer doin'?"

"Very well, Rubeus," I smile at him, feeling incredibly small next to his gigantic body.

"I was wonderin' if yer could help me wit' somethin'," he says, scratching his tangled hair.

"Of course!" I say. "You found me when I was trapped at that Devil's Snare. I owe you one."

"It's that Devil's Snare the problem," he looks awfully worried. "I want ter know if yer could brew me a Fire-Breathin' Potion."

"Fire-Breathing Potion? What for, if I may ask?"

"I can't tell yer," he says. "Hmmm, could yer do it?"

"Sure, Hagrid," I say, shrugging.

"Jus' don't tell Professor Snape 'bout it, eh?" he says. "An' thank yer so much, Athena. Yer a great witch like everyone says."

I exchange looks with Rowan as we watch Rubeus walk away, the small flowers growing in between the stones being completely smashed under his feet.

"Will you ask Penny for help?" Rowan asks.

"No," I sigh. "She's already too busy working on our plan. I'll figure a way to brew it."

"But do you know how to?" she asks.

"I'll take a look at the library," I say. "Maybe I could ask Professor Snape for help."

"But Rubeus says Snape isn't supposed to know about it."

"I know," I say. "And I won't tell him. I'll just say I wanna learn some more... and hope for the best."

I stop by the library before lunch, researching through every potions book I can but my hands on.

Here. Fire-Breathing Potion.

Mint, Valerian sprigs, fire seeds, powdered dragon horn and lavender.

Dang, it is complicated as hell.

I make meticulous notes about all the ingredients and preparation, keeping the parchment in the pocket of my robes.

The last time I walked to the dungeons in my own will was when I took Ink Cap mushrooms to Professor Snape, in a useless attempt to prove I'm not like my brother. And just like that day, I have an odd feeling in my heart, like that sort of anxiousness you feel before doing something wrong or dangerous.

The Potions classroom door is opened, but Professor Snape isn't teaching. He's actually organizing some bottles on a shelf, the whole class being so silent that all I hear is the sound of the glass touching the wood.

"Professor?" I call in a quiet voice, not to startle him.

"Miss Lockhart," he says, not even looking at me.

"May I have a word?" I ask.

"Be quick," he says, simply.

I walk to him, watching he place the perfectly labeled potions on the shelf, his handwriting so small and intricate that I have to look closer to be able to read.

"Professor, I was studying about some potions," I say, trying to project confidence into my voice. "And I found a particular one that called my attention. It's the Fire-Breathing Potion."

"And what do I have to do with this?" he asks, sharply.

"I was wondering if you could teach me how to brew it."

I feel like I'm sinking in cold water when he glances those jet-black eyes at me, a frown upon his face.

"Why would I do that?" he hisses, and I start to wonder if this was a good idea to begin with.

Think of the best flattering sentence you can, Athena.

"I'm just trying to learn as many potions as I can," I tell him. "In my first year here you said you didn't expect us to understand the subtle art of potion making," I try my best not to break our eye contact, even though I feel awfully exposed with him looking at me with such intensity. "But I do."

"I'll rephrase," he says. "Why would I ever teach you how to brew such dangerous potion?"

I close my hands in fists, but he can't see since his eyes at glue to mine.

"Because I admire you," I sigh. "And I have great appreciation for potions. From the beginning this was the class I was looking forward to. And even though you dislike me and think I'm an awful student and a trouble-maker, I never got anything but Outstanding in this class. You are an amazing potions teacher and I want to learn everything I can from you."

Damn, that sounded a lot like toadyism.

But then something happens. It is subtle, but I notice the corner of his lips trembling, like he's trying hard to contain a smile.

"Fine," he says. "Your passion almost makes up for your lack of sense."

The iciness that was flooding my soul seems to thaw a little. He doesn't break our eye contact, though, still staring at me with those piercing raven eyes.

"Ten points to Ravenclaw," he says and my jaw drops, though I try to turn it into a smile.

"Thank you, Professor," I say.

"I'll expect you here tonight," he says. "Seven o'clock. I'll brew some of this potion for my personal stock. And I'll allow you to watch."

"Thank you so much, sir," I say, my heart flooding with joy.

"Now get out of here," he says, finally breaking the contact and going back to his organization.

"That," Rowan says while we're having lunch. "Was super creepy."

"I don't know why he always looks at me like that," I say. "Like he's reading my mind or something."

"Maybe he is," she says. "And now he knows your deepest and darkest secrets."

I titter, feeling a bit of nausea with the thought that this may be true. What if he's actually reading my mind? What if he knows what I'm up to?

Aunt Anise still hasn't returned from wherever she is and hasn't finished doing whatever it is that she's doing, and Professor Snape is exultant that he's now teaching us. I wonder if this substitution makes him vulnerable to the curse surrounding this post.

He doesn't look at me at all while he teaches us about Depulso. It's bizarre to admit, but he's as skilled with spells as he is with potions. The wand is like an extension of his arm, and I wonder if I'll ever have this sort of ability.

That night, ten minutes before the agreed time, I get to the Potions classroom, but Professor Snape isn't there yet. I sit in one of the desks and wait, my heart racing when a lateral door opens, revealing a humming Professor Snape, carrying a bunch of potion ingredients. When he notices I'm there, he immediately stops humming.

It makes me wonder if he's actually happy to teach me.

"You're early," he says, coldly.

Maybe not.

"Forgive me, sir," I say.

"I didn't take you for a punctual person, Miss Lockhart," he says, taking the ingredients to a table.

"Have you ever seen me get late to class, sir?" I ask, getting up to help him with the ingredients.

He looks at me with piercing eyes.

"Point taken," he says. "But there's no reason to be a smartass in here."

"Sorry, sir," I grin.

"Now," he says, straightening his back and looking intensely to me. He looks incredibly taller when he does this. "This is a highly volatile and dangerous potion. It is not to be used recklessly, for it can melt your flesh to the bone," he raises his brows. "Nevertheless, the mint contained in this potion has cooling properties, allowing the drinker to consume it without melting their tongue."

"Sounds fascinating," I tell him.

"Can you tell me the first ingredient to be added to the cauldron?" he asks me.

"Valerian sprigs," I answer. "Three sprigs, specifically."

"Very good," he says, grabbing a vase with a huge bush of Valerian flowers, carefully cutting three sprigs from it, and adding it attentively to the potion.

"What Valerian sprigs are used for," he says. "apart from this particular potion?"

"They can be used in the Draught of Living Death, the Forgetfulness Potion and in the Sleeping Draught," I answer.

"Correct," he says, heating up the fire under the cauldron. "And how many times I must stir it?"

I grab the instructions from my pocket.

"Three times, sir," I say.

"Four," he corrects me.

"Sir? The instructions from the book mention only three times."

"What color is the potion supposed to be after the stirring?"

"A pale green."

"Then watch this," he says, stirring the potion three times, the mixture turning to a milky color. He then glances at me with very confident eyes and give the potion another stir, the liquid immediately turning light green.

"Incredible," I say. "How did you know that?"

"Years of experience, I would say," he tells me. "In time you'll learn that you cannot take every instruction seriously. You must experiment sometimes. Take some risks. Make mistakes."

I smile at him, but he doesn't seem to see. He focuses on the bubbling cauldron, continuously asking me questions about the ingredients, and I'm so happy to have my intellect challenged that I can barely contain myself.

"How many fire seeds are to be added?" he asks me.

"Six, sir," I answer, but then he raises his brows at me. "Seven? Eight?"

"See for yourself," he says, stepping aside, handing me a glass full of fire seeds.

I add one seed at a time, waiting for the solution to become bright red and release orange fumes. I add the six required seeds, but the potion is still yellow. I add one more. And another. And another one. When I finally add the tenth seed, the potion turns a beautiful rose petal red, releasing the required orange smoke, smelling like burned wood.

"That's incredible," I say.

"It is, indeed," he says, a very satisfied expression on his face.

We spend almost an hour brewing the potion and discussing the ingredients. By the time we finish, it's dinner time.

He grabs a bunch of empty bottles, cautiously adding the potion to each one of them, even more carefully labeling them all.

"Thank you for the lesson, Professor," I say, helping him put all the bottles in a shelf.

"This," he says, handling me a bottle. "Is for you. Do not use it recklessly."

"I won't, sir," I say, the still warm bottle heating my hands. "Thank you so much."

He nods at me, a very serene look upon his face, and it makes me happier than I sure should. I remember when I first saw him, that darkness and coldness surrounding him, and I wonder if I'm actually breaking his barrier.

I join Rowan at dinner, my soul so exulted and thrilled that every single thing I eat seems to taste incredibly better.

"How was it with Mr. Bat?" she asks.

"Very…" very what? "Enlightening."

"Hagrid will be happy to hear you managed to make the potion," she says.

"Yeah," I say. "It's nice to help people. I'll stop by his hut tomorrow."

"I wonder what the potion is for," she scratches her chin. "Probably something potentially life threatening."

Do not use it recklessly.

Yeah.

Let's hope not.

The last thing I want is to set the castle on fire.