Snape had to stop himself smashing his alarm clock when it went off in the morning. He liked the dark and quiet of night he'd stayed up too late again, reading and making potions. He thought of rolling over and closing his eyes awhile, but was afraid he would oversleep, so he got up and filled his old clawfoot bathtub with warm water.

He didn't bother with it, most mornings he liked the extra time to read or sit and think in front of his fire, and lying in a bath staring at the ceiling seemed like a complete waste of his time. And though he would never had admitted it to anyone, he'd never really been sure how often to do it, never really knew what ordinary people did in the mornings, because his mother so often slept late, and there was rarely any extra money for things like haircuts.

But he wasn't trying to impress anyone now, and he supposed it didn't matter.

He bathed quickly, drying himself off with a flick of his wand, and shaved his face with an enchanted razor Lucius had given him as a Christmas gift once, giving his reflection only the briefest glance, because he hated the sight of himself, that hooked nose he'd gotten from his fucking father. Sometimes he felt disconnected from his own body, as though his reflection belonged to someone else, and he had to touch his face to see if it was real.

He walked to breakfast slowly, reluctantly, as though by dawdling he could slow down time. It was Monday, which meant that after a full day of classes he had to sit through another staff meeting.

When he'd finished his dinner and walked into the staff room he found a spot between Professors Sprout and Flitwick, who gave him friendly greetings, and it was the usual business at first, until Madam Pomfrey spoke up. Her mouth was turned down at the corners and she looked troubled.

"There have been students turning up at the hospital wing with nasty injuries," she said. "One boy had such painful boils he could barely walk."

A ripple of concerned muttering spread through the staff.

Madam Pomfrey went on. "Not one of them will tell me who did it."

Snape glanced at the other teachers and saw McGonagall's brows contract over her nose. He felt the smallest twinge of disquiet at this himself, and after the meeting, as he stood with McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout, they discussed it amongst themselves.

"I want you all to remain alert to anything suspicious," said McGonagall. "This cannot be allowed to continue."

He couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for the way she was taking command of the situation, but hoped she would look closely into her own house. No doubt it was some arrogant little troublemaker following the footsteps of Potter and Black.

"We certainly will Minerva," said Sprout.

"Indeed," piped up Flitwick. McGonagall glanced at Snape and he nodded.

He was more alert than usual as he walked through the corridors over the next few days, watching the students as they passed him, listening for any shouting or scuffling from empty classrooms. He was passing through a fourth-floor corridor one night after dinner when he heard a muffled grunt of pain and when he opened the door to the classroom it was to find three first-year Hufflepuff girls standing over McCulloch, who was doubled over on the floor.

The girls looked up at him with their mouths open.

Snape stared back at them. Legilimens. He saw flashes of robes being stolen from the laundry, a flask full of dull brown potion, hairs being plucked from three heads.

He knelt down and picked up the Gryffindor boy, half-carrying him to the door. The boy reminded him so much of Potter, he didn't know what to think of it all.

"I'm talking McCulloch to the hospital wing," he said to the girls. "You will wait here for me."

Supporting the boy's arms he brought him to the hospital wing, turning to leave as soon as Madam Pomfrey had taken him, because he didn't want her asking too many questions. When he returned to the classroom he found the three girls waiting for him, shifting on their feet and looking nervous.

"Follow me," he said, and he led them down to his office. "Sit."

He conjured two more chairs and the three of them sat down in front of his desk. He stood and watched them, knowing he wouldn't have to wait long for the potion to wear off.

Sure enough, only fifteen minutes or so had passed before the boys' hair shrank back into their heads and their arms and legs shot out and made them rise in their chairs. Rowle, Selwyn, and Travers. There was a faint ripping noise as Rowle's robes split open under the strain of his bulky arms. There was something amusing about it to be sure, but mostly he was annoyed.

"Disguising yourself as first-year Hufflepuffs," he said, a note of disdain in his voice.

Rowle looked unabashed, Travers nervous. Selwyn flushed deep red, and Snape suspected he was the most embarassed of the three.

"You do realize that the entire staff knows about it? Had you been caught by anyone else, it would be all over the school. I should think Slytherin House means more to you than that."

By the looks on their faces, they hadn't even considered this. Even Rowle looked taken aback.

"Not to mention the fact that the use of Polyjuice Potion by students is against school rules," he went on. He looked round at them all. "Detention, all of you, Saturday night. And don't let me catch you at it again."

The boys exchanged glances, and Snape's eyes moved from Rowle to Travers. "Go," he said to them. "I would like a word with Mr. Selwyn."

The boys shot a quick glance at the Selwyn, who gave them the smallest shake of the head, and Snape knew he wasn't going to get anything more information out of him. But he didn't need to; he knew perfectly well who'd made the potion. Hardly any of his students were capable of brewing Polyjuice Potion, and only one would be so insolent as to brew it outside of class.

There were other things on his mind now, though why he cared, he couldn't really say.

"I was just wondering how you've been keeping."

The boy opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again. "Fine sir," he muttered.

"That was a rather severe attack on McCulloch," he said. "Had you not been stopped he could've been seriously injured."

"I'm sorry sir," said the boy in a rush. "I just..."

"You wanted revenge?"

The boy seemed surprised that he'd said this. "Yes sir."

Snape looked at him a long while, tracing his mouth with a finger, not knowing what to say because he understood so completely.

"But you know how to defend yourself, do you not?"

"Well...I mean, I sort of was defending myself, wasn't I? Sometimes you have to get aggressive. So they'll leave you alone."

"I suppose there's some truth in that," said Snape slowly. "But all the same, be careful, do you understand? It would be best if you not do something like that again. I suspect he'll leave you alone now."

The boy nodded, and Snape looked at him closely.

"If you are ever in need of anything," he said, with a slight grimace, because the words were costing him, "You can come to me."

The boy nodded, and Snape already hoped he wouldn't. Dealing with his students' personal problems was by far the most agonizing part of his job, one he mercifully didn't have to do all that often.

"Thank you sir," said the boy. He glanced towards the door.

"You may go," said Snape. The boy was halfway out the door before he'd even finished speaking, and Snape understood how uncomfortable it had been for him.

The moment the boy was gone he pulled opened the cupboard door and scanned the jars, and just as he suspected some of Boomslang skin was missing. His fury shot through him like venom. A trespass on his office was a trespass against his authority and against him personally. And the stuff had cost him a small fortune.

Snape's rage came charging through him at unexpected times. Sometimes it was the way one of the students swaggered down the corridor, or the sight of the Gryffindor Quidditch team coming into the Great Hall in their scarlet robes. Sometimes it was for no reason at all.

He didn't like to lose control of himself; that was for weaker people, people like his father, but he couldn't seem to help it, and now his rage was so overpowering, so in need of some release he picked up a jar of pickled newts and smashed it against the wall.

Hee stood with his hands on his desk, breathing hard, abashed. Such antics were not going to solve this. He would need to use his mind.

He remembered a storage closet deep in the dungeons, and the strange fumes he'd smelled there once, and on a hunch he walked the dungeon corridors until he found it. There were voices inside and he stepped closer, making his footsteps light so they wouldn't hear him.

"-what if he knows it was you?" a voice was saying. The Selwyn boy.

"It could have been anyone, all the seventh-year N.E.W.T students will've learned how to make it," said the Corlett girl. "As long as no one snitches there's no way that greasy wanker will find out, he hasn't got a clue I'm brewing potions right under his big fucking nose-"

Snape pulled the door open. "Haven't I?"

The girl gasped and stared at him with her mouth open.

Snape turned to the Selwyn boy. "Go," he commanded, and the boy took off running and didn't look back.

"Well, Miss Corlett," he said. "It seems we are in big fucking trouble."

Paying no mind to the girl's shocked face, he scooped up some of the muddy brown liquid in a ladle and watched it fall back into the cauldron.

"Polyjuice potion," he said, turning to glare at her. "And where could you have gotten the ingredients for this?"

"I-I bought the ingredients-"

"Don't lie to me!" His voice was getting louder; he was losing control. "So. You dare break into my office and steal from me?"

The girl opened her mouth but didn't say anything.

"I hope you realize, Miss Corlett, that it is within my power to tell the Headmaster to have you expelled."

Her face contorted in terror but he was too swept up in his own fury to enjoy the effect.

"No. No, please. I'll never do it again, I swear."

He had her pleading now. He looked at her, trying to steady his breathing, trying to master himself.

"Well, perhaps it won't be necessary," he said, knowing how unlikely it was that Dumbledore would approve of the expulsion. He waited until the terrified face had started to slacken. "I think a detention every Friday night for the rest of your school career should occupy enough of your time to keep you from stealing. And if you ever do it again," he added, his voice low, fierce, "I will make sure you are expelled."

He watched her walk away, and by the time he'd returned to his office he felt somewhat calmer despite his revulsion at the thought of having to arrange her detentions every week.

He retired to his room for the night but he couldn't settle to his book, and after just a page or two he slammed it shut and tossed it on the floor. She'd disrespected him, humiliated him, stolen valuable ingredients, but knew there was more to it than that. She was his most promising student, one of the few who truly understood his subject, and she was throwing it all away.

Rather like him.

But he pushed that thought away.

Graihagh sank back into the sofa in the common room, rubbing her forehead with one hand, drained and shaken, but Milo and his friends rounded on her almost the moment she sat down.

"What did he do?" said Milo. From between her fingers Graihagh saw that his forehead was creased and he looked worried.

"The bastard put me in detention every Friday night until I leave." She took her hand from her face. "I just don't understand how he knew."

"He sort of caught us using it," said Thorfinn.

"What, you mean he caught you disguising yourselves as those Hufflepuff girls?"

"Yeah."

"What'd he do to you?"

"Detention."

Thorfinn's lips were twitching as though he was trying not to smile and Graihagh's resentment shot through her. After everything they'd done, all the shit they'd pulled with her potion, it would be her taking the fall. She'd gotten so deep into it she had no idea what she was going to do now that it was gone.

"I'm going to bed," she said.

Sometimes the other girls in her year would lounge around in the dormitory, reading magazines and listening to the wireless, but it was empty now, and Graihagh sank into her bed with her hangings closed and shut her eyes, listening to gentle swish of the water against the walls. After awhile the other girls started coming in, and she stuck her pillow over her ears and tried to ignore the talking and laughing, waiting until the voices softened to whispers and slowed to deep breathing before she took it away from her ears. She punched it down and flipped it over to the cool side but she couldn't lie still. She had so many emotions going through her at once, rage and disappointment and shame, she couldn't untangle them all, and it was a long time before she fell asleep.

She didn't want to go to breakfast, she was terrified of walking up to the Slytherin table only to find that Milo and Thorfinn and the rest had turned their backs on her and she'd have to sit alone, the way she'd had to do in primary school, but she couldn't focus if she didn't eat, so, arms and legs shaking so much it was hard to walk, she made her way to the Slytherin table.

Milo and Thorfinn made room for her and as she sat down next to them and she was so relieved her muscles relaxed and her shaking stopped. She propped up her head with one hand and picked half-heartedly at her scrambled eggs, fighting to keep her eyes open.

Milo leaned in closer to her. "I'm really sorry about what happened," he whispered.

He looked like he meant it, and Graihagh nodded her thanks. She'd just turned back to her food when there was an outbreak of shrieking from the Ravenclaw table and she looked up to see people running from their seats as Peeves flung tarantulas at them. There was a confusion of running and puffs of smoke and Filch shouting threats at Peeves and Graihagh was glad that she was at least feeling more awake now.

She barely kept her eyes open during class that day and fell asleep in front of the common room fire after dinner. When she woke up the fire burned so low the light barely touched the deep green shadows and to her surprise Milo was sitting beside her, waiting for her to wake up. The only other person there was Thorfinn, who came and sat down beside them.

"Sorry about what happened," he said.

Graihagh had a feeling he was really only sorry that his supply of potions had been cut off, and just shrugged

"Listen," he said. "Are you two doing anything tomorrow night?"

Graihagh glanced at Milo, not really sure why Thorfinn was asking. Sometimes the Quidditch team would go off and do something together, but they never invited anyone else to join them.

"No," she said.

"Why don't you meet me in dungeon seven? It's not far from the Potions classroom."

"For what?"

"You'll see."

Graihagh would've been lying to herself if she claimed she didn't know exactly what he meant, and when she was giddy and keyed-up as she and Milo walked through the dungeon corridors the next night, more than she'd been in a long time.

A few people turned to look at them when they walked in. Livia's wide blue eyes shone in the soft light and a thrill went through Graihagh, the thrill of going somewhere, of something about to happen.

"I think it's about time we inducted these two as members," said Thorfinn to Travers, who seemed to be the leader of the group.

Travers nodded at Milo but his eyes swept over Graihagh, cold and scrutinizing, a bit like Livia's. "Isn't your father a Muggle?"

"Yeah," said Graihagh, unable to keep a warning out of her voice. She wasn't about to let anyone bad-mouth her father.

"Is your mother a witch?"

"I don't know."

Travers narrowed his eyes at her. "How do you not know?"

"She left," said Graihagh, and her voice had an edge to it now. She didn't think she liked him.

"What was her name then?"

"Alethea Bennett."

"Sounds like a wizarding name," said Thorfinn from beside him. "And, you know." He nodded his head at Graihagh, and she knew what he meant to say. We could use her.

"Yeah. Maybe." Travers looked her over again. "I suppose we could do it."

Graihagh looked from one to the other. "Do what?"

"Initiation," he said simply. He pulled an old book out of his robes. "Think you can make this?"

Graihagh looked over the potion, a potion for blood oaths, and she remembered the shining cauldron she'd seen years ago. "I think so." She played the parchment in her hands and looked at Travers. "You don't, you know, do any dark magic or anything do you?"

"Define dark magic."

Graihagh wasn't sure what she'd been expecting him to say, but it hadn't been this. "I don't know...like hurting people and that sort of thing."

"Nobody's died, if that's what you mean."

Livia made a face at her. "Whatever you've heard about us is rubbish. We mostly practice dueling and that sort of thing. Skull and Serpent has been around for ages, it's tradition."

This hadn't really answered her question, but she didn't press it any further. She valued tradition as much as any other Slytherin, she didn't really want to give up flying and wearing comfortable robes everyday and using magic for everything. And in those moments when her defenses were down, in those flashes of unflinching honesty, she'd knew dark magic fascinated her.

She pulled her potions kit out of her robes and set to work as the others waited. Before long the cauldron was bubbled clear and thin, like water, only it seemed to glow with its own light. Graihagh stared into it until she couldn't see anything else.

Travers tapped her on the arm. "Pull up your left sleeve," he said. Graihagh glanced at Milo and saw that he'd already done it.

Graihagh knew what was coming, and she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw to stop herself crying out when Travers took the blade to her arm. The cut throbbed and stung but Travers pressed the chalice against her and the cold metal soothed the pain. When he'd pulled it away she opened her eyes and watched as Travers poured it into the cauldron, chanting strange words, ancient words, that had their own haunting melody. The liquid inside turned deep red.

Travers scooped some of the potion into another chalice and handed it to Milo. "By drinking this you swear your loyalty to us," he said, in a voice so serious Graihagh had to stifle a laugh.

"Repeat after me. Iuro cum sanguis meus."

"Iuro cum sanguis meus," said Milo. His eyes were shining in the low light and she understood what this meant to him, to be welcomed into someone's inner circle.

Travers scooped more potion and put the chalice to Graihagh's lips and said the same to her, though she thought his voice was harsher somehow, almost threatening, as though Graighagh had already betrayed them.

"Iuro cum sanguis meus," muttered Graihagh. She drank until it was empty, trying to ignore the strange metallic aftertaste on her tongue.

Travers finished the induction, but she only half-heard what he was saying, she was too busy pressing the sleeve of her robe to her arm to staunch the bleeding, hoping it would stop, because she didn't have a clue what she'd say to Madam Pomfrey if she had to go to the hospital wing.

Thorfinn clapped Milo on the back, and Travers stood and faced them all. "I thought we'd practice a bit of dueling," he said. He divided them into pairs, smirking when he got to his sister. "You can practice with her," he said, nodding to Graihagh.

Graihagh's fist clenched around her wand when Livia shot him an annoyed look, as though practicing with her was some sort of punishment. She understood then, that her status as Muggle-born, half-blood at most, put her at the very margins of the group, not much more than an uninvited guest, but it only made her more determined. She'd just have to work that much harder, that was all, make them see what she was capable of.

She raised her wand and faced Livia, whose eyes were locked with hers, face serious and determined, and Graihagh stared back into them in something of a daze. Livia had never looked at her for so long.

They circled each other, but Graihagh was too fluttery and keyed-up to focus, too busy looking at her face, and within minutes Livia had got her with a Body-Bind Curse.

Her elbow slammed into the dungeon floor and she would've cursed out loud if her lips would move. Livia knelt beside her and tapped her with her wand. "Finite."

Graihagh sat up and rubbed her elbow.

"Here," said Livia. "I'll help you up."

She held out her hand, so soft and warm in hers Graihagh didn't want to let go, and she didn't understand. When Livia had walked away she shook her arms as though shaking off the memory of how it felt, as though she could shake off a part of herself she didn't want.

Travers gave her a cold look, and she looked away to stop herself glaring at him. She'd just have to work harder, that was all.

When they'd finished she stopped in the girl's toilets just off her dormitory, looking up into the mirror as she washed her hands in the stone sink. She thought she'd look different somehow, but she had the same thin face, same dark eyes. Her arm stung and when she pulled up the sleeve of her robes the cut was still red-raw and bleeding slightly. There was going to be a scar there, probably, though whether it'd be permanent or not she didn't know.

The spring and summer terms passed by quickly, with their weekly meetings and her detentions with Snape and all those mornings she got up early to walk the grounds and look for thistle and asphodel and other ingredients for her potions kit. She saw Cate nearly every day, in the library or the basement steps or the courtyard, and one morning, a few weeks before the end of term, she got a letter from her dad telling her Cate could come to visit them in Mann.

Milo cornered Graihagh in the common room when she came in to put her things away before dinner later that day. She'd planned to eat her dinner quickly and sit with Cate on the basement steps after.

"I've thought of a way for you to keep making your potions," he said.

Graihagh was frustrated that he wouldn't drop it. "He's going to have me thrown out if I'm caught, you know," she told him, an edge to her voice.

"You won't be making them here. I thought maybe you could spend the summer with me."

"But we're not allowed."

"They can't tell if you're from a wizarding family. Mum and dad let me practice if I'm careful. So do you want to do it? I could write to them and tell them you're coming."

Graihagh stood and played with the folds of her robes, thinking of Cate and her dad and the three of them walking together by the sea eating ice cream. Of the sunset off Bradda Head and her granny and how she'd always tell Graihagh to wave to the little people whenever they were driving down the A5 and crossed the Fairy Bridge. She thought of her potions, and how far they'd gotten her, and how her hands ached for the challenge of making more. How much Milo depended on her, how his performance had been slipping since she'd stopped making Girding Potion. He could fly well enough, but he couldn't throw the Quaffle very far, and Slytherin had only narrowly scraped a win for the Cup.

And she wanted to stay in the wizarding world.

"Something wrong?"

"No, it's fine. I'll do it."

Milo smiled at her, and she wondered if there was more to him wanting to her to spend the summer with him than the potions, and didn't know what to think. She cared for him so much, but he'd never been anything more than a friend to her.

Her head was a mess of confusing thoughts as she sat down with Cate on the basement steps.

Cate looked ready to fly out of her skin. "So am I coming to visit you this summer?"

Graihagh couldn't look at her. She stared down at her robes.

"I might be spending the summer with one of my Slytherin friends," she said.

"Oh." Graihagh looked up and saw that Cate was confused. She knew all about Milo, and that she'd been spending a bit of time with Livia and her friends. But it must have seemed strange, just the same.

"It's not Livia Travers, is it?" said Cate.

"No, it's not her."

"Good. She's got a massive stick up her arse, that one, hasn't she?"

She smiled at Graihagh and Graihagh couldn't help smiling back.

"Yeah, she does."

Cate didn't say anything and Graihagh knew she was waiting to for her to tell her. "It's Milo, actually," she said.

Cate's eyebrows went up. "Are you-?"

"No," said Graihagh quickly. "It's just...I'm helping him with some things. I think he's sort of lonely actually."

"Oh," said Cate, and there was something like understanding on her face. Graihagh had told her once that Milo relied on her, and she liked it, but it must have still seemed weird. Graihagh found it hard to look at her face. She'd always told Cate everything, but now there were things she didn't know. She rubbed the scar on her left arm.

"Do you have his address?" said Cate. "I could write to you."

Only then did she realize that Milo wouldn't have a Muggle mailing address. "Well, it's a wizarding family," she said. "But I could send you owls."

"Okay." Cate was quiet then, and so was Graihagh. All her excitment at spending the summer in the wizarding world was fading, and the summer seemed to stretch out ahead of her like some fog-obscured path, unknown and dim.

A/N: Graihagh's bisexual orientation is just something I threw in there because it was fun for me to write about, it's not going to affect the story in any significant way-I won't go on and on about it or anything :) This is very much a friendship story and a story about her relationship with Snape as his student and troubled protege, and their interactions will get deeper as the story goes on.

Thanks so much for reading, and thanks to everyone who as favourited/followed!