To Know Who I Am

Acknowledgements: A thousand thanks to my amazing beta ubiquirk who has helped to make this much better than it was when it started. Any remaining errors are entirely my fault.

It was well into November before Celia found it necessary to take points from another student. Considering the incident in Hogsmeade, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see a lot more students acting up in her classes. Luckily that hadn’t happened. No, this time it wasn’t even in her class at all. She was just leaving the study hall that she had been overseeing when she heard a scuffle down a side hallway. As she turned the corner, a student shot past her, but her attention was riveted to the two she saw further down. A large boy was holding a smaller one up against the wall, the smaller child’s toes several inches off the floor.

“What’re you going to do now, featherweight?” the larger boy sneered as she caught sight of his face.

“Mister Jarvis,” she said in the most intimidating voice she could manage, “put your fellow student down. Slowly.”

The boy complied but looked unrepentant and not all that worried about being caught.

Oh, we’ll just see about that.

“Twenty points from Ravenclaw for bullying,” she said. “And you will serve detention with me this Saturday at ten o’clock.”

“In the morning?”

“In the morning.” As if she would start a detention at ten o’clock at night.

“But that’s Quidditch!” he protested.

No kidding Mr. “I’m the star quarterback, I can do whatever I want.” At least, she thought a Seeker was pretty much like the team’s quarterback.

“Would you like to make it two Saturdays?” she asked.

The boy shook his head mutely.

“I didn’t think so. You will also bring with you two rolls of parchment filled with a discussion of why you feel the need to pick on people smaller than you.”

“But my Head of House will be furious if I don’t play!”

“You could, of course, try to persuade him that I ought to change the time of your detention, Mr. Jarvis,” she said. “I am sure you can make a compelling case to Professor Flitwick that you should not be punished so severely for bullying someone because of their size.”

The boy finally had the grace to look down at his shoes.

Twit.

“Get back to your common room and get ready for dinner,” she ordered. He fled. The shorter student made to follow until she held up a hand to indicate he should remain.

“Thank you, Professor,” the sandy-haired boy said.

“Don’t thank me, Mr. Lightfeather,” she replied. “He can’t strike back at me for punishing him, so he’s going to take it out on you.”

The boy nodded mutely.

“You need to learn how to deal with bullies, Mr. Lightfeather,” she said to the young Slytherin. “There won’t always be a teacher around to deal with them for you. Nor should there be.”

“But I’m too little to fight back!” he wailed.

“Who said anything about fighting back?” she countered. “That never works. You fight back, so then he picks on you more, you fight back more. It doesn’t end well. No, the way to deal with bullies is to stop being an easy target.”

“How do I do that?”

She looked him up and down. “First, you square your shoulders and lift your chin. Standing, sitting, always. If you’re all hunched over like that, you look like you are expecting to be attacked. Bullies take that as an invitation.”

His eyes opened wide at this and he straightened up immediately.

“There you go,” she said. “Second, if he’s just teasing you verbally, what you do is either ignore him or outright tell him that you don’t care what he says. I don’t care if it’s true or not; what matters is he needs to believe you mean it. Say it often enough, and you might find out it’s true after all.”

“But what about other stuff?”

“Like dangling you off the floor? There’s not much you can do about that without getting yourself in trouble for striking back. But, if you manage to act bored rather than scared, he’ll probably get bored himself, and then one of us teachers gets to have a similar talk with his next target. For most bullies, that’s enough. They don’t actually care about hurting you; it’s the humiliation and fear they’re after. If it’s more serious, then either get away or have a friend go for help like you just did.”

“And magic?”

“Have you learned how to block jinxes yet in your Defense classes?” she asked. When he shook his head, she sighed. “You could ask your Defense professor, or your Head of House for that matter, and see if they think you’re ready to learn that. In the meantime, use your size to your advantage.”

“Professor?”

“Duck, Mr. Lightfeather. Jump out of the way. Being smaller gives you an advantage, because you’re already harder to hit. If you can make yourself a moving target, that’s all to the good. And if he doesn’t miss, Madam Pomfrey’s very good at fixing the things students do to each other here. Remember that and don’t let him rattle you. Again, he’ll get bored and move on.”

“Yeah, I know,” said the boy. “About Madam Pomfrey, I mean.”

“Already, huh?” she replied. “Well, I’ve just given you kind of a lot of homework, but unlike what I gave Mr. Jarvis, it’s not supposed to be a punishment. But if I find you making yourself an easy target again, you’ll be writing me an essay, too, and the topic will be how to deal with bullies appropriately and why it’s important to do so.”

“What if the bully is a teacher?” he asked, a quiver in his voice.

She smiled. Gee, I wonder who he could be talking about? “Mr. Lightfeather, none of the teachers here are bullies.” He looked ready to argue the point, but she cut him off. “Many are very strict. We each have our own way of looking out for our students.”

He closed his mouth and nodded, clearly unconvinced.

“Now,” she continued, “you’re going to be late for dinner. Get a move on.”

“Yes, professor,” the boy said. “Thank you, professor.”

She watched as he darted back down the hall and then stopped short as he rounded the corner. His steps continued at a brisk walk once he was out of sight. Celia took her time returning down the hall herself with a fair idea who she would find on the other side of that corner.

“Professor Snape,” she greeted him. “I should have realized that other student was off to get you. How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” he replied, gesturing to her to proceed toward the Great Hall with him. “That was a very interesting approach.”

She shrugged. “I’d think that dealing with bullies would be a pretty universal problem.”

“No doubt,” he replied with a sneer. “However, I’m surprised that someone with such a privileged background would have any familiarity with the problem.”

Dumbstruck, she turned to look at him. “Whatever gave you the idea I come from a ‘privileged background’?”

“You mentioned that your instruction was through private tutoring,” he replied.

She scoffed. Assume much? “My magical training, yes, but that was not exactly a matter of privilege, more like necessity. And I never said I hadn’t been to school, just not a magical school.”

“Indeed,” he said, and then fell silent.

Well, she thought, if he thinks I’m going to start spilling my life story just to fill the conversational dead-space, he’s not as smart as I thought. She held her peace until they were nearly at the Great Hall then excused herself to the bathroom to wash before dinner.

~ ~ ~

Stalking into the Great Hall, Severus Snape pondered the mystery of Celia Reese. He grudgingly admired the advice she’d given young Colin Lightfeather. For a Slytherin, the boy was entirely too lacking in confidence and, as she had pointed out, made himself a target. Snape had tried pointing this out to the boy in the past, clearly to little effect, as he only left those conversations cringing all the more. The boy reminded him of himself at that age. That was an uncomfortable thought.

Stopping on his way past the Slytherin table, he said, “Mr. Lightfeather, you will stop by my office immediately after dinner.”

The young boy swallowed whatever had been in his mouth as he turned to answer, “Yes, sir.”

When he began to walk away, he heard one of the other first years say, “What are you in trouble for?”

The answer was unfortunately mumbled too softly for him to hear. He continued up to the staff table and took his seat between Aurora and Professor Reese.

He studiously avoided anything beyond the most perfunctory of greetings, ostensibly keeping a close eye on his Slytherins but actually wondering about the strange witch beside him. Giving good advice was all very well, but she still remained a disturbing mystery. The only thing truly unusual about her behavior that he had observed since the Hogsmeade incident was that she had gone to Hagrid’s hut before breakfast twice, and they had gone somewhere out of view from the castle. At breakfast, she had been her usual self, but both times Hagrid had appeared somewhat the worse for wear. He supposed she might be helping him with the dietary needs of some of his more interesting “pets” but staying well out of their range herself. That did not quite track, either.

Once he had finished his dinner, he left the table and the Hall without another word and returned to his office to await the arrival of Colin Lightfeather.

~ ~ ~

A timid knock sounded at the door.

“Enter!” he barked.

The small sandy-haired boy opened the door cautiously and stepped inside. He looked around at the shelves of potions ingredients and barely suppressed a shudder.

Professor Snape remained seated at his desk. Perhaps this was not the best venue for this conversation, however it would hardly do to invite a student into his own quarters, and the Slytherin Common Room was out of the question.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Lightfeather asked.

“I want to speak with you about the altercation with Mr. Jarvis before dinner,” Professor Snape replied.

“Oh.” The boy was still standing almost as far across the office as possible without actually clinging to the door. Interestingly, he suddenly straightened his posture and appeared more confident, if still rather frightened.

“I see you have taken the lesson to heart,” he continued, his tone of voice deliberately dry.

Now the boy blanched. He retained his improved posture. Good.

“You heard?” Lightfeather asked.

“Enough,” he replied. “Professor Reese’s advice was … adequate, no doubt. Why did you not come to me when Mr. Jarvis’ bullying continued?”

The boy looked down at his shoes.

“Look up, Mr. Lightfeather,” he ordered sharply. “When you respond to a challenge in that manner, you appear either dishonest or weak.”

When the boy lifted his gaze again, there was a spark of determination in his eyes that had not been there previously.

“I gather you need to learn how to deflect unfriendly spells,” Snape said, crossing his arms sternly.

“Yes, sir.”

“I will not teach you how to cast hexes or jinxes,” he warned. “You must only defend yourself or possibly disarm your attacker until an adult arrives to handle the situation.”

Lightfeather nodded solemnly.

“I do not like to see the students of my house made to look weak, but neither will I tolerate behavior that perpetuates the notion that Slytherin equates to evil. Am I making myself clear?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

Professor Snape examined the boy’s face for any sign of impertinence and found none.

“Very well. We will begin tomorrow evening, directly after dinner. There is a room on the seventh floor that will suit our purposes well. Do not be late.”

“No, sir. Thank you, sir,” Lightfeather replied.

“You may go.” He waved the boy toward the door and made a show of turning his attention to the stack of essay scrolls before him.

Once the door had closed behind the boy, he leaned back into his chair and tapped his finger on the desk thoughtfully.

~ ~ ~

“What’s bothering you, Professor? You’re not yourself at all today.”

“It’s nothing Pro … look, will you please just call me Celia?” she replied a bit awkwardly. “I know I probably haven’t passed whatever probationary period it takes to get to first names around here, but it’s really starting to feel ridiculous.”

Professor Potter shrugged. “Sure, Celia, and you can call me Harry.”

She blinked at him stupidly.

“What just happened here?”

“You told me I could use your first name, so I invited you to use mine, too,” he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“It was up to me?”

“Well, yeah. Didn’t you know?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Obviously not.” So much for worrying about looking like some stereotypically super-familiar American! “So is that a British thing or a wizarding world thing?”

“I’m not sure anymore,” Harry admitted. “I think Muggles just go straight to first names, though.”

I am going to kill … no, I’m just going to throttle him until his jaw shakes loose. No killing. Too messy. Also there’s the slight problem that he’s in another country. But he’s supposed to be explaining these things to me!

“Well, now that’s sorted, what’s bothering you?”

And so much for getting this one off the subject.

“I suppose you’d call it a sort of homesickness.” Between adjusting to living full-time in the wizarding world and adjusting to living in Britain, she supposed she was due for a bout of homesickness. Yeah, but homesick for where?

“Why … oh, that’s right, you Americans have that holiday coming up this Thursday,” he said. “Wishing you could go visit your family, then?”

“No,” she replied with a half-smile. That would be slightly impossible. “I think I’m still full from the Halloween Feast for one thing.”

“That’s been over three weeks!” he laughed then added, “And?”

“And I don’t exactly have any family to go have Thanksgiving with, anyway,” Celia admitted, surprising herself. “That’s not why, anyway. Today’s kind of an anniversary. That, and a couple of first year Gryffindors had themselves a combination freak-out and homesick cry last period, which I suppose put me in a mood.”

“Which ones? And what did they ‘freak out’ about?” he asked.

She sent out a mental note of thanks to the two girls for helping her distract their Head of House. She probably should have told him right away, but they had been so embarrassed, and anyway this was much more convenient. Why had she decided to start doing her grading in the staffroom again? Oh, right. Everyone else is doing it. That’s always a good reason.

“It was Misses Dissanayake and Hollingberry. We were having one of our walks on the grounds – last one of the term, actually – to see how some of the plants I’ve had them observing have changed for the winter. We’ve gone by the Whomping Willow before, of course, but this time a rabbit ran in close so they got to see it in action.” She sighed. “I guess seeing smaller plants with minds of their own really wasn’t enough preparation for that.”

“Ah.” Harry looked enlightened and possibly a little … nostalgic? “Did the rabbit get away?”

“Oh yes,” she replied. “Thankfully, or they’d really have been traumatized, I think. As it was, that was pretty much the end of class. They were too shaken, and some of their classmates were not very understanding, so I dismissed the rest and had a chat with them.”

“You get rather a lot of that, don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “I suppose it makes sense that the homesick ones would run to the teacher they know is here from another country.”

“Especially the Muggle-borns,” Harry pointed out.

“Well, they have the most adapting to do, don’t they?” she said with a shrug. “They’re not just away from home for the first time but in a completely different world after all.”

“Definitely,” he said. “It’s a bit of a shock when you’ve not even known about magic the first eleven years of your life.”

She looked at him. “That’s right; I forgot you’d been Muggle-raised, too.” She paused for a sip of tea, looked at the parchment she was supposed to be correcting, then back at him. He was looking at her oddly. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘Muggle-raised too’?” he asked.

“Oh.” She hadn’t meant to let that slip. Guess that distraction worked both ways. “Um, well, I was Muggle-raised as well. So I guess I understand what a hard time they have adjusting. That’s all.” She turned back to the parchment, inked her quill, and scanned for something she could mark. Anything. Good, bad, this student had to have said something she could comment on. She was uncomfortably aware that not only was this conversation treading into dangerous ground, but there were two other faculty members in the staffroom, too. Professors Flitwick and Snape probably didn’t care what she and Harry were talking about, but they’d probably like some peace and quiet to continue their own essay-grading.

“Muggle-raised, though, and not Muggle-born?” he pressed.

She put down her quill. “Nosy much? Were you ever not in detention when you were a student?” She heard a snort from behind her.

“Well, it’s just a bit unusual,” he said. At least he had the grace to flush slightly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

“Yes, you do, but it’s my fault for saying anything in the first place.” She sighed, then continued in a rush, “I don’t actually know whether I’m Muggle-born or not. Most likely. But I was raised by foster-parents and don’t know anything at all about my biological parents. That’s what today is, the anniversary of when I turned up at the Department of Children and Families. There. Satisfied?” She picked her quill back up and noticed her hand was shaking. Willing it to stillness, she tried very hard to look like she was focusing on the parchment again. Instead, her mind was racing. She hadn’t said anything truly compromising so far, but she really didn’t want to get into a discussion of her past. Why was she saying so much, anyway? She should have stuck with her prior habit of doing her grading in her cottage rather than the staff room. Yes, she was getting very lonely, but there was good reason to keep her distance from the rest of the faculty, and this was exactly it.

“Sorry,” Harry said. Silence fell for a few moments. Then he spoke up again, “How did they take it, when they found out you were a witch?” She slapped her quill down and thought about just getting up and leaving.

“Potter, leave the woman alone,” Snape drawled. “Some of us would like to get some actual work done, here.” Celia turned and offered a smile and nod of thanks which, unsurprisingly, went unacknowledged. Her smile turned to a frown. Fine. Let him get some actual work done in his dungeon, then.

“They never knew,” she replied, then cut herself off abruptly. Okay, and why was she saying all of this? To annoy the person who just gave her a way out of this conversation that she should absolutely not be having? Never mind that he had rudely ignored her thanks, this was ridiculous. She looked suspiciously at her cup of tea and wondered if she were being tag-teamed.

She picked up the tea, took a whiff of it, and wordlessly cast a revealing spell over it. Nothing, just tea. She took a sip. Yes, just tea. Still, she’d best get out of here before she said anything else.

“And if I have quite satisfied your curiosity,” she said, “I think I’ll be going now. Clearly I’ll get more done in my own office.” She gathered her things and swept out of the room without another word.

~ ~ ~

Several minutes after she’d left, Snape decided to listen to his instincts and follow her. As heavy-handed as the boy had been, and as much as Snape hated to admit it, Potter had at least managed to get more information out of Professor Reese than he had in all this time, and this might be the opportunity to find out more. He reduced his great pile of parchments, placed them in his pocket, and left the staff room without a word.

Once outside and certain no one was watching, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and proceeded to the Herbologist’s cottage. There was no sign of her. He was not surprised and turned instead toward Hagrid’s hut. When he arrived, she was sitting at Hagrid’s table sipping tea. He positioned himself by one of the windows. Celia had her back to him, but he could see Hagrid and hear them both quite well.

“I just don’t know what came over me,” she was saying. “Spilling my guts like that? I know better. I don’t do that.”

“Mebbe yeh jes’ needed to,” Hagrid replied. “Yeh figgered Harry’d understand, seein’ as how he had a similar start.”

Snape barely heard her give a soft snort. “The only similarity is that he was raised by Muggles. He knows who his parents were, and he came into his powers at a normal age.”

“Well, yeah, there’s that,” Hagrid conceded. “Still, it’s like yeh were sayin’ about those kids: when yeh need to talk about summat, yeh find someone yeh think will understand.”

“Maybe.” She sighed. “But I can’t just go doing that. I know better and I never have before. I got paranoid enough to check my tea for Veritaserum, not that there was any. I’d have really done it if there had been. And how ridiculous is that? Where would he have gotten it, after all? As far as I can tell, those two can’t stand each other, never mind teaming up to, what, find out what the weird American is all about?”

“What two? Oh, Snape?” Hagrid snorted. “Nah, he’s never had much patience for Harry’s type of curiosity. Yeh’d have to have done something pretty suspicious to get him pokin’ around.”

“Suspicious like what?” she said. “The man used to be a spy, Hagrid. Everything about me probably screams ‘suspicious,’ and it’s so stupid. There’s no good reason why the faculty shouldn’t be in on this. Well, except maybe Sybill. I can see keeping her out of it. She’d have half the girls convinced they’re the one I’m here about, and oh wouldn’t that be fun. Doom with a side of gloom, just what every adolescent needs.”

“Well, that’s the thing, now, innit?” Hagrid said. “Yeh can’t keep summat from just one, without keeping it from ’em all. And I’m sure McGonagall has her reasons.”

Celia sighed. “I’m sure she does, too. I’m afraid it’s just an old, bad habit, though. There isn’t a war right now, and if there were, it would be even more important for the faculty to know. At the very least, the Heads of the Houses ought to know, and Pomfrey.”

“Well, Poppy does at least know to go to McGonagall if any lasses show up with the sort of symptoms yeh’re lookin’ for.”

“Assuming they go to her,” she retorted. “If the girl turns out to be a Slytherin, who’s to say she won’t just go to her Head of House and ask for a Dreamless Sleep Draught? That’s what I’d do. Probably happens all the time. It’s not fair to him, especially. Not just Head of a House and Potions Master, the man’s Deputy Headmaster, for Goddess’ sake! Of all people who ought to know and could probably help and he doesn’t know what to look for, or even that there’s anything to be on the lookout for.” Her teacup clattered into its saucer.

“Well, yeh did say the potion wouldn’t work.”

“No, it won’t. So at least he’ll figure it out. No, he’ll at least figure out that something is wrong, something more than just a few nightmares. Hell, no matter what House she’s in, if she’s good enough with potions herself, she might just try to make something rather than admit she’s going out of her head with dreams that nothing will stop. Hopefully she’d go to someone before trying every potion under the sun until she’s so sleep-deprived she’s begging for the Draught of Living Death, thinking that might actually do it. And that won’t work either. She’d just be trapped in her head with horrors that even most students here probably couldn’t imagine.”

“How d’yeh know that?” Hagrid asked. “That ’un ought to work, even if she’d be in a bloody coma.”

“Because they tried it on me,” she said, so softly Snape almost could not hear her. “I was so far out of my head that they tried putting me in a coma to stop the dreams and give my body and mind some time to recover. It was complete, total, no-holds-barred torture. From what I’ve heard about Dementors, it was like being around a swarm of them. The difference is it’s not memories, it’s stuff you’ve never seen before. It’s hideous and it’s terrifying, and I don’t know if a Hogwarts student would be better or worse off for knowing that stuff is at least possible. Probably better off. At least she won’t think she’s losing her mind. I hope.”

A few moments of silence fell, during which the two seemed to be simply drinking their tea. Snape gripped the window frame tightly. He had been right. There was something strange about this woman, and somehow it related to a danger to the students or at least to a student. Clearly Hagrid and Minerva knew, and no one had informed him. Deliberately. He seethed silently.

“I’m sure he keeps his supplies well enough warded that no student should be able to break in for the ingredients to do that,” she said at last. “He certainly disapproved of me being lax with mine. I still wish he knew. Hell, I wish I could ask for his help.”

“Well, yer research isn’t a secret, now, is it?” Hagrid pointed out. “Why couldn’t yeh ask for help wi’ that?”

“Because I’ve completely alienated him, right from the start,” she said throwing up her hands. “I let him bait me into a sniping contest the very first time I met him. Which, while satisfying for about two seconds, was monumentally stupid. Among other things he probably thinks I’m poaching on his territory. Besides, I was warned to keep clear of him because he’s the one most likely to see straight through me.”

Snape supposed he had been somewhat affronted that her research was not neatly confined to her field, though it was somewhat unrealistic to expect otherwise. It was just that most Herbology research that related directly to Potions research was undertaken as a joint effort, and she had the audacity to be doing the thing entirely on her own. Of course, from the sound of things, that was not working out terribly well. He smirked.

“He does have a way of gettin’ right into people’s heads,” Hagrid agreed. “Harry tol’ me a bit abou’ that, years ago.”

“Yeah, well, until an hour ago, I’d have said ‘not my head.’ But, considering what actually just poured out of my mouth in there, I guess I need to rethink that.” She sighed. “The worst of it is I let slip more or less how recently I came into my powers. I mean, ok, I didn’t exactly, but I said my foster parents never knew, so all it would take is a quick records search, assuming he knows how, to figure out when they died, and then that marks the earliest time I could have gotten my powers and it’s not off by much. Thank Goddess there’s no internet here, after all. I don’t know if Harry’ll bother putting it together, but he seemed awfully persistent, and if he gets that information it’s not exactly differential calculus to figure out when, and therefore probably why, I’d have been woken up, activated, whatever you want to call it, six and a half bloody years ago, and from there, it’s a really short walk to what I’m doing here.”

Not surprisingly she finally had to stop for breath.

“Well, it’s not like too many people seem t’ know about it,” Hagrid offered.

“Yeah, I know. I mean, obviously the textbooks and curriculum don’t cover it, and I get that everybody over here was a little busy at the time, but I can’t imagine the faculty are completely unaware of what happened. The Ministry certainly aren’t; they just ignore it.”

“Hmm, yeh’d best tell McGonagall about tha’, then.”

“I will. After dinner, probably.” She took a sip of tea. “I doubt Harry’ll put it together. Far as I could tell, Flitwick and Snape were just annoyed that we were talking, not actually paying attention, but that’s still three people who potentially have enough information to blow my … well, it’s not really a cover, is it? On the plus side, at least it’s three of the four that really ought to bloody know.” She vented a short laugh with no humor in it. “Maybe that’s why I couldn’t shut up even when I’d been given an out. I thought it was just because I was aggravated with … well, whatever.” She fell silent again.

“Mebbe yer jes’ not cut out for spyin’,” Hagrid suggested.

“I’m not spying, Hagrid,” she snapped. “Not exactly, anyway. Hell, it would probably be easier if I were.”

Oh she thought so, did she? Clearly she would not last five minutes in such a role.

“Well, it’s gettin’ on dinner time, Celia,” Hagrid said, obviously not knowing what to say to this. “Best get yerself ready an’ all.”

“I’m sorry Hagrid. It’s just … I don’t know,” she replied. “Maybe I ought to just take dinner in my cottage tonight, then go meet with Minerva later. Who knows what’s going to come out of my mouth next if I’m on this bad of a roll?”

“Suit yerself,” he said. “I’m headin’ up t’ the castle.”

“OK, then. Thanks for the tea and the ear,” she said.

“Anytime, yeh know that,” he smiled.

As they made to exit, Snape ducked away from the window and around a corner. Celia stopped on the first step leading from the hut and looked straight at where he’d just been.

“What is it?” Hagrid asked.

“Thought I heard something,” she said.

“Prob’ly a squirrel,” the gameskeeper shrugged.

“Big squirrel,” she replied. “But yeah, probably nothing.” They continued down the steps and up the path. “By the way, you planning on doing any hunting anytime soon?”

“Sure, why?”

“I’d love to come along, if you don’t mind some help,” she said. “A straight-up stalk and kill would be a nice change of pace.”

Hagrid laughed. “All right, then. Bring yer bow and meet me Saturday dawn.”

Whatever reply may have followed was lost on the breeze, as Severus Snape carefully took a different route back to the castle, pondering all he’d just heard. He ate his dinner in customary silence in the Great Hall, mindful of the empty seat next to him, and returned to his office as soon as he was done. Pulling out the scrolls of parchment from his pocket, he returned them to normal size and set them out to start grading, then leaned back into his chair, tracing his lips with a finger as he thought.

So. This strange American witch was here on a mission to save some student, some specific student, from nightmares that would not let her sleep and could not be stopped by means of normal potions. That explained her bizarre research, at any rate. Additionally, she had not known of her powers at all until six and a half years ago, roughly when Voldemort fell. She clearly thought that it would be obvious why this had happened and that it would explain her presence at Hogwarts now. He did not find it obvious at all. Most interestingly, she seemed to think she needed his help. While he was put out with the Headmistress for not confiding in him, apparently this bothersome woman was not at fault in this. Perhaps he should find a way to help her, without revealing what he knew, and learn more in the process.

She might be poor at subterfuge, but he most certainly was not. A plan began to take shape in his mind as he bent to correct the essays before him.

~ ~ ~

Several days later, Celia had just finished chopping the last of the valerian roots before her, when she heard a knock at her door. She glanced over and saw Professor Snape standing there. Severus, she corrected herself. Who’d have thought it would be so easy to obtain his help? Considering how grumpy he’d been the last time they’d talked about her research, she figured it had to be an ego thing. Doing it herself? Bad. Need help from the big important Potions Master? Much better. Picking up her wand, she flicked it at the door absently and invited him in.

“You’re early,” she said with a smile then looked at the clock, “or rather, I’m running late. I’ve gotten a bit carried away with this. Please, have a seat. I’ll get the tea started and then just finish this up.”

“If you’d rather reschedule,” he said, “I completely understand.”

“No, not at all,” she replied, setting the teakettle to boil. “There’s only a bit left to this, and then it needs to sit awhile. Please, have a seat.” She returned to her counter, added the chopped valerian root and powdered asphodel to the wormwood infusion already in her cauldron, and placed a sopophorous bean onto the cutting board. She looked at it for a minute.

“Problem?” Severus asked from her kitchen table.

“Not exactly,” she said. “I just remembered there’s a better way to extract the juice from this, but I hadn’t tried it yet. It’s just at the edge of my memory, but I can’t quite find it.”

“Oh, that,” he said. “All you need to do is …”

“No, please,” she interrupted. “Don’t tell me. I’ve got to either remember it myself or at least remember where I found it.”

He subsided, looking at her curiously. She looked over his shoulder at a bookshelf behind him and drew her wand. “Now, which one was it … Accio Moste Potente ... no, that wasn’t it, back you … that’s right, it was a margin note. Accio Advanced Potion-Making,” she cast, and an oddly asymmetrical book flew toward her. She caught it easily, opened the cover that looked rather too new for the rest of it, and flipped to page ten.

“That’s what it was,” she said. “I knew it was a matter of crushing it but couldn’t remember with what.” She sent the book flying back toward the shelf, but Severus caught it en route. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, then shrugged, fished a silver dagger out of a nearby drawer, crushed the bean, and poured the juice into the cauldron that held the rest of her potion. She began stirring the mixture, seven stirs counterclockwise followed by one clockwise.

“How very interesting,” Severus said as he flipped through several pages. “Wherever did you come by this book?”

“When I was up here for the interview when I was hired, I told Minerva that I felt I could be more effective if I had a better sense of what my students were studying at the same time in their other classes. I had thought, perhaps, a listing of topics and schedules might be helpful.” Celia smiled and chuckled a little, still stirring as the contents of her cauldron continued to pale. That much is true enough. He doesn’t need to know any more than that. “I didn’t expect to end up with a complete library of all the books the students would be using. She brought me to this ‘Room of Requirement,’ told me how to activate it, and I found myself the proud caretaker of an awful lot of textbooks.” She waved at the shelf. “Most of them were new or had just been conjured fresh. This one obviously isn’t new at all, though it looks like someone tried to make it appear that way. It’s been a damn sight more useful than the rest.”

“I imagine it would be,” he murmured. She set the now-clear potion aside and popped a knot of ginger root into it. “What in the world did you do that for?”

“You didn’t think I was actually making the Draught of Living Death, did you?” she asked. “While there is one pair of second year witches who might barely quiet down a bit with a drop or two of it, I’m not planning on putting anyone in a coma.” She thought he might have just suppressed a smirk. Well, the young ladies were probably nearly as bad in his class. Then again, they were still breathing, so maybe not.

“So what, then, are you trying to do?” he asked.

“It’s part of my research,” she replied, clearing away her work area. “And thank you for coming over to discuss it with me. I’d really like to hear your thoughts on it.” She arranged the teapot and cups on a tray with a few slices of nutbread and led the way to the sitting room. She was surprised that he brought the book with him and continued looking through it even as she poured his tea.

“Recognize the writing?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said dryly, “I should think so.”

“No surprise there, I guess,” she said. “Must have been one of your best students. Brilliant, obviously, not the kind of student you’d forget. Did he or she figure all that out for themselves, or were those suggestions you made?”

“Er, yes,” he replied. “I suppose you could say it was rather both.”

“A bit of both?” she echoed. “That makes sense. Not too many students would have sussed all that out entirely on their own.”

“Not a bit of both,” he corrected her. “Celia, this was my N.E.W.T. Potions book.”

Celia thought her eyes might actually bug out of her skull. “How interesting,” she said at last. “Any idea why it showed up in that room, then?”

“I imagine it had been hiding there for nearly eight years,” he said wryly. “The student who put it there probably ‘required’ that I not be able to find it, and so I never did.”

She blinked a few times trying to digest that. “A student stole your old Potions textbook and then hid it from you? Are they still doing detentions for that to this day?”

“Sadly, I did not have the opportunity to punish him appropriately at the time,” Severus replied with a quickly suppressed grimace. “However, you were correct that he spent much of his time as a student in detention for one thing or another.”

Celia clapped a hand over her mouth and tried to stifle a giggle. When she thought she had control of herself, she asked, “I’m sorry, but … why on earth … hasn’t he returned it in the time … he’s been teaching here?” Several more giggles leaked through.

“A very good question that I propose to put to him at dinner,” he answered. He looked seriously annoyed with her.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, fanning her face in some reflexive attempt to catch her breath. Stop laughing. Stop laughing! “It’s just … I mean, I can see the appeal of using a book with such helpful notes in it, but it seems deeply stupid to steal something of yours. You’re not exactly known for being lenient. And now he teaches here, too, and he still hasn’t returned it? That’s just … that’s just not right.”

“He did not know it was mine at first. As for why he never bothered to return it, I’m afraid you would have to ask him,” he replied stiffly. “I know I intend to do so.”

“Well, I’m not the one owed that answer,” she said. “Anyway, at least you have it back now.”

“I’ve not had particular need of it,” he said. “You may continue to borrow it, if you like.”

“Thank you.” That was a relief. A little unexpected, but definitely a relief. “As I said, your notes have been quite helpful.”

The conversation moved to the intended topic of her research. She was surprised to find that he actually appeared quite interested in her work. Though she had to steer him away, several times, from the reason she was so focused on suppressing prescient dreams, he gave her several suggestions that she thought sounded very promising. Once she explained her reasoning for steeping a chunk of ginger in the Draught of Living Death, for example, he offered some ideas on how to prepare the resulting brew for the addition of her hybridized ingredients.

It really had seemed too easy to get his help. Right up until he arrived she had still thought he might resent what she was doing and try to sabotage her. However, now that they were talking, really having an actual conversation, she found it almost impossible to distrust him. She checked her mental shields several times to see if he was influencing her somehow, but if so, then he really just was too good for her to detect.

After he had left, she thought about the change in him. What brought that on? Or is it really a change? Was I just assuming things because of all the warnings everybody dumped on me? Okay, and that snarky letter he wrote? Maybe. However, she still planned to remain on her guard. She’d already demonstrated just a few days ago that her desire to clear the air with her colleagues could get the better of her and she had no intention of repeating that little performance.

~ ~ ~

Back in his quarters, Severus Snape contemplated what he’d learned from Reese this afternoon. She was clearly back on her guard, as she had dodged every question or comment that might have led to a discussion of the reasons behind her research. That was not surprising. In fact, it was part of the point. She probably thought she had not allowed anything at all to slip through since she had deflected all of the obvious bait. However, he had run a series of tests in parallel with their conversation and now knew that, while her range of hearing was the same as any human’s as far as pitch was concerned, she could hear things that were far too soft for an ordinary person’s ears. She did not appear to have seen any of the colors he’d cast over her tea set that were outside the human visual range, but unfortunately there had been no way to test her distance vision. He suspected that would match her hearing. There was one test he had not even needed to perform himself. Advanced Potion-Making was a heavy book, and the Summoning Charm would not lighten it, but she had caught it as though it were no heavier than a scroll of parchment.

Then there was all he had learned about her already. She was not a werewolf but could make and had experimented with the Wolfsbane Potion. She had come into her powers when the Dark Lord had been vanquished while she was half a world away. She was, or at least believed herself to be, an accomplished Occlumens. Her research and her reason for being here had something to do with a female student she could not identify but expected to begin experiencing severe nightmares that would not respond to any known potion. That led back to the additional new bit of information: she still had these dreams and planned to test her experimental potions on herself. Rather interesting potions, from the sound of it. Steeping that ginger in the Draught of Living Death was something he would never have considered, but he believed her claim that it altered the potion to allow restful sleep with the ability to remain alert and wake oneself if necessary. It certainly would no longer put one into a potentially irreversible coma. He was less certain that her ideas for hybridized herbs to add to it were going to work, but at least he had been able to offer some suggestions that might increase the possibilities.

It was still not much to go on, but it was a start.