To Know Who I Am

Disclaimer: If you think I own anything you recognize, there's a nice room waiting for you on the Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's. I'm certainly not making any money off things that belong to either J.K. Rowling or Joss Whedon .
Acknowledgements: Many thanks to my amazing beta ubiquirk. Any remaining errors are all mine.

Chapter 2

The first few weeks of classes seemed to fly past as Celia settled into a routine. Her N.E.W.T. students were every bit as challenging as she could have hoped. The younger students were, of course, more of a mixed bag. They were all required to take Herbology until they took their O.W.L. exams, but most couldn’t care less about the subject. All things considered, she actually preferred the “firsties.” They could go from adorably eager to infuriatingly dense and back in less than ten seconds and this made for some interesting classes. At the moment, eagerness seemed to be winning.

She scanned the greenhouse workbench, and noted the progress that they were – or in several cases were not – making with their nettle and sow thistle plants. Those had been good picks. No permanent damage if they got stung or stuck, but it taught them to treat their plants with care. Quickly.

Something at the far end of the workbench caught her eye. What the hell was that kid doing? He wasn’t actually … she whipped out her wand.

“Impervius! Immobulus!”

The child froze, as did the water he had just started to pour. She walked swiftly to his side and looked with horror. Yup. Dragon blood. And he’d been about to dump an awful lot of water in it. That was all kinds of brilliant. The water couldn’t get in now, but still she carefully moved the dragon blood safely to the center of the bench and worked the pitcher out of the boy’s hand, taking care not to knock him over. She placed the pitcher under the “frozen” water and prepared to unfreeze it and the boy, positioning herself to catch him if he fell.

“Finite Incantatem.”

The water splashed down into the pitcher, and young Michael Harrington looked up at her, startled, then guilty. Goddess, I hate this part of the job. She’d managed so far to reprimand students privately but he could have seriously hurt himself and several classmates. And her. And the greenhouse. Possibly the south wall of the castle. She had to be firm, and they all had to understand. “Mr. Harrington, would you care to explain what you thought you were doing?”

“I was, um,” he said, then stopped, looking around him wildly.

“You were about to something so amazingly” – idiotic and stupid, not to mention – “dangerous that I had to Immobilize you. I don’t appreciate having to use that sort of magic on my students. I never thought I would have to use that sort of magic on my students.” She took a breath. Her heart could slow down any time now. “What I want to know is what you thought you were doing. Then I’ll give you a small idea of what you would have done.”

The boy swallowed. “Well, you said that we needed to make the soil more acidic. And we ran out of the stuff you were having us use …”

“The pH adjuster, yes.”

“So, I looked at the label, and decided we could make some more of our own.”

“I see.” Ambitious. Right. “And where did you find the undiluted dragon blood?”

“Umm.”

“So you thought you would get in less trouble for going into my supplies and stealing a dangerous substance, than for asking me what you should do?”

The boy nodded weakly. She sighed. Let’s try to impress the teacher by doing it all ourselves, and then she’ll forget we broke into her supply cabinet. Great idea, except for the part where it’s not. Let’s see, ethics or safety first?

“And have you been sleeping through your Potions classes these past two months, Mr. Harrington?” she asked.

He looked at her blankly. “No, Professor Reese. I do quite well in Potions.”

“Really? Then how is it possible that you did not know you should never, ever add water to dragon blood?”

“But the bottle said …”

“I didn’t ask what the bottle said. I asked how, if you have been paying attention and doing well in Potions, you could have thought it would be wise to add water to dragon blood.”

“It never came up?”

One of the other students snickered. Celia closed her eyes and prayed for strength.

“So you mean to tell me,” she said, “that if I were to ask your Potions Master whether you ought to know that you shouldn’t add water to dragon blood, he’d tell me that he hasn’t burdened you with that knowledge?”

The boy blanched. “I don’t see what Potions has to do …”

“You can’t simply leave what you learn in one class when you enter another, Mr. Harrington. Adding water to dragon blood is dangerous, whether you are in Potions class, my class, or not in any class at all.” She sighed again. Seeing is believing, right? “All of you, pick up your plants and take several steps back from the workbench.”

Once they were all out of range, she dipped her fingers into the pitcher and flung several drops toward the ceramic dish holding the dragon blood and quickly jumped back. With a loud pop, several tongues of flame leapt up from the dish, joined into one, and actually reached high enough to scorch the greenhouse window above before dissipating. She turned back to look at the boy, who was suddenly looking very pale, as were most of his classmates.

“You were about to pour this entire pitcher in there, weren’t you?” she asked. He nodded dumbly. “Fifty points from Slytherin for unauthorized use of dangerous substances and nearly blowing us all up. And a week of detention for breaking into my supplies. In the future, Mr. Harrington, if you need supplies and cannot find them, ask. You’ll get in far less trouble that way.”

The students were all looking at her oddly. Right, she had never corrected a student so publicly before, nor had she ever docked House points for a student’s error. Well, so far none of them tried to blow the place up! Maybe it was a good thing she’d proved that she would punish them if it came to it. Among other things, this incident would probably be burned into their memories, and maybe none of the rest of them would try anything so foolish. And there’s this bridge and this swamp land. Great deals, both of ‘em. She looked at the clock.

“You might as well start cleaning up, class,” she said. “It’ll be time for the next period soon enough. Yes, Miss McEvoy?”

“If the pH adjuster really is water and dragon blood, and it’s so dangerous to add water to dragon blood, how do they make it?” asked the young Gryffindor.

She smiled. “That, I believe, you will probably learn either later this year, or sometime next year, when you have a bit more background. If you’re curious to know exactly when, I suggest you ask your Potions Master.” The young girl looked daunted at the prospect.

~ ~ ~

Once the students had left, Celia straightened out the greenhouse and restored the dragon blood to its proper spot in her cupboard. Who’d have thought one of them would pull a stunt like that? Well, it’d be the last one. Several minutes later, as she was putting the finishing touches on a complex series of locking charms, there was a sound at the doorway.

“Professor Reese?” a rich baritone voice spoke. She turned.

“Professor Snape, come in, come in,” she said. “I expected I’d hear from you sometime today though not so soon.” He raised an eyebrow as he entered. “About Mr. Harrington?”

“What about Mr. Harrington?” he asked.

“Ah, that’s not why you’re here then.” She sighed. “Perhaps he does have some sense of self-preservation. Tell me, Professor, at what point in your curriculum do you explain to your students that one should never add water to dragon blood?”

His eyes did an impressive imitation of … well, okay, not saucers, but something much rounder than his eyes usually were.

“On the first day,” he replied. “We discuss the various and plentiful ways they are capable of damaging themselves. And, of course, it is mentioned in their book, as well as every time I have them handle it.”

“I thought so,” she said. “Mr. Harrington decided he’d make his own dilution of dragon blood to adjust the acidity of his nettle plant’s soil.” She pointed up at the scorched window. “After I unfroze him, I … explained why that was a very bad idea. And reminded him he ought to already know as much. I didn’t exactly believe him that ‘it never came up.’”

Professor Snape’s lips quirked into something that might have been a distant cousin to a smile. “I see.”

“It’s the first time any of them have done anything foolish enough to warrant my taking House points off, so I thought he might have complained in hopes it could be reversed.”

“I would never ask another teacher to reverse a disciplinary decision. That simply is not done,” he replied, his eyes narrowing. “How was he able to access undiluted dragon blood in the first place?”

“He went into my supply cabinet. Not,” she added, holding her hands up, palms out, “the classroom supply cabinet. And for that little stunt, I get to invent a week’s worth of detentions. Just now I’ve been adding to the security spells.”

“I see.” His tone implied she had been an even worse idiot than Harrington not to realize this danger sooner. Sadly, he was probably right. “Do American students not raid their teachers’ stores in order to try things they are by no means prepared to do? I hadn’t thought our students were unique in such things.”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “My training was all one-on-one. I didn’t have the advantage of a school like Hogwarts.” Unauthorized use of the chem. lab was pretty standard, though. So, yeah, I should’ve known.

He looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable as ever. “At any rate, that is not why I came here. I am in need of fresh aconite and vinca.”

“Of course,” she answered with some relief. She could see why the man’s students were so intimidated by him. That was, of course, what she was feeling. Intimidated. That flash in his eyes was just incredibly … intimidating. With a whirl of robes, she exited the first year classroom greenhouse, locked it behind them, and headed for the greenhouse she thought of as hers.

Once inside, she quickly located the plants. “Will you be wanting whole plants again, or will cuttings suffice?”

“Whole plants, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” she replied, simply picking up a pot that had a reasonably sized specimen of each and handing it to him. At his questioning look, she continued, “The Headmistress asked me to keep a ready supply of them. When you requested them just before the full moon last month, I decided it would be easiest to simply have them ready for pickup in the future.”

“And there will be no difference in effect, growing them together like this?”

“No, they wouldn’t hybridize without deliberate magical interference; they’re reproductively isolated,” she answered. At his questioning glance, she added, “Yes, I have tried it, and the result was exceedingly useless. Merely growing them in the same pot appears to have no effect one way or the other on their biology or their magic.”

“I see,” he replied. After a few seconds he continued, “And the fact that someone is in need of Wolfsbane potion does not worry you?”

“Not so long as they’re taking it,” she replied with a shrug. “Why, should it?”

He looked at her oddly but merely thanked her and left. She felt strange about the turn the conversation had taken though she couldn’t say why. Thinking back to their conversation – if one could call it that – at the faculty meeting before the Welcoming Feast, she wondered if he was simply bothered by the idea that she did Potions work. No way. How many Herbologists could there be who didn’t make at least some Potions from their plants? Well, other than that fellow Longbottom at Diagon Alley, who was obviously devoted to his plants entirely for their own sake. Maybe a little too devoted. With another shrug she relocked her greenhouse and hurried to meet her sixth-year N.E.W.T. class.

~ ~ ~

As he made his way back to the dungeon that housed the Potions classroom, his office, and his quarters, Severus Snape replayed this latest interaction with his new colleague. He was more convinced than ever that there was something very strange about her. It was not surprising that she had deduced the reasons he would need these particular herbs, which had to be used fresh. Any Herbologist worthy of the title should be able to figure that out. It was a trifle more disquieting that she had experimented with such a volatile potion, but that seemed simply another symptom of her clearly rash nature.

No, what disturbed him was that she seemed entirely too well-versed in the matter and much too complacent about the notion that there might be a werewolf on the school grounds. She had no way of knowing, nor any reason to suspect, that he was preparing this for someone as far away as London. Surely she was not one as well? Minerva had to have learned from Albus’ mistake. He resolved to keep an eye on her for the next few days. He knew the limitations of the Wolfsbane potion. If she were taking it, she would only retain her mind during the transformation. She would still be quite ill after and probably unable to teach at all.

He had arrived at his classroom which was blessedly free of students until the end of the next period. Satisfied that he had decided upon a course of action to address his concerns, he began working on the Wolfsbane potion for Remus Lupin.

~ ~ ~

The staff meeting was already well under way when a somewhat disheveled Professor Reese quietly entered and slid into her seat. The Deputy Headmaster did not pause in his discussion of the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend and Halloween Feast but rather waited until he was done to address her tardiness.

“And how nice of you to join us, Professor Reese,” he said archly. “I trust we are not keeping you from something more pressing?”

“I apologize for being late,” she replied. Her words were demure, but her expression suggested some rather more forceful emotion.

Well, if the chit is going to be rude, she should expect rudeness in return.

“It is unfortunate that, as the staff member most in need of the information, you have missed much of what was said in regards to staff responsibilities during the upcoming visit to Hogsmeade.”

She now appeared to be nearly seething, but before she could say a word, Madam Pomfrey spoke up.

“What happened to your hand, Professor Reese?” she asked.

The Herbologist looked down at her hand on the table and appeared surprised to see that it was badly scraped and bleeding slightly. She appeared embarrassed and removed her hand to her lap.

“It’s nothing,” she replied. “Please, can we get back to the meeting?”

“At least let me heal it,” the school matron insisted.

Professor Reese looked as if she were about to argue, then pressed her lips together and held her hand out. Poppy murmured a quick charm, and the skin promptly knit itself together.

“If that is all,” he began, once Reese had thanked the matron, but found himself interrupted.

“Such an odd abrasion,” Poppy commented. “It looks as if your hand had been caught in a vise.”

The young teacher flushed crimson and mumbled something to the effect of having an argument with one of the staircases as to her destination en route to the meeting.

“That’s a very bad idea,” Potter chimed in. “They always win.”

A brief chuckle went up around the table, and Professor Snape deeply wished Minerva were the one dealing with this mutinous crowd. Surely they all wanted this infernal meeting finished as soon as possible. Why, then, were they encouraging this time-consuming, attention-seeking behavior?

“I’m sorry,” Professor Reese said. “I didn’t want to cause such an interruption.”

“Nor did I wish to have one, but here we are,” he replied. “Now, if that is quite all, I would like to move on. It has come to my attention that several of you have been delegating your responsibilities to the prefects with some regularity. This should be a rather more rare occurrence …”

After the meeting had ended, Professor Snape was dismayed but not surprised to see that Professor Reese had remained behind.

“May I ask what I missed regarding the Hogsmeade weekend?”

“I do not enjoy repeating myself,” he snapped.

“I have already apologized for being late,” she retorted. “However, if you find repeating yourself so bothersome, you might have considered that before going over information that was old news to everyone but the one person who was missing.”

“Which is it, then?” he demanded. “Did you not wish to cause an interruption, or did you think I would rearrange the entire agenda to accommodate your tardiness?”

“I’m only pointing out that you could have spared yourself the repetition if you chose,” she said in what was clearly a deceptively calm voice. “Now, is there some reason you wish to drag this out, or are you going to tell me what is expected of me this weekend?”

He looked at her consideringly for a long moment.

“You will be escorting the third-year students with Professor Vector on the walk to and from the village. While in Hogsmeade, they and you may pursue any reasonable errands or dine in one of the pubs or the tea shop. Then you will escort them back to Hogwarts after assisting Professor Vector in accounting for them. Should any trouble break out among students of any year, you will make yourself useful resolving the problem.”

“Thank you,” she replied, then turned to leave.

“Professor Reese,” he called after her. She turned. “You might speak with Filius about teaching you the charm to control the staircases, so as to avoid any future ‘arguments.’”

For the briefest of seconds, she looked as if she were going to ask why he did not just tell her himself. The expression passed, and she merely nodded and said, “I will,” before finally leaving him in peace.

~ ~ ~

The day was going well, Celia thought. The third-year students were too excited about their first trip to Hogsmeade to get into any trouble on their way there. Now they seemed to mainly be stocking up on every sweet imaginable from Honeydukes.

That should make for an interesting trip back, she mused. Sugared-up thirteen year-olds were not, as she recalled, the most docile of creatures.

She went into a few of the shops herself. Dervish and Banges had an impressive selection of magical equipment, which they also serviced, and a fair selection of not-exactly-magical-but-you’d-never-see-it-in-the-Muggle-world items as well. She spent several minutes looking over their assortment of Sneakoscopes. They came in a more impressive array of sizes than she had previously seen, and she knew quite a few friends who could probably use them. She’d have to see how far her Christmas budget would stretch. Owling them would probably be more expensive than the actual Sneakoscopes. Maybe she’d stick with just … well, maybe she’d keep it to a minimum.

The apothecary was surprisingly poorly stocked, at least in comparison to the one at Diagon Alley. However, it had most of the items she needed, and the clerk agreed to order and owl her the rest. Good thing she wasn’t in a hurry. She could probably borrow from the school supplies if she really needed to, but that was a conversation she didn’t particularly want to have.

One of her more productive stops was Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop. They had some very fine stationery, all of it parchment. What, exactly, did the wizarding world have against paper? She passed over the more decorative items and purchased a box of plain parchment for letter-writing. She wished there were some with grid-lines to make it easier to record students’ grades and made a mental note to send for some Muggle graphing paper.

Browsing through some of the quirkier offerings at Gladrags was amusing despite the fact she didn’t really need any clothes right now. The wizarding world had apparently discovered toe socks. Possibly they had invented them. Celia almost laughed out loud when the image of her teacher wearing thigh-high purple and orange toe stockings popped into her head. Her teacher probably would wear them, too. I really owe her a letter.

As she turned to leave, she noticed they had a limited supply of fancier robes and gowns. She could have waited on that, then. Blinking back tears, she hurried out of the shop. Buying fancy things was probably always going to hurt, and she was glad she had taken care of it before coming to Hogwarts.

When it got close to two in the afternoon she headed to the Three Broomsticks to wait for Professor Potter. He had informed her that several of the staff often stopped in for a late lunch on these outings and promised that she would absolutely love her first taste of butterbeer. An actual beer would be more her speed. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to drink something that sounded like the bastard lovechild of butterscotch and rootbeer, much less warm, but she had agreed to give it a try. Among other things, she felt she should probably be making more of an effort to socialize with the rest of the faculty. What they would possibly find in common to talk about besides the students was the big question, but there had to be some safe topics.

As she stood with her back to the pub – not its door or windows, of course, but a nice expanse of wall – she watched the students milling around. Quite a few of the older students seemed to have wiped Zonko’s Joke Shop out of inventory and were having fun pranking each other. Nothing appeared to be getting out of hand, so she let them be. Down the road a bit, a couple of third-years were apparently having a contest to see who could shove the longest bit of a sugar quill into their mouth. She smiled wryly. Oh yeah, the trip back is going to be all kinds of fun.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder and reacted instinctively, grabbing it and spinning to twist it behind its owner’s back, pinning the assailant against the pub wall so forcefully his glasses flew off.

Wand! she thought with a surge of panic, and with a flick of her wrist, it was out of her sleeve and in the hand that wasn’t keeping his arm locked in place just before he managed to turn his face and look at her.

Oh shit.

“Professor Potter!” she exclaimed, releasing him and taking several steps back. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she felt as if her eyes were going to roll straight out of her skull. No, no, no, no. I did not, not just attack one of my colleagues and the Hero of the Wizarding World while I was at it. I’m going to wake up now. Wake up! Damn. “I’m so sorry! You startled me.”

“Obviously,” he said, warily bending to pick up his glasses. One lens had a crack running across it now, and she thought she should probably offer to fix it. Before she could, he had already drawn his own wand, done it himself, and put them back on.

“Why would you … ,” she started, only to find herself interrupted by the person who had just approached. Fortunately for him, he had stepped into her line of vision before getting too close. Unfortunately for her, he was the last person she wanted to see.

“What is going on here?” asked the Deputy Headmaster, his voice low and dangerous. “Teachers brawling in the streets of Hogsmeade? Possibly preparing to duel, from the look of things?”

She looked down and realized she still had her wand out, as did Professor Potter. Forcing herself to keep the movement slow and deliberate, she re-sheathed hers and watched as he did the same.

“It was a misunderstanding, Snape,” Professor Potter said.

Celia was not sure what he replied, because she was becoming very uncomfortably aware of the fact that she had summoned an awful lot of magical energy and had yet to do anything with it. It crackled along her nerves, and she was surprised her hair wasn’t standing on end, braided or not.

“Professor Reese,” the Deputy Headmaster said in a tone implying he had already said it more than once. She turned to face him. He narrowed his eyes and looked at her appraisingly. “I strongly suggest you Apparate directly to the Hogwarts gates and then take yourself to the Headmistress. She should have returned from the Ministry by now.”

That’s not a half bad idea. The Apparating part, anyway. That’ll use up a nice chunk of this energy.

She nodded to him, then turned to face Professor Potter again. She had been about to apologize again, but suddenly a wave of resentment washed over her. He’d come up on her blind side and touched her without making his presence known. He’s supposed to be a war hero and the Defense instructor and should totally know better, but I’m the one being sent to the Headmistress like a naughty student! She fought the anger back down.

“I apologize for my overreaction and for almost hexing you,” she said carefully, “but of all people, I’d have thought you’d know better than to sneak up on someone like that.”

With that, she turned on her heel and Disapparated.

~ ~ ~

When he returned to the castle that evening, Professor Snape went directly to the Headmistress’ office. This was, of course, the usual routine. She invariably expected a report as to the students’ behavior and what punishments had been meted out. Tonight, however, should be rather different. His report on the two fights that had occurred would pale in comparison to whatever Minerva would have to say about this nuisance of a teacher harming poor, dear Potter in full view of several students, not to mention residents of Hogsmeade. He could feel an evil smirk forming on his lips as he climbed the stairs, and not a few first- and second-years on their way to dinner scuttled out of his way.

It had, of course, been rather pleasant to watch someone take the Hero of the Wizarding World down a notch, both in pinning him and in pointing out his extremely elementary mistake. The boy should have spent a few more years actually working as an Auror before coming back to Hogwarts to teach. Perhaps then, instead of simply preaching Moody’s dogma of constant vigilance, he might actually practice it. While one did not normally expect someone whose life revolved around plants to have such hair-trigger reflexes, the point was that one also did not just walk up on the blind side of any wizard or witch and tap them on the shoulder, war or no war.

So it was with some surprise that he found an entirely calm Minerva McGonagall in her office awaiting his report. She offered him tea and listened calmly to his description of the two sets of students that had been caught dueling.

“And are you satisfied with the discipline set by Filius and Septima?” she asked.

“Indeed,” he replied. “I am, however, far more interested in hearing your thoughts on the other incident today.”

Minerva took a slow and deliberate sip of her tea and then set her cup down carefully.

“I will speak to Harry,” she said. “In fact, if you see him before dinner, please send him to me.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. This was as far removed from his expectations as anything he could have imagined. Granted, he would most certainly enjoy relaying that message, but it did seem out of character for Minerva to hold him responsible for the incident.

“While Potter’s actions may have been unwise,” he said, “and demonstrate my point that he was not ready to begin teaching after only two years working as an Auror, I rather thought you would be more concerned about the teacher who pinned him up against a wall and nearly hexed him.”

“As you say,” she replied evenly, “his actions were unwise, and the result may well have undermined his authority as a Defense instructor. I have already spoken with Professor Reese about her … overreaction.”

“It sets an awful example for the students if we have teachers brawling in public,” he persisted, hardly knowing why.

“They were not brawling, Severus. Professor Reese tells me that she withdrew as soon as she ascertained she was not being attacked. Is that not what you saw?”

“Yes, it was,” he admitted.

“And as he has not been up here himself to present his side before now, I presume Harry’s interpretation will be similar.”

“Perhaps. However, I am surprised that you are taking this woman’s word before hearing Potter’s side of the story. Of course she will have cast herself in the best possible light.”

Minerva looked at him oddly.

“I never thought I would see the day, Severus, that you would be defending Harry when it was not a matter of life or death,” she said. “In fact, Professor Reese did nothing of the kind. She was quite embarrassed by the entire scene. She will no doubt be more embarrassed by the announcement I shall have to make at dinner in order to quell the worst of the rumors that must already be spreading.”

He could picture it now. There would be some sympathetic statement about misunderstandings followed by an exhortation to take various lessons from the incident with a grand handshake between the two for pudding. Even as he condemned the idea as utterly nauseating, he had to concede that it was the best way to handle the matter. By tomorrow morning, the rumors would include the possibility that the entire thing had been staged as an object lesson.

“And do you truly think that ‘embarrassment’ is sufficient?”

“Unless Harry suggests otherwise, then yes, Severus. Or did you have anything to add that might change that?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Well, then. Please do send Harry up if you see him before dinner.”

With a curt nod, he rose and left. Something about the entire incident still bothered him although he was hard-pressed to name it. Perhaps it was simply that such a response seemed so incongruent with the woman who chattered so endlessly with Hagrid at the staff table. That was close but not quite it, he felt.

The one thing that was utterly certain was that his suspicion of her being a werewolf was clearly unfounded. The full moon had been only three days ago, and were she one and taking Wolfsbane, she could not possibly have responded so quickly. In fact, she would hardly have been healthy enough to chaperone the trip at all. No, if there were, indeed, something off about her, that was not it.