A/N: Thanks for reading, and thanks to everyone who has favorited/followed, I really appreciate it!

From here on there will be some references to substance abuse/addiction (both the wizard and Muggle kind) but nothing really graphic or explicit except for maybe one chapter later on, and I will for sure add a content warning.

Snape muttered the incantation for a Supersensory Charm to make sure the staff room was empty before he walked in. He supposed he wouldn't have minded so much it Flitwick or Sprout was hanging round, but ever since the last Quidditch match McGonagall kept looking at him with such burning fury he was suprised he hadn't spontaneously combusted.

He sank down into a chair and had just pulled a packet of crisps out of his robes when the door opened and he didn't even have to turn around to know it was McGonagall. Every click of her shoes on the flagged stone floor was like a scold. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

"I'd like a word with you, Professor Snape," she said in a rather dangerous sounding voice.

"About what?" said Snape, opening his crisp packet and popping one into his mouth.

McGonagall sat down opposite him. "About last week's Quidditch match."

"What about it?"

"I think you know perfectly well what, Professor. In all my years of playing and watching Quidditch I've never seen a bludger hit with such force. Clearly there is something going on."

Snape hadn't either, come to think of it, but accusation rankled just the same. He lowered his crisp packet and raised an eyebrow. "And just what are you suggesting?"

McGonagall leaned forward and looked him straight in the eye. "I am suggesting you may want to investigate the matter further, Professor."

Snape was about to open his mouth and suggest that she was full on nonsense but in his mind he saw a flash of the girl and a cauldronful of Strengthening Solution and he understood exactly what had happened. But he wasn't about to let the actions of two insufferable toerags destroy the reputation of an entire house.

"I don't really see the point in that now," he said.

"So you're not going to, in other words?" McGonagall's voice was rising now, and she was on the edge of her seat.

Snape took another crisp and shoved it into his mouth. "I think it unlikely to go anywhere."

McGonagall stood up, nostrils flaring. "I expected better than this from you, Professor! But perhaps I shouldn't have, given...certain circumstances."

She knew. She had to have known, and she was rubbing it in his face. Snape shot out of his chair and stared her down, doing his best to ignore the fact that she was slightly taller than he was. "Meaning what?"

For a moment they just stood there, breathing fast, staring each other down. For what reason he didn't know, perhaps because she'd known she'd gone too far, but the fire in her eyes went out and they became wider, softer.

"I just thought...I may have been a bit too..." She sounded completely flustered know, but she took a breath and recovered herself. "I trust that we're both committed to fair play and that you'll deal with the situation as you feel appropriate."

Snape's chest was still pounding but he bit back the retort on the edge of his lips. "Yes. Of course," he said. "I'll see to it that it doesn't happen again." He thought a week's worth of the most miserable detentions she'd ever experienced would be enough to stop the Corlett girl giving Rowle any more of her potions.

"I appreciate it, Professor," said McGonagall. Her body relaxed like she'd been holding her breath for the last ten minutes and she gestured towards the tea table.

"Would you care to join me for a cup, Professor?"

"No thank you," said Snape, shoving his crisp packet back into the pocket of his robes. "I have a great deal of work to be getting on with." Reading alone in his bedroom, mainly.

"Well, perhaps I'll see you later then," said McGonagall. Snape gave her a small nod and retired to his room, rather hoping he didn't.

The month leading up to the Christmas holidays was a busy time, and fortunately Snape didn't run into her very often. He was just leaving the staff room the last day of term, thinking about the two weeks he'd be able to hole up in his bedroom, when there was a light touch on his arm, and when he saw McGonagall standing there he stiffened a little, thinking she was still angry about the match, but there was a softness in her eyes he wasn't expecting.

"Elphinstone and I are hosting a small party at our cottage this Christmas Eve. We would be delighted if you could join us." She wasn't smiling and didn't sound as though she'd be the least bit delighted and he supposed this was just some half-hearted attempt at being nice, but the whole thing was so unexpected that before he knew what had happened he'd agreed to go.

He was regretting rather bitterly as he made his way through Hogsmeade Christmas Eve. He'd decided to wait awhile so as not to be the first one there and now he was late. He imagined everyone turning to stare at him as he walked in.

He stopped in front of the doorway and paused with his hand at the knocker, heart pounding, hands sweating, cursing himself for his weakness. He could look the Dark Lord straight in the eye and lie to him but he couldn't even walk into a bloody party. He took a breath and rapped on the door.

Professor McGonagall's eyes widened in surprise when she opened the door and found him standing there, but she recovered herself quickly, as she always did.

"Professor Snape, so good of you to join us." She beckoned him into the sitting room. "I don't believe you've met my husband, Elphinstone." A dignified-looking man with smiling eyes shook his hand. Urquhart, no doubt.

There was a punch bowl full of eggnog on a table along one side of the room and he scooped some into a glass and took a long drink. It was nice and strong, and he supposed that was something.

He glanced around the room and saw most of the staff there. Hagrid, Professor Kettleburn, and Madam Hooch were standing by the fireplace, roaring with laughter; he could hear a dull thump as Hagrid pounded Professor Kettleburn on the back and his wooden legs hit the floor. Professor McGonagall was talking with Elphinstone, Professor Sprout, and Dumbledore, who glanced over at him with an amused look on his face, and Professor Flitwick was having a lively-looking discussion with Professor Vector and Professor Babbling.

He took another drink and grabbed a small plate and loaded it with cheese and sweetmeats and tried to look occupied. He wondered how long he would have to stay here before it would be polite to leave.

He was just about to refill his plate when Professor Vector met his eye and walked over to him. He had hardly ever spoken to her.

"It's good to see you here, Professor Snape. I don't believe we've really had a chance to get acquainted. How do you find teaching?"

Somehow he didn't think "mind-numbingly fucking tedious" was an appropriate response. "It's a pleasure," he said quietly, not quite meeting her eye.

"Wonderful," she said. She had a McGonagall-like dignity about her. "I remember you as being a very dedicated student, so it's no suprise that you enjoy teaching."

She had to go and remind him that these people were all his former teachers. He took a long drink of eggnog.

"I've always quite enjoyed teaching myself. It's such a privilege to pass on our knowledge, don't you think?"

It might've been, if any of his knowledge penetrated his students' thick skulls. "Indeed," he said.

"And Professor Dumbledore is such an excellent Headmaster. I've always found him to be very engaged with the teaching staff, very interested in pedagogical theory, you know."

He didn't have a clue she was on about. He made a small murmur of assent and there was a silence. He supposed she expected him to say something, but he didn't know what.

"The coffee in the staff room is good," he said. This was so colossally stupid he actually felt himself getting hot in the face and took another drink.

Professor Vector looked slightly flustered. "Indeed," she said vaguely. They stood there silently for a few more unbearble moments, Snape tapping his fingers against his glass, until she caught Professor Babbling's eye and went to join her. He went to refill his glass and plan his escape.

Professor Sprout caught his eye and Snape walked over to her just to have something to do.

"Good to see you here, Professor," she said, and he couldn't detect any sarcasm in her voice."I haven't seen you in the greenhouses in a while. You'll have to stop by sometime soon, that Wiggentree bark is just about ready to be used."

"I look forward to it," he told her, and thought that this might actually be sincere.

Professor Flitwick came over to them. "I was just telling the others what a fine job you're doing as Head of House!" he said in his enthusiastic way.

He assumed Flitwick was just attempting to be nice, and perhaps it was just the eggnog but he felt rather chuffed at this all the same. But for some reason his face grew hot and he mumbled something indistinct.

"Are you enjoying Hogwarts?" asked Professor Babbling, who had come to join them and hadn't seemed to notice this sticky moment.

"I'm enjoying it very much," he replied. This was somewhat true at least; he'd started to like being back at the castle, even if he couldn't stand the students.

He was in a larger group now, so the conversation moved more smoothly, and after his third glass of eggnog his tense muscles relaxed and wasn't even that annoyed when Hagrid nearly knocked him over waving his arms to tell a story.

"So then the egg hatches, and the thing inside it nearly takes Kettleburn's head off. So I says to him, 'I don't think that's a Hippogriff!"

Everyone roared with laughter. Snape found Hagrid and Kettleburn ridiculous, but he supposed it was a rather amusing story. He almost smiled.

The party got progressively more lively as the evening went on. He wasn't sure what brought it about, but at some point Dumbledore charmed a record to play. A waltz came on, and he watched as Elphinstone stood in front of McGonagall and reached out his hand.

"Dance?"

McGonagall blushed and smiled and put her hand in his as he put his arm around her waist, and they danced around the room, barely taking their eyes from each other. When the song was over he kept his arm around her waist and pulled her in close and kissed her. Snape shifted a little and played with his glass, never comfortable with such sentimental scenes, and yet he found he didn't mind it too much.

It was after midnight and the room was spinning a little when he made his way out of the cottage. There was another light touch on his arm.

"Thank you for joining us, Professor Snape," said McGonagall, with the smallest hint of a smile.

"Thank you for having me, Professor," he murmured.

He supposed it hadn't been a horrible evening.

Graihagh had never been more relieved to go home for Christmas. Milo and Cate were still sort of annoyed with her, she'd failed a Transifuguration test, and she'd just spent a week scrubbing toilets with Filch.

She'd always loved Douglas at Christmas time, when the city centre was draped in lights and decorations. She and her father and her granny always went walking there and through Summerhill Glen, where the trees were wound with soft-coloured fairy lights and the whole place looked enchanted. She leaned her head against the car window and gazed at all the decorations as they drove past on their way from the sea terminal, thinking she might ask her dad if they could take a walk later.

But something was different about the house and she knew it as soon as she'd walked inside. It was tidier than usual, and there was a makeup case in the bathroom. She felt her stomach clench and didn't want to ask about it.

She was forced to find out the next evening. The doorbell rang and she heard her dad's voice, along with another one, a woman's. Graihagh stayed in the lounge until her dad called her.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet," he told her when she'd come into the front hall, arms crossed. "This is Julie."

She was dressed in a jumper and jeans and there was nothing obviously trashy about her, but she was young and had that smell about her, that combination of cigarette smoke and perfume and failure, and Graihagh knew she wasn't the type to take her shopping and give her life advice. They pretty much never were, not that she wanted them to be, since they would all eventually leave anyway, and it was easier if they were horrible.

Graihagh looked her up and down, and the woman did the same to her.

"Well," said her dad, much too heartily, "why don't we go get some dinner then?"

Graihagh grabbed her coat off the rack and followed them into the car, trying her best not to look at them. The woman and her dad didn't talk much and she took it as a good sign.

"So," said the woman after they'd sat down and were waiting for their food. "Your dad tells me you go to a special school."

Something about the way she said it told Graihagh she wasn't all that impressed by it. "Yeah," said Graihagh, with a slight edge to her voice.

The woman took a sip of her drink. "Sounds posh."

Graihagh glanced at her dad, who looked flustered. "Graihagh is very talented at po-chemistry," he said. "She gets excellent marks."

"Does she?" said the woman, and there was something in her tone Graihagh didn't like.

"So did you finish school then?" Graihagh asked. Her dad kicked her under the table.

The woman narrowed her eyes slightly. "I got three A-levels."

"Really?" said Graihagh, inflecting her voice to show her disbelief.

Her dad cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "So, now that Graihagh's home we should make some plans for Christmas. I thought we'd all go to Hunt the Wren together."

Graihagh made a non-comittal noise of agreement, and once their food came she looked down at her plate and didn't say anything.

Her dad went out with the woman the next night, just as Graihagh thought he would, and she put on her coat and walked the few blocks to her granny's house. She was in the lounge watching Coronation Street and as soon as Graihagh came inside she got up and fixed her some hot chocolate and Graihagh sank down beside her.

"I know something's bothering you Graihagh," her granny said after awhile.

Graihagh finished her hot chocolate and set down the mug. "It's just...why does he date women like that? Why can't he just pick someone who's good for him?"

"Ah, I don't know," said her Granny. She tilted her head a little to one side and stared into the space ahead of her, as though seeing something there. "I don't think he ever got over what happened with your mother, to tell the truth."

The words startled her. They hardly ever talked about her mother.

"Did you know her?" said Graihagh.

"I saw her a fair bit. But she was a hard person to get to know."

The back of Graihagh's neck prickled. "Was she...strange?"

"Oh, she was a strange one alright. Thought she must've grown up in one of them hippie communes. Didn't know how to use a blender. I showed her how to do it and when I come back into the kitchen there was milkshake all over the walls. She didn't put the lid on." She breathed out, a sound halfway between a disapproving cluck and a laugh. "Another time she nearly stuck a fork in the toaster."

Graihagh just sat there without really seeing or hearing anything, her shock and excitement washing over her in waves. Her granny put an arm around her and squeezed her.

"...won't last forever."

Graihagh started and looked at her. "What?"

"I was just saying that this won't last forever. I've met her. I give it two more months, tops. Then I might have to set him up with someone decent."

Graihagh smiled, but her mind was far away. She and her granny played a round of Monopoly but kept picking at her nails and glancing out the window and she lost on purpose so she could leave sooner. Her granny seemed to understand. She pulled Graihagh into a long hug before she left, and told her she'd come visit Christmas Eve.

Her dad was still out when she got home, just as she thought he'd be. She went upstairs to his room, to the filing cabinet where he kept all his tax slips and things and starting flipping through the papers until she found what she was looking for.

She stared at the header on the top. She didn't know she'd been born in Britain. She scanned the paper looking for her name and when she found it her heart beat faster, because it was a strange name, Alethea, one of those names that sounded like it came from ancient Greece or someplace. Names that were only really used anymore in the wizarding world. But she didn't recognize the last name, Bennet. None of the old wizarding families she heard so much about went by that name, that she knew of.

And yet her mother hadn't even known how small appliances worked.

She went down to the lounge and waited for her dad to get home, praying he didn't bring his girlfriend home for the night like he obviously did sometimes. To her relief he was alone when he came back in around one in the morning.

"What are you doing up, sweetheart?" he said. He sounded tired.

The question had been on her mind all night, for the last four years really, and Graihagh got right to the point. "Was mum a witch?"

Her dad stared at her, as though he didn't understand. Then his expression changed. He looked almost pitying, and Graihagh reckoned he knew why she'd asked. "Not that I know of. She never used a wand or anything like that."

"She didn't make strange things happen?"

Her dad shook his head. "Not that I remember."

Graihagh sank back into the settee and didn't say anything. Her dad sat down beside her. Graihagh couldn't really bring herself to ask, but she couldn't not know anymore, and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"What happened to her?"

Her dad didn't look at her. "Maybe this isn't the best time-"

"When is the best time? On your deathbed? Or are you still not going to tell me?"

Her dad sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose and Graihagh knew whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"What, is she dead?" she said, wearing her flippancy like a shield. Trying to anyway.

"Not that I know of."

"So what happened then?"

Her dad was quiet again. "She...had a bit of a drug problem."

This sounded like a massive understandment. "A bit of a drug problem?"

"She was getting clean when I met her," he said, almost apologetically. "But...then things got bad again. I think it might've been the drugs they gave her at the hospital when you were born."

Well, there it was, the truth. She'd been starting to think her mother was a witch, if she'd gone off to fight You-Know-Who and died like a hero. But she was nothing but a junkie who couldn't be arsed take care of her own daughter.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he dad said, rubbing her back. "I know this isn't what you wanted to hear."

"No shit."

"There's no need to use that kind of language."

Graihagh snorted. She'd just been hit with a bomb and her dad was worried about her fucking language. She stood up.

"I'm going to turn in," she said, doing her best to sound casual, like the conversation had never happened and she'd just been watching a television programme. "'Night dad."

"'Night Graih," said her dad, using her old nickname.

Graihagh lay in bed a long time, staring at the drops of rain on the window, orange-yellow from the streetlamps. So she was a Muggle-born, the daughter of an mechanic and his addict girlfriend, nothing special about her at all. But that was all right, really. It wasn't going to be her blood that got her places, it would be her talent. And she would be the best fucking potioneer the wizarding world had ever seen. She'd do it if it killed her.