A/N: This chapter is dedicated to recent story follower zombistyle, who hopefully continues to enjoy the story. Welcome to the family!

-C

The staff room was not tense, although Lydia thought it should have been. With everything that happened less than a month prior with Severus and Quirinus, anyone who didn't already know would never have suspected. And Lydia, she felt she was still playing the game well. Neither Albus nor Severus seemed worried about her, which meant she was doing her part and displaying no outward signs of knowing what had happened. Did Albus know? Had Severus reported the meeting, or done it all on his own accord? And if Albus did know, did he know that she followed?

"Lydia, for your exams?"

"Same as usual," Lydia said, not missing a beat. She was much better now, balancing her preoccupied thoughts with conversational expectations. Perhaps that was part of disciplining her mind. "I am increasing my office hours, and my appointment availability. My third year course has asked for two full-class sessions in the weeks before exams to ask anything and benefit together as a group, which I have granted and scheduled around their other classes, which was not easy." Albus inclined his head. "I'll need a second blackboard brought in for the fourth year exams. Otherwise, I have no requirements."

"That can be arranged simply enough," Albus said brightly. "Severus?"

Severus put forward his usual list of ingredient shortages that would need to be remedied before exam season, Minerva put a request for various pieces of equipment to be transfigured, and Flitwick needed a fresh set of charmed quills, as his were well past date, and he hadn't the time to personally charm each quill.

"Quirinus?"

"N-n-nothing unusual," Quirinus said. He smiled weakly. "J-j-just the order of d-d-d-doxies."

Lydia shivered, wishing she'd been able to stop herself. She hated doxies.

Albus made a mark by a note he already had written down, the moved on to Sibyll, who needed a new set of teacups, as her third years had an unusually high attrition rate during the Tasseomancy unit. Lydia tuned back out again, not interested in the dramas of Divination. She'd never thought much of the course, even before she met Sibyll, but the woman hadn't given her much cause to think highly of the course.

"I am afraid I won't be around much this week," Albus said, drawing Lydia's attention back to the conversation. "Cornelius has requested my presence in London on several matters, and I found it most convenient to lump them together. I can be reached in case of emergency, but I trust that won't be necessary."

Lydia nodded, although she felt disconcerted. Even though she felt perfectly secure with Severus, there was no denying that Albus's presence at the castle made them all safer, especially her. If someone really was after Harry or her, surely they would be better off if Albus didn't leave. But then, it was difficult to tell the Minister of Magic that they couldn't possibly spare Albus because a student and teacher might be in mortal peril. Not if Albus wanted to keep his job.

When the meeting began to trickle out after closing, Quirinus was the first to go. Kettleburn walked out with Filius, discussing something about Kettleburn's exams, and Minerva lingered to ask Severus about the possible use of something for her exams. Severus said that sounded agreeable, and then Minerva said, "I hope you won't mind, Lydia, but I offered to get a book signed for a student."

"I'm sorry?" Lydia said, startled. If one of her students wanted a book signed, why would they not just ask her?

"Miss Granger is quite keen on Arithmancy," Minerva said with a smile. "She says she's only spoken to you in passing a couple of times and felt awkward about asking. I told her it should be no trouble."

Severus made an annoyed noise, but Lydia was more bemused as Minerva pulled out a copy of Lydia's book, already well-worn, dog-eared, and bookmarked in several places. For a Muggle-born girl who wasn't even done with her first full year of magic, she was certainly…eager. Lydia took the book and turned it over, feeling the weight of it in her hands. She'd not often signed books, even for the handful of conferences and public appearances. She did one for Bill, before he graduated, and one for Tonks before she graduated. But they'd asked. And she'd had a personal relationship with them.

"Of course," Lydia said, opening the front cover of the book. The girl's name was written on the top corner of the title page, neat and compact and very much like a precocious young girl's handwriting should be. Lydia thought of Lily, and her chest ached.

Lydia inscribed the book "to a promising young witch" and thought of adding something about life being what her choices led her to, but it felt too much like a Muggle yearbook, so she just signed her name below the simple inscription and handed the book back to Minerva.

"She will be thrilled," Minerva said.

"As well she should be," Severus said softly. "Lydia signs books so infrequently, I dare say a signed copy would be worth a small fortune."

"Hardly," Lydia said with a snort.

Minerva and Severus shared a rare knowing look, which made Lydia wonder just how much her signed books actually were worth. She didn't want to give Severus the satisfaction of finding out, though, so she let the topic go, and she put her bag over her shoulder.

"I've got students waiting for me, no doubt," Lydia said, smiling weakly. "Tell her I was pleased to do it, Minerva."

"I certainly will."

"Severus, tea before dinner?"

"If you aren't too busy," he said.

He was teasing, she knew, but she didn't bother giving him a rise. Instead, she waved them off and left the staff room, going easily up to her classroom and preparing the board for her sixth year students. Two had already arrived, comparing notes on the last class's lesson. They greeted her when she entered, then turned their attention back to their parchment.

The students trickled in in their usual way. When they were all seated and working, Lydia started to leaf through the problem sets they'd turned in. Suitable, acceptable, but not where she wanted them. She might even have to assign summer work if she expected them to meet her usual rates of N.E.W.T. scores. She had a couple she was tempted to drop or hold back, but she knew that wouldn't be fair to them.

"Alright," she said, setting their work back down. "Let's see how you did."

The students began offering their answers, and Lydia tried to lead them to discussing their way to the correct one, not just telling them what was right. This group was always a bit hesitant to do that, but she did manage to drag them there, in the end. As usual, they seemed exhausted by this endeavor, and when she asked them to open their notes from the last session and tell her what was troubling them from the assignment, the room was silent. Lydia waited, patient. She didn't want to prompt them again and, thus, embarrass them, but she didn't want to leave it be. They needed support, and they were going to ask for it whether they liked it or not.

Finally, one girl raised her hand.

"Professor," she said, "I think I'm not clear on the process of cross-counting the inversions for the Charles Theorem."

"Alright," Lydia said, clearing the board. "Let's find the points where we are struggling. Let's walk through an example together."

She set up the board with an example she had assigned the year before, and she turned back to the students.

"Pretend I know nothing about Arithmancy," she said. The students chuckled nervously. "What would you instruct me to do first, here?"

The pause was long, but not as long as she feared, before a few students raised their hands. They began instructing her, piece by piece, step by step, and whether they were right or wrong, she always asked the class to confirm by nodding or shaking their heads whether they agreed with the speaker. If there was not consensus, they discussed it. The problem took most of the period, and Lydia was as exhausted as the students by the end, but she did feel they finally understood the material.

"I know this isn't natural for many of you," she said. "Cross-counting is by its nature counterintuitive. Even I must remind myself it's there and it's important from time to time. That just means we need more practice. We have a few options. Scheduling an extra session would be difficult, I'll admit," she said. A few paled. "I'd be willing to try, if we thought collectively that it would help. Obviously, my office hours are as usual, and appointments are certainly available. But as this is a skill we are all struggling with, I think it's important that we do something together, something you can work together on, because that's how this class grows best. I hesitate to say it, but how would you feel about another problem set?"

One girl looked ready to sick up, but no one argued. They looked around, perhaps wondering if someone else would say it first. Finally, a brave boy at the back said, "I think we probably need them."

Several people exhaled, and a handful of students nervously laughed, but mostly there was nodding all around the room. Lydia relaxed. She hated assigning extra homework, but she did agree they needed it. What's more, if they could recognize that, it might mean that they would take the work seriously.

Lydia took a copy of the previous years' problem set and made a classroom set of copies with a few quick spells before she flicked her wand to pass them around. One girl made a small sound of surprise.

"Yes?" Lydia said.

"Sorry," the girl said, laughing. "It's just…you use magic so rarely in class. Even with the blackboard, you write on it half the time."

Lydia frowned. She nodded, but she could tell the students were watching her, expecting her to explain why she didn't use magic as often as their other teachers did. With some classes, she might not have minded saying, but there was a preponderance of Slytherins in this particular year, and not the forgiving kind. Although it was probably obvious that she was half-blood, that didn't always mean a Muggle parent, and she didn't want to encourage those kinds of questions and murmurings. Especially when blood purity was still such a hot topic.

On the other hand, Lydia didn't feel she could justify saying nothing. She didn't think that was fair to her mother, or to Muggle-born or half-blood students.

"My mother was a Muggle," Lydia said softly, "and magic always frightened and confused her. I have never taken it for granted that magic is a right, or anything other than a gift, and I don't use it if I don't have to. I believe it keeps me grounded, knowing that I can do and often do all the things the millions, billions of people without magic do every day. But I am not going to waste time copying a dozen problem sets by hand when class ends in three minutes."

A few Slytherins frowned at her, but the reception was better than she expected. The students thanked her, some of them did, and then they left at the appointed time. Lydia was more tired than usual, but she didn't have time to wallow in it. She changed the board to the fourth year opening set, and she rubbed the back of her neck, looking out the window as she waited for the first arrivals.

Had she ever wondered about the personal lives of her teachers? Sure, her friends would take guesses on where teachers holidayed during the summer, but Lydia couldn't recall ever pondering it on her own. Perhaps Binns. She did sometimes wonder what he did all day, but that was mostly because ghosts were a bit mysterious, even to the magical community.

The students filtered in much quicker than her sixth year students, but they were a much more eager bunch, on the whole. Lydia greeted them by name as they entered, and even managed a smile, but she was exhausted. She thought perhaps Severus had over-tweaked her potion, that perhaps her potion was overzealous. She wanted to get a nap in after lessons, but she was also a bit afraid of napping, afraid that she'd have nightmares if she tried to sleep without the potion. It had been a long time since she felt safe to sleep at Hogwarts.

"I don't have all the essays," Lydia said, flipping through the stack, "so if I could have the rest of you turn them in, please? They won't be marked late if they come in right now."

A few nervous students pulled essays out of their bags and hurried to hand them to her. They weren't great quality, and perhaps the girls thought they could do them up nicer and slip them in at the end of class, but Lydia had learned a long time ago not to let students get by with late work, even the end of the class period. They never paid attention with work hanging over their heads.

Lydia let the students settle back in, and then she asked them what they felt they could have done better on the essays. Students hated this question, but it always led to good discussion. At first, everyone was silent, looking around for someone else to speak. If she wanted someone to say they didn't do it perfectly, someone else could speak, the students clearly thought.

Finally, one girl raised her hand and said, "Professor, I'm not sure I did any of it right."

"Alright," Lydia said, smiling gently. "What makes you the most concerned?"

"I think I need clarification between inverses and reversals."

Some students were annoyed with the question, perhaps feeling fully confident, but a few other students nodded that this was something they would appreciate as well. So Lydia called on one of the annoyed students and asked them to try to clarify it, in their own words. Usually the students who were the most confident in their knowledge didn't deliver a perfect definition, which opened discussion.

The discussion of the differences went on for fifteen minutes, narrowing the definitions and differences, before Lydia worked through a problem on the board, doing it once with inverses, the second with reversals, and they decided intuitively which was correct for what situation. The whole class felt more confident at the end, and then Lydia asked her question again, what they felt they could have done better on the essay.

Again, the class went very quiet. After several minutes of silence, one boy raised his hand slowly. She nodded.

"Professor," he said, "I don't think I'm good enough at writing essays."

Ah, a familiar issue with the students raised in a wizarding family. Those who never did any Muggle courses of study, even primary school, often were behind in this aspect. Some parents found it important enough to teach at home, but many didn't bother.

There was nervous laughter at the question, but Lydia's expression cut the laughter off quickly. She nodded and said, "You'd maybe be surprised how often I hear that. It's a valid concern, isn't it? After all, you write essays for every course, and you'll have to write essays for your exams. Not in my class, perhaps, but for others. Let's see if we can work through the basics of a quality essay together. Who knows what the most important starting point is for an essay?"

"The assignment," one boy said. "You've been told to write about something, and you have to write about that thing."

"Good, perfect. Teachers rarely say, 'Write about whatever you want in however many rolls you'd like.' They typically have a prompt for the assignment. If Professor Snape asks for two feet on the use of scales in potions and you write most of your parchment about flatworms, are you getting a good grade?"

"We're probably getting detention," a boy said morosely. There were nervous laughs again.

"Points taken off at least, yes," Lydia said with a wink. "But what if it's all about scales and you only give him half a foot?"

"We'd fail," one girl said, making a sour face. "And probably detention."

"Again, points taken off, probably. But you see my point. You already understand what assignment parameters are. If I ask for one thing, don't give me something else. So who knows how we take that prompt and make an essay out of it?"

There were a few nervous hands, but idea by idea, they built a discussion and an outline of a general essay, using her idea of a two-foot essay on scales in potions. They had a detailed outline for a draft of such an essay by the end of the class period, and students were much more relaxed on their way out the door.

What they didn't know was that Lydia already knew they had an essay coming up in a week that was two feet of parchment on the use of scales in potions. Severus would be suspicious when they all turned in very similarly outlined papers, but Lydia didn't care. She'd long thought so many inches of work on such a basic topic was very cruel of him, so she didn't mind giving a few students a leg up on the assignment. It wasn't like she wrote it for them, although she'd been tempted.

She made herself a cup of tea, and she began to read the essays, immediately glad that they'd asked about essay writing. They needed it, and if she'd helped them in all their classes, well, that was just a fringe benefit for students who took Arithmancy and stuck with it. She didn't mind.

A/N: So Lydia is doing alright at keeping up appearances, Hermione is an adorable fangirl part one, and in the midst of teaching her classes Lydia sneakily gives some of her students clues for an upcoming Potions assignment.

As an update, I'm still drafting August between the books, and Lockhart is about to make his first in-text appearance and I don't even know how I want to approach this jerk. So yeah. Lmao. We'll figure it out.

Review Prompt: What's your personal head canon about what classwork is like at Hogwarts? I know we all have our thoughts and ideas.

Unrelated, but with all the uproar about JKR's recent comments on Twitter, I want y'all to know that no matter where you fall on how you feel about that, my inbox and reviews for this story are a safe place to express that. Frankly, I'm not sure how I feel about it, so I'm not going to get mad at you for however you feel. It's a complicated thing for some people, and a simple one for others, and because we all process information differently, I'm prepared to say that's okay. Love you guys.

-C