a potion for just about anything you can think of. You just have to know how to make them."

Ever since the start of term Snape had been sitting in front of the fire, reading from the book he'd bought, the Kneazle asleep in his lap. Most of the spells, like Fiendfyre, he'd known a long time, but some were unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

His eyes scanned the page and rested on the Calefaction Curse, a spell to increase the temperature of the surrounding air without the need for fire. Like an Atmospheric Charm, but far more powerful. He muttered the incantation a few times, then stood up and drew out his wand. The cat flicked its tail in an irritated sort of way, and jumped up on his bed.

"Calfacto."

The force of the spell shot through his arm like an electrical chage, discharging into the surrounding air, which became so hot sweat broke out on his forehead.

"Finite." Within seconds the dungeon air was cold and draughty again.

He sat down to rest, staring into the fire, thoughts turning to the Selwyn boy and the Corlett girl. Sectumsempra was a bit dangerous, to be sure, but not all the spells in his book were like that. If he were to teach a few to them, they could become more powerful than anyone in their year, so powerful no one would touch them. He could take them under his wing, but not to serve some murderous bastard Dark Lord the way Lucius wanted, or babysit them way Dumbledore wanted, but to watch take their revenge in a way he never could.

He sat and stared at the fire until it burned low, but instead of conjuring another log he set down his book and threw on his cloak. He needed a few plants from the greenhouse to use in class the next day.

Snape was still the youngest member of the staff, and by quite a few years at that. Slipping into his Death Eater robes, plotting, advising, making potions, inventing spells, all of that had come naturally to him, but putting on his black teacher's robes and standing in front of a class and chatting with colleagues in the staff room like an ordinary person felt strange, jarring, like he was onstage and didn't have a clue what any of his lines were.

He couldn't stand it, that feeeling of not knowing what he was doing, of wondering how much they knew about him, so he holed himself up in his office or his bedroom. Filch might drop by with a student in need of some sort of punishment, which was easy enough to deal with. Sometimes Flitwick or Sprout would exchange a few words with him at mealtimes. But he was always quick to get away. On weekends he only came out for meals, and sometimes not even then. The house-elves were useful that way.

But it was impossible to avoid them all completely. There were still staff meetings and chance encounters in the corridors and his trips to the greenhouses for plants to use in Potions. He had enjoyed studying magical plants in Herbology, and kept a few interesting specimens in jars in his office, and he wasn't all that sorry to have a chance to look in the greenhouses from time to time, but he wished Sprout wasn't there when he did.

He knocked on the door to the greenhouse.

"Evening, Professor," said Sprout as she opened the door, as brightly as though he'd just come bearing a fat bag of galleons, and he wondered how she could be so fucking cheerful after working with teenagers all day. He supposed she at least sounded like she was speaking to a colleague and not a student or a convicted criminal.

"You received my request for geranium fangs and shrivelfigs for my Potions students?" he said quietly.

"I did indeed, it'll just be a moment." She bustled away then, and he looked around her office. The air was warm and thick with the smell of earth and water and there were Flitterblooms swaying in pots on her desk and flowers everywhere. He saw a sapling standing beside her desk and bent to examine it, tracing the bark with his fingers.

"Here you are," he heard her say.

"Thank you," he told her, standing up and taking a sack from her. He turned to leave but for some reason he hesitated. He turned to face her.

"I believe that is a Wiggentree sapling you have there?" he said.

"Oh, you recognized it?" said Sprout, beaming. She sounded rather warmer now. "Yes, I started that from seed. Seems like every time I turn my back it's grown another few centimetres."

"It should prove useful once it has matured."

They were both looking at it now, and Sprout ran her fingertips along the buds and down the branches, almost lovingly. "Yes, this should provide some high-quality bark."

"Indeed. I'm sure I'll be making use out of it in a few years."

They stood and looked at it a moment longer, and when they'd stood up and faced each other it occured to him that he didn't have a clue what to say. There was a rather awkward pause.

"Nice fall weather we're having, don't you think?" said Sprout.

"Yes, it's been mild," Snape replied, a bit relieved. The weather was always a reliable topic, if extraordinary dull. Then he realized he had nothing further to say about it.

Fortunately she didn't seem to expect him to. "Well, I suppose I ought to get a bit of work done before turning in," she said, making her way to her desk. "Good night, Professor Snape."

"Good night."

He made his way back across the grounds slowly, listening to the wind in the trees and the hooting of owls. The grounds were different somehow at night, quiet and still; they seemed to hold fewer memories that way.

He was almost back at the castle when he saw two figures walk past, arm in arm. McGonagall by the looks of it, and her husband, some ex-Ministry bloke by the name of Urqhuart. They'd married the year before, but Snape hadn't been at the wedding.

"Evening, Professor Snape," said McGonagall, sounding far more serene than she did in the staff room. Urqhuart inclined his head to him.

"Evening," he said quietly, glancing at the castle in hopes that they would take the hint and not try to make small talk, and to his relief they did.

He heard cursing and shouting as he made his way into the Entrance Hall, and thought he recognized Filch's voice. He'd had quite enough social interaction for one evening and almost passed right by his office, but he'd never heard the man shriek so loudly, and thought he'd better see what was going on.

The caretaker was unleashing a stream of curse words, purple in the face. Snape glanced around his office and saw that parchment had been pulled out of drawers and strewn everywhere; the walls were covered in something green and brown that he didn't want to know about.

"Peeves, you fucking bastard, I'll have you for this-"

Snape cleared his throat and Filch nearly jumped, patches of purple deepening, a bit of spit glistening on the side of his mouth.

"Sorry, Professor, didn't see you there."

"It's quite alright," said Snape. As far as he was concerned Peeves was, in fact, a fucking bastard.

He glanced around the room again. He wondered why Filch wasn't simply using his wand to clear the mess away, unless he couldn't remember how to do it. Then he noticed that Filch wasn't holding one.

The realization came suddenly, like a problem that he'd forgotten he was trying to solve. It all made sense, all those times he'd seen Filch scrubbing down the corridors by hand, all those times he could've dealt with Peeves by magic and hadn't. He was a Squib.

Snape watched the purple-faced man clench his fists and pace the office in his frustation and didn't know what to think. All he'd ever heard was that Squibs were worthless, a drain on society. The Death Eaters had hunted them down as eagerly as they'd hunted down Muggles, and he'd been ordered to torture a few.

Yet Filch's presence in the castle had proven rather useful at times. Snape looked over the wrecked room and felt the smallest twinge of some strange emotion he couldn't identify.

He drew his wand from the pocket of his robes. He didn't need to say any of the incantation aloud; he simply pointed it around the room, and the mess vanished from the walls and the parchment flew back into the filing cabinets. Filch turned to him.

"I, er-thank you, Professor."

"Not at all," said Snape.

Filch paused a moment. "I was just about to sit down to some pork scratchings," he said. "Would you care for some?"

Snape didn't, but he knew that Filch's pride dictated that he do something in return for Snape's help. "Go on then," Snape said, sitting down at Filch's desk. Filch set a plate in front of him. It had been a long time since he'd had pork scratchings, and he'd forgotten how comforting all that grease and salt was.

"I've been after the Headmaster to get rid of that damned poltergeist for years now," said Filch. "But he won't do it. Too soft, if you ask me."

Snape made a small murmer of agreement, but he wondered if perhaps the old man was on to something. Hunting down Peeves gave Filch a mission in life.

"He's better than the students though," Filch went on. "I can't stand children."

"Incorrigible little beasts," said Snape, agreeing wholeheartedly and almost forgetting that he was only a few years older than some of them. Filch grunted appreciatively.

"See, that's what I appreciate about you, Professor. You don't take any shit from any of them."

Snape couldn't help but feel rather chuffed.

He'd had just bent down over his food when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. That stupid cat had somehow found him there. He jumped into Snape's lap and sniffed at his food.

Filch looked down at it. "That your cat?"

"No," said Snape. "Just a stray that wants my food, most likely."

"Oh," said Filch and Snape could tell he didn't believe him. "I just got a cat myself," he said. He made made a soft clicking noise and a scrawny grey kitten jumped into his lap. "Mrs. Norris." He scratched her behind the ears and fed her a pork scratching. "Does yours have a name?"

"Paracelcus," Snape said without thinking. He looked up at Filch and swore under his breath at this sudden lapse. Filch smiled a little.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone," said Snape, with a meaningful look.

"Of course not, Professor," said Filch, and he sounded earnest enough. Snape gave him a slight nod, and he scratched Paracelcus behind the ears as they finished their food.


Graihagh watched Snape out of the corner of her eye as he strode among the cauldrons, making comments.

"Well done, Mr. Rowle. Five points for Slytherin."

Graihagh glanced over at Thorfinn, who was grinning in that cocky of his. She'd been whispering instructions to him and his Wideye Solution seemed to have turned out all right.

"Exellent work, Miss Travers," he said to Livia.

Graihagh took a skeet at Livia's cauldron and saw that her potion was congealing like sour milk, which was probably why Snape hadn't awarded her any house points.

He reached the table Graihagh and Milo shared. "Nicely done, Mr. Selwyn. That's another five points for Slytherin." Graihagh glanced over at Milo and saw a small smile his face. She reckoned he could use the praise.

Snape looked down into her cauldron. "I suppose this a decent attempt, Miss Corlett."

Graihagh's fingers tightened around her wand. He hadn't criticized her, and that was something, but he could have given her some house points. She'd probably sell a few vials of it before the day was over though, if she could swipe some and stuff it into her robes on time, so there was that.

As soon as Snape started walking towards the back to berate someone for adding to many snake fangs, she had her chance. She scooped up five vials and tucked them into her robes before scooping some into a flask to take up to his desk.

She and Milo had just finished packing up their things when Snape called them up to his desk. Heart pounding, Graihagh glanced at Milo, who gave a bemused sort of shrug, and they made their way up, Graihagh doing her best to look completely innocent, something she was actually sort of good at.

"I was wondering how the term has been going for you so far," he said, his voice cool but strangely lacking in sarcasm.

"Just fine sir," said Milo. Graihagh just stared. There was something weird going on.

Snape did something funny then. He looked right back at Graihagh without blinking, like he was staring her down. Her stomach tightened and it was so intense, so intrusive, she had to look away, even though she knew it made her look guilty. But to her relief he looked away.

"How are your Shield Charms coming along?" he said.

"Erm-" Graihagh and Milo locked eyes, looking guilty. Now that Graihagh was making potions for him, they hadn't really bothered practicing.

"We think we've just about got it, sir," said Graihagh, lying through her teeth.

Snape looked at her sharply. "Do you?" She could tell by his voice that he knew perfectly well she was lying. "Well, why don't we practice them some more?"

Graihagh glanced at Milo, who gave her the smallest shrug. "Yes sir," she said.

"Wands out." They pulled out their wands. "Good. You remember the incantation?" They nodded. "Make sure your movements are firm and decisive. Concentrate. Spellwork is largely a matter of the mind."

Graihagh jabbed her wand and said the incantation. Nothing.

She heard Milo from beside her. "Protego!" A jet of light burst from his wand and she saw the air change in front of him, like heat waves.

"Good," said Snape. "Try again, Miss Corlett."

"Protego!" Nothing. She shouted it. "Protego!" She saw the jet of light from her own wand and the same heat-like movement in the air.

"Good. This should help you deflect most minor jinxes and hexes," said Snape. He looked at them a long while, as though thinking, his hands moving to the pockets of his robes and resting there. Graihagh tensed a little. Was he pulling out his wand again? After what felt like a minute or two, his hand moved back down to the desk. He was so weird.

"You may go," he said finally.

They left the room and made their way down the dungeon corridors. Graihagh was satisfied with herself and with Milo, that they'd finally managed their Shield Charms, but still, the whole thing seemed strange.

"What do you reckon that was all about?" she said as they made their way to their next class. "I mean, why does he care? I thought he hated everyone."

"Don't know," said Milo. "He seems to like some of us."

"Yeah," she said. "You, and Thorfinn and Livia..." she stopped.

Milo glanced around, looking alarmed. "What?"

"Well, it's just...all the people he seems to like were big You-Know-Who supporters, weren't they?" She looked sideways at Milo. "Was your family?"

"My father wasn't," he said.

That made sense. Milo had been happy when the war ended.

They'd reached the Charms classroom, and Graihagh smiled over at Cate, who was sitting next to Theodora. She pulled out her quill and parchment and pretended to take notes, but really she was reading the Potions textbook on her lap.

"Miss Corlett?" Graihagh's head shot up. Flitwick was looking at her. "Can you tell us the incantation for a Freezing Charm?"

Graihagh glanced around. Everyone was looking at her and she didn't have a bloody clue. "Erm-freezus maximus?"

Theodora rolled her eyes and Cate shot her a look of sympathy.

"It's Glacius, Miss Corlett," Flitwick squeaked. "Please pay attention."

"Yes sir," said Graihagh, and she put the Potions textbook away and tried to pay attention.

When class had ended, Graihagh walked to the courtyard with Cate and Theodora and Milo for break. Theodora gave her a sideways look and Graihagh got ready to make a sharp remark if she said one word about what had just happened, but she didn't.

Thorfinn and his friends gave her a little nod as she passed them in the courtyard, and a fifth-year came up to her.

"Oh, I've got your Wideye Potion," she told him, reaching into her bag and handing him the vial. He handed her two sickles and she put them in her pocket, which had a nice jingly sound.

Once word got around the common room about her potion-making, she started getting requests for potions she could make, like Girding Solution and Wit-Sharpening Solution and Wideye Potion. But there was a problem; she didn't have enough ingredients, or enough vials. She'd had to start ordering more by owl, and since she only had so much money, she decided to start charging, just enough to cover her costs earn herself a little pocket change. Sometimes she had to swipe good-sized batches of ingredients out of the student cupboard, but Snape had never set a limit on how much they could take, so she didn't consider it stealing.

Theodora's eyes widened. "Are you selling potions?"

Graihagh didn't see what she was so indignant about. "Yeah, I am," she said, and she could hear the heat in her voice already.

"Don't you think that's a bit dishonest?"

Graihagh opened her mouth to say something, but Cate cut in over the sugar quill she was chewing on. "She's not charging them much," she said, loyal as always, but Graihagh thought she sounded a little too earnest, the way she did when she was trying to defend somebody who was a total loser.

"And we don't know that they're using them to cheat," Graihagh pointed out. "For all we know they're just using them to stay up and finish homework." She wasn't entirely sure whether it was cheating if the Quidditch team used her potions, and decided not to mention it.

Theodora didn't seem convinced. "What if you brew them incorrectly? Somebody could get sick."

The thought had occured to Graihagh, but she didn't like to dwell on it. "I always check it to make sure I've got it right."

"I still think it's a really bad idea."

"Well, nobody asked you for your swotty little opinion did they? Why don't you just go and stick your nose in someone else's business?"

"Well excuse me for having a well-developed sense of ethics. Although I suppose being in Slytherin you couldn't really be expected to, could you?"

Graihagh's face was getting hot and her voice rose. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just shut up, both of you, you're doing me head in," said Cate, and they turned to look at her. She looked almost angry, and the sight of it was enough to shock them into a rather surly silence. Graihagh glanced at Milo and saw that he had his hands in the pockets of his robes and was looking away from them. She decided not to mention that she'd been making the potions for him.

"Just be careful," said Cate, taking another bite of her sugar quill.

"I will," said Graihagh.

The bell rang and they parted ways, Cate and Theodora making their way to the greenhouses for Herbology and she and Milo going back inside the castle. They stopped near the hourglasses and Graihagh glanced around and handed Milo a vial. He uncapped it and took a swig, then handed some to her. He got her potions free of charge.

They were walking through a first-floor corridor when they heard fast footfalls behind them.

Milo whipped around just as Graihagh did the same, and they shouted almost in unison. "Protego!"

Their hexes never hit them. In the few seconds that Fenwick and McCulloch looked taken aback, she and Milo legged it, not stopping until they were several floors above. They leaned against the wall, Graihagh bent over and resting her arms on her legs.

"Well, that Shield Charm was sort of useful, wasn't it?" she said when she'd caught her breath.

"Yeah, I suppose," said Milo. He slumped down and sat against the wall, resting his hands on his knees.

Graihagh sat down next to him. "What's wrong?"

Milo glanced at her and then stared at the wall. "I wish he'd teach us something more powerful than that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I want to get them back."

"Yeah. I know what you mean."

She wondered if Snape would teach them. But she was almost afraid to ask.