Disclaimers 'n' Stuff:

I do not own these characters, nor did I create the universe in which they live or the magic that they use. All I do is flesh them out a little.

I am also very much NOT British in any way, shape, or form, so if I'm not entirely accurate with anything, I apologize in advance. I do have one Brit friend (thanks much, Davenport!!) so hopefully I didn't botch too much of it.

Also in this chapter are a few more detailed descriptions of Snape's clothing. While I understand that the canon Snape wears robes and most definitely not a frock coat, I rather like the movie's version of Snape's appearance. Bear with me here.

Thanks to the reviewers! You've given me some things to think about, and that really helps. As always, read on, enjoy, and please leave some constructive criticism!

After four days, Snape found that he was actually worried about the stupid twit who shared space with him. She hadn't been eating, and he knew she wasn't sleeping either. He had given her books on the second day, but they sat in a pile next to his bed. The previous day he had even offered to supervise a visit to the lake or the library. "Sometime at night," he had offered, "so that you don't end up infecting the whole school." She had merely glared at him, shook her head, and turned away. That damned listless look she always had… Snape didn't know why he even bothered to begin with. Every second brought new waves of frustration and anger. This day hadn't done much to soothe his nerves. The damned girl spent all day moping around the study, not bothering even to light a fire. She hadn't lit a fire since he had snapped at her that first night. Snape realized that the darkness actually bothered him, and the realization stoked his irritation.

For the fourth night in a row Snape sat in his candlelit study, but with a mug of tea this time instead of a wineglass. He was too agitated tonight to be drinking. The teapot magically warmed itself, floating at Snape's eye level a few feet from him. In his mind's eye repeated the image of Archer's face falling, of her shrinking away from him. Damn it all. Will this persist for the entire damned week?

Snape decided to do something about it. He set his mug on the table as he stood, sweeping toward his bedroom with long strides. Snape's hand was on the doorknob, ready to throw the door open, when he realized that he didn't actually know what he was going to say. Hesitating, he took his hand from the doorknob and instead crossed the arm across his chest, his other hand coming up to tap a finger against his lower lip. It wasn't time for the potion yet, so that wasn't an excuse. He thought for a second. With a wave of his hand, the candles in the study were snuffed. In complete darkness and with the utmost caution, he stole into the bedroom.

Luckily, she wasn't facing the door. Snape noticed that tonight she had at least bothered to change into nightclothes, lighter-colored than her normal robes. However, the shape of her body through the thinner fabric was unnervingly distracting. He silently made his way to the single chair in the room and sat down, eyeing the sleeping girl. At least, hopefully she was asleep.

A movement from the bed made Snape's muscles tense. Archer gasped audibly. For an instant, Snape had the absurd thought that the girl might be choking, but when he saw her body shudder and curl up, he knew she was crying.

Well, this was different.

An unwanted memory floated to the surface of Snape's mind, of a time when he had more directly caused a reaction like this in another. Countless, faceless, nameless other young girls who fled from him, screaming until they realized that there was no escape, finally collapsing into quiet, desperate tears. Snape took a silent breath and forced the memories away. He was not in control of himself when that had happened; he was acting under orders of a far darker force, spreading terror to unnamed victims. The quiet sobs that shook this girl's body raised the hairs on Snape's neck. This girl had a name. Nicole Archer. Snape had seen enough crying. He left the room as silently as he had entered. The candles blazed instantly back into life. Quickly he snatched a small tumbler from one of his shelves and nearly ran up the stairs to his office to access his less potent potions.

First he poured out about two ounces of the Draft of Peace. Two droppers of a relatively-mild and slow-acting sleeping draught, a midnight blue liquid, turned the liquid in the cup a clear sky blue. A final ounce of Forgetfulness Potion and the finished draft was a pearly pale-blue liquid, the consistency of melted ice cream. As he descended into his study once again, he dipped the tip of one finger into the mixture and tasted it. A pleasant tingle spread through his body. The draft tasted like marshmallows. He stood before the bedroom door for a moment, deftly uncorking the Purgative Potion with one hand and letting two drops fall into the glass. After the vial was back in his pocket, he opened the door slowly, making enough blatant noise so that Archer – Nicole – would know that he was there. As Snape had expected, by the time he had gotten the door closed Nicole was sitting bolt-upright and staring at him.

"I don't mean to bother you," Snape said softly, taking small steps toward the bed. He could see that her eyes were red from crying and felt a twinge of pride at being able to do something about it for once. "I brought you this." He extended the hand holding the glass. Nicole just looked at it suspiciously.

"What's that?"

"That," Snape lifted the glass a little, tilting his head to indicate it, "is your nightly Purgative Potion, mixed with a draft to aid your sleep." Nicole stared strangely at him. Snape pursed his lips slightly and inhaled through flaring nostrils. Why was he so worried about such a frustratingly dull girl, again? "I noticed that you haven't been sleeping well." He raised one eyebrow, continuing. "Tonight seemed particularly unrestful. Surely you would be better off asleep than… in such a sorry state." Still holding the potion, he pressed it towards her, impatience getting the better of him. "Drink it and get it over with."

Nicole jumped at the tone of command in her professor's voice, taking the glass before she could think about it. She stared down into the swirling blue liquid for a second, then back up at Snape.

Before Snape had truly registered what had happened, he was soaked in liquid and his floor was covered with splashes and glass shards. Stunned and wordless, he stared into Nicole's furious and tear-filled eyes. "I'm sorry that poisoning myself has caused such an inconvenience for you that you'd want to knock me out with a sleeping draft." Her lips quivered as she spoke, and tears fell down her red cheeks. "I'm sorry for sleeping in your bed, and taking up your space, and breathing your air. I don't want to be here. I hate it here. And since you're so obviously disgusted by my presence, I'd rather you not try and pretend to tolerate me, okay?" Nicole took a breath and held it, willing herself to keep a straight face.

"Very well," said Snape, in a voice just above a whisper. He bowed stiffly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Whatever you wish." Without warning, Nicole's stiff upper lip dissolved in a flurry of tears. She bolted into the bathroom.

Snape glowered at the bits of glass on his floor. He produced a wand from his cloak. "Reparo," he muttered through gritted teeth. As soon as the glass formed itself from the pieces, Snape snatched it from the ground and turned on his heel towards the study. After two long strides he realized that the girl, insane as she was, still needed a dose of the Purgative Potion. He took two drops from the vial, placed it on the table, and stormed out of the room. Barely stopping to toss the glass onto the table, Snape continued up the stairs to his office desk.

Once behind his desk, Snape felt immediately calmer and in control. He took out a parchment and quill.

Albus, he wrote, I am coming to the end of my patience with this girl. Despite my best efforts to persuade her otherwise, she refuses to eat or sleep, and her demeanor towards me is about to drive me mad. Tonight I attempted to make her a draught to calm her nerves and help her sleep, and she quite literally threw it in my face. This is absolutely insufferable. Snape paused, closed his eyes for a moment, then continued. Albus, you are much better than I at dealing with these kinds of situations. If you have any advice to give me, it would be most appreciated. –Severus.

While Snape disliked asking for help, he wasn't sure of any alternatives besides throttling the stupid girl.

"I need to have this delivered to Headmaster Dumbledore," Snape said in a commanding voice. A House-elf immediately Apparated and Disapparated with the note. Snape finally let himself relax, sinking into his chair. His eyes closed and he felt suddenly very tired. Perhaps he would just fall asleep in his office chair. Shifting his weight to a more comfortable position, he let the tenseness flow out of his muscles and rested his head against the plush fabric. A few seconds later, the distinctive pop of an Apparation disturbed his near-slumber. His eyes shot open as the House-elf Disapparated. He hadn't expected Albus to reply so soon.

Severus, the short note began, have you tried being nice to her? Snape nearly ripped the parchment in half. He realized that the corner of his mouth was twitching. I'm sure you've been as courteous as you ever get, but you'll probably need more than that. Try making small-talk on occasion. And for Merlin's sake, Severus, don't treat her like a first-year Potions student. She is a person too. –Albus.

What on earth did that mean? He read the note twice over again before balling it up and tossing it onto his desk. It bounced across and over the desk, but by the time it reached the floor, Snape was raging too furiously to care. Be nice? He had been nice! By his standards, he had bent over backwards for the brat! Of all the preposterous things Albus could have said…

Suddenly Snape realized that he was in his study. He didn't remember coming down the stairs, and he didn't know how long he had been standing behind his chair, fists clenched around his mug of tea. It had cooled enough to be disgusting. He put the mug down more violently than he intended to. Something stronger was definitely required.

A few minutes later and Snape lay sprawled on his couch, working on a second tumbler of iced Dutch gin, his frock coat splayed on the floor next to him. Albus' words kept running through his mind. Be nice. Small talk. She's a person too. Bullshit, all of it. Snape's plans were far more satisfactory. He'd just ignore the weepy idiot until he could get her out of his hair. Perhaps toss her out of his Advanced Potions class. The twit deserved it, getting them poisoned like that. Snape managed to finish the drink from a lying position without spilling any, then let his glass fall to the floor. Despite his racing mind, the alcohol had dulled his thoughts just enough that fatigue could take over, pulling him into dreamless sleep.