Graihagh could never tell what time it was when she woke up, there were no windows in the hidden room and no clock on the wall. The lamp she'd set in the corner cast a warm circle of light on the ceiling but otherwise the room was dark.

She lifted her arm from under her head and checked the watch her dad had given when she'd come of age. The strap was made from dragonhide and the face was deep blue and covered in stars and constellations that lit up in the dark, but that wasn't why she loved it. She loved it because it was from him. She hardly ever took it off.

She pressed a button to light the watch face and saw it was quarter after nine, not that it really meant anything, she didn't have anywhere to go.

She looked over at Milo, still asleep on his mattress. He'd had another restless night and Fynn had talked him down from a nightmare and fallen asleep beside him on his mattress, an arm draped over his stomach. She wouldn't say she was jealous of Fynn exactly, but she and Milo had been taking care of each other so long she felt adrift, as though she'd wandered into the room with them by accident.

More than anything though, she was relieved. Their first day in hiding Milo had woken up a few more times, as dazed and disoriented as a sleepwalker, and they'd had to talk him back into a troubled sleep. Graihagh hadn't slept at all that night, she was so sure they'd lost him, but when he woke up the next day he recognized them, and Graihagh had been able to explain what happened and where they were.

Ever since then he'd been-restless was the only word for it, really. He'd get up and pace the room awhile, then sit back down and stare at the wall, and then with a twitch like a horse shaking off a fly he'd get up and pace the room again. Fynn tried to cheer him up, get his mind on other things. They'd gone into Hogsmeade a few times, to get him books and a sketchpad and some pencils and a copy of the Prophet, though with all the coverage of Dumbledore's death it was rather depressing.

Milo skimmed the books, halfheartedly attempted a few sketches, and resumed his pacing and thinking and the occasional panic attack.

He looked so peaceful now that Graihagh wanted to stay in bed and keep quiet, but she really did need to get to work. Remus said they'd take the potions as quickly as she could make them.

She bunged her pyjamas into a corner and threw on a set of plain black work robes. The jars of ingredients Professor Snape had gotten for her were lined up along her makeshift work table, along with a set of brass scales and a mortar and pestle and everything else she needed.

She'd had a time of it, creating a workspace in that dim, dusty room. Her third day there she'd pushed a few large boxes together for a table, brushing off the dust and the cobwebs, and borrowed a few knives from Aberforth for slicing stems and roots. The cauldron she'd ordered by mail, using Aberforth's owl and money from her Gringott's account, one of the more difficult decisions she'd had to make. A cauldron was only as good as the potioneer, that's what Professor Snape told her when her school cauldron started rusting and she couldn't afford a new one, and copper cauldrons were decent enough for everyday potions. But if she was going to be making something as complex and delicate as Wolfsbane there was simply no substitute for gold-the Ministry guidelines required it, in fact.

She'd regretted it when she saw how much was left in her bank account. By the time she ordered herself some new clothes and tools and some basic potions ingredients she was damn near broke. But there was no use dwelling on it. She had enough to worry about.

Aberforth had given her a few lamps to set on her work table so she'd have enough light to see by, and when she flicked her wand and got them going the room was as bright as day. There was no way Milo and Fynn were to be able to sleep through it, but it was probably better for them anyway to have some sort of routine.

She slipped on a pair of dragonhide gloves and pinched a vial of rattlesnake venom between her fingers, swirling it around the glass and watching the amber liquid catch the light. She couldn't believe she'd almost turned down an opportunity to make potions, it was like breathing, she needed it.

Science had been her favourite subject back in the days before she knew she was a witch. She liked it so much her dad had bought her a chemistry set for her eleventh birthday and she'd been holed up in her room with it that day Professor McGonagall showed up on their doorstep and turned their world upside-down. She'd abandoned her plans to blow up chemicals in a lab but she still liked to read the Muggle science magazines, and that's how she found out about the pain-relieving properties of rattlesnake venom.

She'd been so excited about it she'd put in an order for ten vials at work the next morning, only the stuff wasn't cheap and Owain nearly fired her before swearing up and down he was going to make her go out into the field and collect it herself. When he'd finally calmed down and she'd explained what it was for he'd gotten as excited as she was, and they'd spent hours experimenting.

She decided to start on the strychnine antidote first, since it was the simplest and she was still waking up. She uncapped the vial of rattlesnake venom and piped into the cauldron, lighting a fire underneath and murmuring a long incantation under her breath. She never used the whole venom, it was too toxic; instead she extracted the pain-relieving compound. This wasn't a necessary step, it wasn't even in the offical recipe, but strychnine poisoning was extraordinary painful and the antidote was slow-acting. If she could add something to take away the victim's pain, she would, even if it created extra work for her. She loved this part of potioneering, these individual touches and subtle tweaks.

When the pain-relieving compound had been extracted she prepared the rest of the ingedients, crushing and measuring and stirring, delighting in the movements, the scents, the realness of it. When it looked the way it should she lowered the heat, recording the exact time on a sheet of parchment, and sat down to rest on an upturned crate.

Milo twitched and murmured in his sleep and Graihagh hoped he was just dreaming, but when his eyes opened he was breathing hard and staring up at the ceiling.

Fynn propped themself up on one elbow and put a hand to his shoulder. "'S'alright," they said. "Just a dream. You're safe now."

"I know," breathed Milo. He closed his eyes and steadied himself and when he'd calmed down he sat up and looked over at Graihagh.

"You're up early," he said.

Graihagh smirked, trying to keep things the way they'd been at home, before all this had happened. "It's eleven o'clock, you lazy cunt."

Milo smirked back and she thought he might make a snappy retort but his expression turned serious. "Don't suppose it matters," he muttered. He stood up and stretched and went to the little side room he'd made for them to wash in.

Graihagh didn't know what it was-maybe his quiet intensity, or his restlessless, or maybe it was just that she knew him so well, but she could tell something was about to happen, that things were about to come to a head. She took off her gloves and picked at her nails and waited for him to come back out.

Fynn turned towards Graihagh and stretched.

"Sleep alright?" they said.

"Yeah, did you?" Graihagh realised as soon as she'd said it that it was a stupid question, because they'd been up half the night with Milo.

Fynn shot her an incredulous grin. "What do you think?"

"Shut it you," said Graihagh, but she smiled back. Fynn was growing on her. They'd known Milo for a couple of years, but this was by far the most time she'd ever spent with them.

Fynn sat up on the mattress, looking serious. "Do you think he'll be alright?"

Graihagh leaned back against the wall and sighed. "I don't know. He's already been through so much. I feel like one of these times he's bound to reach his breaking point, you know?"

"I know. I've been worrying about that too."

The door opened and Milo walked into the room, bare-chested and flushed from the hot water. Fynn stared at him a full five seconds before glancing away, but Milo didn't notice. He walked over to one of the outside walls and stared at it as though a window might appear there.

"Alright yessir?" said Fynn.

Milo turned around to face them but he didn't sit down. "I'm not staying here."

"What do you mean?" said Graihagh.

"I mean I'm going to find Rowle. And I'm going to kill him."

Graihagh glanced at Fynn, who looked every bit as alarmed as she felt. "Look," she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice, to be understanding, because if she got too pushy he'd only dig his heels in. "I know what he did was-it was fucking evil, but you can't just go and kill him, Milo, he's a Death Eater."

"So?"

"So he's got a whole pack of homicidal friends he can use as backup. He'll kill you."

"Then at least I'll go down fighting. I'm sick of hiding. All I've ever done is hide."

Graihagh stood up and put a hand to his arm. "Look, I want revenge too, believe me, but this isn't the way to do it-"

"What's the alternative? We just sit here in this little room and wait for someone else fight him for us?"

"Well..." That had been her plan exactly, but she knew Milo wouldn't want to hear it, and she couldn't think of anything better.

"Well, I'm sorry, but fuck that. I'm going."

Graihagh's voice was rising now, and she couldn't keep the fear out of it. "But you can't just go, you need a plan-"

"I have a plan. I know where he is."

"You can't just walk into Malfoy Manor and kill him, this is mad-"

Milo snatched his arm away. "You don't think I can do it, is that it?"

"I-" Graihagh looked helplessly at Fynn. Milo was a skilled dueler, he'd always done well in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but this was a suicide mission.

"Actually, it's not a bad idea," said Fynn, and Milo's expression relaxed. "But she's right, you need a plan," they added, when Graihagh glared at them.

"So you want me to sit around here in this cramped little room for months on end while Rowle walks free, is that it?" said Milo, and his voice was breaking, face strained, skin stretched thin like a rubber band about to snap. "While he's out there killing and torturing how many innocent people because we just sat there and let him?"

"We are going to stop him," said Fynn, and their voice was earnest, almost urgent. "But if we don't have a plan and they kill you, what have you accomplished? He still walks free and you're dead."

"Then at least I tried. Unlike you two." He walked over to his mattress and for a second Graihagh thought he might sit there, talk it over with them more until he calmed down, but instead he knelt beside it and stuffed his clothes and books into a holdall Fynn had bought for him. When he'd closed it up he threw a set of plain robes over himself and slung the holdall over his shoulder.

He walked away without another word to them, but when he reached the door he stopped, his hand on the doorknob. Graihagh wondered if he could feel her eyes on him, begging him not to go.

"Yeah," he said, as though steeling himself. "Right. Take care, both of you. And thanks for everything."

His eyes met Graihagh's and she ran to the door.

"Don't do this-"

Milo held up a hand to stop her. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

She flattened herself against the door as though she could barricade them from the outside world. "You're not leaving."

Milo scowled. "You can't keep me here."

"Yes I can."

"How? You can't stand there all the time."

"Watch me."

And she meant it, she'd live beside that door if she had to, sleep standing up.

"Get out of the way, Graihagh."

"No."

Milo's voice rose. "You're not my fucking mother. Now get of of my way."

"You are not going."

Milo reached for his wand and Fynn strode over and stood between them. "Listen, what if I went with you? We could lay low awhile, come up with a plan. I know some people who could help us. That sound good to you?"

Graihagh couldn't believe what she was hearing. She thought Fynn would protect Milo, and here they were offering to accompany him into the dragon's den, the traitorous little shit.

"Yeah," said Milo, still red-faced and breathing fast. "That'd be alright."

Fynn put a hand to his shoulder and turned to Graihagh. "You?"

"I think you're both mad."

"Yeah, well, I'm afraid you're outnumbered," said Milo.

Graihagh glared at Fynn, who rubbed the back of their neck and didn't look at her. She could try to take them both on but she knew she didn't stand a chance, not with Milo hell-bent on going. She threw up her hands and stepped away from the door, eyes stinging. "Fine. Go get yourselves killed."

Milo walked out the door without another word to her. Graihagh waited until he was out of earshot and stepped towards Fynn.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, offering to go with him? Do you want to see him get killed?"

Fynn backed away, looking indignant. "Of course not. I'm trying to help him."

"If you were trying to help him you wouldn't let him go in the first place."

"We can't stop him from going. He's a grown man, he can make up his own mind."

"But that's just it. He's not in his right mind, you know that."

"I'm not so sure. I think deep down he's been wanting to do this a long time."

Graihagh bristled at the suggestion that Fynn knew Milo better than she did. "How would you know?"

Fynn glanced away and shrugged. "I just have a feeling. Look, I know when he's just saying things out of anger or panic or whatever and when he's not. I think he's given this a lot of thought."

Graihagh made a skeptical noise and paced the room while Fynn packed a few things into a battered leather valise. She was too upset to ask just what it was they planned to do.

"Don't worry about us," said Fynn, putting a hand to Graihagh's shoulder. "We'll be alright."

Graihagh snatched her arm away and faced the wall, fighting the urge to curse the shit out of them, but when Fynn opened the door she turned around.

"Wait."

She grabbed a few bottles of calming draught off the shelf and handed them to Fynn. "Just promise me you'll look after him."

Fynn tucked the bottles away and their face softened into something like sympathy. "I will."

Graihagh nodded to them in a go-if-you-must way, and Fynn walked out the door, leaving her with her potions and her work table and the three empty mattresses.

Those first few days on her own weren't so bad. She threw herself into her work, finishing the antidote and a batch of Wolfsbane and building up a supply of other potions the Order might need, like Blood-Replenishing Solution and Veritaserum, which were sitting on a shelf maturing. She worked until she was too tired to see straight and slept as late as she wanted, to the point where she lost track of day and night. She knew she'd feel better if she kept to a regular schedule, but it was hard to do with no one forcing her.

Aberforth sent food up a few times a day and told her she could Summon a bit of fruit or bread from the kitchen whenever she liked, as long as she didn't take too much. He hadn't said anything about Summoning drinks, so sometimes when her work was done she'd sit and drink until she was tired and dizzy, but she never slept well after, even with the Sleeping Draughts she took sometimes so she wouldn't stay up half the night worrying over Milo, or fall asleep to a nightmare.

The worst times were when she had no work left to do, or when she woke up in the middle of the night or morning or whenever it was she went to sleep. She finally mastered the Disillusionment Charm and she'd ordered a few books with the last of her money, but other than that there was nothing to do, only the room and the quiet and her own thoughts. Sometimes the walls would close in and she'd get dizzy and pace the room and pray Aberforth would find her before she suffocated, or Rowle burst into the room and killed her. And then it would pass and she'd sink on her mattress, shaky and spent.

Sometimes she'd think about sneaking off to some Muggle town for something to help her forget, or she'd search through the pockets of her jeans even though there wasn't anything there, and it scared her, this craving, this need. She'd always been careful about what she took and when, or thought she had. Aside from the occasional tablet at a party or a rave that made everything lovely and left her feeling like shit for days after, she avoided the hard stuff, it reminded her too much of her mother and Milo's father. But she hadn't really seen the danger in medicating every now and then, getting outside her own head awhile, and now that she had time to think she had the horrible feeling that if it weren't for her potions, she'd be in deep shit. If she felt sick after the pills wore off she could make herself something for it, something safer, but some people didn't have a choice, they just had to take more.

She wondered if things had been like that for her mother, if that's how she got sucked in. She didn't deserve it, whatever horrible things she might've done.

Her dad had given her all his photographs of her, not long after he met Emma. Graihagh's face wasn't as soft as her mother's-she would've killed for those full, pouty lips-but they were so much alike she might've been looking at herself.

Her mum looked calm and happy in those early photographs. Graihagh's favourite was the one taken just after she was born. She was wrapped in a white blanket and her mum was lying in bed and holding her to her chest, smiling down on her like she was the only thing in the world.

There was another photograph that must've been taken just before she left. Graihagh was sitting in her high-chair, dressed down to a t-shirt and nappy and covered in chocolate cake, her first birthday probably. Her dad was watching her and laughing but her mum was looking off to the side as though it were all too much for her.

Her dad said they'd lived in Liverpool and Graihagh had tried to find her there once, but she wasn't in the telephone directory and no one seemed to know her. She steeled herself for the worst and even looked for a burial record, but couldn't find a thing. She'd just disappeared, which is probably what she wanted, and just as well. Graihagh had no idea what she would've said to her, if she would've said anything.

Graihagh thought she'd dreamt about her but it was hard to tell, her head was a mess and she'd slept like shit. She'd just reached up to grab a vial of sleeping draught when there was a knock at the door.

"Someone here to see you," said Aberforth's voice.

Graihagh checked her watch. It was only eleven o'clock at night but she'd gone to bed hours ago.

"Be right there," she called. She threw on a set of robes over her pyjamas and ran a hand through her hair, though what she thought that would accomplish she had no idea.

She opened the door to find Remus standing there in blood-splattered robes, his hair standing up on end. She jumped back before she could stop herself. This was a trap, the moon was full and any second he was going to transform and rip her throat out.

"May I come in?" he asked. There was an edge to his tired voice.

Graihagh opened her mouth but nothing came out.

"The moon isn't full for another week," said Remus, and the edge in his voice had grown to full-blown irritation.

"Yeah. Come in," said Graihagh, opening the door the rest of the way. She stepped back towards the box beside her bed where she kept her wand.

Remus either didn't notice or didn't say anything about it. "I was wondering if the Wolfsbane is ready?"

Graihagh had been so startled she'd completely forgotten about it. Of course that's why he'd come.

"Yeah, I've got two months' worth of doses ready for you."

She hurried over to her worktable and picked up two bottles, which she handed to Remus.

"Thank you," he said. He pulled a goblet out of his robes and poured some of the potion into it. "I need to take the first dose straightaway," he explained. So it was the beginning of August, she thought, or maybe the end of July.

"How much do I owe you?" he said when he'd finished drinking.

"You don't have to pay me," said Graihagh, a gesture that was half gratitude, half desire for him to get out of there as quickly as possible.

"No, I insist," said Remus, reaching into the pocket of his robes. "Just name your price."

Graihagh wondered if this was a way for him to save face, maintain a sense of dignity. She would've felt the same way.

"How about 10 galleons then?" said Graihagh. "It's what we charge out our shop."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "That's a low price."

"Owain-he's my employer-sells it at a discount."

"He must be taking a loss on it then. The ingredients cost about three times that much."

Graihagh had always wondered about that herself, but it didn't surprise her. Owain had a soft-spot for people in need, he never turned anyone away. What she didn't understand was why the potion was so expensive in the first place.

"Why doesn't the Ministry cover some of the costs? You'd think they'd want people to take it."

Remus' mouth lifted in a wry smile. "You'd think. But I suppose they'd have fewer excuses to fear us."

And she was no better. She picked at the sleeve of her robes. "Listen, I'm sorry about the way I've acted."

"It's alright."

"No, it's not. I was being a prat."

Remus' mouth twitched and Graihagh supposed he'd been thinking the same thing, only he was much too polite to say so.

"No worries," he said. "I'm just glad to have the potion." He counted out ten galleons and slipped his wallet back into his pocket. "Do you have anything else ready?"

"Oh. Right. Of course." Graihagh picked up her wand and Summoned all the bottles of potions she'd made, lowering them into a wooden crate.

"You've been busy," said Remus when she handed it to him. He sounded surprised, impressed even. She supposed it would sound melodramatic to tell him it was the only thing keeping her sane.

"Just let me know when you need more."

"I will. Thank you." Remus charmed the crate to shrink and put it in his pocket. "I should be going. I told my wife I wouldn't be long."

"Your wife?" said Graihagh, cringing at the surprise in her voice. Her resolve not to be an ass had lasted all of two minutes.

"Surprising thought it may seem, we have been known to marry," said Remus in that pleasantly dry way that seemed instinctual, as though it had long been his go-to response to slights of this kind.

"Of course," said Graihagh, though she was dying to know where he'd been and what he'd been doing. Something for the Order, by the looks of it. She'd been stupid to think he'd transformed. "I'm sorry. I won't keep you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Graihagh closed the door behind him and sat back down on her mattress. She sort of wish he could've stayed longer, the room was so quiet.

Until Remus showed up she hadn't realised just how far her sleeping and eating had gotten of track, and she decided she'd better get back into a routine. She wasn't all that tired but she stopped working at three in the morning, and when she'd settled into bed she set the alarm on her watch for ten. This wasn't quite what it'd been when before, but it was a start.

She got to work as soon as she woke up and she'd been working a couple of hours when there was a knock on the door.

"I've got your lunch," said Aberforth.

Graihagh took her gloves off and opened the door for him. He handed her a tray of hot corned beef sandwiches and tea, and something else, a small package with an envelope attached.

He sniffed the air and made a face. "What on earth are you making girl, it smells like pig farts in here."

Graihagh smiled. She was growing a soft spot for the gruff git.

"It's a Restoration Draught," she said. "And it tastes as bad as it smells."

"So it tastes like a pig's arse then. Can't you lot add sugar to those potions?"

Graihagh smiled again. She'd been asked that question by nearly every single one of her customers. "In most cases, no."

"Bollocks, I think you just like to see us suffer."

Graihagh could tell he was teasing her. "Naturally."

Aberforth made a disapproving noise and tapped the tray with a long finger. "Mind you wash off that off this time before you Banish it back to the kitchen."

"I will. Cheers, Ab."

Aberforth grunted out a reply and when he'd gone she set the tray down on a box and slit open the envelope. Just as she'd hoped, Cate's tall sprawling writing practically jumped off the parchment.

Dear Graihagh,

Sorry it took so long for me to get back to you. I'm so glad you're safe, and so proud of you for what you're doing, although I wish it didn't have to be like this.

Everything is fine here, I haven't seen any sign of Rowle or anyone. I've been busy as always, St. Mungo's started a therapeutic music programme and I've been taking part in that (I don't know if therapeutic is spelled correctly but I'm too tired to look it up right now so whatever.) Don't tell anyone I told you this, but one of my students is Gilderoy Lockart and he's driving me mad, he thinks he's the next big singing sensation and he can't even carry a tune. My other students have been wonderful, though some of them have severe damage and it's so sad to see. Adrian's been taking me to and from London, so don't worry.

I miss you so much. I hope things are okay for you where you are. Please let me know right away if you need anything.

Love always,

Cate

P.S I sent you some fudge and don't worry I followed the recipe this time so there won't be any nasty surprises.

Worried as she was about her, Graihagh couldn't help smiling. She could hear Cate's voice in her head, talking a mile a minute. She folded up the letter and set it on the box she was using as a nightstand, to look at whenever things got too quiet, and savoured a few pieces of fudge.

The letter reminded her, she was going to need more ingredients from Professor Snape. She broke off a sheet of parchment and penned him a quick note, listing all the ingredients she needed and how much. She'd have to borrow an owl from Aberforth again, since her own owl, Mona, was back in Douglas. She supposed it was better that way, Mona never did like being cooped up, but Graihagh missed her. She hoped Owain had taken her in, that was the sort of thing he might do.

She thought Aberforth looked at her a bit strangely when she wouldn't let him see the letter, but he didn't question it, and when his owl had flown off she went back to her potions. She worked until she couldn't see straight and when she was finished she poured herself a drink and tried to forget that she still hadn't heard from Milo.

She was sorry in a way, that she hadn't taken him seriously, that she'd tried to stop him, but in another way she wished she'd tried harder. She understood why he hated Rowle, she'd spent years wishing him dead. She just didn't understand why he'd give up everything to go after him.

Professor Snape's reply came a few days later, so terse she could practically hear his teeth clenching.

4 o'clock in the morning. Boar's gate.

She had a distinct sense of being on thin ice and knew she'd better show up on time. When she went to bed that night she set the alarm on her watch for half-past three, but she must've slept through it because when she woke up it was five minutes to four.

She threw her robes and her cloak over her pyjamas and ran out the back door, her wand held out in front of her, only remembering to Disillusion herself when she was already out on the street. She could do it well enough that she couldn't really be seen standing still, but she was still visible when she moved.

She took the path to the Hogwarts gate at a brisk walk, thinking about Professor Snape. She couldn't believe how much he'd changed-and in some sense, how much he hadn't changed. He'd been downright morose that first year he'd taught her and sad in the years after, but he seemed to have lived three lifetimes since she'd seen him last. His face was thinner and there were lines carved into his forehead and dark circles under his eyes, and the last time they'd met looked as though he were trying his damndest not to cry. He wished she'd just tell her what was wrong, let her help him, but the harder she tried the further he pushed her away.

She understood, in a way. She was like that at times too, and Milo had been that way ever since she'd known him. They'd always danced around their feelings, expressing themselves through sarcasm and teasing, and there was a certain comfort in that, a certain safety in they way they could be close without being vulnerable. If that's how Professor Snape wanted things, she was happy to go along.

"I hope I'm not late, Professor" she said when she'd reached the Hogwart's gate.

Professor Snape started and raised his wand and only then did Graihagh remember that he could barely see her. She tapped her wand to her head and lifted the Disillusionment Charm.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

Professor Snape lowered his wand and ran a hand through his hair as though nothing had happened.

"I wasn't startled, I simply wasn't expecting you to show up on time and successfully execute a Disillusionment Charm."

Four in the morning and he was already in top form. Graihagh raised her eyebrows appreciatively. "Touché, Professor."

Professor Snape scowled and narrowed his eyes at her.

"You do realise that owls can be intercepted, don't you?"

Graihagh just stared at him in silent protest. The thought had crossed her mind, but how else did he expect her to contact him?

He thrust his hand into his pocket and handed her a large silver coin. "Use this only when you need to contact me. Press your thumb and forefinger to it three seconds and state your location and purpose. Only when absolutely necessary, do you understand?"

"I understand, Professor."

"I mean it. Use it only when absolutely necessary, or I will take it back, do I make myself plain?"

Graihagh refrained from rolling her eyes and kept her expression deadpan. "I didn't quite catch that Professor, could you repeat it a few more times?"

Snape scowled again but she could have sworn she saw something in his face, a twitch of the mouth maybe.

She must've imagined it though, because he thrust a bag of jars and vials at her with alarming force. "Your ingredients," he added unnecessarily.

Graihagh slipped the bag into her pocket. "Thank you."

Professor Snape inclined his head to her and turned to leave, and Graihagh was surprised to find she didn't want him to. All that time spent making potions left her with a need to talk about it with someone.

"Could I ask you something?"

Professor Snape's back stiffened and he turned to face her, looking wary. Graihagh wondered if he was expecting her to ask him how he was, but she had a different question in mind, and who better to ask than her old mentor?

"Do you use the official method for preparing Wolfsbane? It seems like half the time I make it it comes out too potent. I feel like there must be a better way."

Snape's face relaxed. "You steam the aconite first to reduce the toxic alkaloids?"

"Yeah. It helps, but it's not really enough."

"Have you tried adding an infusion of licorice and ginseng? It's more effective than steaming alone."

"Does that work for you?"

"Usually."

"Of course," she said. "Inter-herbal alchemy. Brilliant." She reached into her robes and pulled out a parchment and quill, kneeling down to write on her knee. "I'm useless at remembering things unless I write them down," she explained.

She stuffed the parchment into her pocket and stood up. The trees were bathed in silver-blue moonlight and she longed for a walk in the grounds, but she was afraid to go alone. She wasn't about to tell him that, though.

"Nice morning," she said. Snape made a murmur of agreement.

"The moon's nearly full," she went on. "Perfect time for harvesting ingredients. I think I might go for a walk in the grounds." She gave him a rather critical once-over. "I suppose you couldn't be bothered though."

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"I just mean that you don't exactly strike me as an outdoorsy sort of person."

This had exactly the effect she'd hoped it would. Professor Snape stood up straighter and threw an indignant cloak over his shoulder. "As it so happens I was headed for a walk in the grounds myself."

"Oh," said Graihagh, as though she didn't really care. "Well, I suppose we could go together."

Snape gave her a rather sharp look and she wondered if he smelled some sort of trick. "I suppose."

Graihagh pulled open the boar's gate and walked into the grounds, rubbing her face with one hand to keep from smiling. Professor Snape walked beside her, far enough away that she couldn't easily talk to him, which she supposed was deliberate.

The eastern sky was striped with pink and the moon was bright enough that she could identify some of the plants and animals she saw. She slipped on her dragonhide gloves and stooped to pick some aconite and a bundle of yarrow, binding the stems with a piece of twine and slipping them into an empty jar. Snape was some distance away, bending down to examine a plant, completely at ease, and she knew she was seeing him as he really was, the part of himself he kept hidden when he was standing behind a teacher's desk or walking down a busy street.

Something about the smell of the damp air reminded her of the Malfoy's garden, and when the fear surged through her she held the jar to her face and breathed it in, counting. She looked over at Professor Snape and reminded herself that nothing could happen as long as he was there.

He was standing with his hand held in front of his face, his forefinger extended, and Graihagh wondered if he'd found some sort of creature. She tucked the jar into her robes and walked over to him. A red-winged butterfly with beautiful peacock markings had landed on his finger.

"Aglais io," he said, never taking his eyes off it.

"The peacock butterfly," Graihagh murmured. "They're used in metamorphosing potions, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to collect it?"

"I suppose I could," said Snape, but he made no move to trap it, and Graihagh didn't blame him. She moved in closer and they watched the rhythmic motion of its wings, the twitch of its antennae. The sun had risen and a cool breeze had blown up and her shaking stopped.

"They're beautiful aren't they?" Graihagh whispered. "I can never bring myself to collect these. I always have to buy them already preserved."

"So do I."

He stiffened and looked sideways at her as though he'd let something slip, but she didn't think there was anything wrong with what he'd said. She pretended not to notice, though she did wonder how he could've joined the Death Eaters when he couldn't even bring himself to capture an insect. But that had been a long time ago and anyway he'd regretted it, he'd told her so himself. He'd lost someone during the first war, she was sure of it. He'd been crying like the world was ending.

The butterfly shot into the air and Graihagh realised they'd been so absorbed in watching it they'd wandered right into each other's personal space, so close their arms were touching. Snape stepped away from her, hands shoved into his pockets and eyes scanning the grounds, nervous and uncomfortable.

"I think I've collected enough ingredients," he said. "Remember to use the coin next time you need to contact me. And only-"

"Only if necessary, I know, Professor."

Professor Snape opened his mouth, to make some sort of retort maybe, then closed it again, scowling. He turned and walked away along the path that led to the Hogwart's gate, and though the grounds didn't scare her so much now that the sun was up, she followed along behind.

She remembered another morning her fifth year, when they'd both been out looking for plants. She'd dropped all her potion's ingredients and with her dad laid off she'd been so sure she wouldn't be able to buy more, but he'd understood and he'd helped her. And yet here he was being downright miserable to her. He was full of contradictions.

But at least she'd had someone to talk to. That was something.

A/N: Sorry about that incomplete sentence in the last chapter, I do proofread every chapter before it goes up but I had 2 different versions of that one. I'll be more careful of that with future chapters!

The safe preparation of aconite by steaming and adding ginseng, licorice, and ginger comes from traditional Chinese medicine and really work. Some types of snake venom actually have pain-relieving properties as powerful as morphine with no side effects. Unfortunately we're a ways off from being able to use them, but I thought that was pretty amazing.

This will probably be my last update before Christmas, so happy holidays to all of you and thanks so much for reading!