Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any member of the Harry Potter universe. They belong to the estimable JK Rowling and I am infinitely grateful for her letting us borrow them to play with a bit.

Chapter Ten: Look Before You Leap

Assistant my ass. Snape muttered as he swept through the halls.

"Ten points from Hufflepuff for stomping about Mr. Graden," he snapped.

I am a Potions Master, one of two dozen left in the world, and the conniving old man thinks I need an assistant

"Ten points from Gryffindor for smiling too widely. Another five for talking back to a professor."

As if I weren't the holder of over a hundred potions patents, as if I weren't the youngest Potions Master in the past three centuries, as if that weren't enough for that meddling monster, sitting up in his office and running- no, scratch that, ruining- our lives.

"Fifteen point, Mr. Goyle, for making faces."

And why on earth would he pick someone like-

"Why hello Severus. I see you're in a chipper mood this afternoon."

"You," he snarled.

She seemed slightly taken aback, "Yes, me. Is there a problem?" The self-satisfied grin on her face meant she already knew the answer to that.

"How did you do it?"

"Do what Severus?"

"You do not have permission to call me that. I am Professor Snape to you." He drew in a deep breath, his chest was heaving and he thought he might be in imminent danger of hyperventilating. "How did you get Albus to agree to such a preposterous scheme?"

"Ah, I see… actually, no, I really don't see what the problem is Professor Snape. The Headmaster mentioned you were a bit taxed at the moment and since I have some experience with potions, I offered my services. He seemed to think you'd be overjoyed at the thought." Actually, that wasn't exactly how it happened, she had led Dumbledore into volunteering her to work on some mysterious special project with Snape (or perhaps Dumbledore had led her- with that man, one could never be sure). But Desdemona would eat nails before admitting to that.

Snape's eyes narrowed on her, he didn't believe a word of it. "I suppose you have some sort of qualification to give the Headmaster such faith in your abilities?"

"I specialised in potions as my precursor to Auror training."

That took Snape down a peg for moment. "You're a certified Auror? Why aren't you out there fighting the Dark Lord?"

Desdemona blushed, "I never finished, if you must know. Now can we talk about this project Dumbledore was going on about? All I recall is that it was for another professor here."

Snape snorted. Never finished Auror training, how embarrassing that must be for her. How simply appalling. How thoroughly shameful. How… positively delightful. His day was looking better already. And as his anger at sharing his lab space with yet another human being was fading, the fact that this would give him ample opportunity to both learn about Professor Forasen's loyalties and to take her up on her still standing offer (should the occasion arise of course) began to seem quite a bit more appealing than it first had.

But only a bit.

"Yes, it is. And since we will be working together, I suppose it is only reasonable I tell you what I will be expecting of you." Before she could make what was surely some comment about him being reasonable, he launched into the crux of the issue. "You will arrive at my private labs at eight pm every weeknight beginning with tonight. You will do absolutely no theoretical or practical work until you can prove to me you have better than the slightest idea you know what you're doing. Instead, since you were so kind to offer your services to me, you'll spend tonight cleaning the cauldrons I've already used but have yet to have time to clean myself."

Desdemona's mouth was hanging open by the time he finished. "But- but surely a house elf or even a charm would take care of that?" she stammered out.

"Why Ms. Forasen, I thought you said you had specialised in potions before attempting to become an Auror?" Snape drawled unpleasantly, watching her eye twitch at his deliberate mention of her failings, he was quite enjoying himself by this point. "Surely you know then that for most work in potions, the cauldron itself cannot retain even a trace element of previous experimentation. The slightest speck of residue can cause a chain reaction of the most dire sort. Now, while I don't accuse you of intentionally putting both myself and another member of staff at risk," he held up a hand at her sounds of protest, "surely you must then realise that only specialised hand cleaning will do, which categorically rules out a charm. And I don't trust my cauldrons to just any house elf. No, no, I'm afraid my standards are quite high when it comes to the quality of my work."

Desdemona translated this to mean she could expect to wash the cauldrons not once, but many times over until he was satisfied that not a speck of anything other than air remained in it.

"I'm sure you'll come to be adequate at this job, if that is what's worrying you."

Dessie opened her mouth to argue, but closed it when she realised that there wasn't a single argument she has that would change his mind. Instead she said "I will see you at eight Professor Snape."

"Why that no good, scheming, evil, maniacal, odious man!"

Dessie realised she was talking to herself. She realised she was doing this in a public hallway. She also realised that the passing student thought she was out of her mind. But that didn't stop her from snapping, "Twenty points from Ravenclaw for not minding your own business."

At least it made her feel a little better.

She swept into her class of fifth years in a mood that could only be described as significantly less than pleasant. "Your OWLs are in less than eight months, and you are one and all woefully ill-prepared." With a wave of her wand, the classroom full of desks reverted to the form it had taken for her upper year students. A long platform on one wall, cushioning charm on the floor, and no desks.

"Gryffindors to my right, Ravenclaws to my left."

She counted each group off and then paired them. "You're working with expelliarmus, defend yourselves as you wish. Please keep things within school rules and try not to kill each other."

She stormed into her office and slammed the door behind her. The idea was deceptively simple: anyone left standing at the end of class got an 'O' for the day.

Her fingers flitted over the titles on her book shelf. Rozencrantz Index of Demon and Succubae? No, although a succubus would be rather funny when it was all said and done. Creative Curses to Stun Your Friends? Nowhere near unpleasant enough. A Cross-Analytical Framework for Disembowelment and Dismemberment? Held promise, but she wanted something nastier, and also preferably something that wouldn't get her fired.

She heard a muffled thud against her door and decided that it was unlikely anyone would be passing with full marks that day.

Smiling to herself, she pulled her dog-eared copy of 1000 Uncounterable Hexes. Severus Snape was going to rue the day he crossed swords with her.

It was hours later when Dessie finally emerged for dinner. She had quickly nixed the idea of hexing the potions master- the underlying supposition here being that she would likely get fired for it. Instead, she decided that she would find some other way of making him pay for what had all the evidence of being a series of nights she would live to regret volunteering herself for.

He wouldn't speak to her throughout the entirety of dinner that evening, and Dessie didn't say anything to him either, instead, she left her chair at ten minutes to eight and politely asked a house elf the way to Snape's private labs. Once there, she leaned negligently against the wall and waited for the potions master to show himself. The portraits on the walls around her seemed to be mostly of hunting scenes or of animals and people being decapitated, disembowelled, or otherwise injured in some way.

"How cheerful," she murmured as she saw him approach.

He raised a sardonic eyebrow at her, but gave the portrait his password rather than commenting.

"Glumbumble?" she asked as they entered, "The cure for alihotsy?"

Snape paused near a work bench that held various vials of dark red liquid that Dessie thought might be blood. "If that is the only thing you learned during your potions training, than you might as well leave now as you will be of no use to me whatsoever."

She held up her hands in mock surrender, "Sorry, just thinking out loud."

"Please refrain. The cauldrons are in the corner over there, you will find the appropriate cleaning equipment in the next room." When she didn't move, he dismissively gestured at her, "Well, have at it then."

She wandered away muttering darkly to herself, leaving Snape with a small smile on his normally sombre features.

Four hours later, Snape's small smile was in eminent danger of becoming a full-blown grin. He had often wondered what lead people to enjoy themselves at the expense of others around them- having often been on the receiving end of such humour. This night, his questions were answered.

She was on her second cauldron.

Oh, she had cleaned nearly four before he had checked on the adequacy of her work. And while the cauldrons would have ordinarily been deemed suitable for regular classroom work, they did not measure up to his exacting standards for his private and professional usage. He had, of course, told her as much. And she, with all the timing and conditioning of one of Pavlov's dogs, immediately threw a fit.

"What? There isn't a speck of so much as a thought of grime left in that thing." Her sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, and her wild gesticulations were causing suds to fly from her soapy forearms and hands.

"Ms. Forasen," Snape drawled, raising one hand to wipe away the offending substance that had just been flung into face, "I fail to see where the issue lies here."

"Fail to see?" she spluttered at him, "You overgrown bat! You insufferable bastard! You-"

"Perhaps you should simply rewash these," he drawled, titling one of the 'clean' cauldrons over with the toe of his boot.

Her mouth snapped shut and her eyes narrowed. Her chest was heaving and Snape had no compunction with watching it do so. It was quite a nice sight actually.

"I'll wash you bloody cauldrons," she muttered much to his surprise. He had been half-expecting her to either curse him into next week, or attack him physically. He had to admit that the idea of restraining a buxom squirming blonde stirred his blood.

It's been far too long for you old boy.

Don't I know it.

She was still muttering darkly to herself, but she had sat back down and was buried shoulder deep in another cauldron. He could still catch some words. 'Git', 'ass', and 'odious' seemed to be the most popular although he nearly took exception to 'goat sodomiser'. That was really below the belt.

That had been over two hours ago, and he hadn't heard a peep out of her since. Casting a preservation charm on the concoction he was currently working on, Snape left his private laboratory for his nightly patrol- and then bed. Eventually, she would notice he had gone.

Eventually.