Here's a new fresh chapter for you, straight out of the oven. I hope you'll enjoy. I'm glad to be publishing this as I can now move forward with the plot.
As always, a hundred thousand thanks to my wonderful beta, FawkesyLady, who works tirelessly to ensure that my writing is fit to be seen! She's amazing, guys. And she really really needs to go back to writing her own fic because I am getting withdrawal symptoms.

Severus woke up after another delightful nap, well rested and strengthened after three days under Crowley's tender care. He was remarkably free of pain, as though nearly two decades worth of damage had been erased without a trace. Whilst nothing had changed in terms of his outward appearance, even that pesky ulcer on his stomach seemed to have settled. It was quite bizarre.

As nice as it was to laze about in bed all day with a pretty (and moody) Crowley at his beck and call, he knew that it was time to get up and get back to his duties. He had been out of the loop for far too long, and could not afford to waste any more time if he was going to find out about that thrice-damned Essence. Crowley never mentioned it and seemed to remain ignorant, thank Merlin - he would have had to Obliviate her otherwise. The Dark Lord, however, was a different kettle of fish. Severus could not explain the strange twitching of his Dark Mark that seemed to happen periodically. The snake branded into his arm seemed to twist and writhe under his skin, as though searching for something just out of its reach. He was used to it burning or even itching, but this was new, and despite being painless, it was deeply worrying.

Ah, but it did not matter. He would be dead soon anyway, so surely it wouldn't hurt to stay in bed, warm and comfortable and cared for, for a little bit longer?

He stretched luxuriously, musing over food. He could either get up now or call out and have the girl bring his lunch to bed. Her grudging responses to his demands amused him to no end - the previous day he had happily indulged in making her re-brew his cup of tea until it resembled an acceptable beverage, and by the time he had sent it back for the sixth time, she looked just about ready to tip the tea over his head. Really, she was a never-ending source of entertainment.

Chuckling lightly to himself, he remembered how she walked into the bedroom last night with a thin roll-up hanging out of the corner of her mouth and a carrier bag swinging off her wrist. In her usual cantankerous manner, she proclaimed, 'Here. Got you an Indian takeaway. If chicken korma isn't good enough for your poncey tastes, then I'm afraid that's your problem.'

What she did not know was that although Severus rarely indulged in a curry, it was one of his all-time favourite foods, and he really would rather not sample any more of her dreadful cuisine, so her thoughtfulness on both accounts was greatly appreciated. Still, he was eager to bait the short-tempered witch, and turned up his nose at the curry, skillfully hiding the fact that his mouth had watered at the very idea of a delicious, creamy, sweet korma. He had expected her to stomp out of the bedroom then, leaving him to enjoy his meal in comfortable solitude, but instead she dished up and sat at the foot of the bed to eat.

Severus wasn't sure how they ended up chatting away about politics and the current affairs. Crowley had proven herself to be quite switched-on and opinionated, and an interesting interlocutor to boot. Ever the devil's advocate, Severus would often take up the opposing view to encourage discussion, and found that Crowley's debating skills were sound, if lacking in refinement. She defended her opinions with solid arguments punctuated with swearwords appropriate only for sailors, and seemed to consider it necessary to highlight her point by jabbing her fork in his direction, a piece of chicken breast stuck to its tip. He discovered that she was surprisingly bright for a Gryffindor, although her cynicism was astonishing. By the time Severus finally drove her out of the bedroom with a well-aimed insult, he realised that her company was truly tolerable in moderated doses. Even the stomping and swearing did not bother him anymore - she had called him an arsehole, a dickhead, a tosser, and a multitude of other, more colourful names, and yet still he knew that she'd come back later and they would both act as though nothing had happened until the next round.

And now, it was time to leave.

Alice had just finished tidying up her basement lab when she heard footsteps on the staircase. Smiling lightly to herself, she asked without turning around, 'Feeling better?'

It had occurred to her earlier that day that Snape was going to be gone soon. He'd test his legs and be off like an antelope calf chased by a lion, like the one she saw on 'Wildlife on One' reruns the other night. It never ceased to amaze, the depths of miracle a few days rest and care could do, but frankly she was ready for a proper lie-in herself, something that proved impossible with the demanding Potions Master in the house, making messes and needing things, deprecatory and incorrigibly grumpy. Heart sinking, it hit her that she was going to miss the snarky bastard.

'I am much better today. Thank you, Miss Crowley.'

Alice did a mental eye-roll at the honorific, and turned around to see Snape, standing in the doorway and looking around with an unreadable expression.

'Well, come in then!' She beckoned with a tilt of her head. 'I'm sure you'll find plenty of things to criticise in 'ere, so best to get it over and done with, aye?'

Alice could have sworn that Snape snorted quietly before stepping into the lab. Indeed, he looked much healthier and stronger. The bruises on his face had faded almost completely, and if it wasn't for the loungewear he was wearing, he would look just as powerful and imposing as he usually did. As she took in the sight of him alive and well, a sense of pride mingled with satisfaction. She brought him back from the brink of death single-handedly. It had to count for something.

Snape betrayed no body-consciousness in spite of being robbed of the usual layers of black wool. The transfigured clothes left little to the imagination as he casually looked around the workbenches, peered into cauldrons and inspected the various jars and phials aligned in neat rows on the countertop. Having sat herself down on her stool, Alice shamelessly stared at him as he walked around, ogling his bare midriff and the smattering of black hairs on his belly. Without realising, she licked her lips lasciviously at the sight of the hint of pubic hair peeking out of the outrageously low waistband, knowing precisely how well endowed he was.

'What are these, Miss Crowley?' He asked, turning his head to face her, his eyebrow arched in mild interest.

The question broke her out of the very pleasant fantasy of what would have happened had she agreed to suck his cock, and she craned her neck to see what had piqued his interest. He stood in front of one of the benches, pointing at a row of long phials filled with brightly coloured, glittery potions with one finger. One long, elegant finger that could surely work wonders…

'Oh. Um.' Alice stammered before hopping off her stool and trotting over to where he stood. 'These are Christmas potions.' She rushed to explain at Snape's questioning look. 'Limited edition. For Fred and George's shop. I know it's only August, but I thought I'd get a head start, and…'

'What do they do?' He picked up one phial and held it up for closer inspection, a thick white liquid with flecks of glittering green and gold particles.

'This one? Oh, this one is fairly harmless, it makes your semen sparkly and gives it a nice sweet minty flavour.'

Snape whipped around sharply, staring at Alice as though she'd grown a second head. 'Trite.' Visibly discomfited, he turned away to glare at the rest of the samples. 'And these?'

Alice's mouth stretched into a wide smile, and she started picking up the different phials, explaining their properties in graphic detail with unabashed enthusiasm worthy of any inventor eager to showcase her achievements. 'This one gives you a Christmas Tree-shaped rash on your belly, a really nasty one.'

Unmindful of the disgusted fascination etched across Snape's face, she continued, 'This one is called ''Winter Storm''. It makes you shoot snowflakes out of your cock. And this one, ah, this one is also fairly innocent, it just makes your nose glow red. This one makes your poo look like a yule log - a nice nod to our neighbours on the continent, don't you think? This one makes you grow antlers, this one gives you pine-scented pubes, and this one, oh, I am so proud of this one!'

She held up a golden phial, 'This one is called ''Jingle Balls''. It makes your testicles jingle to the tune of…'

'Enough already!' Snape's eyes had been growing increasingly wider with each pronouncement, but now he jumped back, positively repulsed. 'Put them away, Crowley! I don't want this… this… madness to go anywhere near my person!'

'What a shame,' She replied liltingly, happy to hear that he had dropped the honorific. 'I was just going to ask if you'd like to be my test subject. Oh well!'

'Not in a million years.' He replied gruffly, glaring at the fruit of Alice's ridiculous imagination with obvious distrust. 'How you came up with these, I don't even want to know. I assure you, however, that I will assign you detention for each and every one I find on Hogwarts' grounds!'

Before Alice could reply, Snape turned his attention to a solitary cauldron discarded in the corner. He peered into it, brows drawn together in curiosity. He pointed at the blackened, melted cauldron. 'And this?'

Alice had hoped that he wouldn't notice the evidence of her failure. No such luck - this man could spot an error from miles away. Shoulders slumped, she walked towards him, the crushing sense of defeat washing over her once more, obliterating her good mood. 'This is a potion I tried to make when you were out. Erm. I kind of failed.'

'I can see that.' He scraped up a small amount of the dried up tar-like substance from the bottom of the cauldron and rubbed it between his fingertips. 'Interesting. May I ask what potion it was? Although if it was anything like what you've just showed me, perhaps it is for the best that you failed.'

'It was a potion called the Zaragozian Elixir. It's supposed to be very good with nerve damage.'

Snape froze, his eyes fixed on the wreckage. 'Where did you find the recipe?'

Alice looked at him innocently. 'Fred and George found that old potions book and brought it to me. They do that sometimes. Living alone gets boring and lonely, so they bring me stuff to amuse myself with.'

'May I see the book?'

'Sure. Right here!' Alice jogged over to one of the cupboards and presented Snape with a slim, leather-bound volume. It was tatty and obviously ancient, the leather cracked in places and the writing on the cover almost completely faded.

Snape quickly plucked the book out of her hands and opened it, skimming the contents until he found the recipe he was looking for. He began reading greedily, his nose almost brushing against the yellowed pages, his eyes darting rapidly from side to side. Alice decided to let him read in peace, and moved to pick up the mangled cauldron, but Snape stopped her by raising a hand.

'When did this happen?' He pointed at the tar-like substance.

Alice wrinkled her brows, straining to remember. 'After I dropped the pine needles… no, after I added the castor oil. The stench was horrendous.'

Snape nodded thoughtfully. Alice could not help but feel a little embarrassed. She had never let him see her botch a potion, not even when she was a barely literate first year. She did not have to be reminded of how merciless he could be in his judgement, and she rushed to defend herself. 'I'm sure I followed the recipe to the letter, but I was so tired, and this potion is quite complicated… I don't know where I went wrong,' She finished lamely, knowing that he would begin his verbal dressing-down shortly. And he would be right.

'I think I know.' He said, and her eyes widened in curiosity. 'You used Scots Pine needles, did you not?'

Alice nodded, and a flash of satisfaction flickered across Snape's eyes. He explained, 'Scots Pine needles are the standard ingredient used in most potions today, but this particular recipe calls for Swiss Pine needles, which were far more popular centuries ago. The recipe does not specify the exact type of pine needles needed, as is the case with many other ancient potions where instructions are often vague. In school, the instructions are adapted to our modern times. Working individually with original texts requires contextual knowledge.'

Alice didn't know what to say. She stared at him in wonder before turning around abruptly and leaning on the workbench behind her, processing his words. Really, she couldn't have known, and now she could not help but wonder what else she may have missed in recipes that were old and held unspecified assumptions.

She heard him move. He came to stand close behind her. Leaning in, he spoke softly over her shoulder, 'You are a very talented potioneer, Miss Crowley, but there is still much for you to learn.'

His warm breath tickled Alice's ear, and she shuddered, acutely aware of his strong, lean body inches away from her own. Swallowing thickly, she replied, 'I would love to find out what else you can teach me, Professor.'

He inhaled sharply and stepped back, causing Alice to turn around and look at him. He was tense, his fists clenched tightly by his sides, his dark eyes glittering with something intimidating and unspeakably exciting.

Long moments passed, each second stretched out to infinity before he clutched the slim book to his side and turned around sharply, making his way towards the door with a grunt.

'Er, Snape!' Alice trotted up behind him and poked him sharply in the upper arm, making him stop. 'The book. It's mine.' She held out her hand, tapping her foot impatiently.

'I am keeping it.' He replied gruffly and held it tighter to himself, gripping it possessively. 'I've been looking for it for a long time. These potions are far too complicated for you. Now get out of my way, Crowley. Where are my clothes?'

Alice giggled inwardly - so it was 'Crowley' again, huh? Meanwhile, her greedy little brain was presenting her with all the things she could get in exchange for this old tatty book. Oh, this was delicious.

'You're not having it. Bloody freeloader. Besides, these wards won't let you take anything out of my house without my permission. And I'm not letting you keep it. Not for nothing, anyway.'

Snape bared his teeth, a little vein appearing on his temple like it did every time he was about to lose his temper. Alice could have squealed in delight - he was so pretty when he was angry.

He ground out, 'What do you want, Crowley?'

Alice tapped her upper lip in mock-thoughtfulness, pretending to consider for longer than necessary, knowing that she was testing his patience. 'Hmm. Well, let me think… I used up an awful lot of my potions and ingredients on you…'

Snape interjected, 'Fine, I'll get you the fucking ingredients. Just say what you need.'

'Oh no, you don't have to.' Alice smirked mischievously. 'I already told the twins to re-stock my supplies, and then I went to Dumbledore and told him to the same, so essentially I'll be getting twice as much as I've lost and then some!'

'And you dare call me a freeloader?!' Snape called out, a hint of barely-suppressed humour in his voice. 'How very Slytherin of you. I'm impressed.'

Alice shone like the sun, basking in the warmth of his praise. 'A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do!'

Snape chuckled, then turned serious again. 'Indeed. Now seriously, what do you want?'

'Potions Weekly. And Monthly. And Quarterly. All the ones you have and all the future ones. Read them first then bring them to me.'

'Deal.' Snape replied. 'Freeloader.'

'Well, I'm not going to pay for a subscription. A Galleon here, a Galleon there… it all adds up, donnit?'

'It does indeed.' Snape began ascending the staircase and Alice followed, excited to finally get her hands on a never-ending supply of the trade journal she had coveted for Merlin knew how long.

'Oh, and one more thing.' She said when they reached the top of the stairs. 'You'll show me how to brew all these potions. Properly. Just so I know how to treat your damage in the future.'

Snape fell silent for a long moment, staring into the middle distance in consideration. Finally, he pronounced, 'Fine.'

Alice clapped her hands. 'Excellent.'

A deal firmly in place, the two made their way to the kitchen.

'WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, CROWLEY?!'

Snape roared, red-faced with righteous anger, gripping a bundle of black wool in his fist. 'WHAT IN THE NAME OF CIRCE POSSESSED YOU TO DO THAT?!'

'They were filthy!' Alice cried defensively. 'I had to wash them!'

'In ninety degrees, no less!' Snape tossed the bundle sharply onto the table and resumed pacing around the kitchen like a vexed lynx. 'Very clever of you, very clever. What the fuck were you thinking?!'

Alice glowered at the discarded clothes. How unfair. So she had washed his woollen clothes on a ninety degree cycle. How was she supposed to know that they would shrink? She didn't own any wool herself - wool was for posh poncey gits, something she was most definitely not. She only wanted his clothes to be nice and clean for him to wear. His ungratefulness was scandalous.

The git in question continued his pacing, muttering something unpleasant and undoubtedly directed at her - the poor, innocent angel who only had the best of intentions. For the umpteenth time, he picked up his ruined trousers and held them up for inspection. They would be a perfect fit for Flitwick, no doubt, but there was no way that they would fit Snape's long form. Oops.

'Thankless twat.' She grumbled, calculating whether or not it was worth turning on the waterworks just yet. Not that he'd care, the heartless bastard. After all she's done for him…

Snape sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 'For fuck's sake, Crowley, what am I going to do with you?'

'I can think of a thing or two,' she muttered under her breath.

Snape did not seem to have heard that. He flicked his wand and transfigured his borrowed loungewear into a pair of black slacks and a white long-sleeve shirt. 'I'm going now.'

Alice groaned inwardly. His delicious midriff was now gone, his sharp hip bones and the hint of abs obscured by the crisp white fabric. How utterly unfair. And now he was going, leaving her all alone. Prick.

She turned up her nose, her posture radiating indifference. 'Fine, bugger off then. I've had enough of you.' After a second she added, 'And don't forget my journals.'

'Go fuck yourself, Crowley.' He replied, stuffing his possessions into his pockets. 'I'll expect my tea to be brewed correctly from here on out. Or there will be hell to pay.'

'Is that a promise?' Alice piped up, her eyes glittering with excitement.

Snape rolled his eyes and shook his head. After sending a last scowl her way, he turned neatly on the spot and disapparated, leaving Alice alone again.

In the late evening, Alice fell asleep in her bed for the first time in days. She had worked tirelessly all day in an effort to drown out the silence, and had caught herself listening out for the sound of Snape's voice numerous times. It was odd, not having him around, not being called to his side every half hour. She had got so used to him, and his absence was far more irritating than his presence ever was.

Despite her reservations, she deliberately chose not to wash his pillowcase, and found that the world did not end when she laid her head down and buried her face in it to inhale his lingering scent, wondering if they would ever share a bed. She fell asleep easily that night, safe in the knowledge that the object of her rapidly developing affections would soon darken her door again.

Severus laid in his very own bed, one arm tucked behind his head. He kept glancing at the clock and out of the window, waiting for the light in Crowley's bedroom window to disappear. It was strange to be back within the familiar four walls of his home, without the comforting sounds of her bustling about downstairs.

Eleven o'clock. The light was still on. What was she doing? Severus pictured her, reading in her bed with a cigarette between her teeth, or putting the washing away. He wondered if she felt as strange now as he did. Or maybe she was relieved to be rid of him? Far more likely. Or was it?

His eyes darted to the bedside cabinet and the small phial he had placed on top. He had stormed into Dumbledore's office demanding explanations, and came out with this.

He picked up the phial and held it up. He had stared at it for hours in awe and wonder - the legendary Dark Essence, right in front of his very eyes. This utterly fascinating liquid was not only the key to his own survival, but also a thing of beauty - a dangerous, morbid beauty that would soon find its way into Lord Voldemort's hands. Severus' black eyes widened in avarice. He caressed the phial with his fingertips, allured and repulsed by this treasure. It seemed to swirl around the phial lazily as though it had a will of its own, enticing and gleaming, promising and threatening. He heeded Dumbledore's warning and stopped himself from opening it. Merlin knew what would happen if he dared.

His Mark twitched again, the snake gliding smoothly under his skin, stretching, reaching out for what, he did not know. The best explanation he came up with was that it was the Dark Lord's way of checking if his servant was still alive. The Mark was an old, nasty piece of Dark magic, and even Severus himself, well-versed in the Dark Arts as he was, had not yet uncovered all of its secrets.

Half eleven. Her window was still bright. Did she ever sleep?!

Severus put the phial back on the bedside table and stared at the ceiling, wishing that she was here, sitting at the foot of his bed, making conversation. Technically there was nothing stopping him from going out to town and picking up a takeaway and then turning up at her door - nothing except for his pride and propriety, the latter massively frayed by now. He could no longer see her as merely a student. Severus figured that this… alliance, or whatever it was, was something he held dear, and despite the fact that each one of his visits bred more questions than answers and put his integrity into question, he could not imagine letting it go.

Being around her felt as natural as breathing. She was bitter and spiteful, thick-skinned and rude. She dished out one insult after another, but never mocked his appearance, never made fun out of his scars or his damned nose. Severus snorted, knowing full-well how ridiculously vain he was sounding even to himself. He knew he was no oil painting, but when he tested the waters, she didn't move away, didn't seem repulsed. Perhaps the wine-induced attraction from weeks ago wasn't so wine-induced after all.

And now he missed her presence.

How utterly daft.

Midnight. Severus looked out of the window once more, having forgotten about the time. The window was now dark, and he waited for another ten minutes before walking out of the house and padding softly across the street towards her front door. There, he began searching for holes in her wards, aware of the new life debt in his collection. He strengthened the existing protection charms and added new ones of his own invention, weaving an intricate net that would ensure her safety and inform him of any danger. By the time he was finished, Crowley's house could not have been made any safer save for making it Secret-Kept. So well protected she was that even the Dark Lord himself would have a hard time disturbing the sweet girl's peace.