Rook awoke early on Saturday with a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Fred and George, who preferred to sleep in on weekends, were both in the common room when she trudged down the spiral staircase.

"Solidarity, mate," George explained before she could ask.

"We feel just a tad responsible," added Fred, grinning.

"You don't seem that torn up about it, though," Rook noted, smiling in spite of her distress.

"Like I said, you can't hardly be one of us without ever getting a detention!"

"It's an honor," said Rook with the dramatic air of one accepting a prestigious award. "I would like to thank Professor Snape's unrivaled misopedia, without which none of this would be possible—"

George made a face. "I don't know what a misopedia is, but I'd rather not hear about Snape's, thanks."

Rook laughed as she led the way through the portrait hole. The trio made their way toward the Great Hall together, talking and joking as they went.

"You shouldn't feel responsible at all, by the way," Rook said as they walked. "I mean, you told me point-blank that y'all were going to stay up all night methodically breaking school rules and I basically said, 'Sounds super! Where do I sign up?' And I can't bring myself to regret it in the slightest, 'cause you two are easily the best part about this place. Heck, you guys might be the best friends I've had my entire life, except maybe Sia." Almost immediately after she said this, Rook wished she hadn't. There was an awkward silence, the twins apparently as embarrassed for her as she was for herself. What possessed her to keep reminding them that she was a friendless loser before she met them? Rook knew she had a history of oversharing. She had never been good at hiding her feelings and she was sure Fred and George were put off by her pathetic admission.

"Er, Rook—" Fred started, but Rook cut him off, avoiding eye-contact as she spoke.

"I think I'm gonna skip breakfast! The last thing I want is to get another detention for being late to this one, so I'll get going—bye!" Rook rushed off before either of them could say anything.

Rook was prepared to dwell on her blunder throughout her detention, but something happened to distract her as she approached the door leading to the dungeons.

It happened so fast—before Rook even understood what was happening. Madeline Selwyn stepped into the Entrance Hall, caught sight of Rook and grabbed her by the sleeve of her robes, forcefully dragging her into a broom closet nearby.

"Wh-What are you doing?!" Rook exclaimed loudly.

"Shh!" Madeline hissed. "I wanted to talk to you."

"In a broom closet?! Are we going to make out, or something?!" Rook snapped irritably. "You can talk to me out in the open some other time, if you really want to! I have a detention to get to!"

"You're right, Rook! I'm… I am mean, and I…"

"When did I say you were mean?" Rook asked, confused.

"Okay, so you didn't say it, but I am! And I'm a bully and I—"

"Slow down, Madeline," Rook cut her off. "I don't actually think you're a bully."

Madeline hung her head. "All the same, I… I'm a coward. I just wanted to say I really did want to be friends, it's just… I'm not ready."

"Ready?"

"You don't understand, Rook. If I were friends with you, all my housemates would hate me. That's everyone I live with, go to class with… I don't know why it's like that, it just is."

Rook watched Madeline's silhouetted form in the darkness of the broom closet. When Rook had first met Madeline, she had seemed fearless and confident, but now Rook saw a girl as scared and uncertain as herself, and she couldn't help feeling sorry for Madeline.

"It's okay," she said at last. "I get it, I really do. Sometimes you just have to figure out the best way to survive a… a bad situation."

"They're not all that bad, though, the Slytherins. Some of them are even my friends… sort of. I mean, 'cunning and ambition' doesn't always translate to 'bigotry and fascism'. But most of my family are in Slytherin, and they're—" Madeline stopped short, sighing heavily. "I really hoped you'd end up in my house. But it's pretty obvious now; you're much braver than I am. You don't care what people think."

Rook couldn't help thinking about how she was just obsessing over what she had said to Fred and George. "I do care…" she said quietly before abruptly remembering how she ended up in this situation. "Oh, fruit snacks!" she shouted. "My detention! I have to go!"

Without another word, Rook ran out of the broom closet, darting past two curious first-year Ravenclaws as she made her way to the staircase to the dungeons. Her heart dropped when she saw Snape awaiting her outside the door, an unpleasant sort of smirk on his face.

And yet, even as he looked down on her with that sadistic and spiteful expression, Rook could not ignore his overabundance of charisma and raw, undiluted magnetism. It radiated off of him like an angel's wings, setting a clear distinction between him and mere mortals. His black hair had the rainbow sheen of a crow's feathers and his eyes were piercing, like polished onyx, flashing in the low light of the dungeon torches. Rook found herself wondering why she wasn't hoping for Snape to give her endless detentions, as long as it meant she could bask in the splendor of his company.

"You're late, Rook," he spoke menacingly.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I, uh, overslept."

"Then we will simply have to make up for the lost time, with interest." Snape pushed the door to his office open. "In."

Rook obeyed, shivering as she stepped into the icy room. Once inside, she stopped short. Upon a table in the center of the room were great mounds of various dead animals, herbs, feathers, rocks and even what looked like plain dirt. A foul smell emanated from the pile, which Rook figured was the unpleasant combination of several odors creating a veritable chorus of stench. The rest of the office was not any more pleasing to the senses. It seemed every wall was lined with shelves upon which rested several jars of bloated animal parts, coiled tendrils of plants, fungus and other disgusting, slimy things suspended in various fluids.

"Sit," Snape instructed, indicating an uncomfortable-looking stool in front of the table. Rook sat, staring at the overwhelming assortment of objects before her and privately thinking Snape could put even the most prolific hoarders to shame.

"You will be categorizing, storing and labelling these ingredients, without magic," Snape said, sneering as he hovered over Rook. "I have provided texts you may consult should you require instruction. These are for classification and these will inform you of the most effective methods of preservation and storage for each given material." He indicated two stacks of books Rook had not noticed previously. "You will not leave this room until this task is complete."

Rook stared up at Snape, her eyes wide in disbelief. He smiled ominously, as though daring her to protest. She knew better. She was no stranger to Sisyphean punishments such as this. Rook figured she better not waste any more time, and set to work.

She wished that Snape had at least given her parchment for notes or gloves for handling the ingredients. She had a hard time perusing the books in between sorting the ingredients, and she had a feeling that she would be in more trouble if she got flobberworm mucus all over the pages. A short way into her task, Rook realized she was allergic to more than one of the animals on the table and struggled with wiping her runny nose while avoiding touching her face with her filthy hands. Rook spent an inordinate amount of time looking up instructions on proper procedure, determined to complete her work as perfectly as possible, leaving Snape no room to criticize her end results. Snape himself passed the time at his desk, tending to his own work, occasionally rising to lurk minaciously about Rook's workspace. As the hours wore on, Rook began to severely regret skipping breakfast. Though the revolting nature of her task went a long way in suppressing Rook's appetite, Rook's growling stomach refused to be ignored after six hours of sorting and storing. Fortunately, at this point, Rook was nearly finished.

Noticing Rook was nearing the end of her task, Snape rose once more and approached the table. He picked up a large jar of pickled rats in his pallid, spidery hands and brought it to his face, examining the contents. Rook watched him apprehensively as his eyes narrowed.

"These rats are not gutted," he observed.

"No, they're not. This book said that rats are only gutted right before they're used, otherwise the organs lose potency."

"Miss Rook, I would expect any first year to know that rat organs have been removed and preserved in sulfites since the nineteenth century. If you don't even know that, perhaps I should inform Professor McGonagall that I was mistaken in believing you could handle a third year course."

Rook glared up at Snape. She just knew that he had given her outdated books on purpose so that she would have to gut the rats and prepare fresh solutions for the organs and the rats separately.

"I'll be happy to do it over, Professor," Rook said, choosing her words as carefully as she could. "However, sir, before I do, I would appreciate it if you could take a look at the rest of my work and let me know if there are any other errors that need correcting?"

Snape looked at Rook appraisingly. "The fire seeds," he spoke without taking his eyes off Rook. "They need to be separated. There should be no more than twelve to a container, and they need to be stored in the fire clay jars."

"They are in fire clay, sir."

Snape looked back down at the fire seeds, plainly surprised that she had stored them in the correct container. Rook had noticed that the book Snape provided had not specified a material for containing fire seeds, but she had fortunately remembered an over-friendly wizard she met at the Apothecary in Diagon Alley telling her the importance of storing fire seeds in fire clay.

"I'll divide them, sir. Is there anything else?" she prompted.

Snape was sifting through a collection of herbs, tied in bundles of varying sizes and covered in labelled paper bags so they could be hung to dry.

"Where in the books did it say to place paper around these?" he asked.

"It didn't say, but it'll protect the herbs from dust, won't it? I thought that's why the bags were here. Should I take them off?"

Snape said nothing. He went on to scrutinize the remainder of Rook's work, clearly looking for further mistakes, but apparently finding none.

"Gut the rats, store the organs separately, divide the seeds, and…" Snape hesitated, a pained expression on his face, "and you may leave."

"Yes, Professor," Rook obliged, trying not to look too amused by Snape's apparent disappointment.

Though Rook had managed to avoid making as many mistakes as Snape had hoped, it took her at least another hour to preserve the rats properly. Dividing up the fire seeds took much less time, and Rook was eager to be done with it.

Near the completion of this errand, however, one of the seeds burst into flame as she fished it out of the jar. She cried out in pain, dropping the seed and causing it to flare for a moment as it fell on the cold stone floor of the office. There was a nasty burn on her right hand, and she held it gingerly in her left hand as her eyes began to tear up in pain.

Snape rose quickly and rushed over to Rook.

"I-It burned me!" she said in a panicky voice, tears now falling freely. "It hurts!"

"Give me your hand," Snape spoke shortly, though his tone seemed to lack its characteristic coldness. Rook paused, her lower lip trembling as she considered him. "Quickly," he insisted. Rook obeyed, still afraid of what he might do. Snape examined her burn closely and Rook gasped in pain as he handled her fingers gently.

"It hurts!" she cried again as she looked at her mangled fingers. "I-I need my hand to draw, Professor! If I can't draw, I—"

Snape raised his own hand and Rook flinched reflexively. A small potion bottle flew into his palm from one of the shelves and he opened it. He poured the contents onto Rook's burn and used his own fingers to ensure the thick liquid covered the affected area. Whatever the topical agent was, it provided instant pain relief and Rook began to calm herself, still shaking as she watched the potion heal the burn before her eyes.

"It will be completely healed in a few minutes," Snape explained, still holding her hand in his. "Your hand must remain still and elevated."

As the fear and alarm ebbed away, Rook began to feel anger instead. If he had just given her gloves, this would never have happened!

"How could you do this?!" she spoke fiercely, ignoring the fact that he was still holding her injured hand up.

"Miss Rook, remain still."

"You knew this could happen, but you didn't give me any kind of protection against it!"

Snape looked angry now. Rook resisted the urge to pull her hand away and risk disturbing the healing process.

"I didn't know," he said. "I didn't think—I was sure I had sufficiently assayed each of these. There were not supposed to be any volatile seeds among them."

"Well, there were," Rook grumbled, though quite a bit pacified by the knowledge that Snape had not put her in such a dangerous situation on purpose.

"If you would stop being overdramatic and sit still, it will hardly matter," Snape hissed.

The anger returned, but Rook said nothing, glaring determinedly at her hand until Snape was examining it again to ensure that she had fully recovered. He released her, instructing her to make a fist, which she managed without complication. He concluded that she was fine and turned back toward his desk. He spoke again, but Rook was not paying attention. She had started crying again, this time with relief.

Snape turned to face Rook once more and stared as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I'm sorry, Professor, what did you say?" she asked hurriedly.

"You can go," he said simply, looking at her with an odd expression. "Wash yourself up in the classroom first, then leave."

Rook nodded, heading for the door and awkwardly trying to push it open without getting the handle dirty. Snape strode over to open it for her. She muttered a small, "Thanks," and walked through.

"Wait," Snape halted her, and Rook felt a sinking feeling, thinking he had changed his mind and planned on giving her more work to do. "Take this," he said, offering her the bottle of whatever it was he had put on her burn. She took it and held it in her sleeves, staring at it blankly. "As a precaution."

Rook looked at Snape once more, wondering what she could possibly need the potion for if she was fully healed. Snape was not looking at her. He closed the door again before Rook could ask any questions and she stood there, a feeling of unease growing inside her.