It Takes a Miracle

Chapter 12 – You…


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It was one of those days that started in the afternoon with a vicious bright light in your face, an excruciating headache, a terrible taste of something dry and rotten in your mouth, and a question that had no good answer – what the hell happened yesterday?

The sun, having passed its zenith, reached Snape’s window and bathed the living room in a white glow. It should’ve warmed the room. It should’ve made it feel pleasant. But it didn’t. Instead it highlighted the mess of broken glass. It accentuated the general stink, dominated by alcohol mixed with urine and yesterday’s vomit. It brought out the dirt and dust, which had been collecting all over the room for quite some time…

Snape didn’t like to wake up after two days of non-stop drinking. Everything felt wrong: the body aching all over, the clothes stuck to that body, the taste of death in his mouth, the stench assaulting his nostrils. But the worst thing was the necessity to get up and start cleaning. He had to make himself presentable for dinner and functional by tomorrow morning, when the classes resumed.

The first move - the slight turn of his head - felt like an assault on all of his senses. Snape stilled and closed his eyes again.

“Bloody Merlin, was it worth it?” sneered a little voice in the back of his head.

“Sod off,” Snape replied, too worn out to muster anything more sophisticated.

Another couple of moves - the shifting of the legs, the raising of the arms, the stretching of the body, - and Snape managed to grab his wand. Next, he conjured a sturdy chair, grabbed it, and began the excruciating process of getting himself upright.

When he finally made it to the bathroom, he actually had to stand there, leaning over the sink, just to calm his pounding headache enough to open his eyes. But the moment he peeked from under his eyelids, the ray of sunlight sneaking through the open door from his living room and bouncing off of the mirror, assaulted his vision. With the groan, Snape closed his eyes again. Blindly, his hands shaking violently, he tagged at the door of the cabinet and felt for the vial, which he purposely kept separate from the rest of the contents. His eyes still shut tight, he uncorked the vial and took a long gulp of the potion. Now, he could open his eyes.

He was looking into a pair of absolutely empty black orbs, sitting deep in their sockets in a ghostly white face. His face. Several limp dirty strands of his black hair glued to the sides of it with some spit, and sweat, and, most probably, vomit. Snape’s gaze traveled lower – to the collar of his white shirt, stained with smears of scotch and vomit; to his button-down jacket, ripped at the top and also soiled, hanging too loosely on his frame…

Snape’s gaze returned to his face. There was total defeat written plainly all over his empty eyes, his slack mouth, his sunken, ashen cheeks. He tried to scowl, but the expression on his face remained as it was – one of defeat, of utter surrender to his destiny. Snape carefully shook his still-aching head and took another gulp of the hangover potion. Bloody Merlin…

After a long bath, his body scrubbed raw and hair washed thoroughly, his clothes changed, Snape took care of his living room. He always was a rather neat person, and years of working with potions turned this trait of his into something closely resembling an obsession. It almost physically pained him to see the disarray his quarters came to. But at the same time, he considered it to be yet another punishment for his transgressions, another sacrifice to whoever was judging him.

Of course, Snape realized how laughable this logic was. Of course, he understood that no one in his right mind would equate the disorder in his rooms with atonement, but the despair that settled over him after he contributed to the Potion, was too overwhelming. It had completely subjugated his mind. It made him feel that everything and anything, which could at least remotely provide him with comfort or pleasure, had to be sacrificed. It was ridiculous. It was so ridiculous that Snape refused to accept it as a reason for his disgraceful behavior lately, blaming his own weakness and shaken self-control. But regardless of the true reason, there was nothing he could do about it. He barely managed to keep decorum outside his rooms and barked at anybody who had the courage to show the slightest concern. In the privacy of his own quarters, though, he had given up the struggle a long time ago.

Snape gritted his teeth and with a couple of spells got rid of most of the mess he had created in the last several days of drinking – the fragments of broken bottles, the caked pieces of vomit, the dried patches of scotch. Then, in a swirl of his black robes, he quickly walked out of the rooms, and the air that twirled behind him raised a soft, sheer cloud of dust, which danced freely in the rays of the setting sun, and then slowly lay down back in its place all over the room…


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When she saw the castle from the window in her compartment, Gerry swore silently and asked herself yet again why she was doing it to herself. But it was too late to back out now, when the Hogwarts Express was pulling up to the Hogsmeade platform, and a bunch of laughing students, returning from the Easter Holidays, gathered near the exit.

The moment Dumbledore extended her an offer to join the Hogwarts’ staff an Assistant Professor, she said “no” very firmly. No amount of persuading or cajoling would change her mind. She didn’t need any help, and the temporary setback she was going through was very temporary. She wasn’t going to abuse the old wizard’s misplaced sense of obligation.

But the Headmaster persisted. Firstly, he pointed out that he intended to extend her an offer before he knew the details of the last three months of her life (hence, the dinner invitation). Secondly, Hogwarts indeed require a couple of good Assistant Professors to insure that all the students taking their OWLs and NEWTs this year would do so successfully. After the events of last winter, the school stayed closed for two months, and now the students needed all the tutoring they could get to pass the exams scheduled at the end of June. The current teaching staff could do only so much.

It was hard to argue with Dumbledore, especially knowing that the job (much more interesting than anything she could do in the butcher shop) would provide Gerry with free lodging and free meals. Only at the thought of these, her mind screamed, “Take it!” and her stomach rumbled happily in agreement. “It’s only for two months,” she pointed out to herself. It should give her a nice break. And so the practical side won.

However, now when the Express had stopped, and passengers began to file out to the Hogsmeade platform, she wasn’t sure anymore about the value of practicality. Would she be able to handle it? To live and work in the castle that was firmly connected in her mind with one dark-haired wizard. Whom she hated. Who was a murderer. Who was a criminal. Whose black impassive eyes could light up with a fire that would draw in and consume her.

“Stop,” Gerry whispered sternly. “Stop…”

On the platform she hesitated, not sure if she should join the students, who were shepherded away by an unfamiliar witch, or walk to Hogwarts by herself.

“Gerry!” somebody exclaimed from behind her, and having whirled around she came face to face with…

“Jay!” She grinned widely, happy to see his friendly face. “How are you?”

“Good, good. Dumbledore just told me, that you were coming, so I rushed to meet you myself. It’s grand that you’ve come! How are you?” Jay was almost bouncing on his feet, smiling widely.

“I am fine, I am good.” Suddenly she realized how glad she was to see him.

“You look like shit,” the young wizard noted toothily, giving her a mock once-over.

“Thanks, I needed that,” Gerry chuckled.

“Any time,” Jay said, bowing. He levitated her trunk in front of him and said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They stopped for a drink to “The Three Broomsticks.”

“Dumbledore asked me to take you to his office at nine thirty, so we have plenty of time until then to…hmm…relax,” informed Jay.

“No funny stuff this time,” warned Gerry, adding inwardly, “It’s not like there is going to be somebody with an antidote hidden in his robes.” Suddenly, yet again, she didn’t wanted to go to Hogwarts. Jay wasn’t in any hurry to go back to the castle either, so a round of drinks turned into a full-fledged dinner that he declared to be a welcoming feast for a new Assistant Transfigurations Professor.

Some time after they’d had their first mugs of butterbeer and began to recall one Friday night last July, when they got so plastered right here, in the same “The Three Broomsticks,” Gerry asked, “Where is Derek, by the way? Aren’t the two of you attached at the hip?”

Jay coughed, as if the last gulp of butterbeer he took tasted foul. Then he carefully put his mug on the table and looked at her, his eyes suddenly red. “The attack on Hogwarts.”

Before she could process what he said, she knew. “Oh, Jay…”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “We didn’t expect it. Weren’t ready…”

Gerry nodded. No one expected it. Back in the beginning of the year, when the whole wizarding world was still a little drunk celebrating a recent demise of the Dark Lord in the Final Battle at Hogsmeade, Malfoy rallied around himself the remnants of the Dark forces. Those Death Eaters, who managed to survive and escape capture, flocked to his side. Angry and desperate, they looked to avenge their Lord’s death and to demonstrate the endurance of the Dark Lord’s cause. Hogwarts became their first target.

Gerry read it all in the papers, but couldn’t listen without shiver about wizards in faceless masks closing in on the castle. About the horror of rushing to hide the children. About Jay’s own brush with death. About those two hours before the help arrived, when between the enraged, ruthless Death Eaters and the castle full of children, stood only a handful of teachers and a bunch of older year kids. About the fear, and the pain, and the utter determination. About Derek’s empty eyes, looking unseen into the cold January skies...

“I am so sorry,” Gerry whispered. “He was a great guy.”

“Yeah,” Jay managed a crooked smile. “See, he always was the quiet type. People would pick on him, laugh at him, but he didn’t care. Silly Hufflepuff.” He slammed the fist on the table. “I always stood up for him. I think we’d been friends for so long that he forgot how to defend himself. That is why he wasn’t quick enough with his curses. That is what got him. And I wasn’t there for him… All my fault, really…”

“No it’s not.” She shook her head. “Don’t blame yourself…”

Jay remained silent, looking intently into his mug.

“I am so sorry.” Gerry covered his fist with her palm. “So sorry…”

“Yeah,” Jay glanced at her, his eyes unusually somber, and forced a smile, “Let’s talk about something else.”

And they did. About Gerry’s job in the butcher shop. About Jay’s assistance in the greenhouses. About latest game of Swoosh Masters vs. Green Blazes. Anything but the terrible war that brought so much pain to the wizarding world…

When they Apparated to Hogwarts’ gates, it was well after dinner. The castle was bright with its shinning windows against the dark sky. No signs of the destruction Gerry had read about in the paper. Just as it was before, almost a year ago.

They stood for a moment looking at it. Even from across the wide lawn, they could hear the bustling and buzzing that filled the old castle.

“Care to sit for a bit?” Jay asked, pointing at the lake.

They picked a nice flat rock, conjured a blanket to cover it, and sat in comfortable silence for a while.

“Why did you stay?” Gerry asked. Her question was vague, but Jay understood.

“They needed me here. The school had to be open, so I promised to stay until summer… And then I’m off.”

“Any plans?”

“No. I just have to leave here. That’s all.”

Gerry knew exactly what he meant.

They were quiet for some time, and then Jay asked, “So, how is Val? We went for drinks a couple of times, when he worked here on the restoration of the castle.”

She nodded and answered simply, “He is good. Hoping to start his own company soon. You know… I don’t really see much of him.”

“So, it is all over, ha?” Jay was looking at her thoughtfully.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. He seems to be a decent guy.”

“He is. He truly is…” she stopped, not wanting to explain, to go into the details.

“Is there somebody else?” Jay carefully probed.

“No…” She almost choked, but forced herself to continue, “no, there is no one else…”

After a short silence, Jay asked half-jokingly, “Does it mean I can ask you out?”

“Weren’t you the one who said I looked like shit?” Gerry tried to smile, narrowing her eyes.

“It’s all right. I won’t be looking at you. I’ll be looking somewhere else.”

“It is settled then,” Gerry chuckled softly.


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The dinner, to his great disappointment, was well-attended. The Easter Holidays were over, and everybody who had gone to visit friends and families was back. Students and teachers filled all the seats along the tables, and the humongous Great Hall seemed to shrink from the sheer number of people there. It made Snape feel almost claustrophobic, squashed in his seat at the High Table. Besides, after two days in his solemnly silent quarters, with no one to disturb his solitude, Snape could barely stand the noise that even on a good day exceeded his tolerance level. The fragments of conversations, the bursts of laughter, the clatter of the utensils against the dishes, the scuffing of moved benches were almost deafening, and he had to concentrate very hard not to cover his ears with his hands.

The pounding afternoon headache was tearing his brains apart, and Snape thought miserably that he would have to stop by his lab today, because the vial of headache potion in his quarters was almost empty. The thought pushed his mood, which was on the brink of plain awful, even further down in that direction.

Snape glared at the food on his plate and felt his stomach protest at the sight of it. Why had he bothered to come here? Oh, yes, to put up an appearance. That’s right.

“So, Severus, go ahead, show the world your pretty face, and then you can safely crawl back into your smelly hole,” the little voice mockingly suggested. He scowled and directed his gaze towards the students’ tables.

Kids… Their memories were so short. That damn war was just as distant as another planet. Even for those who lost someone or something – a friend, a relative, a home it was still just part of the past. Painful, sorrowful, but past. And they all lived in the future.

He envied them. All their hopes, and plans, and dreams… And laughter… They still could laugh. They still would live. Most of them didn’t realize how they were robbed of their innocence, coerced to choose sides, pushed to fight no matter how hard anybody try to protect them, to shield them from the realities of war. Even inside the ancient walls of Hogwarts, nobody was safe. All hell broke loose that winter day, when the kids were forced to participate in the defense of their school… Or in the assault on it… Forced to see pain and death first hand… To inflict it… Forced to reveal their alliances irreversibly… He, as no one else, knew all too well the irreversibility of alliances. Kids, they didn’t even understand that they were all victims… Even the winners were victims…

Snape’s gaze skimmed over Slytherin’s table. His Slytherins. So many places were unoccupied. Lost lives. Lost souls. How many did he save? Not enough. Never enough. All his fault. He gave in to their families. He gave up on their future. Albus didn’t understand. The old wizard never could. And how did you explain the pressure to conform, to follow the traditions that his students had to withstand? He just couldn’t help them…

And then there were Hufflepuffs. Too loyal, too trusting. They also lost a lot. But at least most of them didn’t have to pick sides – they were too scared of the Dark, and followed Dumbledore dutifully. Once the return of the Dark Lord was proven, they all came back to Albus, remorseful for doubting him in Diggory’s death.

Further were Ravenclaws. They definitely did better than the rest. Too smart to get involved. Too rational to get personal. It wasn’t their war. They just went along. Without a doubt fighting they used the most peculiar curses, the most sophisticated shields. They most likely didn’t rush to face the enemy, taking their time to estimate the probabilities and direction of the attacks first.

He scowled at no one in particular and glanced at Gryffindor’s table. The brave. The proud. They were also hard to save. Of course, they always wanted to be in the heart of the battle. They were the Saviors of the world, were they? And there was the One. Laughing with his friends. Talking with his mouth full. The Boy-Who-Lived. And lived, and lived… And killed… But his killing was the right kind. His killing was for the greater good. What did they write in the paper? Oh, yes - “The lonely hero.” Lonely hero, my ass. Alright, they did acknowledge Albus at the end. They did award an obscene number of medals. But he was Harry Potter. He was The Savior. He was his Savior too...

“Eat your food, Snape, you look like shit.”

Snape startled, being pulled rudely out of his reverie. Hootch. She was never the one for subtlety. Another stupid Gryffindor. He gladly glared at her.

“Why don’t you go and look for a Snitch, Madam?” It was rude, but to the point. Hootch huffed, but didn’t say anything else. Snape glared at his plate again, wondering why all of a sudden he became so philosophical. Probably, the scotch, still deep in his system, played tricks on his mind. He reminded himself yet again to scowl at the students’ tables.

Finally, the dessert arrived, and it was Snape’s cue to leave. He was in such a hurry to get out of the Great Hall, that he didn’t notice how Dumbledore and McGonagall, who spent most of the dinner discussing something hotly and glancing at him from time to time, both turned to look at his back disappearing behind the door. And after he left, they return to their conversation.
With a determined stride, Snape went directly to his lab.


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They entered the castle after curfew, when the hordes of students were safely confined to their common rooms. On their way through the empty hallways Jay told her that her rooms were near McGonagall’s in the Gryffindor tower, and his were not that far from there as well. It was really the best place to live in the castle, because “we, the Gryffindors, are fun to be around.” Gerry didn’t mind the arrangements at all, and when they reached her rooms, and she saw where she was going to be living for the next two months, the young witch completely forgot about all her reservations about coming to Hogwarts.

There was a nice-sized living room, with a fireplace and a huge window. Peeking out Gerry recognized the inside yard and the silhouette of the opposite part of the castle. Beyond that she couldn’t see much in the dark, but Jay assured her that from here there was also a nice view of the mountains. The only fixture in the room was a sturdy leather couch, standing by the wall. Jay explained that the staff’s personal quarters usually came unfurnished, since most people liked to bring their own furniture. But if she didn’t have anything of her own, they might be able to get her at least the basic stuff from storage.

The bedroom was much smaller, and featured a large four-poster bed and an ancient dresser.

There was a bathroom, where a hoarse voice of the mirror greeted her very politely, “Welcome to Hogwarts, my dear.”

“Hello,” Gerry answered curtly and quickly walked out. She was rarely on good term with enchanted mirrors. Those things always offered opinions on subjects she didn’t like to discuss.

She returned to the living room, her living room, to find Jay comfortably positioned on the couch that he had moved to face the fireplace.

“I think it works better this way,” he said, cocking his head. With a flick of his wand he started the fire, and tapped his palm on the couch next to him. “Come here and see for yourself.”

“Jay.” Gerry flopped by his side. “I appreciate your help and everything, but…”

“It’s time to beat it,” finished the young wizard for her, and got up swiftly. “Not a problem. I’ll pick you up in about half an hour to take you to Dumbledore.”

When Jay left, she walked around her living room, looked out the window again, and then sat on the couch in front of the roaring fire. Jay was right: the couch should face the fireplace…

The entrance to the Headmaster’s office was guarded by a huge gargoyle. Jay gave the password, “Chewy Chuckles.”

They waited for the gargoyle to shift, and when the moving stairs appeared, he nudged her towards it. “Go ahead. I’ll wait for you here.”

“You don’t…” she started.

“I have nothing better to do. I’ll watch the gargoyle.” He smiled and nudged her again. “Go.”

In Dumbledore’s office she was greeted warmly by the Headmaster and McGonagall.

“It is good to see you.” The old wizard beamed, shaking Gerry’s hand. “I am glad that you have accepted my offer.”

“Ms. Ardant, it is a pleasure to have you on board.” The Transfigurations Professor extended her hand to the younger witch.

“I am happy to have a chance to work here.” Gerry smiled rather nervously and added after a short consideration, looking warily at McGonagall, “I am not sure about the protocol, but I wouldn’t mind if you called me Gerry.”

“Please, sit down, have some tea.” The Headmaster gestured to a small table with three comfortable-looking armchairs around it in front of the fireplace. The table was covered with all the tea-related necessities, and a huge plate of delicious mini cakes sat right in the middle of it. Suddenly, the room smelled of chamomile and ginger, and Gerry was seated between Dumbledore and McGonagall, sipping a light liquid and chewing cakes.

The Headmaster’s eyes twinkled merrily behind his half-moon spectacles, the older witch also seemed to be more cordial than Gerry anticipated her to be, and after the first cups were finished Gerry felt comfortable enough to stop fidgeting and relax a bit. She began looking around with what could best be described as awe (although she was struggling to mask it as a mere curiosity). All those trinkets, and mechanisms, and some ancient-looking scrolls, and books, and portraits, and a phoenix sleeping on its perch.

Meanwhile, she was asked about the trip, and whether Jay was helpful, and how she liked her rooms, and how was her dinner at “The Three Broomsticks,” etc. Finally, Dumbledore said, “I reckon, you had a trying day. It is time for you, my child, to go and get a good night’s rest.”

Gerry began to protest, assuring the old wizard that she wasn’t tired at all, but a wide yawn she couldn’t suppress, undermined her words. The Headmaster smiled softly and noted, “It looks like your body is telling you something.”

Before she left, the Headmaster explained that he would introduce her to the staff tomorrow morning at the staff meeting, and to the students at breakfast. With that she was out of the door, and after a short ride on the moving staircase, she was face to face with Jay, who, true to his word, did wait for her.

“Now you really look like shit,” he grinned widely, and she replied that it was exactly how she felt...

Not much later Gerry was back in her living room, half-sitting, half-sprawling on her only piece of furniture. So, it was really happening. She was at Hogwarts, she had reacquired a good pal, it seemed she hadn’t messed up during the tea with the Headmaster and his deputy, and so far she hadn’t thought of… No, no, no, she wasn’t going to think of him. Not now. Not here. Not ever… She sat up straight, looking quickly around the room. Thank gods, at least it seemed that Dumbledore had no clue about her stunt on the day of the final battle. Otherwise, he would have mentioned it by now, wouldn’t he? Come to think about it, he would never have invited her to work for him, would he?

Gerry got up and began pacing nervously, her exhaustion completely crushed by anxiety.

“Don’t even go there, Ger,” she begged herself, but no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about the pale thin face framed by the strands of inky-black hair, a black-clad body, twisted on the dirty snow. “He is a killer… He is scum… You hate him.” She desperately bit her lip.

Before long the room became too small, and she ventured into the bedroom. A couple of minutes later, Gerry admitted that wasn’t enough either. With a determined stride, she went out.

It took her some wandering through the castle’s dark hallways and corridors, before the chilly air and relentless walking calmed her down. She stopped and, to her utter horror, found herself standing in front of the school’s library.

Gerry’s first reaction was to run and hide, but she made herself stay. “You’ll have to work in this school. Get over yourself, girl,” she whispered sternly and walked in.


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He didn’t like to be here anymore. It used to be his hiding place, his sanctuary. But now it reminded him too plainly about what he used to be. What he lived to be. What he would never be again. The neat rows of cauldrons. Shelves upon shelves of vials. Stands and connectors of all shapes and sizes. A large storage room full of ingredients, from the most mundane ones to the rarest and obscenely expensive...

Snape sat at his desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose, the headache settling comfortably in the back of his skull. He should get his potion and leave. He shouldn’t be here. Too many memories. Fifteen years worth of memories. Late nights, early mornings… Shimmering cauldrons, rising steam… Snape shook his head. He really shouldn’t be here...

It was over four months ago, when he last worked in this lab. Well, in any lab. Then, he finally started moving on his own (thanks to Poppy’s relentless efforts) after a week of hanging chained to the wall in Malfoy’s dungeons. It was late December, and they all knew time was short. It was a matter of days before the Dark Lord would strike his final blow. Everybody was rushing to finish all the preparation for the upcoming conflict, and Dumbledore worked with the Potions Master day and night in this lab: Snape would sit right here, at this very desk, pouring over one book after another. Albus would stand at the worktable, preparing ingredients or stirring the boiling liquid in the cauldron. From time to time the Headmaster would look at him and ask for the next step, and he would whisper the answer, his voice non-existent after days of screaming through the tortures his “friends” had put him through. The old wizard would try very hard to avoid staring at the Potions Master’s shaking hands, at his still, ghostly-white face, and was very careful to spare Snape the humiliation of seeing pity in the blue eyes. But Snape knew it was there, and the shame of knowing it burned him like the worst of the curses wouldn’t.

And then it was over. The brewing process finished, and they began to turn this simple enough Affection Draw into The Potion. One by one the members of the Order, their close acquaintances, some of Hogwarts trusted professors, came to this room and gave a part of their love – for their families, for their lovers, for their familiars, for their friends. Albus would carefully and solemnly infuse The Potion with yet another donation, and put a restorative spell on the donor.

Snape would sit quietly at this very desk, thoughtfully watching the old wizard. He wasn’t asked to donate. The Headmaster didn’t say anything, but Snape believed that he understood Albus’ reasoning: what love could be offered by a half-dead man, whose expressed feeling ranged from total detachment to outright hatred. But in the end, the Potions Master did manage to contribute. The very last night before the battle, he staggered into this lab and, standing over the cauldron with the precious liquid, repeated the incantation he had heard so many times from Albus during the last several days. The difference was that it wasn’t love he donated. He never told anybody about it, but sometimes he wondered if his donation was what it took for Potter to succeed… Of course, it didn’t really matter now, water under the bridge. The next day the Savior drank The Potion and went out to fulfill his mission. The Dark Lord was destroyed, the Light side won, and the world was saved… And yet, sometimes Snape wondered what if he had never made his donation…

Snape shook his head. It was ridiculous to go over this. Again.

“You are a fool, Severus. What’s done is done.”

It was kind of ironic, though, that something he loved so much was what had destroyed him at the end. The Potions. Actually, two very specific ones. The first one, created for his Dark Master, had crippled his body. The second one, created for his Light Master, had crippled his soul.

“Stop your whining, fool.” It was getting beyond ridiculous.

Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It didn’t even smell like a potions lab anymore. Even the regular visits Poppy made here to replenish the stock of her basic remedies hadn’t changed that. Well, she probably spent hours ventilating the room after her potions were done. She was too much of a mediwitch to appreciate the delicate (and not so much so) scents that rise over softly shimmering or violently boiling cauldrons. He sighed. He used to abhor the sheer thought of letting anybody in his lab, but nowadays all he worried about was the over-cleanliness. Snape snorted: ri-di-cu-lous.

He got up and swept to the warded shelves with the prepared potions. The wave of a shaking wand in his hand, a quite password, and the barriers fell, revealing rows of perfectly lined up vials with multicolor labels on them. The Pepper-up Potion. The Dreamless Sleep Potion. The Calming Solution. In his sleep he could recite the ingredients and processes, colors and incantations. Unfortunately, it wasn’t necessary to. He was just a visitor here. Somebody in need of a simple headache potion. Second year stuff…

The castle was deep asleep at this hour of the night. Snape wondered if he should return to his rooms, or prowl a little. It was probably too late even for the most sentimental couples, or the most adventurous explorers to be out, but he figured he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, so why not try and see if there were some points to be deducted.

He started from the Astronomy Tower, working his way down to the lower level of the castle. However, despite his intimate knowledge of the hiding places and darker passageways, Snape managed to catch only one stray Gryffindor on a dare, far away from the Gryffindor Tower. So, he almost jumped with familiar anticipation when he saw a sliver of light seeping under the library’s door.

He knew how to move without a sound. He knew how to approach a person without being noticed. And he did it this time as perfectly as any other time he was inclined to. The student, engrossed in a book, didn’t see or hear him coming. She was so oblivious to the fact that she was about to get caught so effortlessly, that Snape allowed himself to linger for a moment, his thin lips curled into an almost-smile. And then he drawled softly, “I wonder which House is about to have a dubious honor of losing a nice number of, shall we say, twenty points?”

He stood triumphantly smirking down at the girl, while she began to raise her head from the book. But suddenly, the world went crumbling down around Snape. The maddeningly blue eyes were looking at him, and as from a far came a whisper, “You…”

He stumbled backward, practically losing his balance, but unable to move his eyes from the girl’s, who was slowly getting up from the chair. The faint aroma of vanilla and peach was distinct in the air.

“You…” he didn’t even hear himself croak, because his heart was beating so deafeningly loud in his ears.

Silently they stood, both frozen, for several moments that seemed to stretch into eternity. Snape recovered first. “Ms. Ardant…”

Suddenly, the witch’s face twisted in sheer panic. He furrowed his brows, surprised, but then realization hit him, “Oh, she remembers.” His shaking hands, palms open, went up in the air – look, I’m not dangerous, I won’t harm you. He had to reassure her somehow. He had to make her believe that the horrible incident of last July would never happen again.

“Ms. Ardant…” He choked on his unspoken words when he saw the wand in her hand. The tip of the wand was pointing straight at him. Snape scowled. Guilty or not, he never appreciated to be threatened by anybody.

He waited for the young witch to make the next move, irritation building up inside. What did she want from him? An explanation? An apology? But she just continued standing there, keeping her wand steady, glaring at him. Finally, she made a decision.

“Hands up in front of you,” she ordered. Snape grudgingly obeyed. He didn’t hear the incantation, but the next moment his hands were bound tight, elbow to elbow, wrist to wrist.

“Look, there is no need…” he began rather annoyed, making a small step toward the witch.

“Stay away from me, you filthy scum!” she shrieked raising the tip of her wand to aim directly at his chest.

Snape halted in mid-motion, his eyes growing wide. Merlin, he really had violated her bad, if almost a year later she was so full rage against him.

“I am taking you to the Headmaster, and Merlin help you, if you try anything funny,” she announced and, gripping the wand tighter, commanded, “Now, move.”

“Ms. Ardant, I will go with you, but…” It was humiliating enough to be a captive of this slip of a witch, but to parade through the whole school like this, hands bound, a wand pointed at him, was beyond humiliating. It was a complete disgrace. How dare she? He was a bloody teacher in this school!

Snape’s indignation, though, was cut short. He wasn’t sure what happen next - he either choose the wrong tone of voice, or the wrong words, or the young witch was beyond needing a provocation, but suddenly she screamed, “Stupefy!” He didn’t have time to duck the spell - the witch stood too close, - and the bright light of the spell touched him while its end was still coming from her wand. The spell threw his body backwards, smashing it against the bookshelves, and he felt a painful explosion in his left temple as his head hit something sharp. The sparks burst in front of his eyes before the whole world went dark, and he slid down to the floor unconscious.
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A/N A huge thanks to my beta Odddoll