The next morning I am up early, thinking about the task ahead. My own brews are stable, I decant a few and leave the rest in stasis until later since I don't know when I'll be back. She'd been on my mind all night, and I still have no idea what to do about it.

I Apparate to York again. When I try the door it is open, but I sense her wards washing over me as I enter. They feel warm, welcoming, but there is clearly a bite to them: if I hadn't been expected, it would certainly have hurt.

She's not in the shop, but I hear some noise from the back and duck in behind the curtain. The door to the left is ajar, and that's where the sound is coming from. I knock on the door frame to warn her before entering. The room is dark, only stray light coming in from the dusty window.

"Good morning," I try.

She stills. "Severus. You came."

"Of course, I told you I would."

I manage to locate a light switch, and another sad Muggle light bulb in the ceiling. She'd been working in the dark, obviously not bothered by it. At least now a few more details come into view. She had jars and various containers on the benches, a cauldron on a low heat and a chopping board with some herbs — maybe rosemary — to be prepared next to the cauldron.

She growls in frustration. "Why isn't this working? I have Mugwort, honey and rose oil but it doesn't fuse as it should."

I sniff the small cauldron. "The rose oil is bad. Do you have any Flobberworm Mucus? That could help."

"No, I'm all out… I haven't had the chance to go to the market the last few weeks. I need to make more of everything, all the bases and some other potions."

"Where is your inventory?

She points vaguely to a storage cabinet in the corner and I survey her stores. It appears she's running low on oils and several other ingredients, and some of the herbs have wilted.

"Is this all you have?"

She stills in front of the cauldron and I take a step towards her. Is she crying? I still cannot see her face properly. "Witch, what's wrong?"

"Everything! Everything is wrong…" She wipes her tears away with the sleeve of her robes. "I won't make this month's rent if I can't replace these brews. The landlord keeps raising it, keeps saying my payments aren't enough even when I know they are. He thinks I don't notice when he removes Galleons before counting them."

I think a moment but the solution is obvious. "You will come with me. I have everything in the labs and what I don't have, I can fetch easily."

"But…"

"No. What do you need to bring from here? I have equipment and vials."

She sniffles and then collects herself with a shudder, before nodding. "Okay. I'll just need a few things."

She moves around me with the practised efficiency of someone who knows their way around, picking up a silver knife, some bundles of herbs and a few jars before turning to me and nodding.

I offer her my arm after checking that wards are in place, and Apparate us both to the lab. She doesn't let go when we arrive, and I must admit it takes me a moment to realise she won't be able to navigate on her own without some help. I guide her around the room, pointing out directions and distances and where everything else, and deposit her by a clean workbench.

"What ingredients do you need?"

She puts the items she brought on the bench, and thinks for a moment. "A copper cauldron, small, some good olive oil, fresh lavender, distilled water… Do you have moondew extract?"

"Certainly, I'll get it for you." I fetch the things she requested, relieved that she cannot see my stupid grin as I do so, and then go back to my own brews while she works on hers.

We spend the day working in silence, only broken when she asks about ingredients or equipment. I make good progress on the potions I need to stock for the week, including several orders from St Mungo's, and she seems happy with her progress as well.

She even stays for a light lunch, some sandwiches and soup, and after she asks what I'm working on. I show her. Well, tell her, but anyway to my surprise it feels completely natural to have someone in my lab. She even asks if she could help me with something, and I set her working on a batch of Pepper-Up for the shop as it is a reasonably simple potion although one has to be precise with the timing to get the best result.

When she's finished I inspect the work and must admit I'm impressed. I say as much. "Very good." With a flick of my wand the potion is decanted into vials, and another flick sends it soaring to the sink. She beams at me, I think, the Glamour makes it hard to see.

"I should go back," she says, sounding reluctant.

To my surprise it is late already. We've spent the whole day in the lab and I've not minded her company at all, which basically never happens. She has asked questions that clearly show her interest in the subject, and she did well preparing both my potions and her own brews. I doubt she's studied it past NEWT levels, but her knowledge and practical skills would have placed her at the top of her class, especially considering the poor performance of most students. That too reminds me of someone, but I cannot figure out who.

I Apparate her back to York, anyway, to the alley beside her shop that I've used before. She lingers by the door for a moment before slipping through the wards with a nod at me.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

I feel adrift, lost. The following week starts off badly since I happen to snap at customers, suppliers and my contact at St Mungo's all on the same day. Lucius even comes by to invite me to supper, and I throw him out on his arse. Well, almost. He's too well-bred for that to work.

After another shower and hair wash later that evening I do calm down a bit, and try to think. Once again I try to list what I know, and it still isn't much. The shampoo bases she prepared weren't special, I couldn't see any particularly powerful magical ingredients and she wasn't incorporating any Charms either.

The visit to the Potters had yielded some pieces of information, however, and especially the names were interesting. Not wanting to waste any more time, I head down to the Owl Post Office and manage to send off a note just before they close for the night. A grumpy clerk shoos me out but I see the owl leaving on silent wings as I turn to leave.

An owl arrives with a response late the next morning with a note agreeing to a meeting the following weekend, and with that sorted I dive back into work again. The next few days pass quickly with more St Mungo's orders and a meeting for the upcoming Memory Potion trial, another meeting with Weasley, too many customers and too much to brew. I need to hire someone to help out at the shop, at minimum, but I don't have time to think about it.

I return to York later in the week, needing to see her, craving her hands in my hair. She nods at me to sit and starts in without a word. I groan and close my eyes, letting myself relax, drifting off while she works. She hums a tune, nothing I recognise, but otherwise doesn't speak. It's peaceful. What I want, at least, seems clear: I want to fix this, even if the definition of this eludes me at the moment.

After, I thank her and leave, even if part of me wants to stay. I leave behind several potions on her desk and some high-quality ingredients I noticed earlier she was lacking.

I think I would have seen her smiling if I had been able to see her face.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

I walk up the gravel path to the old, if small, Pure-blood manor house. It's early in the day, but the skies are overcast. The garden would be stunning during summer, but even now at mid-winter it's impressive. Rose hedges, various bushes and flower beds in elaborate patterns line the paths and I think I see a large greenhouse behind the main building.

An old elf meets me at the door and guides me to a small and overwhelmingly powder blue dining room where I finally meet with my host. She's sitting in a chair by the small dining table, and doesn't rise when I enter. I walk over to her chair, instead.

I nod at her and ghost a kiss over her hand in greeting. "Madam Longbottom, thank you for accepting my request for a meeting."

"Nonsense, Severus. Of course I'll talk to you. I've been meaning to send word to you myself but something has always come in the way. I don't venture out much these days." Augusta Longbottom is old now, frail in that old-person way, almost translucent. Her eyes are sharp, though.

"Have a seat, young man, or you'll give me a crick in the neck."

I sit and the elf immediately deposits a small tray laden with sandwiches on the table, along with some tea for us. She doesn't speak, nor do I, but it doesn't feel forced.

Once we finished our tea I clear my throat. "Madam Longbottom, I do not know where to start, but I've been trying to figure something out and your name has come up."

She tilts her head to the side and looks at me again. "Good, you've finally worked it out. You are here about her, aren't you? And do call me Augusta."

I incline my head. "Yes. The Hair-ologist in York. I've spoken to the Potters, the Malfoys and Miss Parkinson."

"Good," she says and leans back in the chair. "I will tell you what I can, mind, not what you should know but what I can tell you."

I nod and wait, not letting my impatience show. It wouldn't do to rush her. Luckily I have experience with that, hard won through two wars and two old rambling masters.

She calls for the elf again who refills her cup of tea before she begins.

"This world of ours, you wizards think you rule it with your Ministry and the Wizengamot and the laws and the corruption and the deals in the dark. Us witches are seen as less important, only ruling hearth and children and other such minor matters."

Her tone makes it clear what she thinks. I raise an eyebrow and nod in agreement.

She takes a sip of tea again. "You also know, I'm sure, that I host gatherings of influential witches here regularly. It's a tradition that has gone on for at least a thousand years. We negotiate deals and mete out justice in our own way, in matters that concern not only witches but all of Wizarding and Muggle Britain, and we also regularly connect with other such covens outside Britain. That I'm openly telling you, a wizard, about this is akin to treason."

I nod again. "I won't tell you that you can trust me. Evidently you do already, or you wouldn't tell me this."

"Indeed." She smiles at me, briefly. "The Wizarding world after the end of the War you and my grandson were so heavily involved in, hasn't been itself. I presume you've noticed? The Ministry is corrupt, their politics oppressive, people are losing their jobs and earning less and less for what they do. Something is wrong, Severus."

Well, that much has been obvious for a while. What's less obvious is what is causing the situation, or how to fix it. I say as much.

"Yes, you're right. It isn't. But I know, or at least strongly suspect, what has happened." Taking a deep breath she looks away, as if to collect her thoughts. "I fear the fault lies with me. As the Utter Crone for the British Coven of Witches I am ultimately responsible for what its members do, at least when it comes to how the coven's resources are used. And now a couple of members have started working on their own, striking bargains with the Fae for their own selfish purposes rather than for the benefit of all. The problem is that I, too, am bound by the geas they've put upon us, and so I am unable to tell you."

I try to think. A Geas would perhaps explain a thing or two, if it was placed by a powerful enough magical being. The practice has fallen out of favour a bit, or so I thought, but used to be common back in the Dark Ages. "So you cannot say what the geas is, I presume. Can you tell me who placed it, or anything else that could help?"

She looks pleased by the question. "Three witches were involved, each with a unique reason to request this particular geas to be placed. The Fae Queen didn't like their question, and she forced all three of them to make a concession in order to place the geas. That is our only way out of this. I cannot say much more about it, you will have to figure it out."

It's more than I used to know, but far from enough. "They've requested this witch to be forgotten? By the whole wizarding world? Why, and who was she?"

But Augusta Longbottom shakes her head slowly. "This is more than I should tell you. There are clues, for one who looks. It is not impossible to figure it out, and to work out how to break the geas. Go where you first met her and talk to those who don't talk anymore."

The dismissal is clear, so I rise to leave. "Thank you for your time, Madam Longbottom." I'll send her a crate of potions as soon as I'm able, for her pain and other symptoms.

There's only one place she could have meant. I haven't been back there since the war ended, but I take a deep breath to steady myself and Apparate to Hogwarts.