"Hey Snapeykins. How's tricks?" Anezka asked, glancing from where she was grounding up a mortar full of beetles in perfect time to some strange rhythm in her own head. It was as if it were perfectly to see him come swooping through her front door, even though it had been a month since he came to interrogate her about bottled death. The school year had to be at least a fortnight underway at this point but she didn't allude to her surprise to see Snape so far from Scotland at this time of year. "What brings you to my door today?"

"I should think that would be rather obvious."

"My witty repartee and charm?"

"A potion."

"What's the matter, need a potion to get one of your kids a passing grade but don't want it to be as recognizably good as yours?" He stared at her blankly. "Why else would the esteemed Potions professor of Hogwarts come to a former student for a something he could make himself."

He let her comment about his esteem pass without comment as well. Either she said it to mock him and the lowliness of his profession, which was insufferable cheek, or worse still, she meant it. If she had, she would have been the first person to ever do anything other then deride him for it. "I am no longer the potions Professor." He chewed up his words and spat them out quickly. "I now teach Defense against the Dark Arts. One of my first years was bitten by a Rhos Pixie and is now showing symptoms of Maelgwn Fever."

"My potions professor in Brazil taught us a good remedy for that." She started puttering without further question, pulling up a larger cauldron from the cupboard below her work station, and shifting through random bottles and jars of ingredients, bravely sniffing their contents when she could not decipher their labels. "Surprised you didn't have anything on hand for just such an eventuality of a kid getting bit." It was said without incrimination, but rather in a tone that admired his usual foresight.

"He was not supposed to be in any danger of being bitten as he was not supposed to be anywhere near the pixie. He opened the cage on a dare whilst I was out of the room. "

"Hmm." She pressed no further on that issue. He had a valid point, he could not be prepared for all possible eventualities and regardless of if he had actually instructed the child to handle the small, dark creature, he might not have kept this brew on hand anyway – Maelgwyn Fever, while tedious and uncomfortable, was nearly never leathal and Snape probably considered it a fit punishment for the child who dared to do other then he was instructed in his class room. He was probably only here at the prompting of Dumbles or Poppy. "So, you're the DADA prof this year, huh?" She said throwing random portions of ingredients into her cauldron, not bothering to measure but knowing the proportions were correct. "That must make you happy – it's what you have always wanted."

"No, it isn't." He didn't know why he confessed that. He was used to hearing that assumption so it had nothing to do with the declaration taking him by surprise. He had even encouraged it and plyed it to his credit with Voldemort – that he still had passion for Dark Arts but was heretofore forbidden from that class.

Despite what everyone thought, he wanted the Dark Arts position as little as he wanted the Potions position. He simply felt that he had more to teach, could better prepare the next generation, if he shared his knowledge of Dark craft. Really, he wanted neither but he had a debt to pay and if these children were to survive the upcoming war, they needed to be taught properly, not by the random string of useless wretches paraded through that office. When he didn't elucidate further, Anezka, stared up at him pointedly. "What I want is to not be surrounded by incompetent dunderheads and impudent devils of children, but that will never happen no matter what subject I teach."

"Well, you don't have to teach. You could set up shop. I am making a pretty good go of things around here. You would probably make some solid dosh if you sold." She glanced around her shop, and he followed suit.

Her mention of improvements clearly had been backed up with thought, and followed up by action. The whole storefront had been painted, and while not much more organized or sensical, the sales floor had been arranged into slightly more attractive displays. There was even a proper till on an even more proper sales counter, accessorized with a receipt book and brown paper for parceling.

"Though, I don't think you've got the 'customer is always right' attitude necessary for a good sales person. You knowledgeable, sure, but in a poll taken of Debenhams shoppers, they would rather courteous then smart. I mean, you can hardly go around calling your customers useless ignorant twats because they took the damned potion wrong and then want their money back from you. Trust me . . . learned that the hard way."

He suppressed a wry grin. He was very certain that the belligerent woman had not held back her opinions of irate and stupid customers when provoked. "But I suppose that such insults are appropriate for a teacher?"

"Probably not, but you've never seemed much bothered by the idea of being nice to your charges. I recall you calling Gretchen Fox a useless ninny who thought more with her estrogen then with her underdeveloped excuse for a brain just cause she decided to do her sixth year term project on love potions. She blubbered like a two-bit soap opera actress."

"As she had been expressly forbidden from using them as her subject, she deserved every word. The tears, I assure you, were entire feigned and only applied for effect." The words were out of his mouth before he had mentally reviewed them for content and inflection. It was strange; he did not even speak to Dumbledore this casually . . .

"Absolutely. The period before she had just managed to improve her History grade one whole letter with a similar routine. I mean, and I speak from some experience here, if you are going to slack off all year, at least fail with dignity at the end of the term." Snape fell silent again after her chuckled agreement and she continued to concoct the required medicinal.

A silence that some might consider awkward fell betwixt the two, and took the moment to silently observe – an obliging mirrored mini disco ball hanging from the overhead cupboard gave her a way to watch her former professor meander slowly from shelf to display to shelf. Perhaps it was because he didn't know he was being watched, but he didn't have the sneer he had last time he looked around her place. He did look tired though, run down by the proverbial lorry. It was only a month or so into term – how could he be that beaten down already.

Just at that moment, a newspaper boy wandered past the door, crying headlines from the Prophet. Oh, yeah . . . she thought to herself. That whole. . . war . . . thing.

She threw the last few leaves and tidbits that were needed into the pot. "This takes about forty minutes to stew . . ."

"And another five to chill."

"Nah, I've got some self-chilling vials I can put it in."

"For how much more?"

"Eh, I'll give it to you gratis for not murdering me in my sleep at school." She shot a grin that could only be described as impish over her shoulder at him. Some might interpret her statement an apology for years of mischief, but her tone held no remorse. "If you have an errands you need to run . . ."

"I would prefer to stay her to be certain that you do not water it down to increase your profts." The words were vindictive, but although his reflection was upside down and distorted, Nezza almost believed that Snape said this with a smile. She couldn't' say for certain though – she didn't think she had ever seen him smile. Evil smirk – sure, yeah, he practically had that look trademarked. But actually smile . . . that she might pay hard earned gold to see.

"Hmm . . .not a bad idea that. I will have to remember that for next time." Giving the pot a final stir, and putting a dented tin lid over it, she turned around to face him, leaning back against the edge of the counter space. "Want a cuppa while you wait?"

He looked up at her, startled. He was very good at masking facial expressions, but she had spent 2 years learning his slightest facial ticks, and cataloging them to corresponding emotions. She didn't know why an offer of tea startled him, but instead of wondering, or waiting for an answer, she just shuffled her way behind the sales counter, and through the doorway, that was be-draped with what appeared to be an old bedsheet.

The offer of tea itself was not what had taken Snape aback. Tea was as common currency amongst the population of magical London as it was muggle-side. It was simply the fact that this maladroit and often malapropos girl-woman-person – he still hadn't quite landed on the term he wanted to apply to her – was coping far better then he was in this strange transition they found themselves in. They were no longer student and professor. That was fact, and she had made it very clear that she wanted that social stricture eliminated. He did not know how to treat her – he struggled with pretending that she was his peer; in terms of age, and the fact that he had only known her as one of his students, one of his responsibilities, it was hard to converse with her as he would Dumbledore, or one of the other Professors.

But that was precisely how she treated him, and so it nullified any attempts he made to put her back into the school-girl box.

"Oy, Snape! I'll make it, but I don't deliver." Her voice floated from behind the curtain she had just ducked through, and was echoed by the clattering of the kettle and the running of water. "C'mon back!" She beckoned.

"Aren't you worried about the front being unattended."

"Nah. I've MacGyver'd up some security cameras, " She nodded towards an tv set, which was plugged into nothing, but still showed an image of the front of the store. "and the door buzzes when someone comes in. Which is a pretty rare occurrence on a Tuesday afternoon. I'm guessing you only have early classes this term?" She said conversationally, as she finished topping off the kettle and placing it on top of a small hob that looked to be well over a hundred years old.

Her casual banter did nothing to disarm him. At any moment he expected a profanity laced, nonsensical dialogue. He was used to that, and had years of experience in how to respond to it. But instead she continued to putter. "Feel free to shift some of that crap off one of the chairs. I recommend the ladder-back, the stool is a bit wobbly."

He was going to make some comment about preferring to stand, but could think of no way to make it cutting and snide enough, so instead he just piled the stacks of magazines, yellowing newspapers, and one old textbook, book-marked by what appeared to be her old school tie, and placed them on the floor, for want of other space.

In short order, she placed a steaming mug of tea in front of him. It was the same Santa-faced mug she had used the last time she had made tea for him, during a detention.

After attempting to sit herself across the small card table from him, she stood, and picked up one of the magazines from the floor. "Potion Digest's special issue for the 50th anniversary of Borage's 'Advanced Potion Making'.You read it? It's complete rubbish, but then, so is the book. The fact that such an outdate piece of nonsense is being used as a textbook boggles the mind." She then shimmed the wobbly stool with the periodical.

Snape silently agreed with her and sipped his tea. "I found their section about Golpalott's Third Law rather overstated and under cited." Suddenly, he knew exactly how to have a conversation with her that didn't include assigning her detention or listening to her speak rubbish.