Dear All,

This chapter was not betad, so I'll probably go down in flames, but please try to enjoy it as best you can!

More to come, I'm trying to get my sh** together; please cross your fingers for me!

Oh, and of course, it's still Rowling's, just like the royalties.

TN_Chapter 33.

September 1994.

(18)

Anne couldn't shake off the strange mood Snape's silence had put her, not even when Frank Strawman made fun of her in their short rest time after midnight. She liked Frank enough, even if his sense of humour was sometimes overbearing. He smoked, he cursed, he laughed, and essentially never wished bad on anyone. He was loud but safe. Anne wished she could say the same about Bert because she dearly loved the A- Room, but that night, anything she touched there reminded her either of Snape's silent scrutiny or his remarkable strength lifting that cauldron, and neither of these thoughts served her wish for peace and calm.

Of course, she could have asked about Karkaroff. She couldn't understand why her father changed his mind about him. If it was only about Durmstrang's Head having been a Death Eater, he shouldn't have asked for information on Snape. It made no sense, and that's why it drove her to distraction, but somehow, she couldn't mind apologising instead and finally leaving the summer behind.

And it was behind in every sense of the word, as she had to experience it literally on her skin, wearing her Muggle clothes with a thin cardigan against the dawn's chill at the far side of Hogsmeade. She stole up into her tower, turned back time, and pulled the rug she used up to her chin in the left-side room so the winds wouldn't wake her before her wand buzzed and sent her down to her dorm after another turn, so she could have a good night sleep in her still warm dorm. Warming Charms were never sufficient in a northern castle when the weather turned windy.

Friday would have been bearable if not for Moody's version of a Defence class.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" – Moody boomed, making her jump behind her desk. "The three signs of a blood curse on any object, Rosier!"

"Erm… colour," – she froze because the vibe and the whisper didn't seem good choices to utter before her classmates or the Auror.

"Colour is only one! One! When dark witches and wizards still keep numerous cursed objects in their possessions! Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, not one can be trusted, and you will not have a chance in self-defence if you cannot identify a cursed object! Anytime. Anywhere. But why would you worry about it, Rosier?"

Anne suddenly felt something cold and unforgiving in her stomach, and only Bletchly's sympathy stopped her from making a spectacle of herself. The Carrows' gloating glee must have only come from their relief the Auror didn't pick at their family history this time.

"I don't know, sir," – she forced her voice to stay soft as she replied. This pig couldn't be harder to survive than Eleonore Fawley!

"Ten points from Slytherin. Boot, list the signs!" – Moody turned to one of the Ravenclaws and received a textbook answer. Anne sighed a silent sigh of relief and covertly shrugged when Higgs gestured his amazement over her stupidity.

After class, she agreed with her classmates that she always sucked at defence and slipped away to turn invisible in a niche and climb up to her tower, unnoticed behind Nimue's tapestry until she had to see Poppy, show what she'd learned over the summer, then turn back time for the last night shift for three weeks.

The weekend, compared to that, was blissful. It was a shame how happily Anne slept as long as it was already an hour after noon, not giving a flying thought about turning back time and using her morning for the Slytherin homework business even after waking. She exerted herself enough by walking up to the Great Hall for the last quarter an hour of the lunch break and writing some lines to her brothers about their problems miraculously solved via owl post and her supposed threats delivered to their father. Then she retreated to her tower and played with Pricey and on her guitar until she felt the need for another nap.

By the end of Sunday, she was through three days' worth compensating her leisurely Saturday, and her brothers' reply also arrived with the evening owls. Caleb was sceptical, and Gavin was relieved. Through the day, she had written thirty-nine essays on various topics for her housemates and four more for herself in Charms, Transfiguration, Astronomy, and Arithmancy and prepared her Runes homework. She was through a polite visit with Sprout and two shifts at the Infirmary with Poppy, listening through the History of Medimagic on one and proving that her healing charms evolved with her summer practice on the other.

It was true that having a friend in her tower lured her up there more, too, and she decidedly couldn't give a rat's arse about the Ministry's rules while she turned back time for music, yoga, and just having fun with Pricey. The Tiger could blow a strange mist that made everything blur around her and then entertained her with a version of hide and seek, biting her hand gently whenever she lost her way or her attention wavered. Pricey also loved to hit the beat with his tiny tail and wasn't averse to learning new fashions in Anne's favourite songs.

She stretched the weekend to its breaking point and did about everything she could think of that was mildly useful and entertaining, which didn't involve Filch, Snape, or spending time in the castle's common areas where she could run into them.

The best part was still visiting the Smiths and enjoying their chatter. George's ramblings about the United getting a beating from Leeds were only a glitch, and no one should take it seriously; almost compensated for the fact she missed the match and turned her thoughts again on that red scarf… was it too presumptuous to give it to Snape? When no one else was around, she brought it up, and George almost choked on his tea.

"Was that for that odd friend of yours who whisked you away in Nottingham?" Anne's blush must have been enough of an answer, because he promptly went on: "He didn't seem the kind who gets things for free, Anne. I hope you explained what gave you the idea because he seems a little older than what I would imagine for you."

It was too hilarious to even blush about the misunderstanding. "Gods, George, it's nothing like that! I just… well, I think I hurt him…. I said things I shouldn't have, and I apologised the other day. I told him I gave him the scarf so he would take it seriously. Also, his have scorch marks, so he might have liked another."

Strangely the state of Snape's scarf gave him a pause. "I didn't notice, but there were too many around. But Annie, you'd better be careful around a guy like that. I love the United almost like my Aida, but I would never go with the rowdies when they are out for no good. Your friend has either been where he shouldn't, or he is one of the troublemakers I would like you to avoid."

Calling Snape a rowdy was so out there Anne laughed up and just shook her head. Even if her aunt and uncle called him a ratbag, she couldn't imagine him going for a fight. Of course, there had been Lockhart, but that wasn't a row. They bowed and kept to all the traditional rubbish that came with a wizarding duel. Surely, George couldn't see him as she did, having had only a glance and an impression!

She assured George, "He's an intelligent man, not a hooligan," but he didn't seem to believe her.

"With the face, I remember, he could easily be both. But let's not judge him too soon! I'd rather try and have a word with him if I see him around."

Well, that was frightening, and Anne struggled to come up with a reason other than telling him all about Hogwarts and her Head of House to avoid such a scene. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind, and she consoled herself by hoping that the strict schedule a Potion Master had to keep would never give George Smith a chance to do anything as surreal as inviting someone like Snape for a beer after the match.

However, Monday morning came unstoppably, and she was too preoccupied with her own crazy schedule to mind another's even for a half thought. To seek solace still from Hogwarts's hustling and bustling – and to avoid either Snape or Filch as long as she could – she prioritised her St. Mungo duties and only saw her morning classes after lunch in London. Moody was still unavoidable, and she struggled through Defence, flipping into Annabella's mindscape when she felt overwhelmed. At least Snape postponed her detention. It was curious but not baffling enough to contemplate when she could instead fall asleep.

But Tuesday wasn't a modicum better. After her St Mungo shift, she was supposed to solve Arithmancy problems for ninety minutes straight. Despite turning back five hours for a kip in her tower, her mind ditched the class. She had no other way to explain what happened. She was there in body, she even thought she was focused, yet her mind and soul must have taken vacation because there was nothing valuable on the parchment before her in the turned back again for Charms with a yawn and tried to remember the mending and severing charms they began in the last class, which she routinely performed when she was alone. It wasn't hard, but her focus was so off she failed with the nonverbal as soon as the class started with the revisions.

"Don't you worry, Miss Rosier, this is NEWT level. You have yet to get ready for the OWLs," Flitwick told her as a consolation, which irked her enough that she was stuck trying until exhaustion.

Then, at Potions, she avoided even looking at Snape and tripped by the storage cabinet. She could only thank her games with Pricey the swiftness of herArresto Momentum, which she cast in hastebefore spoiling two months' worth of scurvy grass. Snape was visibly unimpressed, which was arguably unjust – at least, Higgs thought it that way after class, considering it was a NEWT-level charm.

"It's a pity it didn't happen in Charms," he grinned at her. Anne tried to see the joke, but her sense of humor still didn't catch up.

She had to go to Preps and to the Library instead of going straight to Poppy and her following detention with Snape. Their complete lack of interaction since Thursday didn't arm her for that, but at least she finally felt calm enough to see him.

Poppy gladly employed her to look after the adventurous Hugrabug firsties, who somehow got stuck between the closing wings of the moving staircase, wishing to explore how it worked. Then, the mediwitch was off for a proper meal outside the Infirmary for a change. When she returned, Snape had already billowed into the Brewing Room and closed the door without giving Anne a chance to talk to him more than a hesitant greeting.

Wednesday was truly abysmal. She was late for her afternoon set of classes after a severe case St. Mungo received in the Magical Accidents ward, and Dagworth didn't let her out of the room before the poor wizard was set to rights. A five-hour turn only got her to Transfiguration Class twenty minutes late, and although it was only natural, to say Professor McGonagall was unimpressed was the least. The consequential detention wasn't a surprise, either. Just the thing she needed to add to her schedule! She grumbled in annoyance and turned time after an additional prep time to present herself in the Transfig Classroom for the evening.

Thankfully, McGonagall only made her practice the switching spells she missed in class.Thimble to Thestral– a miniature version for the experience's sake – was an easy switch for Anne, but she struggled with the Yarn Ball into Unicorn, generally unable to produce even a thread of snow-white hair. The horror only came after the Gryffindor Head stepped to Anne's desk, radiating discomfort.

"Miss Rosier, I understand you had a recent loss in your family in June, but I was hoping you'd come to terms with the tragedy over the summer months."

The reminder of her Gran was about the last thing she believed she needed. "I had, Professor. There's nothing… no problem at all."

"It is good to hear you say that, but I cannot agree with you. There is a problem, and it bothers me, Miss Rosier because you showed immense progress in my class last year."

"Thank you, madam."

"I'm only telling you the truth, Miss Rosier. We had been off to a rocky start, but your last year's exam gave hope for a formidable OWL performance." She stopped to look Anne deep in the eye. She didn't need that to sense her dissatisfaction and the warning. "Up until now."

"Sorry, Professor."

"Your essays are still flawless, but your classwork has been beyond evaluation since this year began. I know that your Head of House has a keen ear for all his students. I suggest you talk to him."

Anne knew she struggled in vain in the last two lessons. Being unable to produce anything similar to a unicorn did not bode well.

McGonagall stepped away from her desk and straightened her back. "You may proceed."

Anne leaned above the yarn ball and tried the switching spell again. Something told her she would fail more if she secretly changed her maple wand for the ebony; Thestral hair wasn't likely to transfigure anything into a unicorn.

And came Thursday and Potions Class, which began to grate on her nerves because she either fumbled with the required brew, wasting time or made it with her best abilities and accepted to sit around under Snape's inscrutable gaze, busying herself with homework and trying not to show how their last encounters put her thoughts into disarray. And if that experience wasn't enough, she also had to attend detention.

Snape didn't look up when she got inside the Brewing Room, which she took for silent understanding because it was a better option than contemplating his momentary mood. A look at his workbench, and she knew she was left with the Cure for Boils and the Antidote for Butterbeers, which a swotty second-year could blotch up in a dorm. Of course, Snape's standards would be a trifle higher than that, so she got two trays and collected the ingredients from the Infirmary supplies.

She was about to slice the Pungous Onions when she overheard his discontented mumbling: "…bloody Leeds…"

Anne jerked her head in his direction, but he was chopping shrivelfiggs and giving her no mind. Then she heard him again.

"Goodfernothin' blasted bastards… If they can't get it together after the season like the last one, I will drown myself in the Black Lake… would ease it fer all, too, I swear…"

Anne stared at him as he swept the shrivelfiggs into the base before him, and reached for the lacewings with another creative string of curses. His lips never moved!

She tried to return her focus to the Cure for Boils but was again interrupted by a fervent wish to beat Liverpool. "We can do it with just a little effort! And the Ipswich should be just a benefit match… bloody morons…"

She couldn't stand it any longer. "Are you all right, sir?"

He abruptly stopped picking the lacewings and turned to her with a glance that was surprised and mildly hostile at the same time.

"Erm… Sorry, sir," Anne shook her head and regretted asking. She finished the base without another distraction, but then the mumbling renewed. It wasn't coherent, only a haphazardly linked string of wishes, curses, and all-around disappointment that also lingered in the air.

Knowing that she would probably regret it again, Anne decided to tell him what she'd heard from George at the weekend.

"It was only a glitch, sir. We cannot win every match. And it's probably better to lose against the Leeds when it's not yet the big run and have reason to prepare better for Liverpool."

He froze as if he had run into a wall for a second, then put a stasis on his brew and cleaned his hands before stepping to her.

"Rosier, you're not telling me you heard me. Not this time."

"It wasn't the first time I heard you, sir."

He rubbed his face with both hands, then circled his left shoulder, probably trying to get rid of a stubborn knot. When his attention returned to her after a long sigh, he looked a different man.

"Miss Rosier, in Mind Magic, we are using patterns. The old authors even addressed the issue. If you think about the previous examples, the occasional mishaps occurred when, for whatever reason, either of us focused on the other. If you overheard my opinion about the match against Leeds, I assure you, this time, it wasn't the case."

Anne let her eyes fall. He sounded like her Professor again, as if nothing had happened in the last hour or the last two confusing weeks. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Was it in any way what you actively pursued?" he demanded, now more on edge, although even the question was madness.

She almost screamed, "No, sir!"

"Then stop apologising and try to find the pattern!"

Anne told herself he might be more angered by the situation than by her involvement in particular and tried not to take his tone personally. If there was a pattern, she could try to find it…

"It never happened before this autumn. There might have been a trigger, although I have no idea what," she tentatively began.

Finally, she must have found the right way to deal with him because Snape's tone slipped back to sound more casual.

"We shared space on all three occasions, although eye contact was only required at the first two."

Anne nodded. "All three occasions happened about a shared interest. I was disturbed about seeing Moody, and so were you, sir. I want the United to win, and so do you, and—" She hesitated.

"And?"

"And probably we share interest about the issue of my father, sir, maybe not signalled with his wellbeing for you…"

"I'd rather say, we both are interested in my involvement.

"Being interested is not a shared interest, sir."

He didn't seem to like to be corrected. "So, how would you put it?"

Anne considered what prompted her musings in the first place, and ended up thinking of Karkaroff again. Why would her father change his mind about the favour he had asked from her in June?

Snape's eyes flashed with annoyance, and then his glance turned curious.

"What did he ask from you in June?"

There was no way he heard her! Bugger!

"There must indeed be a way because I can still hear you, girl," – he answered her unspoken words without the smallest hint of enthusiasm. "Now, answer the question!"

"Then this …thing is also–" She began, but he cut in:

"I dare to hope that putting an end to this rot is also an interest we share, Rosier," – he grumbled. "What did your father ask of you in June?"

Uncomfortably it just occurred to Anne that she had little wiggle room to think about a passable answer if her very thoughts leaked into his mind. Judging by his reaction to what he had overheard last Thursday, it probably was better to utter the unthinkable than to let him overhear it.

"He told me that Durmstrang's Headmaster will come this year to Hogwarts," she said, hoping fervently that he wouldn't fly off the handle. "He first wanted me to include what I see of him in my letters."

"And why would I fly off the handle, as you so inelegantly put it?" – Snape asked back with a vicious grimace. "You also told me without a qualm that you were supposed to report on me instead?"

She never hated this occurrence more… "I know Karkaroff put your name up for a bargain when–"

"Where did you hear that?" – Snape pounced at the word.

"From Mr Burke, sir. He–"

"Burke is not a gossip," Snape waved his hand dismissively. Seeing him disturbed was strangely disquieting, Anne still had to beg to differ.

"He likes you, sir. And I believe he got to like me, too. He helped me a lot this summer, and… he has fond memories about your short time at the shop," – she risked when his gaze kept relentlessly examining her.

He finally turned half away and raised his eyes to the ceiling. Gone was now Hogwarts's strict and proper Professor – this was Snape, undiluted, whoever he was. "Is there anything you don't stick your nose into?!"

She even felt in magic that his indignation was real. "I didn't ask him about you, sir!"

When he didn't reply or turn back towards her, Anne decided it was time to try to clear the waters. She bit her lips. "I thought if I suggested to my father that I could still be of use, as he had previously hoped for reports about that man, then perhaps he would have relented without any need to blackmail him, or… Or without needing your help, sir. Then I lamented your involvement, and at some point, you had overheard a thought…"

She stopped when Snape awkwardly rubbed his face, shaking his head as she spoke. "It wouldn't have worked."

Stunned by his lack of reaction to Thursday's mishap and the miracle of a chance to have an open discussion about all he usually hid, Anne could only stare for a moment.

"But why?"

The way he looked at her made her wish to sense him in magic, but his Occlumency hid everything but his regretful glance and curious grimace.

"Because I have ruined that for you, Rosier," – he admitted with a sigh. Then his eyes hardened again with what she understood as disapproval. "What did you expect after your warning in August? Without putting up the name of my source, I was left with no choice but to prove myself to Dumbledore. When he sent me back to my brethren, I needed something to offer, and their choice had been to make me evaluate Igor. Thus you became surplus and had to be pulled back. Thankfully, there's still one in the castle you can conveniently observe," – he finished with a bitter smirk, every bit the young and hostile fan she had met on the stands of Nottingham City Ground in the summer. He apparently found black humour in the situation that Anne was yet to enjoy.

Thoroughly shocked and put to her place, Anne could only lower her eyes and silently nod.

"Shared interest," she mumbled, and she wasn't surprised to see him turn away and mind his potion again instead of putting up with her thoughts.

She also felt like an idiot. He had told her that Karkaroff was his problem only a week before! Bugger, she should have listened more carefully! It was unbearable to keep being so surprised!

After bottling their brews, Anne expected to be sent away with no more than a gesture. He showed enough of his reluctance to speak to her when he wasn't prompted by something he couldn't avoid. She tidied her workplace and grabbed her book bag, but when she turned to say good night, Snape sat on the edge of his workbench and eyed her calculatingly, his arms weaved together across his chest. She couldn't help asking if something was wrong.

"That is yet to be seen," he pushed himself closer and reached out a hand towards her bookbag. "You're noting down all the turns, is that correct?"

It was so out of the blue that she hardly had the presence of mind to feel surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You are using a Time-Turner, Rosier. I expect you're noting down the turns."

"Yes, sir."

His fingers curled repeatedly in a silent demand before he spoke the words: "I want to see your notes."

Anne stared at him with alarm, but there were no two ways to understand his request. "Sir?"

"Your schedule, Rosier," – his fingers waved again, "your notes about the Time-Turner and the way you use it!"

It couldn't be more awkward. Anne put down her book bag and fished out her thick notebook, charmed since her third year to contain all her escapades and mishaps, dates, troublemaking, rule-breaking, and here and there some scribbled-up ideas she hoped she someday would have time to pursue… He was asking for her life, and she would sooner contemplate letting him into her mind than close to these notes…

"It's not necessary, I gladly answer whatever question you may–"

The notebook trembled in her hand and slipped through her fingers to fly to Snape. "Truly, sir, it's barely even readable… I don't suppose –"

His impatience began picking the air around her, and knowing his ability to hide whatever he felt, she could be certain he let that on purpose… Snape casually walked back to sit on his bench's edge, absorbing the thickness of the notes before he opened them. On the first page!

Something screamed in Anne's head against exposing Professor Snape to her fourteen years old self's worldview, who had viciously annotated his rules on the first night and went on nicknaming him a bloody Maniac just because he sent the Baron to watch over her – now she understood, with a reason!

He squinted and turned to the second page. Anne closed her eyes against the horror and silently prayed for either Rose's God or the old ones for help… A page turned. He cleared his throat. Now would that mean? Another page. Was he about to– He suddenly flipped to the last page…. Anne's eyes shone up with tender hope, and she finally noticed she was still crouching by her book bag. She stood up. Would he now ask instead?

Unfortunately, that wasn't what Snape intended. He slowly paged back at least to summer and read her notes about the last six weeks, giving mind-boggling attention. His face seemed longer with every line, and Anne bit her lip.He wouldn't like this. He looked like he was going to have a fit….

"Sir?" She tried to step in, but he lifted a hand to quiet her. Anne had no idea where to look.

When he cleared his throat again and caressed a finger through his lips, in his enigmatic look of-deep-in-thought-and-preoccupied, Anne knew he would speak.

"So you turned back time yesterday for two and a half hours in the morning for…"

"I… I always sleep until seven!" Anne cried out, almost happy to defend herself finally. "It's healthier that way. I turned back to grab some breakfast on my way to St. Mungo's."

"Which is where you spent your next eight and a half hours. Then you turned back time for "Rachel". What is that supposed to mean?"

Anne closed her eyes against the was breaking the Ministry's rules, perhaps even the law, she wasn't sure… "Erm… Rachel is my great-aunt. You met her last year at my grandma's funeral, sir. You may remember how fragile she was… she… she lost purpose when she'd been left alone. I cannot let her… I can't leave her alone only because… school."

It didn't seem like an excellent way to finish the sentence, so she fell silent and waited for the blow.

It didn't come. Instead, she heard the page flipping in her notebook. Anne opened her eyes and looked up at her Professor. At the moment, he didn't look anything else.

"Then you turned back time again with five hours," – he noted.

"Yes, for my morning classes," – Anne explained.

"I see. Then you turned back five hours again…"

"For my second bout of morning classes, sir," – Anne sighed.

"In fact, you write here: it was for rest and recreation, and then another five hours prepared you for your morning's elective classes. Mind, this is where you fulfilled your first twenty-four hours of Wednesday, and it seems it was merely noon."

He looked up and searchingly gazed into Anne's eyes, but she had nothing to add. He mercilessly dived back into the notebook.

"You had lunch with your peers, and after another five-hour turn, you retreated - once again… again to what you mark here asyour tower. What is that place?"

Anne had never hated him more than at that particular moment, and she was certain it showed on her face."A turret I have found in my first year. I like it there… sir."

"Alas, you've been sorted into living under the lake," – he remarked with venom. "I also see a mark at the margin, KT, and before that another, Tearoom. What are those?"

"Places to sleep," Anne tried to be as short as she could. When his attention insistently searched her, she had to add: "KT is for Knockturn, sir. I can go to my brother's place, have four or five hours of rest if I'm knackered, and turn back for the next point… those are which underlined," she showed, hoping against reason that he would contend only looking through those entries. "I didn't need either of those yesterday."

Snape's eyes were suspiciously narrow, but he had yet to berate her, although she could feel his ire mounting without actually sensing him in magic.

"Let us return to that schedule then, shall we? You finished your lunch about one in the afternoon, turned back time straight to eight a.m. to"– he acted as if he had problems reading the next line – "Tower 2, Preps and Homework?"

"That's the same tower, sir. It has three rooms."

"Interesting! Now, would you explain to me these essay titles you scribbled up and checked?" His tone was still casual, but she could sense the slight tremble of the gathering storm. Anne swallowed her embarrassment.

"I would rather not, sir."

"You. Would. Rather. Not." When Snape overemphasised every word like that, the dumbest knew they were into serious trouble. "You see, Rosier, I can understand your reluctance, considering that I have prescribed more than one of those titles, but none was for your year. I am ready to hear your explanation."

Anne only dared to peek at his face, mildly surprised at his patient tone, until she saw his narrowed lips that whitened with his anger and his eyes that threw thunderbolts. Still, she couldn't placate him. She wasn't the only partaker in this mischief, and if she spoke up, the whole House would treat her like a traitor.

"I'm sorry, sir, I cannot give you one."

"Twenty points from Slytherin!"

Anne's eyes closed in horror. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Will you answer now?"

She couldn't. There was no way… Suddenly, his mental barriers vanished, and she was washed over with his untampered ire.

"I will answer for you, Miss Rosier. You are the source of hundreds of homework essays that have resurfaced in students' repertoires over the past few years. They have neither the talent nor the patience to improve themselves but time and again come up with work that far exceeds their abilities!"

When she didn't reply, he shut the notebook with a thud, only leaving a finger to mark his place. She winced even before she heard his cold voice.

"How much is a sheet these days?"

"Pardon?"

"I asked you a straight question, Rosier: How much?"

Anne swallowed and tried to regain her balance… She could only mumble, "Sir, I don't…"

"Cut it!" – he lost patience and lowered her notes. "It used to be fifteen Sickles a parchment with the exam notes and ten by every three inches of essays. How much is itnow?"

Anne's mouth fell open, and she understood while gasping that there was no use to prevaricate this time.

"It's a galleon, a parchment, and another by sets of questions… I don't write essays, sir. I give only keywords, so nothing is missing from the assignments," – she admitted in a trembling voice.

"What about the test questions?" – he pounced down.

"They are collected and added to the end-of-chapter questions."

"Do you still have the OWL Summary for Dummies?"

Anne almost sat on the floor in surprise. "Yes, sir… but it had to be adjusted, especially in Charms and Po -" she lost her voice and had to clear her throat. "Potions. Sir." She began to have a horrible premonition.

"Show me!"

Anne crouched down again and sorted through her book bag. "I only have here the Charms part, sir," – she said, too relieved to say sorry.

Snape put her notebook on his workbench, open at the place he was abusing, reached for the circulated charms notes, and sat back to look through them keenly. Anne noticed he didn't look like someone who had seen them for the first time.

"You edited out too much," – he remarked as soon as getting through the second page. "The Rotating Charm was first-year level."

Strangely, this irked her pride. "I edited the notes according to the OWL and NEWT questions. The Rotating Charm has not been up since 1987."

"One more reason to consider they might return."

"Hardly, sir," Anne stood her place without thinking about the consequences. She might have been an idiot and a lawbreaker with a semi-legal device, but she learned at the St. Mungo's to show when she knew what she was doing. "The Charms curriculum was amended, and the Board has to choose from the present version. If I had the rest on me, you would also notice that the Transfiguration questions had to be rationalised, and I added some of the changes you made with the textbook potions on the blackboard."

Snape's eyes flared up with something she couldn't name. "The expectations for the OWLs might change, but not magic herself!" He challenged.

"Unfortunately, the students of the House need to pass their exams before they can contemplate this philosophical question, sir. The difference of approach should be discussed with the Board."

His lips dragged sideways into a disturbingly triumphant smirk. "Which students?"

Anne swallowed and checked herself better. "All of them, sir," she didn't dare look at him. "All of them should pass their exams."

He didn't reply, and within an awkward minute of silence, Anne was disturbed enough to peek at him. Snape was sitting in the same position, but instead of the Charms notes, he was examining her face, and she thought he saw a hint of warmth in his gaze. That gave some hope, and she dared to try to plead with him.

"I cannot give you the names, sir. I'm sorry…. if… if I told them that the shop had closed and I ratted them out… I would get buried under the Black Lake!"

He put the notes down with a sigh and grabbed the edge of his workbench behind him.

"You will not be thrown into the Lake, girl, because I didn't intend to expose you," he explained, suddenly looking more human than at any moment since that late-night talk after her detention with Moody. "I hardly need an update on what Slytherin is or is capable of doing, and if you failed to recognise it already, this" – he gestured towards the OWL for Dummies Charms notes, and the rest of the compendium – "is my legacy."

Anne tried to react, but her breath left her lungs without words to carry for the first few tries. "I so hope you cannot hear my thoughts right now, sir."

Watching Severus Freaking Snape cracking a smirk that would have passed as a grin on any other face was also surreal and priceless. "You couldn't believe you were the first to sell homework in Slytherin!"

She didn't. She also couldn't believe she was smiling back at him, and that the Brewing Room suddenly felt warmer and safer than just five minutes before.

"What will happen if I rat, sir?"

"I will find a reason to force them into practice on detention and hold more remedial. You will adjust your services to serve my method, and they will get a chance while you sell off the shop because you have no time for this."

Her tentative smile wavered. How could she sell off the shop? When she didn't reply, Snape reached back for her notebook and found the place where he had stopped revising her day.

"Your afternoon wasn't less abysmal than your morning," – Snape remarked, and Anne noticed he was silently counting. His long, pale finger slid slowly down the edge of the page, and his lips were moving…

"One hundred and four!" he cried out, looking at Anne as if he had seen her for the first time. "I dare say, Rosier, thisissignificantlymore than sixty hours, indeed!"

The awkwardness was back even if his tone was mild – mildly mocking… "Sir, yesterday wasn't a typical day in many ways… I wouldn't…"

However Snape's mood had changed, he still didn't let her wiggle out of the facts. He slapped the notebook shut again, this time without bothering to mark his place, and the challenge in his eye looked almost like an accusation.

"Show me one day that you considertypical!"

Anne opened her mouth, then closed it like a fish. She was sure that she couldn't possibly find a day in her life she would wish him to see… much less to revise!

"Well, it is more like the concept… that is… in theory, a day shouldn't be this long, but–"

Her notebook landed on the workbench after a short flight, and Snape pushed himself upward, walking a few steps aimlessly around the room.

"Do you believe so?" His blatant stare made her bite into her lip. "Perusing a millennia-old Library for God knows how many years have not been wasted on you, girl! A day is indeed not supposed to be four days and eight hours long! No wonder your performance is below average, and your professors come to complain about you! This is exactly the opposite of what is expected of you: Not. To. Call. Attention!

"You overtax yourself with utterly redundant subjects from which you either could pass your NEWTs tonight or are completely useless to you, just to leave them for a full-time day job in London five days a week! Then you prove to be the source of what must be three days' worth of work every week FOR YEARS!? Have you been born to be so daft, or is this a rare case you'd better cure at the Iannus Thickey Ward before you appear here to drive others to Bedlam?!

"You are irresponsibly, negligently, and shamefully squandering the talent that was gifted to you. Disregarding all the possible advancement, you could have made with the potions you keep scribbling about on the margins! I recognised eleven unknown Arithmetic equations about half-developed potions and at least four spells you began and left to rot in favour of wasting years of your time! You didn't even bother to write them up together! Instead, you keep writing bloody third-year homework and are stuck at the novelty of a day's length being shorter than half a week!"

He didn't seem to calm down, but at least he paused his tirade, and Anne risked trying to placate him.

"Sir, I –"

"If you dare saying you're sorry again, Rosier, God so help me, I –"

She wasn't ready to hear the end of that sentence, and thankfully, he apparently wasn't ready to say it out loud. Anne kept her gaze down, lamenting what made him erupt like this… because an eruption was easy to foretell, but he said a bunch of things she would have never thought about… When she peeked up, it seemed he attempted to calm himself taking long breaths through his nose. She was relieved when his shoulders eventually sagged.

"You will self off the shop, Rosier, and write me two complete sheets of parchment about your ideas in Potions, Arithmancy, Charms, and whatever else there is on the margins I am yet to find. I will have it on my desk by Monday. Then we shall discuss other methods to cut back on this madness, but now you are dismissed, and I suggest you hurry down to your Common Room before I take even more points!"

Anne pulled her ears between her shoulders and fled as she was urged to. It felt more as if he was trying to quickly get rid of her and less as if he wished to punish her. She found that peculiar, but instead of lamenting that she was rather preoccupied with digesting his chosen words, giving her best to fume against being called irresponsible and negligent while she was trudging through the Snake passage the Baron had shown her.

It almost worked. Then she arrived at her dorm, silently closing the door just shy of ten, and collapsed on her bed, hiding her face behind her palms. That was not what he'd said!

The flickering light Sophie charmed into a bubble moved above Anne's head, illuminating her hair that half-escaped the leisurely knot she'd done up on her nape for brewing.

"Almost four hours!" Sophie climbed to the edge of her bed and leaned to Anne between her curtains. "Are you all right?" – she whispered, not to call the Carrows' attention.

Anne looked over their side of the room, but her book consumed Hestia, and Flora seemed asleep already.

"Yeah, I guess," she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms before having such an enormous yawn she shuddered when it was over.

Sophie chuckled.

"You look like a cat when you do that. I bet you want to stretch now and walk around your pillow!"

Anne yawned again. "Sounds like a plan, actually…."

"Was it that bad?"

Her friend's worry reminded Anne that this was indeed a detention even though she enjoyed the brewing part and needed a clear head to decide upon the rest. "He's a horror!" – she shook her head.

How could Snape even imagine she found another fool to put up with all the work the homework business needed? Or was there another halfwit who agreed to use a Time-Turner on Snape's terms? Oh, she knew she was unjust and even felt bad about it, but it was still better than to think of what had truly happened!

Sophie watched her expectantly, and she felt her worry and benevolence. Could she help if she asked her? Unfortunately, Anne was sure even Sophie would flip out if she told her that Snape knew about the whole business, once even he had been a part of it, and now wanted her to sell off the shop, because…. whatever he said.

"He found the Charms notes in my book bag and took twenty points from the House when I didn't give him names," – she tried to give an interpretation of the situation. Flora turned in her dream, and Sophie gasped.

"No! What will you do now? D'you think he would investigate?"

Anne thought about it for a few seconds. Would he? If she failed to comply, she thought he might. Whenever she showed any sign of distrust or questioned his opinion, he went ballistic, but when she gave information or shared her ideas, he even seemed to forgive being corrected. She remembered when, in her first year, she decided Snape loved quiet and compliance, but she couldn't be more wrong, or he must have changed. Now, he seemed more than bearable when she showed trust and a measure of respect while she stood her ground no matter what he was on about.

She shook her head. "I don't think so, but I don't want to wait for him to try. Sophie, do you think we can find another to continue the business? I would even train her …or him, just let me get off the hook!"

"Oh, gods!" – Sophie sighed, her worry and reluctance swirling around them. But the sharp annoyance from Flora's bed almost suppressed these gentler feelings.

"Circe, witchling, you can't be such a coward!" They both turned to her, and even Hestia lowered her book to look at Flora as she sat up in her bed.

"Not taking unreasonable risk is no cowardice," – Sophie spoke up, but Flora laughed.

"Unreasonable risk? Whatever are you talking about? She said he had merely seen the Charms notes! If she really kept her mouth shut, we have nothing to worry about!"

Anne almost thought she misheard her. "And what about me?!"

"What about you?" – Flora asked back energetically. "You obviously need to be more circumspect if you couldn't avoid detention. Even that was nonsense! What made you get in his face?" When Anne had no answer to that, she felt justified in her opinion. "You are the only one to fault if he finds you out. You shouldn't even be at those detentions if you only just shut up, and he wouldn't have a chance to look at your silly bag and notes!"

"Yeah, sure," – Anne nodded and turned away to find her things to have a calming shower, but Sophie couldn't leave it at that:

"This is not something you can solve with accusations and what-ifs! If he begins to watch Anne, I will be the first to go down with her, followed by all the others who collect the questions from each year! Do you really believe none of us would put you up? Because you are not that well-liked, especially not in the lower years!"

"If those fucking little orks tried to put me up, I would curse them to next week, and they know that!"

"Not if Snape gets to you first!" – Sophie reminded, and Flora huffed:

"Fix it, witchling! I don't care how, but you must fix this as soon as possible!"

"Thanks, Flora. It wouldn't have crossed my mind," Anne rolled her eyes and finally left for the showers, leaving the Carrows to contemplate without Sophie's help whether she was polite or hostile.

And that were only two girls of her year involved. However, as soon as the next morning, Slytherin Common Room resembled an excited bee hive, and everyone kept murmuring their opinion of the situation, watching Snape as covertly as two hundred teenage witches and wizards could in a Great Hall. Coincidentally that was the last thing Anne needed after already two turns and the morning shift in St. Mungo's, cleaning up the Bugs Ward twice and learning about the frog flue more than she thought herself ready for.

Snape was also not amused. His eyes were dangerously narrow throughout the meal, and his gaze seemed way too contemplative for anyone's benefit. But Anne only got truly frightened when her glance met his lifted eyebrow, which silently questioned her about her dealings while subtly suggesting she worked things out. He should have talked that over with Flora Carrow! When his glance flickered then to Flora with a measure of rare curiosity, Anne gulped down a gasp, guessing that he must have overheard the thought.

Moody shouted about Constant Vigilance, and her mindscape flipped into Annabella's like a trained horse hearing the battle march. At least she had no care about Snape's moods… or anyone's, really. It was so relieving, that she remained with her projected self for the rest of her classes, only flipping her worldview to her usual when she took up the Infirmary shift from Poppy so the mediwitch could fill out the paperwork on the finished inventory now that the storages got ready for the term with the needed brews.

All the old gods bless the weekends! Anne lay in almost until noon, then took a leisurely shower and turned back time for a solitary breakfast in her tower, where she finally allowed herself to think through all the oddities of her last detention and this whole abysmal week.

It was unbelievable how fate played against her! Not only having made her an Empath but a particular one that began overhearing not a less dangerous wizard's thoughts at random than one Severus Snape! The fact the occurrence also disconcerted him offered little comfort. Especially not when she didn't only need to worry about a disconcerted Professor Snape, but a disconcerted spy whom she had apparently uncovered as a double-crosser and by some reason lived to tell the tale – that is, lived to never tell the tale – being entirely at his mercy not only as his student but also as the daughter of the spineless moron who betrayed the Knights of Walpurgis and now wanted to use her as an informant in Hogwarts.

Thinking that all she originally wanted to achieve by seeking her Aunt Duvessa's help was only a chance to help her brother escape from the old Malfoy's clutches, she had to conclude that there was indeed no stopping on a slide and that she couldn't fail more epically if she tried with intent and determination. A few short years had her father at the same place and Caleb engaging the old Crabbe at the card table. Gods, if Snape did not think she was a moron, his faculties needed a thorough check! And yet he berated her for wasting her talent and her time.

Was it even possible to waste time with a Time-Turner? She didn't know what held her back from laughing. It just didn't seem right.

But her talent?

Anne had hazy memories of the gossip Duvessa had once shared about her House's Head's opinion, but she thought she recalled his phrase as a 'brilliant nuisance'. In her self-pity and fears of politics, spies, and creeps, she easily understood the "nuisance…" Yet he found value in her hastily scribbled-up notes, which was odd, considering that she added them on the margins by sheer escapism, only because they gave her joy. Her hands were full with Argus' salve, and her schedule was too demanding ever to finish it and at least do something good.

Overwhelmed and anxious, Anne mentally swished Snape's peculiarities and whatever reasons to the side, picked out her notebook to run her gaze through the margins and began to write.