Terrible. Terrible night, like all the others this week. This school will carry him to a premature grave. That traitor Dumbledore. He had dragged him into a stupid, dangerous adventure. Forced, day after day, to endure vile and savage Death Eaters alongside him, practically threw him to the Dark Lord's mercy. He made him close, dangerously close, to the Chosen Boy, forced to teach him, to talk with him. Now it could inconveniently come to light and cost him so much. Though, the boy was gone now. It was all gone. Before he could peacefully engage in his good old laboratory with his adorable potions, sit with the headmaster and the other House Heads at tea, quietly teach the students the finest ephemeral science – no, not science – art of potions… What was left now? Only horror, this eternal joyless horror. Death Eaters in the day and Dementors at night. The students didn't wish to study at all; most of them never returned to the school. Even his own Slytherins have completely lost their sharpness of mind, refinement, and desire to be the best. Instead they have become uncontrollable, embittered, ready to fly off and commit the most desperate and indigestible wickedness at any moment. And in such dark times he should be responsible for all these lost, feral children, whose parents were either in prison or serving the Dark Lord.

Teachers hid in their offices and didn't talk to each other. No one trusted anyone, and especially him. Because he was an outsider, because he was a Slytherin, because he was a close, very close, acquaintance with 'He-Who-Must…' But how was it his fault? That was on Dumbledore, the old fox, the slyest of foxes, who arranged for him such a life, and then shuffled off his mortal coil. Left him in complete perplexity under the thickening clouds, under the Dark Mark putting constant pressure on the soul of every sensitive wizard.

A knock at the door... unbearable. Even at night he could get no sleep. It's this castle. A gloomy, gradually dying castle, which itself never slumbered nor allowed others to rest. Yes, yes, wait a second… Straighten the slipped down nightcap, or it's pretty hard to see anything. Where did he put his wand – mind is fitful and uneasy… Ahh, there it is… Lumos! Open the door, squint at the torchlight from the corridor. What is it? Why at night? No, no, I wasn't sleeping anyway. What's the point of falling asleep, right?

"Excuse me, Professor, I need the keys..."

"Of course, just a moment… Why don't you cut your own?"

"I don't have time."

"Why do I have time for everything?" it's just from fatigue, it's a teaching habit. Though, it doesn't matter.

"Because you are a great wizard. Sorry for disturbing you, Professor…"

Go, go, all of you go…Yes, he's a great wizard, he does know that. Always these nasty little boys... they are everywhere. The whole castle is packed with the most incorrigible of the most incorrigible. Not even the slightest hint of peace. Lie down or stay up? Lie down, perhaps. Though, all the same, it won't be possible to fall asleep until the rumpus behind the wall stops. Salazar, give him strength! Sleep, sleep… A knock at the door.

Nightcap, wand, Lumos… What?.. Oh, no, wrong door. Oh, don't knock again! I can hear, can hear. My head is killing me… What time is it now? Unlock the door to the laboratory.

"I can't find the eyes of swamp ghouls, where did you put them?"

Eyes of ghouls… Okay, hang on a second…

"I thought you had –" a weak objection.

"They are still rotting through."

Merlin, why might they be needed in the middle of the night? Can't imagine. Don't know. Don't want to think. Impossible not to give. Maybe he can say he couldn't find them? What's the point? Doomed:

"Hold on, I'll light the candles –" no, it's definitely after midnight. Tomorrow he needs to get up so early… or rather today. Why doesn't anybody sleep in this crazy school? That's why they are so irascible in the daytime…

"No, there's no need to do it. Lumos…"

And everything is like that – uncomfortable, awkward, annoying. Why so, why without the light, in the dim glow of the wands…look in the middle of the night…for some kind of eyes… Salazar! Here we go, now he is tangled up in his nightshirt, untangled, stubbed his foot against a cauldron.

"Watch your step, Professor."

It's you, Professor, watch your step. Not everyone can see in the dark better than during the day. What kind of potion it is to not sleep at all?

"I'll write you the recipe."

No, they are not here. And not there either, I assure you! We'll find them. What's the hurry?

"They were floating in a green jar…that used to have the gillyweed."

"Yes, I remember the jar. It's somewhere here, where else can it be? Well, shine over there, behind that cauldron – I can't reach it myself. Is it them? What a joy! Also a bit immature…"

"They will do."

"Certainly, those two are almost ready."

"Yes, I can see."

Is that all, finally? Good. Of course, no problem. I wasn't sleeping. Anytime.

"Sorry for disturbing you again, Professor…"

Okay – sleep, sleep, sleep. The laboratory is locked. Should check the external door once again – if a Dementor wanders in at night it won't be pleasant. Why do his best students grow up as such notorious scoundrels? Cold. The house-elves got lazy and barely see to the fireplaces. Certainly don't clean the chimneys at all… He'll have to mention it… The last thing he needs right now is to catch a cold… A knock at the door.

Nightcap, wand, Lumos. Which door was it? Yes, from the corridor. Okay, one moment, I'm coming.

"Sorry for disturbing you, Professor…"

Again his students. Why does everyone here have such bleak, haunted eyes? But now, at least, can I light the candles?

"Yes, Professor, perhaps you'd better."

"Well, come in," the corridor reeks of Dementors. Someone's Patronus is dwindling behind the door.

Have entered. Three from Gryffindor. Classmates of the Chosen Boy. Two young men: one is Weasley, the other – Longbottom, and a girl – a former prefect, a very bright student – Miss Granger. Oh, yes, now she must be called by her first name. Very unusual. The boys are confused and pale, by all appearances haven't been abed today. The girl is even paler. As she came in, she was immediately seated in a chair. Her hands are wrapped in a sheet; the sheet is covered in blood. Hastily tightening the gown belt:

"Hermione, what happened to you? I think you should visit Madam Pomfrey… should I walk you to her?"

"No, sir," Longbottom is more serious than ever, "Madam Pomfrey is unlikely to help us."

Weasley is assisting the girl to unwind her hands.

What is this?! How… Who did this to you?!

"Professor, do you know what this is?" hope mixed with despair in her voice.

Scary even to approach. This school is worse than Azkaban.

"It looks like some kind of dark magic… to be honest… most likely it's caused by a potion. Very dark magic, forbidden," (though, now there is no forbidden magic), "have you drunk anything suspicious, Miss Granger?" …called a Mudblood 'Miss'… Well, never mind, they haven't heard…

On the girl's lips appears a strange smile – a true sign of forthcoming hysteria.

"Yes, Professor, I have."

Ask or not ask? Probably better not. Don't want to know.

"All right. Wait, let me think what can be done. Do you know anything about that potion? Its name, ingredients?"

"No."

Okay, apparently there's no point in locking the laboratory for the night… Going back there. Children are watching him with fascination, without taking their eyes off him. The boys are trying to comfort the girl, but failing miserably. What can he do for her? Why would he know how to treat this abomination?

"Here, drink this. It will stop the pain. You can keep the whole phial. Taking a sip once a day should be enough."

"Once. A. Day?" Miss Granger's repeating slowly. "So this can't be removed?" her lips are already trembling.

"I think they'll disappear by themselves. This is…" (how can he put this gently – a torture, an excruciation…) "a special sorcery. The spikes will go away for a while, then appear again," (more and more often) "the main thing is to prevent you from feeling too much pain. Take a bezoar just in case. Here we go… Miss Granger, I'll try to come up with something, but it'll take some time. I can't find a solution straight away… Perhaps you could appeal to the Headmaster, he… knows more about the application aspects of dark magic. As a matter of fact, I've always been interested only in the beauty of the theory. But that's not the point right now…"

All three together:

"No!"

"No, don't wake up Professor Snape," Longbottom begged.

"Oh, I'm sure he hasn't gone to bed yet –"

"Please, Professor Slughorn," Hermione turns completely white, "don't even tell the Headmaster that we've visited you! If possible, don't tell anyone. Professor McGonagall will worry about me, but still won't be able to help. If even you can't…"

"There, there, you shouldn't be ashamed. It's not your fault that you…got sick. But of course I won't tell anyone, since you ask. Indeed, the usual methods are unlikely to help here."

Not sure anything at all will help.

The children politely say goodnight, thank him, and head to the door – the boys support the girl. Weasley looks out to check the corridor for Dementors. It's all clear…

"Thank you, Professor. Sorry for disturbing you, Professor…" the trio melt into the darkness.

Close the door. Bolt it tightly, tightly. His hands are trembling. Go to the laboratory. There, in a locker, was a potion. To see such a thing at night – how can he sleep? A quarter of the phial… no, better a half. Back to bed. It's freezing. How can it be treated, really? 'Wiggenweld Potion'? 'Morta aqua'? Why do his best students..?

Turn to the other side… Again he will have nightmares! Impossible, inconceivable to live like this. Silence, the Dementors sigh in the corridor...

Nightcap, wand, Lumos.

He's got a few hours before dawn, he'll make it.