A/N: Hallo, one and all. Quick updates this week. There's a little less Snape/Alana interaction in this chapter but that means it'll be all the nicer when it does come. Of course, the inspection is coming up too. Thanks to all my reviewers. Enjoy!

RdF

Chapter Nine – Tough Love

Christmas went as quickly as it had descended and the joyous atmosphere dulled over the following days, leaving Alana no choice but to return to marking and preparing her classes. She'd started in the quiet of her rooms but she got tired of trying to strain her eyes in the strange light so, gathering her things, she made her way up to the library. There were a few students scattered around, resuming their studies and waiting for the return to normal life, but not enough to distract her. She settled herself at a desk, and after having a quick discussion with Madame Pince, began reading through the stack of essays.

She worked her way through them fairly quickly, when they were easy to read. She couldn't pretend that every student was a joy to teach – she highly doubted she had been at times. But she frowned her way through parchment that was barely the minimum length she'd asked for, despairing at the spider's crawl that some of them had presented her, and wondering what on earth had happened to good old fashioned grammar. Muggleborns were the worst – text speech occasionally cropping up amidst descriptions of the colour and viscosity of a Shrinking Solution. Paragraphs finished with...she had to cringe...smiley faces. She had a difficult time being harsh, but Alana didn't hold back on her comments when she saw the semi colon winking at her.

She pushed them aside and started on her stack of NEWT students' work. Perhaps there'd be some hope for the Wizarding World in them.

XXXXX

Snape handed the book back to Madame Pince, having left his office to stretch his legs. "Thank you. Very informative," he commented in a low voice, aware that there were people trying to work.

The woman stared at it and took it dumbly before sliding into a pile to be sorted. "Professor Cross got it to you then."

He nodded and turned around, not meaning to stay long. Speak of the devil, he thought, spotting the young woman slumped over a desk, marking essays. He could see she was frowning hard, and her expression was torn between confusion and worry; she held her head in one hand, elbow on the table, and the other running a quill above the page as she read. Snape didn't see any reason to disturb her, so went to move on, nodding at Pince silently.

"Professor Snape?"

He felt his shoulders tense slightly at the sound of her voice but turned anyway with an expectant expression. She'd sat back and was looking at him but the mixed look on her face hadn't gone. "Do you mind if I ask you about something?" she asked quietly, being careful not to raise her voice too loudly. She'd seen him glide by out of the corner of her eye.

"Can it wait?"

She looked a little startled and looked down at the reams of parchment in front of her. "If you're busy, it doesn't matter."

He scolded himself for being short with her; after all, he was technically her supervisor, and superior, and she had asked for his advice on a matter. When had he ever known Alana to stop that low before? Her pride had often gotten in the way. "What's the problem, Professor Cross?"

She picked up and essay, holding it almost gingerly. "I think one of my NEWT students has copied their essay from somewhere else. I mean..." she paused, trying to explain. "It doesn't seem like their own work."

Severus edged closer to the table and put out a hand to take the paper from her. He scanned over it quickly. "Do they usually write this well?" he murmured as he read.

She brushed her hair back from her face. "Not usually. They're not a bad student, but this essay isn't concordant with their usual efforts. I mentioned to them before the holidays that I needed to see an improvement and this was the next piece they handed in. How do I know if they simply put the effort in, and bucked up their ideas, or if they've taken a shortcut to get me off their back?"

Snape fought a smirk, realising she was genuinely at a loss over the matter. "What is your gut feeling?" he asked, handing it back. Alan's brow furrowed as she thought about it.

"I think he cheated," she said resolutely. "But I can't be certain, and I certainly don't want to drag him aside and accuse him of something he might not have done. Especially if he did listen to what I had to say. Maybe he's struggling?"

Severus clenched his jaw and stared hard at her. Was she referring to the time he had accused her of cheating? She looked at him, waiting for an answer – the very picture of innocence – and in a second any coldness he'd felt was pushed away. This wasn't five years ago. How many times would he have to tell himself that?

"I would say that your gut instinct – though not always faultless – is usually right. Reading this over, I can't say I believe he wrote it. There are clear distinctions between reworded text and his own train of thought. However, you know the student, I don't."

"Right," she said with a heavy sigh. "So I have to trust my own judgement and handle it accordingly?"

"Yes."

Alana nodded and gave him a brief smile. "Thank you. I didn't mean to take up your time. I just didn't know how to handle it. It's not a big deal really," she added trying to laugh it off. Snape shifted uncomfortably.

"Not at all." He clenched his jaw, knowing he was going to say it even if he didn't think it was an idea he was comfortable with. "And if you have any other concerns, you know where I am."

She smiled gratefully but didn't say anything more so he took that as his cue to leave. Alana stared after him with a pensive expression, before shaking her head and returning to the essays.

XXXXX

"OK, I hope you all had a good break, but I want your essays that you should have written over Christmas out in front of you, so I can collect them while you work," Alana commanded, tossing textbooks across tables to her NEWT class students a week later. She was surprised how much noise a group of fifteen or so people could make but they were strangely exuberant, chatting and laughing. They were her first class after the holidays and having finally made up her mind on how she was going to handle the sixth year – a blonde boy who was now pulling his notebook out of his satchel with a smirk – she was beginning to feel a bit sick. She'd planned a timed lesson, so they could work in silence while she collected herself, planning what she would say.

It had suddenly clicked, after she'd asked him for his advice that a similar scene involving essays and suspected plagiarism had played out between her and Snape. Alana had outwardly groaned when she'd remembered, causing Pince to give her a reproachful look to remind her to be quietly. That had been the beginning of their turbulent relationship. She supposed he must have thought she was playing some kind of game with him. But if he thought so, he hadn't said a word, which in itself was even more unusual than sixth year NEWT students looking forward to Potions.

"Professor Cross – this knife is broken," sighed a Slytherin girl, twirling the damaged item in her hand lazily.

"You know where the box is Helena," Alana said, ratting the container on the table where she kept them during class (within in sight, to be collected and counted at the end – she was young enough to remember that people this age were not to be trusted), collecting essays as she did so. "Take advantage of your legs and come up and get one. Leave the broken one of my desk," she added. The girl huffed and slid slowly from her stool to do as she was told.

"Right – page fifty four. An old favourite," she smiled as they groaned. "I know it's easy for most of you, but that's the point. You should be able to do it with your eyes closed by now, and yet judging by your homework, we just need to iron out a few tweaks. I promise I won't make you do this potion anymore after today," she said wryly. "Your two hours starts now, and if you have any problems, feel free to raise your hand and ask for help."

The two hours passed slowly, with only a few distractions from people getting in a muddle. She didn't understand it at all; Jackson Mott, the boy who she was going to speak to at the end, wasn't stupid. In fact, practically, he was one of the better in the class. So was he just not trying at the theory? Was he struggling with it? These were questions she'd have to get to the bottom of when she spoke to him. Alana was determined, in a way, not to handle it as Snape had done with her. She would talk it through with Jackson, rather than shove an accusation in his face. Alana tapped her quill in an irritated way as she thought about it; a surge of old anger came back as the memories did. She shook her head and tried to focus on the words she was writing.

The timer sounded and by that time most of them had finished, and were waiting for her to test them, which she did so carefully. She was lucky – she had no one in this class that was as hopeless as Neville Longbottom had been in her year, but still, she thought eyeing some of the mixtures, you couldn't be too careful. As they packed away, she counted the knives and as they began to filter out the dungeon door, she called out "Jackson! Do you mind if I just have a word?"

The boy turned, not looking remotely concerned, and pushed his way back to stand in front of her. Alana waited until the room was empty before gesturing for him to take a seat. She stood, simply because all her teachers seemed to stand when they spoke to her, and she'd always been intimidated by them. Jackson didn't look intimidated however, just expectant, and she cleared her throat.

"I just wanted to talk to you about your work, and how you think you're getting on," she started, folding her arms as she leant on her desk. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

"Alright. Today was a bit lame," he admitted casually.

"Lame or not, you always do particularly well at the practical exercises," Alana continued, wondering how a tiny word like 'lame' had stung her. "I'm just a little concerned with the theory still, and I was wondering if you would talk to me about it. To try and clarify some things."

"What's there to talk about?"

"Well, do you find it particularly difficult?" she asked, prompting him. "Are you not fond of writing?"

"I don't mind it."

"How do you feel about Potions?"

"Well, with all due respect Professor," Jackson smirked, sounding as if there wasn't a lot of respect behind his voice at all. "I don't want to be a Potioneer."

"Fair enough," she said quietly. "But all the same, I expect a certain level of commitment-"

"I have a lot to do and sometimes I just don't have time," he interrupted. Something in Alana snapped, and she clenched her jaw tightly. He wasn't struggling with the work, he was lazy, and rather than have to put any effort in, Jackson had produced something he thought she had wanted to see to keep her happy.

"Your last essay," she said picking it up from her desk and decided she wasn't going to try and be nice any longer, "was an improvement." She saw him shift uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked at him properly his face was still very blank. "I figured that our discussion before Christmas must have gone in."

"Must have," he replied coolly.

"Good. Because if there's one thing I won't tolerate, Jackson, its people not giving me their best." She waved the paper at him. "I'd rather you said you couldn't be bothered, than handed me something that wasn't your own work. You didn't deserve the grade that this essay came out as, and as such, I'm not going to accept it."

"It was my own work," he tried.

"Some of it was – and that's how I know you can do better!" Alana said, raising her voice and standing up straight. "What you did write that was your own was coherent. You took time enough to make sure it didn't look like you'd copied your answers straight out of book. So you're telling me you don't have time to do it properly? Why can't you divert that deviousness into actually writing me a proper essay? You don't have to be a Potioneer ok? I don't give a damn what you do after here, but as long as you're in my class, you'll do what is expected."

Jackson sighed angrily through his teeth, allowing her words to settle in. He nodded a little and looked up at her through narrowed eyes. "So, have I got detention then?"

Alana clenched her fists and paused. She was going to have to do something.

"Thirty points from Slytherin and I want that essay rewritten. And today's too, if you've done the same trick with that." A guilty look crossed his face. "I'll be speaking to your head of house," she added, handing him his work back. He shook his head and stood up abruptly, taking the sheets from her.

"Can I go?"

"Yes."

He left quickly, leaving Alana only a few minutes to collect her thoughts and to steady her nerves before the next class. Her gut instinct had been right, and she had called it – but she could have been completely wrong. Now her gut instinct was nothing more than a knotted feeling in her stomach. Alana decided, sitting down, she didn't like using the Severus Snape Tough Love Approach. She much preferred it when everything ran smoothly, and she didn't have to play 'No-More-Miss-Nice-Teacher'. But still, at least these problems were few and far between. But she couldn't feel triumphant. She was going to have to call in Professor Snape. She sighed and rested her head on the desk. As much as it pained her, Jackson was in Snape's house, and so he would have to deal with him accordingly, however much it felt like passing the buck or running to him for help.