It Takes a Miracle

Chapter 14 – Sorry seems to be the hardest word


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After breakfast Gerry spent several hours going over the topics covered by each year and then another couple of hours with Professor McGonagall, setting up her schedule and discussing the details of how’s, and when’s, and what’s of the Assistant Professor position. Overall, despite her unease around the older witch, to her great surprise Gerry found it extremely easy to deal with the Transfigurations Professor. McGonagall’s approach was direct, and her expectations seemed reasonable. Gerry ventured a couple of suggestions from her rather extensive tutoring experience, and they were accepted without much ado. The old witch wasn’t all warm and fuzzy, but Gerry thought that it shouldn’t be hard to work for her.

McGonagall and she went to lunch together. On the way, they moved from school related topics to a conversation about one of the latest publications in the “Witch’s Weekly” regarding alleged differences in spell-casting between wizards and witches. Upon entering the Great Hall, they had to interrupt their discussion, tending to the more mundane task of navigating through the mob of kids. Following McGonagall’s sure step along the students’ tables, Gerry suddenly realized she wasn’t worried any more either about her new job or about being at Hogwarts. She would be fine.

At the Gryffindors’ table McGonagall stopped to talk to the redheaded prefect and introduced him to Gerry as Ron Weasley. By the time they reached the High Table Gerry finally realized why the boy’s name sounded so familiar: they mentioned him in the papers as the best friend of the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Defeat-Riddle. She wanted to smack herself over the head for spending almost a day at Hogwarts without making an attempt to at least see the famous Harry Potter.

“Must be the new job anxiety,” she assured herself. She would be there for the next two months and would probably have a number of opportunities to rectify the situation. Smiling, Gerry nodded to a couple of teachers, who were already eating, and took her place at the table.

She greedily eyed the platters of food in front of her, torn between the delicious-looking choices offered. Too anxious, she didn’t eat much at breakfast, but now she intended to compensate for that, and more. She piled up her plate, and was about to sink her teeth into a juicy piece of fried sausage, when she saw…

No, she didn’t see, she sensed him first. There was this feeling of apprehension, and sweet ache, and need, and joy… Then, in the corner of her eye she saw a tall figure clad in black appear at the High Table. Suddenly, all the things she had been so successful in not thinking about since last night burst into the forefront of her mind. Gerry lowered her fork back to her plate. She was hungry anymore.

For the next several minutes she dumbly watched the food on her plate get cold and listened to her heartbeat so loud that it overshadowed the noise of the Great Hall. The other Assistant Professor on her left asked something about McGonagall, but before she could mumble her answer, to Gerry’s relief, he was distracted by a comment from the teacher next to him.

Finally, Gerry decided she should pull herself together and try to eat something. Snape or not, it wasn’t wise in her condition to skip another meal. Very slowly the fork went up to her lips and she took a small bit.

“Don’t think, eat. Don’t think, eat,” she chanted inwardly, carefully chewing on a tasteless piece of sausage. “Don’t think…” She swallowed with an effort and raised her eyes from her plate.

Jay, who probably was in his place for some time, was looking at her oddly. Catching her gaze, he lipped a question, “Is something wrong?” She almost laughed. Wrong? Why? No, nothing was wrong.

There was absolutely nothing wrong. Except maybe for the fact that last night she cursed and knocked out a wizard, who was a Professor of this very school; or that she was ready to kill a man she used to love, and then had to hate, and now, after she had cursed and knocked him out, she learned she could love him again; or that this very man who didn’t like her to begin with, now most probably loathed her for cursing him, and…for just being here in Hogwarts; and…

“Stop!” Gerry looked around to check if the scream went out. Thanks Merlin, it didn’t. She took a deep breath, furrowed her brows, and bit on her lip. She had two months ahead of her, and if she was to work here, she needed to GET A GRIP!

Squaring her shoulders with a new determination, which came out of nowhere, she allowed a quick glance at the far end of the High Table. “Don’t think, eat. Don’t think, eat.” The next glance smacked somewhere in the middle of the High Table, hooking at the Headmaster’s orangey-yellow outfit. “Don’t think, eat. Don’t think, eat.” The last glance brushed the side of the High Table she had the most trouble with…

He was sitting in mere several meters away from her. His back absolutely straight, his long fingers intertwined, hands resting in front of him, his stare directed somewhere in the neighborhood of the Slytherin table. For a few long minutes, she watched as he just sat there, all tensed, disregarding the food in front of him and the people around him. She didn’t know if she was still chewing, or swallowing, or breathing for that matter, but she couldn’t move her eyes off of him.

He probably felt her gaze and shifted his eyes a bit to look at her. The intensity and coldness of the absolutely black stare practically choked Gerry. Involuntary, she began coughing as if trying to expel some obstacle from her throat. He scowled at her, the black eyes narrow and guarded. Her cheeks burning crimson red, she dropped her gaze to the all too familiar plate. When she dared to look at him again, he held her gaze for a moment with no sign of acknowledgement or recognition, and then his stare slid back to the Slytherin table. Gerry gulped, the sickening sensation of falling engulfing her. Merlin…

The rest of lunch she almost involuntary kept sneaking peeks at Snape, but he didn’t look at her once. It didn’t seem that he ate or spoke to anybody. He just sat there, glaring over his hooked nose.

He was the first one to leave the High Table. He got up and slipped through a small door behind the High Table so quickly that Gerry barely got a glimpse of his disappearing back. Trying to be as casual about it as possible, she rushed to follow him.


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He was numb inside. Taking some points on the way to the Great Hall was more of a result of habit than a conscious decision. At first he was just furious – least of all he wanted to be dragged again into the hated game of “catch a dark wizard.” There were specially trained law-enforcers for that! He was a bloody Potions Master and a Professor of the school! He gave the older wizard a whole speech full of righteous indignation. Then, he tried to persuade Albus that this time around they might do just fine without him. The suspects were known for the most part, and there were tracking spells, and eavesdropping charms, and… The older wizard only looked at him sadly: they both knew it had to be the careful work of a trusted wizard placed inside the remains of the Dark Lord’s heinous web. And he was the only surviving connection to the defeated Dark Side; he was the only thread that remained; he was the only one to do the job…

Snape regretted going to the Great Hall. Not many would notice if he didn’t, even fewer would miss him, and putting up an appearance was not high on his priority list right now. But since he came, he had to seat at his place at the High Table, glare over his nose at the students, and consciously ignore the conversations swirling around him.

As an afterthought, he put some food on his plate, not bothering to look closely at what it was. He didn’t feel hungry or thirsty. Just tired. So bloody damn tired…

His colleagues, well used to his temper, didn’t hassle him, and he was prepared to spend his customary half an hour there without much of an effort, except for…

Except for an unsettling feeling of being watched. Thanks to the years of spying, he could always tell if somebody was watching him. Even in the crowded Great Hall. But who would be interested? And who would dare? Quickly, he scanned the Slytherin table (one of the children might already be collecting intelligence for his or her soon-to-be-released or never-been-caught Death Eater parent). No, not there. It wasn’t coming from any of the other students’ tables either. He shifted his gaze. Oh…

Oh. There she was. Watching him. This time he was prepared: his eyes remained cold, his face void of expression. He realized she didn’t expect to get caught, and began coughing convulsively. Was she scared of him? Was she surprised he was still here, at the High Table, and had not been thrown out of school as the animal that he was? After the conversation with Albus, Snape decided that it wasn’t that the girl didn’t tell about his assault last July. No, she most definitely did. The hatred in her eyes when she cursed him was very personal. It was definitely not only about him being a Death Eater, but also about him being her own sworn enemy. Well, dear girl, you probably had no idea, but your sanity, your dignity, and your pride have been sacrificed for the “greater good,” for having him for a pet spy was apparently more important to Albus than punishing him at the moment. He scowled at her, feeling angry at himself, and at Albus (what did the old fox tell her?), and at the girl for that matter for coming back here, for looking at him with those insanely blue eyes.

The girl was blushing. He swore inwardly, because he couldn’t help himself, but continued looking at her. Of course, he kept his gaze cold, but it took an effort to move it from the girl.

“Scum! Bastard!” screamed the little voice in his head. Even that didn’t matter anymore. The task Albus set before him seemed gargantuan, and he was so tired… So bloody damn tired…

Out of the Great Hall, he hurried to the sanctuary of the dungeons. Only two more classes for today, and…

“Professor!”

He ignored it. The school was full of Professors, and…

“Professor Snape! Sir!”

He stopped and slowly, very slowly turned around. The girl was running towards him (“Hasn’t anyone told her how undignified it is to run through the school’s busiest hallway? Especially if it is done in such a graceless, clumsy…endearing manner?”)

“Professor.” The witch was out of breath, but still making an effort to offer him a smile. A smile? What was it with her? In the daylight, her blue eyes seemed even brighter and warmer than he ever imagined them to be. But despite the smile, and the warmth, he noticed that the girl looked somewhat weary, tired. The dark circles around her eyes, the pale face, the chafed lips. The robe, which obviously had seen better days, appeared too big on her petite figure. Come to think of it, there was some sadness lurking deep in her eyes, sadness which wasn’t there before. Was she sick? Was she a victim of the damn war? What had happened to her since last July?

“Do you honestly believe this should be of any interest to you?” inquired the little voice. Snape scowled and uttered, “Ms. Ardant.”

“Sir, hello. How are you?” she finally managed, her arm around the waist as if it was helping her to calm her breathing. Snape didn’t answer, impatiently waiting for the real question. Fully aware of what it might be, he schooled his face into a cold mask, a slight sneer curling his lip. It was hard, though, with the witch standing so close to him, too close for comfort.

However, whatever he was expecting was not what came out of witch’s mouth next.

“Professor, I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night.”

Snape raised his brow. The girl stumbled, looked down, then back at him and mumbled very softly, “I shouldn’t have cursed you, sir, I am sorry. And I didn’t mean to knock you out.”

“A memory charm,” Snape calmly noted to himself, his initial disbelief momentarily replaced by anger.

Before he had time to respond there was a cheerful voice, “Severus, did I miss a duel?”

“No, Filius, there weren’t any duels,” he hissed to Flitwick, a little jovial Charms Professor, and, coincidentally, an obsessive duelist, who just happened to be in this damn bloody hall within earshot of one extremely dangerous conversation.

“But hasn’t Ms. Ardant said…” started the short wizard smiling.

“She mistook me for somebody else. That is all,” Snape barked quietly to Flitwick, hating the wizard and his ever-present merriment more than anything in the world at that particular moment. He then shot a venomous look at the witch, “Didn’t you, Ms. Ardant?”

The girl mumbled something unintelligible, a quick recovery obviously not one of her stronger suits.

“Yes,” she whispered finally, looking absolutely miserable.

“Filius,” Snape turned to the little wizard again, “I am sure you will know better than to spread any rumors around the school about Ms. Ardant and my encounter.”

“Severus, you’ve known me for a long time,” the Charms Professor smiled and waived his little hand in denial.

Snape nodded, looked at the young witch, and hissed through clenched teeth, “And I advise you, Ms. Ardant, to never bring up this…incident ever again. Good day. Good day, Filius.”

He shot a venomous glare at the girl, turned on his heel, and marched away, his back painfully straight. He was acutely aware of two pairs of surprised eyes watching him go. Shit. He was also aware of a number of students moving about the hallway, who rushed to clear away from his path. Shit. Did any of them hear anything?

“Bloody old fool!” Snape muttered soundlessly, sweeping towards the dungeons. “Does he want to render me useless before I even start doing anything? What was he thinking, letting loose a silly girl with dangerous information that she swings about like a new purse, for all to see?”

Anger was such a familiar, comfortable feeling. It carried Snape all the way down to the dungeons. It helped him through the next two class periods. And if a wayward thought involving a blue-eyed witch snuck past his defenses, the anger would squash it mercilessly.


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“He does have his moments, doesn’t he?” she heard the little wizard saying and nodded sadly.

She was absolutely devastated. All she wanted to do was apologize. Apologize, because now that she knew the truth, she felt ashamed of the rashly-fired curse that landed Snape in the infirmary. She wanted to assure the dark-haired wizard that she would never betray his secret, and if he would ever need her help…

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. Indeed, the road to Hell was paved with good intentions. How could she be that stupid? To talk about it here, in the middle of a busy hallway. Stupid!

“I believe I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself at the staff meeting. Professor Filius Flitwick, Charms.” She barely registered the voice of little wizard, but catching herself looking after the departing Snape, she smiled apologetically to the Professor and hurriedly shook the offered hand.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” she said as pleasantly as she could manage. Then, suddenly she had an idea. “You know a couple of years ago at the University, I became friends with a girl named Alison Cornfield.”

“Alison, of course.” It didn’t seem possible, but Flitwick’s smile grew wider. “Of course. Did she tell you about Hogwarts?”

“Yes. In fact she told me a lot about you, too.” It looked like her idea was working, and Gerry continued with some relief, “She said the main reason she had chosen Charms as her future occupation was because of you.”

“Indeed.” The Charms Professor looked utterly too pleased. “You know, I have to see Minerva on some business. Would you mind it terribly if I walk with you? And you can tell me all about Alison.”

On the way, Gerry told little wizard not only about Alison, but also about a few other of his former students. He was well-loved, and tenderly remembered by all of them, and Gerry was beginning to see why, despite the throbbing anxiety to keep the conversation away from the dangerous subject of Snape. Flitwick’s eyes shone with delight listening to her, and by the time they reached McGonagall’s office, Gerry hoped the reason they met in the first place was forgotten.

The door to McGonagall’s office was spell-closed.

“I guess, she is still at lunch,” shrugged Flitwick lightly.

“Would you like come in and wait for her?” Gerry asked, pulling out her wand to unward the door.

“No, thank you. I have a class. I will come back later,” said the little wizard. “It’s been a treat talking to you, Gerry.”

He turned around to leave, but then suddenly looked back at her, smiled, and beckoned her to lean down to him. “Did you “stun” him?” he whispered to her, glancing along the hallway to make sure no one was listening.

“It was an accident,” she murmured, feeling her whole face burning.

“Do you know he is one of the best duelists in the country?” the little wizard asked hotly.

“I don’t really…” Gerry didn’t know how she should continue: “follow the dueling ranks,” “think we should be talking about it”.

“Wizards with the training and experience Severus has don’t get “stunned” by accident. My dear child,” Flitwick’s high-pitched voice became solemn, “you should be proud of yourself.”

Gerry didn’t know what to say to that, and she wished dearly for this conversation to be over. Meanwhile, Flitwick smiled at her again and said, “But if I were you, I would stay away from him for a while. Severus does not like to lose. But who does, right?”

The little Charms Professor was several steps away from Gerry, when he turned around one more time and said cheerfully, “Next year Id like to start a Dueling Club here at Hogwarts. If you stay, would you consider becoming my assistant there?”

Gerry groaned.

“Think about it,” said Flitwick and finally left.

She went into the office and flopped into the chair at her desk. For a couple of minutes she tried to occupy herself, rearranging the parchments, rummaging through the almost-empty drawers. However, soon she gave up, dropped her head on the desktop, and closed her eyes. Merlin, what had she done? Should she resign now, before putting more people in danger and making even a bigger fool of herself? Stupid, stupid, stupid girl...

Gerry had not yet decided if she should follow Flitwick’s advice or instead make another attempt to clear matters with Snape, when a situation arose in which the little wizard’s kind suggestion became unfeasible.

There was a half an hour break between tutoring sessions, when Gerry decided to go see Madam Pomfrey.

“Hello, my dear,” the mediwitch greeted her warmly. “How do you do? How is your first day?”

“Hello, Madam, how do you do?” answered Gerry. She hesitated just for a moment before continuing, “I think it is going rather well. No one has complained yet.”

“Good, good.” The older witch offered for her to sit down. “Minerva can be harsh, but she is always sensible and fair. So, what can I do for you today?”

When the mediwitch heard the amount of potions Gerry required, she shook her head. “I am afraid we don’t keep that much on hand.” Then, she thought for a moment and asked, “How are your potion-brewing skills?”

“My potion-brewing skills?” Gerry furrowed her brows.

“Would you be able to brew the potions you require?” the mediwitch clarified patiently.

“Oh, of course,” Gerry assured her. “I actually would prefer to do it myself. All I need is a lab and ingredients.”

The mediwitch eyed her carefully for a moment and then said, “You see, we used to have the Potions Master of the school help me with stocking all the necessary medical potions. But,” she stopped, sighed, and went on, “the result of Professor Snape’s injury…renders him unable at the moment to…brew potions.” The older witch paused, and Gerry thought she saw tears collecting in her kind eyes.

“His shaking hands,” Gerry suddenly remembered, and before she had a chance to consider it, the question came out of her mouth, “What is wrong with Professor Snape?”

Madam Pomfrey looked at her disapprovingly, her lips pursed tight.

“I was just…” trailed Gerry, inwardly berating herself for yet another stupid thing she said today. Oh boy, she was hopeless.

“I am not in a habit of discussing my patients’ maladies with…anybody not directly concerned,” stated the mediwitch firmly.

“I’m sorry, it’s not what I meant,” tried Gerry, “I was just…”

“Curious?” came a sardonic question.

“Yes…” she answered automatically and then, realizing what she just said, she snapped out of it, horrified, “No! No, no…”

“Stupid!!!” It was a wail inside her head, and Gerry made another attempt, “No, I was worried after last night…”

“So, it was you who “stunned” him?” Madam Pomfrey narrowed her eyes, and Gerry wished she never got out of bed that day.

“It was an accident…”

“Are you telling me that Severus Snape let you curse him by accident?” inquired the older witch sternly, and it was clear she wasn’t about to believe a word of her answer.

Gerry groaned, and slapped her palm over her mouth...

Several hours later she was following the mediwitch down to the dungeons, miserably chewing on her lip. Pomfrey still doubted her story about accidental cursing, but at least she decided to help Gerry to persuade Snape to let her use his lab.

“He can be very…disagreeable about…invasion of his property,” explained the mediwitch humorlessly, and Gerry could just imagine how disagreeable Snape was going to be about her invading his property. Shit. For the first time in a day Gerry thought longingly about the smelly butcher shop, where she had yet to curse anybody.


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He straightened up the stack of essays he had just finished grading and flexed his stiffened muscles. Thanks Merlin, the day was almost over. Well, there was dinner to go to, of course, but he was seriously considering skipping it today. After all, he was injured only last night, and Albus wouldn’t be able to object to allowing for some recuperation time. Trouble was, he had never done it before, and it would be rather out of character for him to openly admit to weakness. He, Severus Snape, could not be weak. Especially now, when trying to hide a real weakness. Right, so, to dinner he would go.

Snape got up, wrapping the anger he carefully kept burning, around him like armor. However, before he managed to leave his office, there was a knock at the door and in came Poppy, followed by one extremely upset-looking Ms. Ardant.

“Well?” was all that came out of Snape’s mouth.

“Professor, we need a minute of your time,” stated the mediwitch, and the girl stopped behind her and nodded vaguely, eyeing the jars on the walls with a glum stare.

“Poppy, what is she doing here?” he asked coolly, not bothered with the fact that “she” was right there.

“Severus, please…”

“Professor,” murmured the girl.

“Ms. Ardant, I want you to leave,” he demanded and then sneered, “Is this clear?”

Slowly she turned around, intending to comply, but the older witch put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Severus, I understand you are upset with Ms. Ardant, but we are here on business, and this business is as much Gerry’s as mine and yours. She has to participate in our conversation.” She paused, as if daring him to insist on throwing the young witch out. Snape scowled, but didn’t say anything. Pomfrey went on defiantly, “Rudeness doesn’t become you, Severus Snape,” and then, more calmly, “May we sit down?”

Snape glared at the mediwitch, and then, without a word, turned around, stomped back to his desk, and sat, noisily dragging the chair under him closer to the desk. Offering a chair to Pomfrey and carefully ignoring the girl, he finally spoke irritably, “So, let’s have it.”

The witches sat down, and the older one looked encouragingly at the younger one, who seemed to have made a decision to chew her lip thoroughly enough for swallowing. For several long moments nobody spoke.

“Poppy, either you are going to tell me why you are here, or I will be forced to ask you to leave,” Snape broke the silence, snarling at them.

The mediwitch pursed her lips, eyed him for a moment disapprovingly, and then said, “Ms. Ardant wanted to say something to you first.”

He scowled at the girl, whose tiny frame shrank under his angry gaze. She gulped nosily and uttered in a shaky voice, “Professor, I am truly sorry about last night…I didn’t mean… I didn’t know… I apologize for what I did…”

She blushed and seemed to shrink even more. He wanted to say something cutting, something nasty, but stopped, his eyes widening. His anger, which saw him through the afternoon, the anger, which he carefully preserved and fed, disappeared. Just like that. Only a second ago, its heat licked at his skin reassuringly, and suddenly it was no more. He was left to fend for himself, all alone, confused and scared, because he couldn’t think about offending the young witch in front of him anymore. He instantly forgot about the curse, and the infirmary, and Flitwick, and all he wanted to do was to go to the girl, and run his finger along the reddened lip, and smooth the worried wrinkle on her forehead with his lips, and tell her that she should never be afraid of him…

Oh, bloody Merlin! The drop of cold sweat slid down his spine, and Snape wondered if the Killing Curse would be effective if applied to self by a shaking hand. He moaned inwardly. What was wrong with him?!? The girl should be afraid of him. She’d better be very afraid of him. Blabbering fool!

He knew he’d better start thinking clearly soon. Well, sooner than soon would be even better. Absolutely terrified, Snape frantically searched for something to help him do just that. Unbelievable, he had stood before the Dark Lord and Dumbledore, not counting all the dunderheads he ever had ever had the questionable pleasure to teach, and never was he lost for words. But this girl, with her unbearably blue eyes… A shudder went through Snape’s body, and he hastily moved his gaze away from the young witch.

He looked heavily at Pomfrey, and suddenly saw his salvation. The mediwitch’s kind face, turned to Ms. Ardant, was all compassion. Something clicked inside Snape’s horrified mind. So-o-o, that’s how it was. He was the one who was cursed. He was the one who had to spend a night in the hospital bed. And this old bat was clearly on the girl’s side.

With some degree of relief Snape felt a familiar stirring of resentment and let out a barely perceptible sigh. Now everything was back to normal, and the world made sense again. He folded his arms on his chest, leaned against the back of the chair, and curled his lip in a perfectly nasty sneer, “Ms. Ardant, I really do not care much for your apologies. But if you are to continue your employment at Hogwarts, do stay away from me, will you? The further the better for you.”

“Now, Severus, you shouldn’t…” interjected Pomfrey, but he swirled in his seat to face her, his angry glare stopping her mid-sentence.

“Poppy,” he hissed the name rather than said it, “What was it you wanted?”

She eyed him with as much indignation as her caring nature could master, shaking her head and sighing deeply, “Severus, Severus, you…”

“Poppy,” this hiss was even more menacing than the previous one, and the old witch finally conceded.

“Ms. Ardant needs two potions on a daily basis. The Dreamless Sleep Potion and the Nerve-Relaxing Draw.”

So, the girl was sick. That was why she looked so tired and worn. That was why her robes were too loose on her. But what was she sick with? What malady required potions like that? And on daily basis?

At least now it made sense that she was invited to Hogwarts. How could he miss the obvious signs? They were right there, in front of him. He was just too preoccupied with his prior history with the young witch to notice.

First of all, why would anybody hire as an Assistant Teacher someone with no required experience or education, when there were a few much more suitable candidates available? Why would Dumbledore seem to steer their conversation away from the witch, carefully downplaying their encounter? Why would a mediwitch stand on the side of the assailant, especially if the said assailant had put him in the hospital? There was only one good answer to this -- she was yet another of Albus’ pet projects! A charity case. One of the strays the old fox always enjoyed so much to pick up and aid. So now everybody would have to dance around the girl, treating her like some kind wonder, and take care of her every whim. Not him, of course, he would never lower himself to participating in Albus’ pity games. But he already could imagine how nauseated it would make him to watch this girl be at the center of everyone’s attention. He grunted and spat through clenched teeth, “How does it concern me?”

“The potions are needed to be brewed,” the older witch patiently explained. Snape’s eyes narrowed, another sneer twisted his mouth, but he kept silent. “I think, I will be able to increase the amount of Dreamless Sleep Potion I brew for my stores enough to cover Ms. Ardant’s needs, but the other one…”

She trailed off as if unsure of how to proceed.

“Yes,” Snape urged her angrily.

“Well, Ms. Ardant volunteered to brew her own potions if we’d let her use the lab.”

“And why would we do that?” Snape asked quietly barely able to contain the fury that was steadily getting a hold of him.

“Severus, I don’t reckon I will have time to do that for Gerry, but as a part of the staff she is entitled to proper medical care…”

“Oh, I know perfectly well who is entitled to what.” His smile was scary if one was to judge by the look on the girl’s face. “However, I still fail to see why she should be allowed in the lab.”

“Ms. Ardant said she could do it, and…”

“Well, did she?” Oh, it was easy, even enjoyable. “Let me ask you, Ms. Ardant, what else have you told Madam Pomfrey here? Anything about working for Professor Grumbledam may be? Or is it working with Professor Grumbledam nowadays?”

The girl blushed to the roots of her messy hair. She remembered. Good, because he remembered it too. What did she think, he wouldn’t check? The mediwitch looked from him to the girl, trying to understand what it was all about, when Snape, after a long moment of triumph, offered the confused Pomrey an explanation, “You see, Poppy, Ms. Ardant here likes to, how shall we put it, exaggerate things. Things such as her qualifications, experience. You have to be very careful about it.”

The girl’s face turned even redder, and Snape noticed with a fair degree of satisfaction the glistening at the bottoms of the witch’s eyes. Of course, the girl wasn’t stupid, she would go for sympathy if she couldn’t get her way any other way. He disregarded a barely perceptible shiver that when through his insides, and continued, “You cannot reasonably expect me to let into my lab a person whose qualifications in potion making are unknown at best.”

“I see your point, Severus, but…”

The witches left half an hour later – the older one frowning, and the younger one on the verge of tears -- and Snape had to make several trips around the office to calm down. Shit. He should have felt better. After all he did what he was supposed to do. Firstly, he showed the little Ms. “Pet Project” that not everybody would be fawning around her. Secondly, he, as a prudent Potions Master, combed thoroughly through her potion-making background, questioning her every claim of schoolwork and actual experience (she had not much of the first, and even less of the second, which gave him yet more reasons to mock her ridiculous request).

Finally, Poppy, who watched the interrogation silently for a while, put a stop to it, suggesting he questioned Ms. Ardant on the potion she was going to make, and left the rest of young witch’s potion-related theoretical and practical experiences, as well as her abilities, out of the conversation. He conceded and surprisingly got a very decent (not that he would ever say it out loud) description of the process and ingredients from the girl who was struggling to hold her sniveling. Still, it didn’t satisfy him.

Eyeing the young witch with a clearly faked concern, Snape offered using the help of his better seventh year students, but was fiercely rebuked.

“You should know better, Severus,” Poppy scolded him. “We don’t want any privacy issues to arise.”

At the end it was the mediwitch again, who had a solution: he should supervise Ms. Ardant’s brewing, and if there were any problems, the three of them would discuss the alternative course of action.

Snape knew if he continued to resist to the point of angering Poppy, he was risking having a furious McGonagall on his back, let alone a chance of having to listen to one of Albus’ “motivational” talks about the importance of human kindness and consideration of others’ needs. And so he had to agree to the mediwitch’s suggestion. He hoped that at least he had made the conversation unpleasant enough for the young witch to understand that none of her nonsense (related to potions or not) would be tolerated by him.

Grudgingly he scheduled the girl to come to his lab Saturday afternoon, inwardly reasoning with himself that after all was said and done, the girl would need her potion, and Poppy couldn’t spend the extra four hours, that the potion required for completion, away from the infirmary, and he could not…Well, he could only supervise…

Snape made another circle around the room and stopped to lean at his desk, frowning. No, tonight he wasn’t going to the Great Hall after all – he didn’t need food, he needed a drink.


00000
The knock at the door woke her up. The surroundings slowly were coming into focus, and it took her several moments before she realized where she was: a clean spacious room, a leather sofa warm under her body… Oh, yes, she was at Hogwarts. Still a bit dizzy after her slumber, her eyes, thoroughly washed by long crying, stinging a bit, her head heavy, throbbing with a developing headache, Gerry sat and ran her hands through her hair. There was another knock, and, after a short contemplation, she dragged herself from the sofa to open the door.

“Hi, were you asleep?” Jay looked concerned, his smile uncertain.

“No. No, I was not. What time is it?” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms.

“Elevenish…” He was watching her with outright worry, but it seemed he wasn’t sure what to say or do next.

“Oh,” Gerry uttered, continuing with her rubbing.

“What’s with you? You are not well, are you?”

“No, I am fine…” she paused and sighed, “Just tired…”

“Alright, er… I’ll…” Jay looked up and down the hallway, rolled up and down on the balls of his feet, and asked uncertainly, “Can I come in for a second? I need to give you something.”

“Okay,” Gerry hesitated for a moment, but then let him in.

She sat heavily on the sofa and pulled her legs under her. Jay paused in the doorway, and she gestured him to sit.

“It’s alright,” he declined and went to the window. “So, how was your first day at Hogwarts?”

“Good. Mostly good.” She made an effort to smile cheerfully.

“Was it?” he doubted. “You ran out after lunch, and I didn’t see you at dinner, so I was afraid either McGonagall or the kids had driven you out already.”

“No, not yet,” this time her smile turned out more convincing, “but the attempts were made.”

“So, your first day wasn’t that good then. I knew I should have stopped by earlier.” Jay came to stand next to the fireplace.

“Why? I am fine. Everything is fine.” Concern didn’t look natural on the young wizard’s face, but Gerry thought that his sad, almost puppy-like expression was cute. She snorted at that, and grinned at Jay. “Oh, come on now. Look at yourself. Do you honestly believe that a couple of little brats or one quite respectable middle-aged lady could drive me away?” She snorted again.

“Well, I am glad I could at least provide entertainment for you.” His mock indignation widened the grin on Gerry’s face, and he continued, satisfied, “but in any case, there is something you still might find handy. You know, stuff happens.” He walked over to her and held out a long wide box wrapped in red and gold. “Here, it is for you. Welcome to Hogwarts.”

“What is it?” Gerry inquired, carefully taking the box as if afraid it would explode in her hands. Silly as it was, with Jay you never knew.

“Open it, no surprises. I swear.”

Out of the box, the wrapping ripped and thrown hastily aside, Gerry pulled a quill. The quill looked absolutely normal, and she looked questioningly at Jay.

“It is a cheering quill. ‘One flick brings a smile to any face,’” Jay recited the ad and shrugged. “Thought, it might help you handle your life here better.”

“Thanks, Jay. You really shouldn’t have.” It was a very thoughtful gift, considering. Gerry weighed it in her hands, and gave it a small flick. “When did you have time to go shopping?”

“I do not go. I Apparate. You know, now you’re here, and now you’re there.” He grinned, pleased with the acceptance his gift had received.

Gerry gave her gift another flick and smiled. “It works.”

“Of course it does,” chuckled the wizard, and said slowly, “So, that was why I came. So…good night.”

She looked at her watch. “Right, bedtime, or I’ll oversleep again.”

“Oh, no, I will not be able to see one more of your ‘gods, I’ve overslept’ looks. It was horrible this morning.” He slapped his palms together in front of his chest, and, as if praying to her, droned in a whining voice, “Please, please, please, use your alarm clock.”

Gerry jumped up from the sofa and smacked him on the arm, grinning widely. “Get out of here, Mister Wise Guy!”

“Just trying to be helpful.” Jay shrugged nonchalantly and went to the door. “Good night, Gerry.”

“Good night,” she said and, as an afterthought, added, “Thanks.”
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A/N A huge thanks to my beta Odddoll