"The Prince of Enchanters' Wonderful Creations: The inventions of the greatest wizard of all time" was such a huge book that Róisín had to use a levitation charm to dislodge it from its shelf. She found a free space at the long bench in the centre isle of the library, opened it in front of her and stacked smaller books beside it to hold its heavy front cover, as though she were building a fort to hide behind. On top of her parchment she wrote "The Rune of Merlin" and began outlining her essay. It was said the famous wizard marked his possessions with his rune to imbue them with powers. The topic was fascinating. So much so that for a while Róisín forgot she had to go to Snape that night. She finished a paragraph on Merlin's surviving artefacts, including a cloak which was rumoured to be used in the secret welcoming ceremony of the Uagadou School of Magic and a quill that was said to be stored in the Department of Mysteries, when someone "psst" in her direction. She looked up to see Eóghan sitting across from her.

"Hey, ye weren't at dinner, what's up?'' he asked.

Róisín shrugged and said,

"Just wasn't that hungry."

"D'ye hear aboot Rookwood?" Eóghan asked, his tone uncharacteristically grim.

"Who?"

"Augustus Rookwood, the death eater?"

"Oh, yeah, isn't he in Azkaban?"

"Apparently no anymore."

"What?" Róisín asked in a sharp whisper, eliciting an angry "Ssh!" from Madam Pince.

"Ye know Richard's mum works at the Ministry?" Eóghan continued in a low voice. Róisín nodded and leaned closer. "She heard a rumour that Rookwood escaped Azkaban, and just like Sirius Black two years ago, they dinnae ken how he did it."

"Oh God," Róisín exclaimed, "D'ye think Black helped him?"

"Ah dunno, but it's scary. Ah thought I should find ye and tell ye, Ah know this stuff is more frightening for us than the others."

For us mudbloods, Róisín thought. "Thanks Eóghan, it's good to know."

"Ah was meaning to ask ye before, how's yer grandad?"

Róisín hesitated. Then she remembered she'd pretended her grandfather was sick after she'd told Eóghan they couldn't see each other anymore.

"Oh, he's a lot better," she said while thinking, I am a terrible person.

"Delighted tae hear it."

The December chill had invaded the castle, but Eóghan was wearing only a thin shirt with the top button undone. Róisín could see where his shoulder muscles met his collarbone. "Did they figure out how to cure that curse?" he asked.

Róisín picked up her quill as if eager to get back to writing. "Em, Pomfrey's working on it," she whispered. Eóghan's heavy brow crumpled a little. He had the type of face that lit up with his emotions - just like me, Róisín thought, and nothing like Snape. Maybe Eóghan was starting to think she'd lied about the curse preventing them from being together in the first place. She wanted to look up from her essay and tell him that she was sorry, that she wanted him, and no one else, especially not her cruel professor. Instead she kept her eyes trained on her parchment.

"Right then, see ye later," Eóghan said as he got up. When he was out of earshot, Róisín let out a groan.

She spent the next half an hour reading the same passage again and again before shoving her unfinished essay back into her stachel. She pulled out the notes she'd taken in charms class that day, tugging sharply at them as they got caught in her stachel's zip.

Flitwick had reminded them ten times that Healing charms were a guaranteed NEWT question, but his squeaky lecture had been muffled by Róisín's endless imaginings of her potions professor on top of her. Five feet of parchment filled with ida's print-quality handwriting had curled towards Róisín's side of the desk, while Róisín had only jotted down three inches:

Healing Charms

********Incantations********

! N.B Greek Origins N.B ! …. (Hippocrates c. 300 BC) …

Eg:

- Anapneo - "I breathe" - (clears blocked throat)

- Episkey - from episkevi- "repair"

- Kathartrom - from katharizo("clear/clean") & trombosis("clotting") - (clears blood clot) (FIRST SPELL FOR HEART ATTACK! - if uneffective use elektroskey or -

- Ravo..?(something) stitching wounds - ask Ida!

*******Wand Movements*******

Injury/Trauma repair:

- Lines/diagonals

- NB (angle w.r.t Caster and Target v. important)

- Short

- Sharp

Infection/Disease:

- Smooth/slow/gentle

- …. (didn't catch 2nd point ask someone)

H/W:

Invent charm to remove splinter. (No plagiarising existing spells, Flitwick's seen them all!)

In the corner of the crumpled parchment, Róisín had sketched a few squiggles, which now twisted like snakes up a bedpost.

Snape. Everytime she thought about him something stirred inside her, like she'd eaten too much sugar. All day she'd worried about his legilimency skills. Was the night of the party the first time he'd read her mind? Did he do it the night they'd had sex? Róisín had cringed at the thought so many times that Ida had asked her if she had stomach cramps.

Róisín abandoned her charms notes and got up to search for a book on legilimency. Two hours later, she was finishing the fifth chapter of "Protection Charm Your Mind: A Practical Guide to Counter Legilimency". It was filled with vague terms like "mind's eye", "mindfulness" and "mental landscape". The clock on the wall inched towards ten and Róisín noticed Madam Pince glare at her from behind her desk. The only other student still in the library was Hermione Granger, flipping through a pile of books with alacrity. Róisín scanned the rest of the chapter titles and decided that "clearing one's mind" was the main idea. Whatever that meant. She carefully replaced "Protection Charm Your Mind" and headed back to her dormitory.

The suds from Róisín's shampoo slid around her breasts towards her belly button. The hot tap of the shower was fully open and her skin had turned pink. She paused from scrubbing under her arms to tug at an inch of fat on her hips. "Barely five foot with overtly feminine proportions" was how Snape had described her. She squirmed at the memory. Did he find her at all attractive?

Apparently Kun didn't. He'd just wanted to slip her veritaserum. But why? An evil Slytherin plot to capture her and bring her to You-Know-Who? Róisín whipped her head towards the door of the bathroom, picturing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named smashing through it. She whispered "colloportus" and the door rattled, already locked. Not that He wouldn't know alohomora. But still. It was something.

Róisín sighed. Eóghan had wanted her. She'd wanted him too. She balanced on one slippery foot to wash the other. She couldn't have Eóghan though, apparently the sióg side of her wanted a more powerful wizard. Like Snape.

She had to admit she found Snape attractive, terrifying, but attractive. And sexy. The way he flicked his wrist, causally performing powerful magic, the effortless way he kept his class silent, his low, smooth voice. Róisín squeezed her thighs together as she ran her hands through her hair. She remembered how he'd duelled in Defence, how easily he'd defeated Ida, Anna and herself. He wasn't handsome, but Róisín didn't care. And his lean body… she dropped her sponge and her hand slipped between her legs. The way his finger had felt inside her, making that delicious feeling coil tighter and tighter. Her legs and bum tensed hard and she pressed her other hand against the cold, soapy tiles to keep herself standing. It'd be easier to finish lying down, she could get in to bed and… No- she'd be late. She picked up the sponge and started scrubbing harder than before.

She didn't even know if she liked Snape; he made his students cry for tiny mistakes; he'd humiliated her when he'd caught her looking at Kun; he'd lied to her about obliviating Ida. Rumours were he used to support You-Know-Who when he was young, which meant he probably looked down on mudbloods like her. Maybe that was why he was reluctant to have sex with her?

Ugh. If only she could lobotomize the part of her brain that made her feel so feckin' horny.

At half past ten, Róisín slipped out of her room. She found a fireplace in a side-turret off Ravenclaw tower. After re-checking there was no one hidden behind the stacks of books, she cast incendio and emptied the floo powder into the flames. Then she crouched and climbed into them.

"Sala-" she began.

A silver face with high cheekbones peered from behind a row of books. Róisín froze. Helena Ravenclaw, the Ravenclaw ghost, stared at her with pale gray eyes. "S-Snackers staircase," Róisín corrected quickly. Everything started to spin. Róisín gritted her teeth and prayed the address would take her somewhere. Glimpses of Hogwarts zoomed by; chess pieces battling, woven lions snoozing, a blackboard covered in shapes, a thin figure with a pointy hat, mountains of objects, Peeves squirting a bottle of goo, students playing gobstones, rows of desks, shelves of books, statues, broomsticks, Ow! Róisín's funny bone knocked against something sharp… black and yellow armchairs, billows of steam, elves… Then it stopped. Walls surrounded Róisín on all sides, like she were in an upright brick coffin.

Fuck! A sealed fireplace!

Her stomach felt like wrung cloth. She wriggled against the walls, grazing her knuckles as she reached behind her and fidgeted for her wand in her back pocket. It wasn't there. She must've left it in her robes. I might run out of air. She pounded her fists against the bricks, shouting,

"Depulso!"

The bricks in front of her burst into pieces and Róisín winced as shards hit her face. Behind them was solid granite. She squeezed around and shouted "Depulso!" again. Bricks flew away to reveal a dusty classroom. Róisín climbed out around the rubble and hurried from the room, patting her hands on her clothes while muttering "tergeo" to get rid of the dust. In the corridor, the air was sweet with the smell of baking, so she was near the kitchens.

Footsteps.

Róisín froze.

"Ah! I know the answer to this one!" Flitwick's voice squeaked. "To steal the wren's wife!"

Róisín jumped behind a tapestry. Thankfully, the next voice came to her from farther away.

Sprout"s voice replied, "No, Filius, it's not a riddle, a real crow with a tiara, just over Greenhouse four. Isn't that…." Sprout's voice got quieter and disappeared. Róisín hurried on in the opposite direction. A wren, a crow, a tiara… God, her professors were strange.

She found Snacker's staircase and began her descent into the dungeons. Once outside the potion master's office she took a moment to stop panting. Then she knocked.

"Enter."

Róisín stepped inside. Snape was sitting at his desk marking papers. He didn't bother to look up and greet her. Róisín pulled the door closed but it got stuck, as if by a door stopper. She gave it another tug and it closed. Weird.

"Since you've ignored my request to floo to my chambers," Snape began as he put his quill down, his voice low and dangerous. "And have instead strolled here like an arrogant hippogriff, I presume you've concluded that being discovered and captured by the Dark Lord is of little concern to you."

Róisín hesitated. She didn't want to tell him she'd trapped herself in a chimney.

"All the fireplaces in Ravenclaw tower had people near them, sir."

"Next time, disillusion yourself."

Next time.

Róisín bit her lip and nodded.

Snape stood and wandlessly opened the passage to his quarters. He gestured for Róisín to go first.

Flames sprung to life in the fireplace as Róisín stepped into the vast cavern of Salazar's chambers. Dark curtains were closed over the window to the Black Lake facing the large four-poster bed, whose posts were still charred. Róisín walked farther into the room. She had no idea what to do next.

"Would you -"

"- Should I -" Róisín spoke over Snape and winced. He gestured for her to continue. "No, please, you first sir."

His lips thinned.

"Drop the "sir" for tonight." He walked to a wardrobe in the corner of the room, taking off his outer robes as he went. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, his tone polite but cold. Róisín watched his hands move down the buttons of his frock coat. "Miss Feral?" Her eyes popped back to his.

"Em, no sir, I'm ok." Snape raised an eyebrow. Róisín had called him "sir" again. "Sorry," she muttered. His frock coat followed his robe into the wardrobe. Underneath he wore a white shirt. Róisín turned away and pulled her jumper over her head, flinging her hand down to keep her t-shirt from riding up with it.

"How is your magic today?" Snape asked.

"It's- I've been trying not to use it too much since it's a little… shaky." Róisín's voice was muffled by her jumper, which wasn't stretching over her head. It's collar seemed to be getting smaller, tightening on her neck. "Engorgio!" she whispered, panicking, but it only tightened.

Then it was gone. Róisín, disorientated, turned back to her professor. He was holding her jumper in his hands.

"You're nervous," he stated.

"What-" Róisín began. He held up her jumper to punctuate his point. It was half its original size. Róisín's hand went to her mouth. "I did that with my magic?"

"Evidently."

"But why?"

"Presumably to slow proceedings," he answered cooly.

"But I thought- I thought my magic wanted this."

"Your magic can't want anything," he replied. Róisín waited for him to explain further, but instead he engorgio'd her jumper back to its original size and threw it to her. He crouched to remove his boots. Róisín copied him, going to her knees to untie her runners. She normally kicked them off, so the knots had not been undone in months and were very tight. She tried to concentrate on getting her nails to catch under the lace and loosen them.

The silence was awful.

"Sir, I thought- I'm sorry, this is a stupid question, but if my magic can't want anything, why do we have to… " she trailed off. Snape was standing again, unbuttoning his shirt. Róisín could see the line where his pectoral muscles dipped to meet his sternum. "...Why is my magic unstable?" she finished, quickly dropping her attention back to her runners. She pulled them off with the laces still tied.

"It doesn't mean that your magic is literally "unstable"," Snape corrected in the same sneering tone he'd used in potions that day to inform a horrified Gryffindor that "swaddled babies" was the name of a flower. He pulled off his shirt and hung it up, a deep crease forming between the lean muscle of his arm and his shoulder as he stretched. "Magic can't be stable or unstable, it just is. A part of you that plays a role in controlling your magic is stressed and is acting out." Róisín could feel her chest inflating and deflating as she listened. Was she imagining the slight dampening of her underarms? She pressed them to her sides. Snape had stopped undressing and was in just his trousers with bare feet. There was black hair on his long toes. He continued, "Because you're a sióg, the part of you that is not handling your magic well is your lust. Most likely."

Róisín was hot. She was wearing a long-sleeve t-shirt with a vest underneath, but she didn't want to take it off. Snape, standing shirtless in front of her without a pinch of fat, was making her feel flabby.

He waved his hand and the fire died. It was now so quiet Róisín could hear herself breathe.

"You're too warm," he explained.

Did she look hot? Or had he read her mind?

"Most likely, sir?" Roisín asked.

"It's only been two weeks since you were last here. Your control of your magic slipped sooner than I'd anticipated. It could be that your lust is not the cause -"

"That I'm not a sióg?" Róisín suggested.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "No, I'm certain you're a sióg," he said. "However, it could be stress that is causing you to lose control of your magic this time, as I presume you're not experiencing the other symptoms?"

Róisín hesitated. She hadn't had her period recently, so she hadn't had period pain, but she had been daydreaming a lot about certain activities-

Snape's eyebrows raised. "Or you have been. It's also possible that your symptoms are more frequent because your sióg.. issues manifested at such a late stage."

"A late stage?"

"Most show signs at around fifteen."

She had been almost nineteen, Róisín thought. Although the other signs, a high libido and painful menstruations had been there before, she just hadn't gone around advertising them.

Róisín was careful to avoid Snape's eyes, in case his legilimency worked like a Wampus cat's, and found herself instead staring at where his trousers hung from his narrow hips. She blinked and looked back at his face.

"How come you know so much about sióga, professor?" she asked.

For a moment, Snape's jaw locked so tight Róisín's own teeth hurt just by looking at it.

"Are you still sore?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"Oh no, it stopped hurting after you gave me that potion the next day, " Róisín replied.

Did Snape just wince?

"From the injuries you sustained Saturday night," he clarified. Róisín blushed.

"Oh, yeah of course, sorry." She'd thought he was referring to the pain she'd had after they'd had sex. She spoke quickly, to clear the air of her blunder, "I have a few bruises, nothing serious. You did an amazing job healing me, thank you." Her eyes had flicked up to his and she dragged them away. Remembering chapter two, "Step 2: Clearing your mind", she tried to think of nothing.

"I hope your blank stare and blatant lack of eye contact is not your attempt at the ancient art of occlumency, Miss Feral." Róisín's eyes shot back up to Snape's. Before she could fight it, her thoughts began to unravel, like thread from a spool; his hands on her thigh, healing her… brick walls on all sides... his deep, low "mutafidus"... the sharp pain of him entering her... his mouth around his finger... dancing, pressed against Kun… Snape's scarred chest... vomiting a thick batter of chocolate... his weight on top of her... her hands beneath the sheets... "unfortunately not everything is under my control"... the tip of his wand trailing down her body...

She shut her eyes tight.

"I understand you don't like when I access your thoughts," Snape said, his voice cool as silk, "but it is difficult not to when you throw them at me like that. If you wish to protect yourself from a legilimens, either stay away from them or take the time to study occlumency correctly. The overt tactics you are attempting will only make a legilimens curious when they may otherwise not be."

Róisín tried to look at Snape normally, but, legilimens or not, she tended to avoid eye contact with people who intimidated her.

"Is there anything I can do now, sir, to stop "throwing my thoughts" at you?" she asked, a bold edge to her voice.

"I won't use legilimency on you tonight," Snape answered.

Róisín didn't believe him.

"You can believe me," he added.

He just said he wouldn't-

"I didn't read your mind, I read your expression."

He took a step towards Róisín and she stilled. "Are you nervous?" he asked.

Of course I am!

"A little."

"You're white as a sheet."

Róisín stopped biting her lip to say,

"I'm afraid of setting something alight again."

Snape smiled, and not in an I'm-about-to-deduct-points-from-Gryffindor kind of way. It was a warm smile. Then his face slipped into its usual mask and he asked,

"Are you worried it will hurt?"

Róisín thought of the feeling of him inside her, like she had every night since. It had felt strange and sexy but also stingy and painful. Her throat tightened. She was about to shake her head but nodded instead.

"Will I get a pain relief potion?" he asked. Róisín hesitated and Snape added, "I was concerned that its effects would interfere with the magic of the coupling, but after last time I think it's worth the risk."

"Em, ok, I'll take it then."

"Accio Chalarotiki potion," Snape muttered.

A vial sailed into the room. It curved towards Snape just as there was a "thump" near the passageway.

"Homenum Revelio!" Snape bellowed. There was a flash of light as Róisín was punched in the gut and thrown across the room, her back walloping against the side of the bed. Snape lunged and pinned a skinny figure who had appeared out of nowhere against the wall, the tip of his wand pressed hard against its throat. Snape's other hand grabbed its collar and tugged up so hard that its feet no longer touched the ground. It made a gurgly, choking sound. It had black hair sticking up in all directions.

It was Harry Potter.

"Enjoying the show, Potter?" Snape spat, so close to his face he could kiss him. "First you slip into my pensieve and now you sneak into my fucking chambers?" The muscles of Snape's naked upper body were taut with fury. Potter rasped and reached in vain for his wand on the floor, the tendons in his hands popping with the effort. "You disgusting, arrogant, little prick," Snape growled and shoved him, his skull knocking with a thud against the stone behind. Róisín tried to cry out but was so winded no sound escaped.

Potter's face was turning purple. Róisín struggled to her feet, leaning heavily on her hands as her legs were wobbling. A lazy flick of Snape's wand over his shoulder pushed her back to her knees. Snape released his grip on Potter's collar and the Boy-Who-Lived collapsed onto the ground, coughing. He lunged for his wand but Snape flicked his wrist again and the wand skidded away.

"Incarcerous," Snape snarled. Thick ropes slithered from mid-air and wound themselves around Potter, who kicked and swung against them.

"You fucking scum!" Potter spluttered, equally enraged, the ropes pinning his arms to his sides. "I knew you were raping her! I FUCKING KNEW IT!"

"You know NOTHING!" Snape roared. "You're brash and stupid and cocky, just like your vile father. I should've destroyed that bloody map when I first found you with it, stomping around the castle like you owned the place."

Potter's wand was in a far corner of the room. Róisín began to crawl towards it, her head ringing. Nothing made sense. Why was Harry Potter in Snape's chambers? How did he get here? What was a pensieve? What map was he talking about?

"Don't. Move."

Róisín froze. Snape's eyes were latched on Potter but it was clear his cool command was directed at her.

"If you believed I were going to assault Miss Feral why didn't you confront me," Snape asked, his voice oozing scorn, "The valiant Gryffindor that you are, instead of hiding and watching like a pervert?"

Potter spoke through bared teeth, still squirming against the ropes,

"I needed -" He huffed for breath, "I - I needed to make sure-"

"You required absolute proof did you? Before you offered your services? Wanted to be completely certain you had enough evidence to condemn me before you risked your neck? Tell me, Potter, do you get off on watching people suffer, like your late father and pathetic Godfather?"

"Don't… talk... about-"

"-I'll talk about whomever I want to talk about," Snape spat. The ropes twisted tighter and Potter writhed against them, his fists and arms white from lack of blood. "You have no idea what you've done, you fool," Snape said as he raised his wand. Potter and the ropes levitated at its command and hovered in the air. "The Headmaster has ordered me to protect Miss Feral but your arrogance has put her in grave danger."

"I put her in danger? You greasy-" Potter shouted.

"-What you know He knows! If you'd taken a break from being a self-righteous little prick long enough to ask the Headmaster about your suspicions," Snape said. "He would've told you that Miss Feral was being looked after and that she is none of your concern. She is certainly not another damsel for you to save."

"Oh, and you're the one looking after her," Harry hissed from the air, "YOU'RE the one saving her, are you? She's SHAKING with fear! Two weeks ago I saw your feet IN-BETWEEN hers! And now you're half naked! What were you doing?" he continued sarcastically, "Saving her with your c- "

Potter's voice was cut-off with a silencio from Snape, but his lips mouthed the obscenity. Snape stepped back, stretched his head to each side and twiddled the fingers of his wand hand lazily, as if he had all the time in the world to watch the famous Gryffindor wriggle in the air. Now composed, he stated cooly,

"Petrificus Totalus"

Potter dropped.

Róisín's winced as she waited for his dead weight to hit the floor but Snape's mobilicorpus caught him just in time. The ropes disappeared. Snape turned abruptly and Róisín cowered. Her professor flinched, then his lips thinned with mild annoyance. He stepped towards her and held out a hand.

"Are you hurt?" he asked stiffly.

Róisín shivered. She was drenched in sweat. This man had just violently attacked a teenage boy and then offered her his hand. She could lunge for his wand but - He raised it out of reach, flicked it towards Potter and muttered,

"Muffliato,"

Then he said,

"I apologise if I hurt you, I needed to get you away from the intruder."

Róisín's whole body shook. She was crying. Snape crouched down to her. His black eyes, which moments ago had been contorted with rage, were narrowed with concern. Róisín hid her face and wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm not going to hurt you," he continued, his voice so much softer than usual that Róisín glanced at him from between her fingers to make sure he was still the same man. "Potter," - Snape couldn't seem to help but spit the name - "has a habit of making foolish decisions that put himself and others in danger I-" he paused- "I'll bring Potter to the headmaster." He stood and went to his wardrobe.

"Severus?"

Róisín jumped. The voice had come from Snape's office. Snape paused in shrugging on his shirt.

"Yes, headmaster?" he replied tersely.

"May we enter?"

"We?" Snape snapped.

Dumbledore strode into the room, his robes swishing about him. Róisín heard a little gasp.

"As you can see Miss Granger, Harry is perfectly fine," Dumbledore said. "Professor Snape would never harm a student."

The bushy head of Hermione Granger stepped out from the passageway. She glanced with wide eyes from Potter's floating body to Snape, whose shirt was still unbuttoned. With a flourish of his wand, Snape's normal teaching regalia wrapped into place around him, every inch of skin except his face and hands now covered in black. Dumbledore turned to Snape.

"Miss Granger was concerned about Harry's whereabouts and found me in my office. Apparently on several occasions Harry saw yourself and Miss Feral in your quarters on his father's map. Miss Granger had tried to convince him not to do anything rash, however when Mister Weasley informed her that Harry was not in his dormitory she came to me, while Mister Weasley ran to the dungeons to- "

A crash interrupted Dumbledore and a panting Weasley ran into the room, wand brandished and face as red as his hair, still in his stripped Gryffindor pyjamas. His eyes darted around the room and landed on his paralysed best friend.

"How nice of you to join us Weasley," Snape drawled.

"Release him!" Weasley shouted. Snape jerked his wand and Harry fell, his limbs flailing. A purple mattress popped onto the ground and Harry landed on it, scrambling to his feet after a limp bounce.

"ACCIO WAND!" Potter exclaimed and his wand shot across the room into his hand. He waved it frantically between Snape and Róisín. "Professor, he was going to- Snape was going to-"

"Enough," Dumbledore said sternly."It is unacceptable to sneak into a professor's chambers." His voice was quiet but crystal clear. "If you have concerns about the welfare of a student you may report them to myself or your head of house."

Potter's glasses were eschew, distorting his angry green eyes still pinned on Snape. His fists clasped and unclasped by his side.

A yellowed piece of parchment fluttered from the floor into the headmaster's hands, followed by a slinky, colourless cloak. Róisín hadn't noticed them before. "Unfortunately, I can no longer trust you with these," Dumbledore said. Weasley and Granger looked distraught at the confiscation of the two strange items, but all of Potter's attention was still on Snape. "Miss Feral is here under my orders, working with Professor Snape on an important task for the Order-"

"Maybe that's what he's told you, but I saw-"

The look Dumbledore sent Potter was brutal, and the boy's stubborn, jutting jaw dipped a fraction.

"It is very late," the headmaster stated icily. "You may return to your dormitory so you are bright and ready for your morning classes."

For a moment, Potter looked like he would defy the headmaster and curse Snape, but instead he stormed from the room. Weasley followed him, the look of perplexion on his face headache inducing. Granger gave Róisín a small nod before leaving. After bidding Snape and Róisín a warm "Good Night" Dumbledore left as well.

Róisín's bum and ankles were sore from sitting on the stone floor, and her back ached where it had hit the bed stand. She rubbed at her face and found it slick with tears. She was suddenly aware that Snape was out of eyeshot, and whipped her head around nervously. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ease a migraine.

"Leave," he stated.

Róisín scrambled to her feet, hurried through the passageway to his office, stepped over the broken shards of Snape's office door and started the long climb back to Ravenclaw tower.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who is reading and especially to those who leave reviews! I have every intention of finishing this story so please don't be worried that it will be abandoned. I know I take a long time to update so I appreciate those of you who stick around! Let me know what you think if you get the chance.