September 2

"...and furthermore, I expect even the most mentally challenged dunderhead in here to scrape at least an 'Acceptable' on the OWL, or you will have my..."

CRASH.

Severus stopped talking and scowled up at the ceiling, through which the sounds of chairs scraping against stone floor could be heard, as well as a general degree of panic and excitement. He cleared has throat and tried to put Hannah-- he refused to call her Aislinn now that he knew who she was-- out of his mind. Hannah and her foolish clumsiness. Careless and... He cleared his throat and picked up where he had left off. "...my extreme displeasure. For some of you..." RATTLE-RATTLE-BANG! He looked up at the ceiling again and sighed. Bloody hell, but he hoped no one was getting killed up there. "For some of you, this will be our last year together. For many of you, I would expect, as I take only..." RATTLE CRASH BANG CRASH CREEEEEAK SHATTER BANG. Severus slammed his hand onto his desk and hissed at his students. "Your instructions are on the boards, do try not to blow anything up while I go check on Miss Ichalia." He waved his wand at the board and the instructions to a fairly benign potion appeared, and he stalked out of the room, his robes billowing behind him.

Up the stairs again, and across the corridor, around the corner he stalked until he had come to a halt in front of Hannah's classroom. He didn't bother to knock before he flung the door open, letting it bang against the wall. "Can you possibly make a little more noise?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "There are those of us who spend our class periods trying to teach." Having exhausted his biting comments, Severus took the opportunity to look around, and regretted the remarks. It was not, as he had believed, Hannah who was making the noise, but Peeves, gleefully throwing books and chairs across the room. Hannah stood directly in front of him, her arms crossed and a sour look on her face as he floated through the room doing somersaults while clapping two erasers together, leaving little clouds of chalk dust all over the room. "Peeves!" Severus snapped, and the Poltergeist stopped mid-air, upside down, to look at him.

"Hello, Snivellus," the ghost said with a grin.

With considerable effort, Severus ignored that. That was what that blasted Potter and his sidekick Sirius had called him. Snivellus. It was usually enough to set him seething, but he was determined to keep his temper. He folded his arms. "I am sure that the Headmaster will be pleased to know that you have been disrupting classes," he spoke softly, "and certainly the long-standing agreement to allow you to remain here will be... unaffected... by such behaviour." Peeves drifted down slowly until he was eye-level with Severus, which might have been mistaken for submission had the Potion Master not been savvy to his ploys.

"THBLBLBLBLP!" Peeves blew a loud, wet raspberry and skittered off, laughing and rattling the armor as he went by. Severus bent down and picked up the book Peeves had dropped, and handed it back to Hannah; that was the closest she would ever get to an apology from him.

"Threaten to report him to Dumbledore," Severus advised, turning on his heel. "And mean it." With that, he closed the door, hard, and stalked back to the dungeons, muttering under his breath about the poltergeist.

By the end of the day, Severus had suffered through no fewer than three classes with Gryffindor students, and his mood was sour enough to curdle milk. One hour until dinner time, and then, hopefully, he could manage a few moments' peace and quiet until his first detention of the year arrived. A Gryffindor-- no surprise there-- who had thought himself above the rules regarding the lighting of fires under cauldrons. Dinner time was always one of Severus' least favorite times of the day, as the students always all seemed to be overly active and loud at the end of the day. He had never dreamed that he would become one of the worst-paid babysitters of all times. With that happy though sustaining him, he mounted the stairs and wound his way to the staff room, hoping for a moment or two completely alone. To his dismay (or perhaps his enjoyment, depending on which part of his brain one asked), the staff room was not already empty. Hannah Carlisle (he could not bring himself to think of her as Aislinn Ichalia, not now) had draped herself over a wingback chair, her head resting against one arm, her feet dangling over the other, her eyes closed.

Severus shut the door softly, and approached her slowly, watching her. It was an easy enough task for him, legilimancy, and he slipped into her mind, partially out of idle curiosity and partially because she was there and he could. Memories flashed before his eyes, disjointed and fleeting, one ending abruptly and another cresting before the first had even died. Perhaps most disturbing were the pages and pages of text that seemed to be rolling in her mind, which he could actually have read had they stayed still long enough for him to focus on any particular word. He frowned slightly as she seemed to shuffle through book after book, and then, as suddenly as the thoughts had begun, they stopped.

"Good afternoon to you too, Professor Snape," she said without even opening her eyes.

He was momentarily taken aback, and had she opened her eyes at that point, she might have noted that he'd had the grace to look slightly abashed. "Good afternoon, Miss Carlisle," he replied curtly, moving to a vacant chair and seating himself, opening his book onto his knee.

"Ichalia," she corrected, and he looked at her again. Her eyes were still closed.

"Your pardon?" he asked, and this time she did open one eye, through which she regarded him skeptically.

"My name," she said slowly, enunciating each word, "is Aislinn Ichalia. I have not been Hannah Carlisle for quite some time." She closed her eye again.

"Well, whatever you prefer to be called, I must confess I have a difficult time with nicknames. I..." he trailed off as she had reached behind herself, her eyes closed again, and he found his eyes following her hand to her handbag, which she opened, reached inside of, and removed her wallet. She tossed it in his general direction. "What's this?" he asked.

"Open it," she invited, opening an eye again. This time he noted that her eye was slightly clouded, and he thought perhaps she had a headache again and was not simply being impolite. "Take your pick," she told him. "Passport, credit cards, magic license... Look at any of the, my name," she emphasized slowly, "is Aislinn Ichalia." She closed her eyes again, and he thought momentarily that she was very trusting to leave her wallet in his hands with her eyes closed. Out of curiosity, he did open it, and sure to her word, card after card in it said 'Aislinn Ichalia', with her photo on them.

"Fine," he sighed, snapping the wallet shut and leaning forward to drop it on her stomach. "Miss Ichalia."

"You may call me Aislinn if you like."

"Aislinn then! Whatever your name is! I don't even know how I bloody well got into this conversation." He readjusted his book and went back to reading, but he kept one eye on her. She didn't move. She didn't open her eyes, she didn't put her wallet back in her purse, she didn't even bat away a fly when it landed on her nose. After a moment, he sighed. "Are you feeling all right, Miss Ca- Ichalia," he amended hastily as her eye opened a crack. It closed again when he corrected himself.

"I have a headache," she replied, in the same tone with which she might have told him it was nearly dinner time. Severus was of the opinion that most people fished for sympathy when they did not feel well, but there was no indication that Hannah (he still couldn't think of her as Aislinn, even if he did manage to make himself call her that) was fishing for anything. He had asked a question, and she had supplied an answer.

He was quiet for a moment too, but he couldn't help watching her, noticing that her brows seemed to be knitting tighter together with every passing moment. I'd have a headache too if I had all that text in my head, he thought. That little glimpse had provided him with a surprise-- he'd always known that she was bright, even when she was a student. In fact, he'd often thought that had he not had the duty of teaching her, he might have liked her (in a way that was entirely proper for a teacher to like a student of course!). And she had been infuriating even then, with an odd ability to quote the previous evening's reading assignment with a distant look in her eyes, as though she were reading from an unseen page. Perhaps, he decided, that was precisely what she was doing. He closed his book. "There is still some of the potion I made the other day," he commented, sounding himself rather as though he were talking about something of no importance. "Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked. She opened both eyes this time, and grimaced, as though suddenly assaulted by a too-bright light.

"Thank you," she nodded, and took a deep breath. Severus had the impression that she was steeling herself for something, and, as she swung her legs to the floor and stood, he realized with alarm what it was. He stood and took a few steps to her side, clutching her elbow to steady her as she swayed alarmingly from side to side.

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear, Miss Car- Ichalia. Sit down, and I will make you a cup of tea. You wouldn't know how much potion to add, and you'd probably poison yourself." This last was muttered mostly under his breath after he had already guided her back to her chair. He spent a few moments gathering the cup and added two tea bags, then poured hot water over it. There was always hot water in the staff room, as most of the staff liked a cup of tea whenever they could get it. While the tea was steeping, he opened a cupboard and pulled down a small bottle of clear liquid and added a few drops to the steaming tea. The steam carried an aroma redolent of peppermint across the room, and he half-turned to ask her if she wanted sugar in the tea-luckily, this was one potion that was not affected one way or the other by the presence of other ingredients, at least not once it was properly cured. His words never made it out of his mouth, though, and he dropped the spoon he had been stirring the tea with and moved over to Hannah, placing a hand on her back. "Miss Carlisle?" he asked, forgetting to address her as Ichalia. She was leaning forward, her forehead resting on her knees in such a feat of flexibility that Severus was afraid she had fainted. She lifted her head, though, when he spoke and he noted that her eyes had become even more opaque and grey.

"Aislinn." She rested her head on her knees again.

Severus felt his lips twitch. "Aislinn," he repeated. "Do you need to visit Madame Pomfrey?" He hoped that this was not going to become a pattern, his ushering her to the hospital wing every time they met. He hadn't the time for such nonsense.

"I'm fine," came her muffled reply, but he noticed that she was clutching her ankles now, and her knuckles were white from the effort.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

She lifted her head again, and he noted that her lower lip was trembling slightly. "If I went to the hospital wing every time I had a headache, I'd live there," she told him pointedly, and sank her head into her lap again.

He winced inwardly, and, uncharacteristically, he squeezed her shoulder softly before returning to the tea. "Would you like sugar?" he asked.

"Thank you, no," came the muffled reply.

"Lemon?"

"No thank you."

"Mint?"

She lifted her head again, and this time her eyelashes were damp. "Nothing in it, thank you," she whispered.

He picked up the teacup and moved back to kneel in front of her before she could put her head in her lap again. "Drink," he commanded, holding the cup to her lips, and her fingers curled around the handle of the cup. Her hands were shaking, though, and he found himself wondering what kind of pain she must be in, and what could cause such a headache. If it was, indeed, only a headache. She drank, his hands steadying hers around the cup, and then, when she sat up straighter, he placed the cup aside and dragged another chair so he could sit directly in front of her, eye level. "How often do you have these headaches?" he asked quietly.

Her woeful smile said all he needed to know. "Most days," she replied, reaching for the cup again. His hands followed hers, and steadied the cup once again.

"Then perhaps I should make more of this potion," he said softly. "Or perhaps you should visit Madame Pomfrey…"

"No." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms across her stomach, watching him warily for a moment, almost as though she was afraid he was going to somehow force her to the hospital wing. "Hannah," he began, and grimaced as he realized he'd done it again.

"Aislinn," she corrected, her voice firm. "My name is Aislinn."

He nodded. "My apologies," he said softly. "Aislinn, Madame Pomfrey is a…"

He suddenly found himself staggering back as she swung her long legs up and over the arm of the chair, wriggling away from him. "I am not going to Madame Pomfrey about a…" she was swaying alarmingly again, and he stood, reaching for her arm, but she took a step back. "No," she whispered. "Don't touch me. I'm fine. If you'll excuse me." And she was groping for the door handle, and then stumbling into the corridor, leaving Severus to stare after her.

After a moment, he stood, shaking his head, and picked up the half-empty tea cup. If you were going to frighten her off, couldn't you at least have waited until she finished the tea? he asked himself, disgusted with his lack of tact. It was obvious that she did not want to go to the hospital wing, and who are you to tell a grown woman what to do? He was still in the midst of scolding himself when the door opened again. He looked over his shoulder, and grimaced slightly at the look on Minerva's face.

"Severus, do you know what was wrong with Aislinn?"

Why, yes, Minerva, I do actually. She was sitting here minding her own business and I had to go poking my-what was it the Marauders used to say?-my abnormally large nose into her business. No, the Potions Master knew just what to do for a headache, and was intent on telling her in minute detail, and forcing her to accept it whether she wanted it or not, when it was reasonably clear that all she wanted to do was lie in that chair and not be interrupted. So finally, in a fit of pain and frustration, she went barreling out of the room, crying. I think that pretty much covers it. Aloud he spoke barely above a whisper. "She had a headache."