Snape was about to end this day's class for the third year Gryffindors and Slytherins. He was suffering from a splitting headache after that sorry little excuse for a student, Neville Longbottom, had managed to blow up his cauldron - again. With an exasperated sigh, Snape heaved himself to his feet to give his class their next assignments. And boy, they were in for some heavy duty ones, because at the moment he felt less than charitable towards his students.

The Gryffindor students, relieved to no end that Potions class had was over, were already busy gathering their books and quills and some quickly shoved these items in their bags without ceremony. Obviously, they thought that they could diminish their amount of homework if they were able to quickly escape from his class. Well, they were wrong. About to give today's final verdict, Snape opened his mouth, but only too quickly shut it again when he saw Granger's desperate attempt to stuff her potions book back in her bag, along with all her other books, which no doubt - no doubt, came from the library. But in her struggle to neatly organise all of her books, a little note escaped from one of her books. And Snape, with his sharp perception of even the smallest details, was able to translate her minute scribbling into a reminder to look up some more information about something called ... Scharear's fate and Achilles' Spear?

Before Miss Granger had the chance to retrieve the stray note, Snape beat her to it by a hair and picked it up from the floor. Angry glances were cast at Hermione and she could feel the heat rising in her neck. It was common knowledge that Snape didn't think much of the newly adapted course at Hogwarts. She could almost feel that his eyes were cast upon her and involuntarily she shuddered under his inquisitive gaze.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? Retrieve information about Scharear's Fate and Achilles' Spear? What kind of nonsense is this? Is this what you have to learn in Professor Heartilly's class?"

The way Snape pronounced the noun Professor, showed his ridicule towards this - in his opinion - unworthy title.

"Well, class, you can tell her, that as the head of Slytherin House, I will not allow my students to fill their heads with useless nonsense. You'd all do better to spend your time on a more useful subject. Like Potions or Defense against the Dark Arts. Or even Transfiguration, however useless that is, as well."

Snape leered at his students and, satisfied, he watched his students cower away as he dismissed them. Relieved to no end that the torment was over, the students escaped from his class and hurried to the relative safety of Professor Heartilly's class. When his dungeon was his own again, Snape allowed himself to show any proof of a human nature and he gently stroked his temples with his long lean fingers to lessen his suffering. Damn that woman!

What was she thinking anyway to teach such utter nonsense. No, what was Dumbledore thinking when he hired her? With thoughtful steps, Snape returned to his desk and opened one of his drawers. He rummaged through it's contents until he found what he was looking for - an old edition of Dark Matters, written by Lierin Heartilly.

To his own abomination, he had to admit that he had succumbed to his curiosity about Heartilly's "exciting books she has written during her travels all over the world" and he had bought one of her books in Hogsmeade. As an expert in the Dark Arts, he was curious about what she had to say in her book about "dark matters." He wasn't surprised to learn that the book was filled with nothing but myths and tales about 'lost' artifacts that in his vocabulary would be put under 'White Magic' rather than 'Black Magic'. Honestly, if Heartilly really meant to teach the students something that could help them in the process of growing up, she certainly had to teach them something useful. However, Snape had found himself enticed with a certain artifact that even he had thought to be a legend.

But if it were nothing but a legend, how could it be that he was now staring at a picture of it?

The picture showed the artifact hovering in the embrace of its protection,

a large wrought-iron spiral. It was the legendary knife of Bia, supposed to give it's owner protection, strength and health- if used correctly. Snape let his fingers lovingly caress the smooth surface of the picture in the book. He had to hand it to Heartilly, among the usual crap, she had actually found something of incredible value. The only thing that prevented him from running down to her and beg her on his knees to tell him were he could find that knife, was his pride. Suddenly Snape closed the book again with an aggravated sigh. He didn't need anything from her. She could keep her secret; he wasn't interested. He knew the knife existed, that was enough. And maybe, just maybe, if he could just find out where the knife was hidden, he would go after it during one of the holiday breaks.

Curiously, Snape opened the book again, at the page with the picture of Bia's knife. He studied the picture thoughtfully and he couldn't help but think that somehow, somewhere, sometime, he had seen that knife, held that knife in his hand and used it… But how, where, when? A faint memory presented itself to him, someone handed him the knife and closed his fingers around it. He could still remember the sensation of holding the blade in his hands. The steel wasn't cold as you would expect, nor was it heavy. It just felt right. But before he could look up and see who this person was who gave him the knife, the memory fled from his mind and Snape shook his head wearily. That never could have happened. Snape furrowed his eyebrows, could it?