AN- On a more serious note... In memory and admiration of Alan Rickman.

3. She Doesn't Know What to Think

The first time Tempest meets Severus Snape, she doesn't know what to think. But she does like his cloak.

Eleven year old Tempest Potter was a curious thing; not in the sense that she wanted to know everything in the way that the bushy-haired girl beside her did, although she did have her fair share of 'killed by curiosity' moments- rather that Tempest herself was an odd being.

Still adjusting to her newly discovered identity and the entire world that had been thrust upon her, she was distrustful and closed yet wide-eyed and excited, snappish to some, painfully polite to others and altogether a mystery. In classes she varied; temperamental in Herbology and Astronomy, wild and enthusiastic in Charms, reserved in History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts, quiet but confident in Transfiguration… and finally Potions.

The desks in the dungeon that was their classroom were arranged in neat rows where the class sat. Draco Malfoy, his two pet apes and the majority of the Slytherin first years sat towards the front, while the Gryffindors clamored for the seats at the back, as far away from the front as possible.

Tempest, as one of the first to enter the room, sat in the middle, but on the furthest desk, where no-one other than Hermione Granger, a fellow outcast (and Tempest could see why; while Granger was more tolerable than her other dorm-mates, she had no particular liking for Granger either) dared to sit beside her… and that was more out of necessity; no-one else would sit with her.

Snape swirled in behind them, dark teaching robes billowing and cloak flowing out from his shoulders, creating an almost artistic swirl to his steps. It mattered not that the summer weather was still making its presence known, or that they were indoors and his cloak looked incredibly warm and heavy, the effect was worth it. Tempest's eyes followed the motion of his cloak as Snape moved about, calling the roll. So distracted was she, and unused to being called 'Tempestas Potter,' that she failed to respond on time and looked up in confusion when Snape addressed her.

"Tempestas Potter. Our new… celebrity."

There were sniggers from the Slytherins, but Tempest merely looked at Snape in perplexion, unsure if she should respond. "Um, sorry sir," she tried, "I like your cloak?"

The class fell into a hushed silence. Snape scowled. "A point from Gryffindor for your cheek, Miss Potter. Miss Patil!"

Pravati Patil squeaked her presense while Tempest struggled to understand what exactly was happening. She had just dismissed it when Snape finished calling out names and looked up at the class. He had incredibly dark eyes, which went quite well with his persona.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

A silence followed, where Tempest sat contemplating two things. First how his words were as artistic as the swirl of his cloak, and secondly how long Snape had spent writing then memorizing that speech.

"Miss Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Snape addressed her again, so abruptly she was taken aback and had to struggle to find words for a moment. Beside her, Hermione Granger's hand had flown up.

Tempest blinked through a curtain of shaggy dark hair (she had refused Minnie's suggestion to neaten it slightly, already aware that it was a lost cause). Powdered… asphodel… wormwood. It had been in one of her books when she was reading about dangerous and fatal potions. They were… "the primary ingredients to make the Draught of Living Death?"

Snape's eyes flashed. "Correct. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Once again, Granger's hand snapped up as though attached to a wire of some sort.

This Tempest couldn't remember. The name was familiar, not so much anything else about it. She hadn't pursued the entire set of books. Still, she was sure it had something to do with farmyard animals. Perhaps it was something like truffles, and were sniffed out by pigs. No, not for bezoars, not pigs. Sheep?

"I'm not sure," replied Tempest honestly, "er… um… something to do with sheep?"

There were more sniggers from the Slytherin's direction, and Snape's eyes flashed again, although this time there was a strangely triumphant glint to his eyes that made Tempest feel as though she had proved some sort of point. "Five points from Gryffindor," sneered Snape. "Tut, tut, it seems fame isn't everything." He ignored Hermione's hand, continuing on. "Let's try again, what is the difference, Miss Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Now Tempest really had no idea. Granger was straining upwards so much that Tempest was beginning to fear for her arm. "I'm sorry sir, I don't know," she confessed. "Except for well, I suppose they're spelt differently."

Snape wasn't pleased to say the least, and Tempest ended up losing twenty points from Gryffindor that day. She left the room at the end of the double period still not sure what to think of Snape- because as unreasonable as he had been with her, she had actually liked the lesson afterward, liked potions making.

Tempest doesn't really know what to think about Severus Snape. But she does know he's an utter prick.

Years later, straight off a battlefield, Tempest pulls off her cloak, cooler than Snape's by a thousand times, and it helps that it isn't hers that is soaked in her own blood. She kneels by his side and he offers her his memories, then she stays. Stays so he won't die alone. A lot has happened in the past year; a lot has happened since she first met him.

Snape's a prick, he's a murderer, a half-blood, a genius. He's saved her life and tortured her, he's mentored her best friend and betrayed them all. Snape dies with a hand clutching Tempest's and dark eyes fixed on green.

Tempest still doesn't know what to think about Severus Snape. Only that she'll never forget him.