This couldn't wait any longer.

You had been in this position before; standing in front of the locked door of the Potions classroom, first thing in the morning on your first day of school. But instead of patiently waiting for your professor to show up as you had done all those years ago, you were pacing the dungeon floor before the ancient wood panel, trying to work the nervous energy out of your system. You would occasionally glance at the watch you had borrowed from one of your girlfriends, waiting until you felt it would be appropriate to knock. The sun had barely risen, after all. But you just couldn't stand it.

You had nearly accosted Professor Snape after the Welcoming Feast last night, but had managed to restrain yourself. Barely. The rest of your evening had been spent tossing and turning in your four-poster, burning questions and desires churning round and round in your head like a carrousel of anxiety. The second the alarm on your borrowed watch had gone off at six o'clock, you were up like a shot. You forced yourself to dress carefully, to go down to the lavatory and brush your teeth and wash your face. But that was the extent of your preparation before you grabbed your school bag and dashed down to the dungeons.

He was probably up already. Not that he struck you as an early riser; indeed, the man constantly appeared to be in desperate need of a good night's sleep. But he also seemed the type who would wake up early simply to get a head start on getting the day over with. Sort of like how you felt right now. You had been anticipating this moment for almost three weeks, and the tension only mounted the longer you waited. And you didn't want to wait any more. Not when this was finally within your grasp.

You had just made the decision that it was time to knock, when you heard the rattle of the door lock. Freezing midway through a turn in your pacing, the classroom door finally flew open and you were face to face with a very tired and disgruntled looking Professor Snape. His footsteps stuttered to a halt at the sight of you standing there alone in the dungeon hallway, and his annoyed expression faltered to concern for a brief moment as he took in your disheveled appearance. There was a beat of silence then, as you both simply looked at each other. It seemed as though you had lost your voice, suddenly…

"Miss Goode," Snape greeted you slowly, carefully, like one might croon to a cornered animal. "It's… rather early. Not even seven o'clock yet. Are you quite alright?" And you realized that how fretful you felt on the inside, must have been reflected on the outside. You were sure there were dark smudges under your eyes (like his) and you were certain your hair was a flaxen mess of out-of-control curls. Your fingers fidgeted with the pouch of crystals that still hung from your satchel, a nervous gesture you'd never grown out of, even now at the age of seventeen.

"Can we talk?" you asked abruptly, completely ignoring his inquiry to your wellbeing, wincing at the hint of desperation that laced your newly regained voice. But you didn't really care right now, because you were desperate. Three weeks! "P-Please… Sir?"

Snape considered you and your request, appearing much more awake and alert now as he looked you over. With the barest hint of wariness gracing the lines of his face, he stood aside in the doorway to let you through, and you visibly relaxed as he accepted your request. God, finally. You nodded your thanks as you slipped past him. You didn't wait while he shut the classroom door again, instead striding purposefully into his office, where you summoned the worn, brown leather chair you had become so fond of over the years.

You were already rummaging through your school bag when Snape arrived, and he seemed momentarily taken aback to see you already settled into his spare office chair. Though whether he was surprised you knew how to summon it, or was impressed that you managed to summon it at all, given your track record with charms… he spared you the indignity of distinguishing which. Taking a seat himself, he watched you expectantly, his fingers laced together on his desk as you continued to search the depths of your bag.

The first thing you extracted was a bundle of red pens, and you paused your frantic hunt as you stared down at them, rolling them slowly against your palm. This was it. This would be the last time you gave him this routine gift, this customary symbol of the beginning of your unlikely friendship. Was this the beginning of the end? Would you ever see him again after you graduated from Hogwarts? Your chest felt tight, and you had to force yourself to move, to speak, because he was watching you so closely. You didn't look him in the eye as you gently placed the bundle onto the edge of his desk.

"I promise, I didn't force my way into your office just to give you these," you assured him with a shaky laugh. You glanced up long enough to watch him arch a brow, and you managed a wobbly smile as he took up the gift with silent acceptance. Returning your attention back to your bag, you really had to swallow down your roiling emotions now, as your fingers brushed the real reason you were here.

The envelope was frayed and torn along the edges, the ink on the front displaying your Enfield address was smudged, and the emerald green wax seal on the back was cracked and chipping. You'd handled it more than was strictly necessary, but you absolutely could not help it if you'd tried, which to be fair, you hadn't. You'd read it several times a day since you'd received it nearly a month ago, just to constantly reaffirm its reality; that it was a real thing that you had received, and not a figment of your fantasies. You were almost reluctant to allow it to leave your hands now. But while its physical weight could confirm its reality, only Snape would be able to verify its authenticity.

Your hands trembled as you placed the letter on Snape's desk, sliding it towards him before hesitantly pulling your hand away from it. "I received that over the summer," you explained, your voice shaking as minutely as your hands. "I'd… I'd like for…" you cleared your throat as your voice cracked, wanting to close your eyes to hide your shame, but refusing to take your eyes off of the envelope. "I wanted you to read it. I just want to know if it's… legit?"

Snape appeared marginally confused as he leaned forward, taking the envelope between his fingers and pulling it toward him. Between the early hour and your solemnity, you couldn't blame him for the bewilderment. But he also looked curious, slowly observing the worn down paper and smeared ink, turning the envelope over in his hands. It was only when he spotted the wax seal that he betrayed any sort of emotion, both of his eyebrows lifting in surprise. You felt your heartbeat quicken as he hastened to extract the letter. Four smaller slips of paper flopped out onto his desk, two pink and two green, made of heavier cardstock than the letter, and Snape's shock only intensified as his mouth fell open slightly. You were literally on the edge of your seat as he finally unfolded the letter.

You knew the whole thing by heart at this point, and you watched with bated breath as he finally began to read.

Dear Miss Gwendolyn Goode,

Allow me first to congratulate you on being Hogwarts next rising star in the field of potions. I have it on good authority that you are well on your way towards surpassing your predecessors, having received the third highest O.W.L. in the subject in the last century of Hogwarts history. At this rate, there's a chance you'll pass your own professor in N.E.W.T.'s! (Though I bet he won't admit it!)

I'm always on the lookout for up and coming young minds, and would like to extend my personal invitation for you to attend the next annual gathering of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. Anybody who's anybody in the field will be there, and it could be a perfect opportunity for you to make connections and help you find your way once you graduate.

It's a two day event set to take place next March at The Atticus Hotel in London; the days of which are filled with lectures and presentations about the newest potion advancements, but it's at the after parties where the real fun takes place. I've enclosed two passes, as well as two tickets to my own personal little soirée to take place on Saturday evening.

Do try to talk your parents, as well as your professors, into allowing you to attend. The second pass and ticket is for your chaperone. If you require assistance, I would be happy to write to any of them on your behalf. Build up a good résumé over the next 7 months, and you may very well find your future at this event. I'm looking forward to finally getting to meet you. Feel free to write back at this address if you have any concerns.

Happy Brewing!

Professor H. E. F. Slughorn

Your fingers danced over the crystal pouch, the silk fabric worn and pilled from years of handling. Amethyst for protection. Citrine for success. Agate for anxiety. You didn't know if any of that was accurate but you wanted to pretend that it was right now. You were counting your breaths as you numbly watched Snape read the letter a second time, before lifting the four tickets and scrutinizing them closely. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he slipped everything back into the worn envelope, before folding his hands atop his desk. His face betrayed nothing. You couldn't breathe.

"I believe congratulations are in order," he offered with a smirk.

Your entire body lurched, flopping bonelessly against the leather armchair as you stared at your professor in utter disbelief. "It's real?" you croaked, feeling stupid and unable to process. "It's not… not a prank or something?" For weeks you had feared that it wasn't real. That you'd been had. That some old codger was pulling your leg and was having a grand old laugh at your expense. You'd never once heard of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. It sounded made up. So did the name 'Slughorn' for that matter. But then again most things in the wizarding world sounded made up.

Snape almost looked sympathetic as you voiced your incredulity, but he was quick to assuage your fears. "Horace Slughorn was the Potions Master here at Hogwarts before I was," he explained easily, smoothing his thumb over the chipped wax seal on the back of the envelope. "And I know quite factually that he's on the membership board for the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. It is indeed 'legit' as you put it. And quite an honor."

You were on the verge of swooning. You'd only ever fainted once in your life, when you were required to have blood drawn for a medical examination when you were ten. The fuzzy, cottony feeling in your head at this very moment reminded you of that unfortunate event, and you curled forward, placing your face in your hands and your elbows upon your knees.

It was real. Real! Your entire future was contained in a single parchment envelope, was stamped onto green and pink tickets, was waiting for you in a hotel in London. You felt warm droplets slip between your fingers as your shoulders began to tremble with the implications of all this. Every fear and doubt you'd ever had about your future was bubbling to the surface, but now you had something you hadn't possessed before; opportunity. The potential for the rest of your life had been delivered by owl right to your doorstep.

"Keep it together, Miss Goode," came a deep, soothing voice, from oh, so far away. You remembered then, that you were sitting in your Professor's office, and he'd been quiet for an awfully long time until now. Underneath the fear and the dread and the utter elation was a swell of deep affection for this man. He'd let your high degree of sensitivity, that is to say, your penchant for crying at the drop of a hat, slide on multiple occasions. Today would be no different, it seemed, and you were grateful. You quickly wiped your face with your sleeve as you raised your head, and you could hear the blood physically rush past your ears. When your eyes focused, Snape was still there, watching you patiently, his eyes creased with concern, but his voice was firm as he addressed you. "There's a lot to unpack here," he explained, tapping his fingers against the envelope. "I assume you wish to attend?"

The unexpected burst of giggles that escaped you seem to catch you both off guard. You were such a mess, unsure of whether to laugh or cry, but your addled brain had clearly decided on both. "Of course!" you confirmed, wiping a fresh round of tears from your cheeks as you nodded eagerly.

Snape still seemed wary of your emotional outbursts, but the corner of his lips quirked into a reluctant grin. "Good girl," he murmured, and you felt your face flush a little hotter than it already was. You tried to get a hold of yourself, counting your breaths, rubbing your face, trying to get some feeling back into it besides just the heat. "Have you received permission from your mother to do so?" he questioned, and that finally got you to sober up. Snape was all business, and the tone of his voice alone was grounding. The more he spoke, the clearer you felt.

Nodding more slowly, you finally settled your hands into your lap, feeling that you had at least schooled your features into something passing for 'calm and collected'. "Yes" you confirmed, remembering how tightly your mother had hugged you as she'd read the letter over your shoulder. While you had been dumbfounded, your mother had been ecstatic. She'd never had any doubts as to whether the invitation was real or not, and she'd encouraged you seize the chance that fate or the universe or whatever had offered up to you.

At Snape's continued silence, and the slow creeping of one of his eyebrows, you were a little unsure of the subtext you were supposed to be receiving. Realization only struck once Snape rolled his eyes and he waved his hand in an expectant turning motion for you to continue. "Oh! I can… get her to write a letter? To… To Professor Sprout?" you ventured, but he waved his hand one more time, and you wracked your brain. "And… Dumbledore?" Snape nodded and pointed his finger at you in a gesture that said 'bingo'.

"I think that would be wise, yes," Snape agreed, as if you had come up with the idea all by yourself. Your turn to roll your eyes in exasperation, but his teasing was welcome at this point. It was a familiar landmark in unknown terrain. He pressed on. "You must be 17 by now, which makes you as good as an adult in the eyes of the Ministry. But since this will be taking place during the school year, and you'll likely need to take time off to attend, you'll also need to procure a chaperone to go with you. Perhaps your mother?"

Your mouth fell open at this. You knew you were more or less a legal adult now. You'd actually be 18 in December, which would make you an adult by muggle standards as well. And while Slughorn's letter and the extra passes had clearly indicated that you would certainly be traveling with a chaperone… never once had you considered bringing your mother. And you wondered if maybe she should have been your first choice, as opposed to…

You hoped that the redness burning on your cheeks could be taken as the lingering effect of your earlier tears. Twisting the folds of your skirt between your fingers, you had to look away from him as you stuttered, "I… I was rather hoping that… y…you…" You couldn't finish the thought out loud. Snape had been the only option to spring to mind when you'd received the letter. It seemed so obvious then. He'd been your guiding light every step of the way before now; why wouldn't he accompany you on the next leg of the journey?

There was a lull of silence then, where you shifted uncomfortably in your chair, hoping he wasn't waiting for you to look up at him. You were already humiliated, you didn't need to face his contemptuous gaze as well. But when he finally spoke, his voice was neither contemptuous nor mocking. It was mostly unsure. As if he found your suggestion rather dubious. "Me?"

At least he wasn't outright rejecting the idea. Swallowing hard, you spared him a quick glance before shrugging your shoulder in a poor charade of indifference. "Is that alright?" you asked, your voice cracking again, and you closed your eyes with a wince.

Silence again, and this time you did manage to peer up at him, prying your eyes open in hopes of gauging his reaction. And you were surprised to find him considering you quite seriously, his bottom lip pinched between his thumb and forefinger, a gesture you had observed often when he appeared to be in deep thought. And that made your heart thud nervously. What was he extrapolating from your apparent desire for him… to, uh, be your chaperone? It wasn't until this moment that you realized that your suggestion could have been misconstrued as something verging on inappropriate. You were drawing breath to launch into an explanation of your innocent intent, when his hand flicked away from his mouth, his palm raised to the ceiling in an act of nonchalance.

"I suppose it does make sense for a master to attend with his apprentice."

Your mind came screeching to a halt as you stared at him. Breathing, blinking, all secondary biological functions now as your brain used all of its power in an attempt to process his words into meaning. "A… Apprentice?" you stuttered dumbly, as though it were some foreign word you only vaguely knew the definition of.

"Certainly," he confirmed coolly, the barest hint of a grin on his thin mouth. He spoke casually, as if you were merely discussing routine homework and not the potential course of your entire career. "An apprenticeship is exactly what you need to bulk up that résumé. Most don't apprentice under a Potion's Master until after they've graduated. It would help you stand out from the pack."

You were shaking your head in disbelief, still unsure if your body had resumed its natural functions yet. You could barely feel your chest rising and falling. "You want me to be your…" You swallowed hard, throat clicking against your dry tongue. You drew your brows together in bewilderment. "I didn't… didn't know you took on apprentices," you stated frankly. In all your time here at Hogwarts, and indeed, all the time you'd spent in the dungeons, you'd never once seen another student act as apprentice under Snape. It was something you never considered before, because you thought it was something he never did.

At that, he almost looked embarrassed, like he'd hoped you'd overlook that tiny detail. You'd never seen color reach those high, pallid cheeks before. "Well, to be fair, I don't," he admitted ruefully, his eyes sliding away from yours. "Truthfully, no one has been up to my standards before now."

Before you.

Your lashes fluttered, and you could feel fresh, hot tears clinging to them. This was too much. This was all too much to take in right now. You'd been on edge for three weeks already. Now that everything was coming to fruition, you were being handed more than you ever thought possible. More than you thought you deserved. And clearly more than your exhausted emotional state could handle. You pressed one hand over your eyes in an attempt to shield yourself from him, both physically, and mentally. You didn't want him peeking into your head right this moment. This went far beyond tutoring or proofreading essays. He'd been invested in your future since fifth year, but you never once imagined that he would willingly give you this gift, this advantage, over everyone else. Was it your raw talent? You eagerness to advance in the field in order to help others? Or was this the result of the rapport that you had been building for nearly seven years?

"Stay with me, Miss Goode," came the warm wash of soothing baritone, and you hiccupped into your hand. You nodded silently in reply, but you didn't remove your hand from your eyes until you were entirely sure your face was no longer crumpled with unbidden emotion. Gasping in a deep breath, you mopped up your cheeks with your sleeves once more. He was watching you, and his eyes were soft, so soft. And though he'd given you this gift with the sort of flippancy dictated by his acerbic personality, it was clear that the magnitude of his action was not lost on you, and thus your gratitude was not lost on him.

"I did not wish to overwhelm you," he explained quietly, and you allowed his voice to gently pull you back into the present. "We don't have to discuss all of this right now. Come see me tomorrow after classes, once you've got your schedule. Then we can go over the details of your apprenticeship, as well as the Society of Potioneers. Is that amenable to you?"

You exhaled a ragged sigh of relief, the tension slowly receding from your body like low tide. "Yes, sir," you conceded, nodding your head slowly. He was giving you time to process all of this. To let it sink in and to come back bright eyed tomorrow. You swallowed thickly, unsure what to say, besides, "Thank you, sir."

Snape waved his hand, dismissing your sentiment. "Don't thank me," he said quietly. "Your own skill and persistence got you here. You ought to be proud of yourself."

You smiled weakly, feeling your throat squeeze tightly again. Unwilling to risk speech, you simply nodded, dabbing at the corners of your eyes with the cuff of your sleeve. You wished you could go back to bed now. Your lack of sleep last night (nay, for the last three weeks) seemed to be catching up with you all at once, and both your body and mind were fatigued. There was comfortable silence then, as you ruminated in your own exhaustion, and Snape regarded you with quiet interest. After a beat, he picked up the envelope from Slughorn and tapped the edge of it against the wood of his desk to get your attention.

"Do you mind if I hold on to this?" he asked, and you shook your head mutely. It would probably be safer with him anyway. He nodded at your assent, and slipped the envelope into one of the inner pockets of his robes. "I'd like to discuss it with Dumbledore. All of it, if that's alright with you. He will be the one responsible for making any decisions or arrangements regarding the Society meeting." Snape seemed bitter about that, his eyes narrowed in his usual sneer that you knew wasn't aimed at you. "And I rather believe that he is the 'good authority' responsible for this anyway. He and Slughorn were always chummy."

You straightened up a little, your tired eyes widening slightly. Dumbledore was… what? Gossiping about you? "You… You think so?" you asked reluctantly, wondering how Dumbledore was even aware that you existed. You weren't sure you'd ever personally spoken to the man in your life. Even when you'd decked DeJarnette back in third year, McGonagall had been the one to handle the whole thing.

"I do," Snape confirmed, and you were curious to see that color high on his cheeks again. "The Headmaster is… well aware of your talent." Color suffused your face as well now, as you put together that Dumbledore knew you existed… because Snape had told him about you. And you felt your stomach flutter at the notion that you were a topic of private conversation. You looked away demurely; if he could let your embarrassment slide, you could return the favor. "You are on the verge of beating my N.E.W.T. score, after all."

Your eyes snapped right back to his at that, wider than ever, your previously drained state vanishing. "Wha-! No way!" you babbled uncouthly, but Snape merely lifted his eyebrows, a tight little grin tugging at his mouth. "That… That's impossible!"

"It is entirely possible," he chided, rising from his chair as the school bells began to ring, signaling the start of breakfast. You followed his lead, standing aside as he made his way for the door. "You have a distinct advantage over me when I was your age, after all."

You drew your eyebrows together with suspicion as he held the door open, offering for you to exit first. You didn't even flinch when he settled his hand onto the small of your back as you passed. "And what would that be?" you questioned tentatively, looking over your shoulder so as to keep your eyes on him.

Snape merely shrugged a shoulder, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You've got me for a teacher."

You stopped in your tracks, mouth falling open at the astronomical levels of sass you'd just experienced, and you didn't hold back the incredulous laugh that escaped you. He returned your mirth with a smirk of his own as he patted your back lightly, his tone shifting right back to business. "Go to breakfast," he instructed, nudging you towards the classroom door. "Get your schedule and come back tomorrow evening. We've got quite a lot of work to do in your final year, Miss Goode. I hope you're ready for it."

Your skeptical smile morphed into something more genuine at his words, at his touch, and you nodded as you made your way across the Potions classroom. Snape did not follow, but you hadn't really expected him to, lingering instead by his office door. Once you'd reached the door to the dungeons, you turned around, hand hovering over the handle. "I'll do my best," you promised him, a promise you'd made to him before. "Thank you, Professor." He nodded his assent before shooing you off, and your smile stayed firmly on your face the entire trek through the dungeons.