A/N: Thank you so much for all the love this fic has received so far! I promise we're not done yet :)

As promised - link for the playlist is in my profile.

I was going to rearrange the tracks in order of the story's flow, but my sister informed me that would be just a little TOO insane (L O freaking L), so it's best listened on shuffle. OR, if you see a song that would pair well with a scene as you're reading, play it! I had so much fun creating it while I was writing TPYB, I'm excited to see you guys have some fun with it too.

Alright! Without further ado, let's see what everyone's been up to this past week...

Chapter 6

"Assumptions close doors. Intrigue opens them." - Sam Owen

Bex sighed lightly, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow with her left hand so as not to disturb the thirty-six stirs that occupied her right. The cauldron full of an experimental brew simmered and bubbled with quiet pops as a calming lavender scent filled the air. She was glad she'd gone over Snape's head to Dumbledore for this – making use of the students' potions lab past curfew so that she wouldn't start falling behind in her research. Her work was mandated by the Healing program at Erinlẹ's, and with only a year and a half left until her licensing examinations, she truly couldn't afford to fall behind even a little. For the first time in days, the Hospital Wing was blessedly empty – save for a house elf, Dibly, who would alert her if a student happened to wander in, needing medical assistance.

"Forty grams Acromantula silk," whispered Bex, speaking to the quill that rapidly scribbled the note on parchment secured to a clipboard. She'd finished counting, the potion turning a light vermilion and thickening significantly as she laid down the stirring rod.

Yawning, Bex grabbed the time from the clock on the wall. She rubbed her eyes with her sleeve, careful not to touch her hands to her face, then took over note-taking from the suspended parchment and quill. It was nearing 2 AM, and as much as she didn't want to, she would have to find sleep eventually. Sleep that couldn't come in the form of a potion, or else she'd be useless to any student who needed her tomorrow. In a few hours. Whatever. That thought, more so than Snape's flippant remark about her failed glamours, shattered her esteem. And even as she tried to place the delicate pieces back together, Bex felt it was pointless; in days (or maybe weeks), it would break all over again as she reached for the Dreamless Sleep tucked away in her nightstand.

The effects of Dreamless Sleep when used excessively long-term were… horrible, to say the least.

Bex simply wished she could tell everyone that the nightmares she experienced as a result of her born abilities were much, much worse. As much as she was driven to help others by wielding the raw healing magic stored at her core, doing so came at the price of being haunted by visions of their inevitable deaths. Over the years, she'd learned to subvert the visions using Occlumency methods, storing them in her subconscious. Which came at the further cost of intense, sporadic nightmares. She would watch as men, women, and children perished before her – often by horrific means – and she was helpless to save them. She couldn't close her eyes or turn her head from these visions (though that never stopped her from trying), and she usually felt the pain of dying right along with those poor people. Her own mother included. This was her reality.

In light of it, a draught dependency seemed so… miniscule.

Though a swish of her wand was fully capable of bottling her potion and clearing her workspace, Bex decided to do it all by hand. Exhausted and prolonging an inescapable fate. At least she had the weekend to look forward to – and with it, a much-needed visit from her best friend.

Bex smiled tiredly at the thought of Rowan, with whom she'd been in constant communication since arriving at Hogwarts. Whether it be by owl or Floo call, they'd not gone more than 48 hours without talking; however, both of their busy adult schedules had finally aligned so that they could spend a few hours together this upcoming Saturday. Bex was beside herself with excitement – they hadn't seen one another in person in weeks. Of course, she would still be working – or, perhaps she'd allow that seventh-year, Rosetta, to mind the Wing for an hour or two – but it wasn't as if Rowan minded in the least. In fact, he was thrilled to see the inside of Hogwarts' critically acclaimed Hospital Wing. Even more thrilled to potentially meet his friend's new colleagues, whom she'd spoken about at length.

Just as she'd begun scrubbing her cauldron using her own standard scrub brush – not wanting to test her luck by using any of the dour professor's supplies or equipment – a loud POP! startled Bex. She dropped the brush in the sink under running water, turning on the spot to be met with the sight of Dibly. The poor thing was in clear distress, tugging at its overgrown, batlike ears and on the verge of crying.

"Madam Kakudō be coming now!" he squealed, snapping his fingers and causing her supplies to sort through themselves before zipping out of the dungeons towards her office.

"Dibly!" Fully awake now, Bex's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Dibly snatched her hand, shaking his head furiously. "No time! Student Avery is being grievously hurt by stupid Transfiguration spell!"

With those words, the duo Apparated with another loud, resounding POP! So loud was all the noise coming from the Potions classroom that it drew one cantankerous Potions professor out from his own office. A scowl of irritation graced his lined face. Of course, he knew Kakudō was brewing down here in her free time – he wasn't stupid – and he honestly didn't mind... too much. But did she have to make so much fucking racket while he was trying to get work done next door?!

When he burst into the classroom, he could see that she was nowhere in sight, though her professional-grade bronze cauldron had been left behind. Scrubbed spotless and glimmering, at least. Severus raised a brow at this. Such carelessness with invaluable equipment was sacrilegious, in his opinion. The crack of Apparition he'd previously heard thunder down the corridor indicated a house elf was here at some point; it had likely left with Kakudō in haste to aid a student. Rolling his eyes, Severus slashed his wand through the air, sending the cauldron zooming back to the Hospital Wing.

Returning to his office, Severus found that his concentration had waned considerably. He stared at the words on the parchment before him until the letters became nonsense. He tried sipping tea that he'd made hours ago only to find that it had gone terribly cold. He frowned. Obsessive thoughts of the Dark Mark tried to consume him, but he wouldn't allow it. Couldn't allow it. So many of the inner and outer circle would either flee into hiding or seek the protection of the Ministry when the Dark Lord returned to full power. His role dictated that hiding was not a privilege he could afford, though Minerva had suggested it ample enough times.

Like a rubber band under too much tension, his mind snapped and once again ricocheted back to thinking about... the murder. There had been no leads yet in Poppy's case (and he'd definitely been keeping a close eye, thanks to Dumbledore's contacts at the Ministry). Lucius didn't mingle with werewolves unless he absolutely had to, so he was no help in pinpointing her assailants either.

"I'll let you know if I hear of anything, though, Severus," the blond-haired man had said solemnly over drinks one evening at Malfoy Manor. "It's always a waste, the spilling of pure blood. And I'm especially disappointed the blood was that of Poppy Pomfrey. That mediwitch has been a saint, no – a miracle worker for as long as she's lived, in my opinion."

It was time to call it one. Clearly, he'd be getting no more work done tonight. Sighing deeply, Severus pushed a mountain of scrolls to the side of his desk, tidying as best he could before leaving through an interconnecting chamber to his rooms. He went through the motions of dressing himself, brushing his teeth, et cetera. And finally rewarded himself by practically falling into bed. His mind and body were bone-tired, but still… he couldn't sleep. Severus stared at the cracked stone ceiling above his head with burning eyes, and clenched his jaw. Typical. His brain raced, replaying the day, and he tiredly allowed these thoughts to run mostly unchecked. Dumbledore was growing increasingly adamant that inviting dozens more students to Hogwarts while the Dark Lord gathered his strength in the shadows was still, somehow, a brilliant idea. Surely, international camaraderie wasn't as important as keeping the children safe, was it?

He refused to stare at the mark on his arm. It would look no different than it had this morning. Instead, he pivoted his thoughts toward lesson planning and such; he counted out mentally how much of the school's money he would use to purchase new ingredients and materials for the classroom; he noted the date of an upcoming staff meeting; he made another note to submit his research publication to the World Potions Journal before the deadline.

Soon, all too soon, his eyelids dragged themselves down to soothe the burning sensation they were experiencing. Sleep never came easy for Severus, but when it did, he usually welcomed it with open arms. He'd made a promise to himself that, in the new year, he would try to aim for a minimum of four hours of sleep per night. He needed his strength and his wits about him for future… endeavors.

Perhaps he should take Kakudō up on her offer to keep him in a supply of All-Nutrition.

Before he knew it, Severus was walking a familiar path through the Forbidden Forest; this wasn't unusual, as he often walked through the darkened woods to collect rare ingredients, or to discuss with the centaur and fae population what their current planetary alignments might mean in relation to upcoming ventures. What was unusual, however, was that he could only move at a snail's pace. There was also a deep sense of dread that spiked within his abdomen. He was near the edge of the forest, he could feel it – the school grounds would be right beyond that thicket of trees. As he pushed through, he heard screaming and then a squelch. Whimpering. Begging. Immediately, Severus identified the reason for the foreboding feeling, the coppery scent of blood filling his nostrils.

"Poppy!" His voice broke on the word.

He was too late, as he always was. The werewolf that had ravaged her body was long gone, and she lay there, twisted and gutted, eyes open wide in shock. Stricken with guilt and horror, he sunk heavily to his knees in the dewy grass beside her. Grasping her hand gently, he looked around to see if anyone would join them in this hell. No, they were all alone. He closed her eyes for her with a shuddering sigh, not realizing he was crying until a teardrop fell from his chin. Severus sat there for what felt like an eternity, staring at her lifeless face while her pale hand grew colder and colder. Why couldn't he get up?

Suddenly, a shrill cry exploded from back inside the forest. Severus blinked. Poppy's body had disappeared. The screaming continued, reaching a feverish pitch, and he sprang to his feet, thankful that he could finally move with speed again. He ran with the wind, dodging boulders, ducking branches, following the shouting and pleading. Pleading and crying underscored by vicious growls. The cries never stopped, and he… he recognized that voice.

NO.

"KAKUDŌ! GET BACK!"

Severus shot up in bed, heart galloping a mile a minute. His wand was out, but he'd pulled it on no one. He was alone in his bedchamber, just as he'd been when he fell asleep only a few hours ago. Scrubbing his face with one hand, he lowered his wand that was still pointed at the armoire. He was more than a little ashamed of his outburst, but at least no one was around to witness it.

Or, so he thought.

When the professor decided to leave the general discomfort of his bed for a hot shower – as it was 4:43 AM and quite early enough to start getting ready for the day – a little elf, who'd been coming to wake him from his nightmarish murmurings, gently closed the door of his bedchamber. Softly, so that the latch didn't click and alert him to her presence. She was a little confused about what she'd just seen, but she did know that her master only ever shouted out in his sleep the names of the people he loved. Frowning, she slipped out of his rooms and Apparated back to the kitchens with a funny feeling in her chest.

RK + SS

"So I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that kids are nowhere in the cards for you as far as life plans go?"

"Absolutely not!" Bex grumbled, stabbing a cooked bell pepper with her fork before popping it into her mouth. "My gods – it's like something happens between the ages of nine and eleven where they become so annoying, even at the best of times. I mean, were we really this insufferable when we were preteens and teenagers?"

Rowan seemingly pondered for a moment, the grin he'd worn since his arrival somehow growing brighter. After awhile, he nodded, saying, "Yeah. Yeah, we were – at least, I definitely was. Typical Puck-Fuck."

Wrinkling her nose over her plate of pot roast, Bex said in distaste, "I still can't believe you all called yourselves that. Proudly."

"It made us sound cool," said Rowan, defending the Ilvermorny house he'd been sorted into ages ago. "Definitely better than being called Pukwudgies."

"It makes you sound like an easy lay for a hockey team," Bex snickered.

His face fell flat, but he could hold it only a second before retorting, "Babe, stop – you know that's my dream," and igniting riotous laughter from them both.

Bex was thankful there were no Hogsmeade weekends scheduled until November, voiding the Three Broomsticks of any student activity for the time being. She was able to enjoy a smidgen of quality time with her best friend in relative peace, especially as the Hospital Wing was being minded by three apprentices (supervised by Dibly). The intentional bonding time was doing wonders to lift her spirits. She wasn't lonely at Hogwarts, per se – she and Aunt Septima were closer than they'd ever been before, now that they lived together and often dined side-by-side at the Head Table. But Bex would be lying if she said she wasn't affected by the distance between her and Rowan.

"But seriously," he said as her laughter died. "They can't all be terrible, mischievous delinquents."

Bex pursed her lips. "No, not all. I'd say most."

"Most?"

"They're trying to fucking age themselves up!" exclaimed Bex, gesticulating wildly, nearly knocking over Rowan's butterbeer. "With potions, Transfiguration spells – whatever they can use to break the headmaster's age line in order to maybe compete in a potentially fatal tournament."

Holding his hands up in surrender, Rowan chuckled and said, "Alright, alright! Most, like you said. I assume aforementioned spells and potions have had disastrous side effects on the student population?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"How bad?"

"Do you remember the one guy who came in – the one who couldn't breathe because he'd accidentally sent his skullcaps to grow in his lungs instead of his garden?"

Rowan winced. "Yeah, Mr. Hughes. That bad, eh?"

"Worse," sighed Bex. "I have a fourth-year still recovering from a nasty Transfiguration accident from a few nights ago."

"Was it Harry Potter?" Rowan's eyes widened, curiosity coming off of him in waves.

"No," replied Bex, snickering at his childlike fascination with the Boy Who Lived. "He's actually managed to keep his head down and avoid trouble so far this year."

"Unlike in past years…?"

"Let's just call him a frequent flyer."

"How thick is his file?" Rowan leaned close.

Bex used both hands to measure about two inches of space between them. At his low whistle, she laughed again and tossed a balled napkin at him. He made an indignant noise that she ignored, instead beckoning him even closer. He readily bent even further across the small table.

"If I share something private with you, you have to swear you'll never tell another soul."

Rowan raised a brow conspiratorially. "Babe… who would I tell?"

Bex considered him for a moment until a wide grin split across her face. "The kid apparently has balls of steel," she whispered. "He took out a fully grown basilisk that was living beneath the school when he was only twelve. Single-handed!"

Rowan's jaw dropped. "Swear to the gods?"

Raising her right hand solemnly, she replied, "All of those above and below. Potter certainly has my respect, I'll tell you that."

The pair finished their lunch and settled the tab with Madam Rosmerta, as Ozzy was busy cleaning glass mugs. Bex wanted to spend their remaining time together exploring some of the shops on High Street; knowing Rowan's sweet tooth, it wouldn't be long until he sniffed out Honeydukes only a few shops down. She could go for some sweet peppermint bark herself.

He didn't often take her by surprise. So when he stopped dead in his tracks and gently grasped her hand – interrupting delicious thoughts of chocolate wands and French macaroons – Bex was rendered speechless. Not only by the physical hold he had on her, but also by the deep concern in his gaze.

"Hey, Bex?"

"Yeah…?"

"Y-You'd –" He cut himself off, clearing his throat, breaths coming in visible puffs of steam in the cold. "You'd tell me if you were… in trouble, or whatever, right?"

An oddly cold feeling bloomed in Bex's stomach. He knew. How could he know? He couldn't; she'd been so careful. His uncertainty, so enmeshed with his worry for her and with the knowledge that something was wrong – it broke her heart in a way she was powerless to describe. And she would lie to him, possibly even gaslight him – as she'd done before – to keep her secret. To spare him the pain (and to spare her the humiliation) of knowing his best friend and colleague in mediwizardry was a shameless addict. A born Healer addicted to one of the very draughts she often prescribed for her patients who'd suffered significant trauma.

The irony made her want to laugh and cry at the same time.

Instead of doing either of those things, Bex smiled weakly and pulled her hand from his. She felt the chill of its loss almost immediately. Making a light-hearted joke about him already feeling sentimental about her absence, Bex gestured to the sweets shop down the road, airily suggesting he take some treats home for his dad and the hospital staff.

"Dad and Healer T would actually go ham for some Scottish nougat," said Rowan, allowing himself to be distracted for the time being. His smile was wide as he continued tagging along beside her, following her down the few shops to Honeydukes.

So caught up they were in spending time together, neither had noticed the cloaked figure who'd been seated inside the Three Broomsticks at a table adjacent from their own, tucked into a corner balcony. It was mere coincidence he'd arrived at the pub a mere twenty minutes prior to the two friends showing up, and he'd found, irritably, that he was unable to tune them out. Largely by virtue of the… alarming dream he'd had the night previous. But also because they spoke so.. animatedly – a clear contrast to how she behaved around others at the castle.

Narrowed black eyes had tracked the duo out of the smoky inn, and from his vantage point in the balcony window seat, he was able to watch their entire exchange outside.

Interesting…

RK + SS

"Shit."

How had she miscounted?!

No, no, no, no…

Bex felt her heart plummet about a mile, realizing she wouldn't have enough grams of powdered dragon horn to keep up her private supply of Dreamless Sleep over the year, like she'd wanted. Taking even just one or two horns from the Hospital Wing was so out of the question, it wasn't even a thought; she hadn't abused her position at Erinlẹ's, and she wasn't about to start now. Ordering or purchasing individual vials of the draught outright from a Potions shop also was not an option, as the sale of Dreamless Sleep was often highly regulated in certain countries. Brewing her own supply was simply safer and more cost-effective, given one cauldron yielded about a four-week supply… if she was using it as intended. Normally, she was able to stretch out the dosages to meet the full month or so, but it was still a struggle; she usually found herself needing to brew more around the three week mark.

But any yield at all would be impossible without the correct amount of dragon horn, one of the more expensive ingredients for obvious reasons.

Bex grit her teeth, silently grinding the shards of horn down with mortar and pestle until she risked compromising the integrity of the powder by making it far too fine. Sweat dripped down her brow, and she steadied her trembling hands.

"Five horns always makes seventy grams," she whispered to herself tersely, keeping her voice low to not wake the sleeping sixth year a few beds down. The poor thing had taken quite the tumble down a flight of stairs after practicing nonverbal spells outside of class – a sight to behold, and he was ordered to stay overnight for observation after she'd righted all of his bones.

Unable to rest – and unwilling to leave the infirmary at 2 AM while a student lay sleeping – Bex had setup a small workbench behind a privacy curtain near her desk to begin prepping all the various ingredients she'd need for the Dreamless Sleep potion. It was only then, as Bex was breaking down the second to last horn of the Ukrainian Firebelly, that she realized she'd be about twenty or so grams short. She placed the rounded pestle on the table and carefully picked up the horn, bringing it to her nose to study closely. There it was – this batch was slightly smaller in width and about three to four centimeters short of the standard sixteen inches. Probably a male Firebelly. If she weighed it, the horn would certainly be less dense than those she was used to working with; thus, resulting in less powder – not enough for any amount of Dreamless Sleep.

Let alone the amount she would need to stave off the nightmares that were increasing in frequency.

Perhaps… Hogwarts' Potions Master may be of assistance. He was sure to have an extra horn or two, wasn't he?

She immediately dismissed the idea with a scoff – there was no way in hell she could ask Professor Snape for an incredibly rare and expensive potions ingredient without arousing more suspicion from the man. As it was, he was being unusually possessive of all the stores in the dungeon; Bex could only guess students were attempting to break in and steal right from under his nose. Plus, it wasn't like they had exactly reached each other's good side.

Dejected, the mediwitch began clearing her workbench. It was nearing three o'clock in the morning and she desperately needed to get some semblance of rest. Her eyelids were suddenly so heavy and she yawned, thinking she'd probably crash in one of the beds down here in the infirmary rather than drag her tired body up the stairs to her bedchamber. Unable to wave her wand fast enough, her charms soon became slow and sluggish.

The infirmary pillow and linens came upon her face fast. Bex barely felt the shift between light wakefulness and deep sleep as her eyes closed and she allowed her remaining Occlumency walls to come crumbling down.

The visions came soon thereafter.

Awful screeching underscored by the retro synth sounds of '80s dream pop music played all around her. She was dropped into a bucket of dark nothingness. Drowning. Hyperventilating. Helpless to do anything but listen to the jagged breaths of a kind Department of Mysteries employee who'd come to Erinlẹ's years ago, when she was still a bright-eyed intern. She'd first seen him in passing – as he'd simply been there to visit a relative – and then again, after his involvement in a new Floo experiment gone wrong. Building up the power at her core, she'd hummed and gently pressed his shoulder blade back into its correct location without her patient feeling so much as an ounce of pain. Her Occlumency walls were still intact, so the images of his predestined fate were taken into a ball by her subconscious, to be buried and unearthed only when she could properly process the pain. At the time, Bex remembered thinking that the ensuing visions would be worth it; and surely someone as sweet and kind as Legory Naurank would live a peaceful life, dying comfortably with dignity, his loved ones beside him.

How she so hated the way these visions stole her delusions right from under her.

The bucket tipped over and she spilled out at the feet of at least a dozen Inferi. Bex choked on a cry and stupidly reached for a wand that wasn't there. The Inferi groaned, gaping maws causing some to sound more raspy than others; peeling flesh revealed visible organs that squelched as they stalked nearer. To her relief, Bex realized their yellow eyes were looking beyond her – the reanimated corpses didn't even register her presence. She scrambled away until her back hit a wall, not wanting to be anywhere near them; her stomach turned when she took in the room they appeared to be trapped in.

It was a nursery.

No, not a nursery. There was no crib, but there was a bed large enough to fit a toddler. A girl. On the walls were hand-painted pictures of Eric Carle characters; large burn marks from Legory's defensive spells marred a lot of their faces. The little girl was holding onto her father as he clutched her to his chest. They were crouched in the furthest corner of the girl's room, and based on the heavy smoke and splintered door, he'd already put up quite the fight against the abominable creatures.

No…

"I can't watch this!" Bex whispered hoarsely. She shut her eyes and clamped her hands over her ears. It was useless – she could still see and hear perfectly. Legory sent a steady stream of stunners that didn't keep the Inferi down for long, if they dropped at all.

"Why can't I Apparate?!" he shouted with a frustration that told Bex he'd been attempting for awhile. She'd wondered the same thing, right up until his exclamation.

Because someone cast anti-Apparition wards on the house before sending in their Inferi.

The voice was a haunting whisper that made Bex feel as though she'd been dipped in a tub of ice. This wasn't the first time she'd received a cold, detached narration along with her visions. This was, however, the first time it alluded to foul play. She didn't like this – she didn't like this at all. Through her hands that were still pressed against her ears, Bex heard Legory's daughter crying. The devastating noise increased in pitch until it reached a crescendo. It was at that point she began to think that maybe healing him with her power had not been worth it.

"Daddy, scary!"

Bex was not aware of the tears that were running down her cheeks in waves as she was forced to watch what happened next in Legory's final moments. The gurgling Inferi lunged toward the pair just as the father slashed his wand in the air. Fiendfyre flames engulfed them all, but Bex remained unharmed. Every time she turned her head away from the screams, the burning, it ricocheted back in place. Every time she closed her eyes, it was like she was forced into an out of body experience in which she actually washarmed; she choked on the smoke entering her lungs and experienced the uncontrollable fire licking at her skin, causing irreparable burns. Eventually, she could do nothing but sit, knees to her chest, and watch as father and daughter took their last breaths clinging onto one another.

And then it was done.

A/N: Comments fuel me!