Part 4, Episodes 31-40

31. Morning After

At breakfast the next day Hermione was decidedly the worse for wear. Bleary-eyed and headachy, she clung to the edge of the table, hard put to prevent her lips from breaking into an ear-splitting yawn.

She knew that Snape had had even less sleep. He had stayed up until dawn – patrolling the Slytherin quarters once an hour after the end of the party.

And quite effectively, too: he'd thrown a Seventh-Year boy out of the Sixth-Year's girls' bedroom (though Hermione had the distinct feeling that Snape was quite impressed with how Ciardha Vaisey had worked his way around the charms that were supposed to keep boys from ever setting foot inside the girls' dungeons), he'd broken up a magical spin-the-bottle game in the broom-cupboard, and escorted a Fifth Year girl who'd decided that she was plenty old enough to handle Ogden's Firewhisky to Madam Pomfrey in order to have her stomach lining restored.

In spite of all that, Snape looked just the way he always did: pale, bad-tempered, and disgustingly awake.

Minerva had at least a sympathetic smile for her. 'Slytherin house party?'

Hermione nodded carefully while she looked longingly at the mug in front of her, willing it to fill up with coffee instead of tea.

'Ahhh...' Madam Hooch let out a nostalgic sigh. 'Those were the days. Slytherin parties were already infamous when I started at Hogwarts. Did you have fun?'

Yellow eyes focused on Hermione who didn't feel at all up to this disconcerting scrutiny.

Did she have fun? Hermione frowned, mentally going over the previous night. She'd danced with her master. She'd danced with Snape! Not once, but twice. She'd also danced with Malfoy. And she'd done the Magicarena with a whole gaggle of Slytherin goslings – Second and Third-Years. She'd rolled into her bed at two a.m.

Actually ... She put her mug down and beamed at Madam Hooch.

'You know,' Hermione said slowly, 'I really had a lot of fun.'

oooOooo

'Here,' Snape rasped. 'A tablespoon ought to suffice. Merlin, don't look at me like that! I'm not about to poison my own apprentice. It is only a basic Invigoration Draught. How you survived the war if a single late night has you looking so peaky is really quite beyond me.'

He directed one of his most intimidating scowls at her.

'Trust me, Miss Granger, I did not enjoy last night any more than you did. But my ... Slytherin house expects its head of house to uphold certain customs and traditions. And it seemed expedient to exploit the opportunity to bolster your position with my Slytherins. You will need every help you can get if you're supposed to teach them one day.' He sniffed. 'Not that I necessarily think you will get very far no matter how much help I can provide for you.'

When Hermione just stared at him, he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling of the dungeon, muttering darkly under his breath.

'You didn't honestly expect that I consider silly children's dances and those pitiful attempts at partying by hormone-controlled teenagers as ... what would you call it? Oh, yes,' his voice softened into a supercilious sneer, ''fun' would be the term that you and your Gryffindor cronies use for such exceedingly mature examples of entertainment as the one we had to suffer through last night, wouldn't it? But surely you – as you are no longer a student anymore – have at long last moved beyond such ridiculous notions, haven't you?'

Snape didn't wait for a reply, but spun on his heel and exited the room, leaving Hermione to stare after him in horror. The last she saw of him was a swirl of black robes as he strode down the corridor towards his office.

oooOooo

Much later Hermione shuffled wearily into Snape's private library and slumped down into an armchair. From beyond the door that connected the room with study, she heard the low, strangled sound of her master's voice.

'I am not going to do that – that – that is completely...'

'Preposterous?' Lois Petrel sounded amused. 'Was that the word you wanted?'

Hermione allowed herself a faint grin. She'd love to be a spider at the ceiling of that dungeon right now. She could just imagine Professor Snape's expression when faced with the Muggle-woman's peculiar mixture of patience and insistence, coupled with a notable lack of apprehension where a certain Potions master was concerned.

A harsh hacking sound indicated that Snape was trying to clear his throat. Snape – at a loss for words?

'No, don't do that,' Lois interrupted and launched into an eloquent explanation of how Snape should have a sip of water instead of clearing his throat and overstraining his vocal cords.

'So what did you want to say earlier, professor?' Petrel asked at last.

Huh?

A pause.

'Silly,' he admitted grudgingly.

'Really? Surely you can do better than that, sir. What's so bad about 'silly'?'

The silence stretched out for a long moment. Then, to Hermione's surprise, Snape answered:

''Silly' is dangerous. It leaves you weak and exposed. It provides an opening for your enemies to hurt you and those that you ...' He choked, and Hermione could hear the effort it took him to follow Petrel's instructions on how to clear his throat. 'That you care about. It is best to avoid situations which ...'

'Cause you to let down your guard?' Petrel sighed. 'Sir, I don't know anything about you, and next to nothing about your world, about my daughter's new world. And I'm only a speech therapist, not a psychologist. But ... the war is over. You've won. The enemy is dead and gone. Maybe it's time for you to learn how to be silly again? To have a bit of fun now and then?'

'What good would that do?' Snape asked, his voice strained and weary.

'Well,' Lois continued briskly, 'as far as this 'silly' exercise is concerned that you find so repugnant, it might help you to get back the voice you once had.'

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

32. Teacher, Teacher, Toil and Trouble

She must have dozed off, because the next sound Hermione heard was Snape's smooth voice near her ear as he asked, 'Did the sweet children tire you out already? Why, but it's only your third day! I cannot imagine a heroine of the war to give up quite that quickly.'

Hermione blinked – trying to go from sleepy exhaustion to witty repartee within a few seconds, and failing miserably. All she could see were his dark eyes, black and fathomless, and his gaze made her stomach flutter. For fleeting moment, the horrible suspicion overwhelmed her that he knew exactly what an effect he was having on her. Then her ears caught up with her eyes, and she realised that his voice sounded ever so much better. Almost like the silky-tongued Potions master of her school days. Had he attempted that silly exercise after all?

She couldn't help smiling, a befuddled, sleepy, honest, happy smile.

A smile that made him frown and draw back instantly, and suddenly she was wide awake with her heart racing and her mind in desperate circles: mustn't think mustn't think mustn't let him see mustn't let him see how I how I – that I...

Somehow she managed to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

'I'm not,' she said. 'And yes, they did. How did you survive so long?'

Too tired for diplomacy and too Gryffindor for subtlety, she added, 'More precisely, how did you survive me?'

The mere thought of Ravenclaw smartarse Pearl Shynnyng was enough to make her feel nauseated. And the girl was only one rather small Second Year, compared to a whole group of sullen teenagers interested in anything but study groups.

The corners of Snape's mouth quivered. Then he gave in to the impulse and snorted. In better days, the sound might have been a chuckle.

'There's one of your kind in every other class. Along with a Neville and hopefully only one specimen of Weasley twins. Oh, and we mustn't forget a pair like Potter and Draco, of course. Though I should probably warn you now – you can count yourself lucky if you get them as boys. Boys are less studious and much more obvious than girls.'

Hermione blanched.

Snape smirked, but his reply was almost gentle: 'Don't worry, Miss Granger. If you're merely weary to your bones, if the classroom is not in ruins and fewer than ten pupils are in the hospital wing, you have done very well indeed for your third day.'

'But I don't think they learnt anything today at all,' she moaned.

She knew she didn't have the perfect personality for a career as a teacher – she was too impatient, she hated having to repeat herself. But to fail at such an important aspect of her tasks as Professor Snape's apprentice ... If she didn't even manage teaching basic Potions to a horde of Second Years, how could she ever hope to ...

'Welcome to your life as a teacher at Hogwarts,' the Potions master said dryly.

oooOooo

She dropped her wands again, her face screwing up as if she was close to tears.

Snape was ready to snap at his apprentice, when something about the way she'd winced when the larger wand had struck her palm, how she couldn't keep her fingers from twitching now and again, registered with him belatedly.

Minerva's words came back to him, 'Her hands were completely flayed because they were drenched in your blood.'

Shite.

He ought to have remembered that. The only reason he hadn't snarled her to hell and back or even chastised her as was his right was that he was so bloody tired himself today. She ought to have told him.

Why hadn't she told him?

Bloody Gryffindor stubbornness.

Why did she so desperately want to impress him?

... she wanted to impress him?

'He–' He was about to clear his throat, when he remembered Petrel's admonitions. Instead he only swallowed painfully. 'Miss Granger? Could it be ...'

He shook himself. Her hands, wet with his blood, with his blood and Nagini's venom. Snape heaved a sigh. He had to do better than that.

'I was informed that your hands were injured when you saved my life. Is it possible that there are some after-effects that impair your performance with your wands?'

Her wands, one moment held loosely in her hand, cluttered to the ground once more. She was deathly pale as she stared at him.

After-effects, my arse, he thought, and bent down to retrieve her wands. It was not something he would normally do, touching the wands of another wizard, but Hermione looked as if she was about to faint.

Somehow in the process birch touched yew.

The energy and wisdom of two sphinx feathers mingled and flowed into him, soothing and golden, overwhelming him, blurring the world before his eyes.

He would have fallen, but for Hermione's hand catching him just in time. He heard her suck in her breath in agony, then the power found her – recognised her – and flowed through his body into hers, drawing them together and drenching them with warmth and light. When the flow of magic ebbed away, he felt as breathless as if he'd just played a round of really fast Quidditch, or crazily made love to a beautiful woman.

'I didn't know that the core of your wand is made of a sphinx feather,' he said slowly.

She was staring at him as if she had never seen him before. 'I...I...I'm sorry...'

He shook his head. 'I should have asked,' he said softly.

Carefully he laid their wands on the table and reached for her. Clasping her gently around the wrists, he pulled her hands towards him.

He stared at those hands. They were slender and very white, perfectly healed. Nothing reminded of what they must have looked like, stripped down to raw flesh by the touch of his blood.

'I can give you a salve for your hands,' he whispered.

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

33. The First Days

Oi 'Mione,

You had to go to a Slytherin house party? And you really couldn't poison them? Let me know when you go again, I'll send you a supply of special Wheezes free of charge.

Also, how come that git Snape's being so hard on you???

Harry showed me your last letter to him (& how come you write different stuff to Harry than to me?) and I was ready to Apparate to Hogwarts so I could challenge the Great Git to a proper duel. Only Harry reminded me that you can't Apparate straight to Hogwarts and then he shouted at me how Snape is one of 'us' and how I just don't understand and well, I guess I would have lost that duel anyway.

I guess Harry's right. I don't really understand. I mean, I know what you've told me, but you [the next letters are smudged and struck through] havedamn I lov

I do miss you, you know?

Sometimes I almost wish it could be the way it was before, only of course who would want that. This is not what I imagined things would be like. Accountancy is even worse than Binns. But someone needs to do it, I guess.

George & Lee say hi.

Talk to you soon,

Ron

oooOooo

'You're brewing WHAT in my classroom?'

'A uhm... a bubbly bathing potion. Uh... based on Muggle herbal remedies. Uh... Soothing, you know. But ... I ...' She knew she wouldn't be able to conceal her motivation in attempting the kind of experiments she was currently engaged in.

'I have trouble sleeping,' she explained. 'And I hate proper sleeping potions. They ... they mess with my mind. And I know I have to learn how to experiment if I want to make it as a Potions apprentice, so I figured I might just as well try coming up with something that would help me.'

Snape's fingers strayed to the bridge of his nose. Hermione winced at the sure-fire sign for a seriously irritated Potions Master.

'The recipe,' he demanded wearily.

Hermione gulped, but handed it over without hesitation. She knew it by heart in any case: two cups of milk, powdered, one half cup of Epsom salt, coarse, one half cup baking soda, five drops of rose oil and jasmine oil, four of musk oil and three of ylang-ylang.

'Tell me what you've done so far.'

'I've been trying to substitute magical substances for the ordinary ones,' Hermione mumbled.

'You've been doing WHAT?'

Hermione flinched.

'It wouldn't work the way I wanted,' she mumbled.

'Merlin's bollocks, of course not, an herbal bath is ...' He shook his head. 'An herbal bath is an herbal bath. You can't just randomly substitute ingredients. Successful experiments require a stringent test methodology.

'To start with – every single one of the ingredients in your recipe already has its own unique magical powers.'

She blinked at him. Professor Snape looked ready to pull out his hair at the roots and strangle her with it. He sighed deeply.

'Tell me about the magical properties of unicorn horn.'

'Uh... ever since Ctesias wrote his ground-breaking treatise on the use of unicorn-horn around 479 before Christ, its medicinal use has remained unchallenged. It's a powerful purifying agent, highly effective against most common poisons. It offers protection against convulsions and epilepsy. Since the Middle Ages, it has also been used to combat plague, to cure fevers and the bites of snakes or dogs with rabies. In 1678 William Salmon wrote a lengthy essay that advertised using it undiluted – at ten grains per dosage – against plague, pestilence and poison, but also against measles and small pox, which didn't work out well, causing rather phenomenal side effects. At the end of the seventeenth century, Nicholas Culpeper investigated the use of unicorn horn to aid magical births. And in the 18th century Pierre Pomet revolutionised the distillation of unicorn horn, using the most highly diluted potency to the greatest possible effect.'

'Yes, yes, yes – that is quite sufficient. Now ... what can you tell me about the magical properties of nutmeg?'

'NUTMEG?!'

oooOooo

At long last Hermione closed her books. Or rather, not her books. One was a cookbook her mother had ... well, left her, she supposed. The other was a copy of Culpeper's famous herbal. And surprise, surprise, he'd had a lot to say about simple, down-to-earth nutmeg.

She felt so stupid. So utterly, utterly stupid.

How could she have spent six years in Snape's Potions class and learned ... next to nothing? How could she have walked away with outstanding NEWTs and have developed such a pro-magical bias that she'd become blind? And her knowledge of proper test methodology – well, deficient didn't even begin to cover it.

And her damn hands.

One clumsy flick with her wand, one moment of flinching ... and her cauldron had not only exploded, but also caused her and Snape to spout ylang-ylang scented bubbles from their ears. She moaned into her pillow. How should the formidable Potions Master ever come to respect her, if his bed ended up soaked by bath bubbles due to her incompetence? And she'd been so sure that her idea was a good one. A creative one.

She inhaled deeply, another groan on her lips, when her nostrils flared.

Nutmeg.

Suddenly she realised it was another component of her master's personal scent. Vetyver, bergamot, cypress. And homely, not at all harmless nutmeg.

oooOooo

'Sorry I couldn't invite you so far,' Hermione said. 'But what with the Slytherin house party and Professor Snape discovering my experiments, it just didn't work out.'

'That's okay,' Luna reassured her, while examining the Slytherin snakes curled around the fireplace in Hermione's room. 'School's keeping us busy, too.'

'Yes,' agreed Neville glumly. 'They really meant what they said with that 'accelerated' programme.'

'Oh, my gosh,' exclaimed Ginny. 'You've got an underwater window in your bathroom? How cool is that?!'

'It gets better,' Hermione said sourly. 'There's one in the toilet, too. And when you forget to draw the curtains you can just bet that a merman swims along to look in on you.'

oooOooo

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oooOooo

34. All Sorted!

He woke drenched in sweat, his right hand curled painfully around his left forearm. For a while he lay motionless in the darkness. Then he reached for his wand and cast a quick Lumos.

Snape inhaled deeply. Then he forced himself to look. Nothing. Just faded black lines. Voldemort was gone. He would not come back. It was just a tattoo now, not a Mark.

He stared at the ribbed vault of the ceiling. His subconscious had a plethora of nightmares to draw from. Why need it be this one? He knew that dream so well. For more than nine years it had tortured him in the past – before it had become reality once more.

One thing was sure: he wouldn't endure this nightmare for three years. The dream had to go. And if other options failed, he would move up his plans. Damn. He would have enjoyed three peaceful years. He would have liked to provide Hermione Granger with the apprenticeship the bright young witch deserved. He frowned. 'Like' was the wrong word; he did not 'like' having that Gryffindor as his apprentice. She was merely useful.

But for some reason, no better term would come to him.

oooOooo

'So they'll put an old hat on Alina and it will look into her mind and then it will talk and tell everyone what her House is?'

Hermione smiled. 'I know that sounds weird, but yes, that's it.'

'Hmm.' Lois looked frankly dubious. 'Tell me about the Houses again.'

'Well, there are four. Gryffindor – that was my House – Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each House has a noble history, and the members of each House are supposed to have certain traits of character and talents. Hufflepuffs are patient and loyal, Ravenclaws are smart and disciplined, Gryffindors are brave and honest, and Slytherins are powerful and cunning. Of course that's a bit of rubbish, really. There are brave Slytherins and patient Ravenclaws.

'Your House is like a home away from home, almost like a second family.'

'And a bit of competition increases that feeling,' Lois suggested. 'It knits the community closer together.'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, I guess it does.'

'Your Professor Snape, what was his House?'

'Slytherin.' Hermione sighed.

'Is that bad?'

Hermione contemplated the question for a moment. Then she shook her head, remembering what Healer Mugwort had told her.

'No,' she replied. 'Only some of my friends haven't quite grown beyond the stage of inter-house rivalry yet. They don't really understand why I should want to be his apprentice.'

'Or how you'd come to care about him?'

'What?!'

'Hermione, I am not blind!'

oooOooo

Hermione never dreamed the same nightmare twice. Her subconscious was much more creative than her waking mind. Endless variations of horror crept into her slumber almost every night.

She didn't dare to use Dreamless Sleep often. No more than once a month, when she had to be extra-alert in the morning – for example when a double brewing session featured Gryffindors and Slytherins in the same dungeon.

The other nights Hermione kept a comforting witchlight in a glass on her nightstand and tried out various Muggle herbal remedies.

Awake once more, she mentally went over the ingredients of the calming tea she had brewed that evening: aniseed, balm, calendula, caraway, fennel, passion flowers, peppermint, peels of rose hips, rosemary, valerian roots.

Drawing on what she had memorized from Culpeper's herbal and a fat Muggle tome about homeopathy, Hermione tried to recall everything she knew about each ingredient. Professor Snape had stated clearly that she would only be allowed near a cauldron for experimental purposes again when she knew every little detail about every ingredient, be it Muggle or magical.

... Valerian. ... different active compounds, including essential oils ... Sedating properties that may bind to receptors in the brain that regulate central nervous system ... Magical usage: sleeping potions, love potions, purifying philtres... protection charms ... Linked with Mercury ... more potent when Mercury is in conjunction with the moon ... Corresponding element: water ...

Hermione yawned, her eyelids growing heavy once more. She smirked wearily. So those herbs could have an effect on her, after all.

oooOooo

The Sorting Hat ended its song and its wrinkled countenance seemed to scrutinise the trembling First Years carefully. Then Professor Weasley began to call the names of the new students so they could be Sorted, and Professor Sprout placed the old hat on each little head.

Hermione was staring at the row of children in front of the High Table's dais.

They were so ... small. So very, very young.

She stared at their happy round cheeks and their perky snub noses and remembered how scared she'd been. She'd been utterly convinced that the Sorting Hat would send her home, that it would explain how everything was a horrible mistake, that she, Hermione Granger, daughter of dentists and Muggles, could not possibly be special enough, magical enough, to stay at Hogwarts.

And now here she was, not a student anymore, but an apprentice and assistant teacher.

oooOooo

'Alina Petrel.'

Hermione leant forwards so she could watch as Alina skipped onto the dais, chocolate-coloured hair flying, dark eyes glittering.

Alina looked very much like her friendly, calm mother. And she was a kind girl, Hermione knew that. But Alina was also a little imp. Mischief sparkled in her eyes and she appeared to positively brim with energy.

Alina sat down. Her small face disappeared under the flap.

Respectful silence filled the hall.

Lengthened.

Alina kicked her feet, completely unconcerned.

'Well, well,' the Sorting Hat laughed at last. 'Who would have thought? Slytherin House, beware! Here's one for you who will be a real challenge!'

Hermione clapped like mad. 'I wish Lois could have been here to see that!'

But Professor Snape groaned.

'There,' he muttered. 'Didn't I tell you about the law of every other class having an equivalent to the Weasley twins? Here's the next generation, no doubt about that. And in Slytherin house, too. Whatever did I do to deserve this?'

oooOooo

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oooOooo

35. A Walk in the Forest

Ron couldn't stop shaking his head.

Hermione in Slytherin apprentice-robes. Hermione mirroring Snape's gesture of rubbing the bridge of her nose. As if Ron was trying her temper beyond reason, merely by breathing in and out.

'It's not a good time now, huh?'

She forced a smile. 'I love having you here,' she said. 'But ...'

Ron pouted. 'You actually prefer hanging out with the gr...'

He wanted to sulk until she made up with him, until she gave him a really sweet kiss and accompanied him to Honeydukes.

'Don't,' she snapped. 'Just don't.'

'Sorry,' he mumbled.

He looked at her again, the way she adjusted a phial here, added a cautious stir there ...

She had changed so much. He couldn't precisely say when she'd begun to change, as he hadn't noticed then. He recalled the last time they'd talked, when she'd gone on and on about how exciting everything was, Muggle ho...homo...homeopathy, magical and mundane properties of ingredients, their side effects ... She'd only stopped when his eyes were crossing. And all he'd been able to think of was that she actually enjoyed being Snape's apprentice. She wasn't just Doing The Thing Martyrs Must Do. She really liked being with Snape.

Ron suppressed a sigh. No more Honeydukes for the two of them. She was slipping away from him. Just as Harry was, what with his Auror training and his growing involvement in politics and law, of all the dastardly things.

'Look, I understand that you don't want to ...' Ron started.

'Oh, Merlin! No! Ron, look, I'm sorry, but I'm really busy this afternoon,' she explained hastily. 'This project is such a mess. I started out all wrong. I'm not sure I'll ever get it right. And I'm so horribly scared that I – that I'm just not good enough. That, when all is said and done, I'm nothing but a copycat and a textbook-parrot. That I'll never succeed at being his apprentice.'

She hesitated then met his gaze without flinching. 'Or at anything else, for that matter.'

He knew exactly what she was talking about. What he didn't know was how he ought to respond.

'I'm sure it will work out,' he said lamely. 'But I guess I'd better get going. We can meet some other time.'

But Hermione shook her head. 'No, don't, please! It's just really bad timing this afternoon. Are you free tonight? Look, why don't you go for a walk with Lois until dinner? She'll be done with Professor Snape's therapy session in a few minutes. And Headmistress McGonagall has allowed her to stay for dinner, so she can see her daughter.'

'A Muggle?' Ron asked, and instantly regretted his question.

'Yes, Ronald,' Hermione ground out. 'A Muggle. An extremely competent speech therapist who can help where magical remedies have failed.'

'I...uhh...'Mione, I didn't mean it that way, and you know that!'

'Very well. Prove it. Take her for a walk. Stay for dinner. Be around when I'm free to spend some time with you. Which isn't now.'

oooOooo

The first thing Ron thought was, 'But she's real pretty!'

The second was: 'But she's older than me. Her daughter just started at Hogwarts.'

The third was: 'So what?'

The fourth was: 'But Alina's in Slytherin.'

Then he smiled at the woman. 'Hello! I'm Ronald Weasley. An old friend of Hermione's. She's asked me to keep you company until it's time for dinner. I hope you don't mind too much.'

oooOooo

'A walk would be great,' Lois admitted. The sessions with Professor Snape left her quite drained. He was certainly one of the most intense men she'd ever met, and in dire need of some therapy. And not speech therapy, either.

She smiled at the red-haired young man at her side. 'I'm not allowed to go anywhere on my own while I'm in your world. Everyone's worried something bad might happen to me, stupid Muggle that I am.'

He laughed. 'You don't have to be a Muggle for that. Stupid is quite sufficient to get you into trouble at Hogwarts. And look at Hermione – being smart isn't exactly safe either.'

'Yes,' Lois agreed. 'But I'm still sad that I missed the incident with those bath-bubbles. So where are we going?'

'How about a walk along the edge of the Forbidden Forest? That should be safe enough and maybe I can show you some magical critters.'

'Forbidden Forest?'

'Yes, for the students. Magic is not a game, you know.' He sounded very serious now. 'There are dangerous creatures in those woods.'

'Oh.' Lois couldn't help casting an anxious look at the castle.

Ron grinned, suddenly looking like a boy again. 'Don't worry. Alina is quite safe. Snape keeps his Slytherins in line. It's the Gryffindors that always get into trouble.'

'And you were a Gryffindor?'

'Yes, indeed, just like Hermione.'

'Tell me about that. What was it like to go to school here?'

oooOooo

'Oh, look! How cute! They are playing football with that stone! And the others are cheering! They can talk!'

Nine small, ferret-like creatures were tumbling around a tree. Four or five appeared to be throwing a small, black rock back and forth between them, while the others applauded or booed, in a constant stream of garbled shouts and high-pitched jeers.

'They are just jarveys,' Ron said, frowning. 'Well, I suppose they are cute enough,' he admitted. And it was definitely a lot of fun to watch the Muggle woman's delight at those silly forest creatures. 'And they can't really talk, they are more like uh... Muggle parrots, I guess. They do insults really well. One of my cousins kept one as a pet a while ago, much to the dismay of his parents. Oh, and the critters are pretty valuable – their musk is one of the main ingredients in magical perfumes.'

Lois beamed at him. 'I like them.'

'And I like you.' Ron blushed. 'Uh... I guess we'd better return to the castle now. It's nearly time for dinner.'

oooOooo

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oooOooo

36. Almost A Teacher

'Is Hermione really as bad an apprentice as she believes?' Lois asked.

Snape tapped his wand at the table. A moment later two pots of tea and the relevant paraphernalia, including a huge plate stacked with sinfully buttery shortbread and spicy cinnamon scones still warm from the oven, graced the round table in his study.

Somehow they had fallen into the routine of having a cup of tea and a spot of biscuits at the end of their meetings. Snape couldn't quite recall how that had happened. Maybe when Petrel had asked about life at Hogwarts, no doubt concerned for her daughter's welfare? And he had felt obliged to answer her questions for some bizarre reason?

Goodness, he must be losing his touch.

However, Snape had to admit that Lois Petrel was surprisingly easy to talk to. She never assumed, she never prodded. And no matter how much he hated all those excruciating little exercises she subjected him to, his voice was improving. Sometimes, when he was well-rested and went easy on his voice, he almost recognised it again.

Frowning, he turned his attention to the Muggle. As far as he was concerned, there were only two positive aspects to having Granger as his apprentice: one, no matter what happened, there would be no further life-debts between them – the bond between master and apprentice would take care of that – and two, well, that very same bond would ...

'Miss Granger? A failure?' That notion was so ludicrous that it pulled his mind back into the room instantly. Frowning, he poured Petrel her customary cup of Earl Grey, while taking refuge to his usual Lapsang Souchong.

When he looked up, Petrel was still waiting for an answer.

He scowled at her. Had they been talking about anyone else, he would have assumed that Petrel had been manipulated into asking that question. But Granger would be horrified at the mere thought of such a scheme.

'I did accept her as my apprentice,' he declared, hoping that this would end the discussion. He did not want to talk about Hermione Granger. He preferred not to think of her, if that was at all possible, which it really wasn't, since they practically lived, and definitely worked together.

Petrel regarded him with raised eyebrows over the rim of her teacup.

'What?' he bit out irritably. Lois didn't say anything. After another moment of silence, Snape wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose.

'Miss Granger shouldn't have attempted those experiments on her own. No one expects apprentices to experiment on their own. That's why the damn thing is called 'apprenticeship' after all – how is it possible that she is still so insecure?' he asked at last. 'There is really no reason for that. Her academic work has always been beyond reproach. I admit that I agreed to the apprenticeship only because I was not in a position to refuse the request of Headmistress McGonagall. But,' he sighed, 'if things were different ...'

(Very, very different. So different that he couldn't quite imagine that situation.)

'... I would have been delighted to ask her to accept the position.'

And why did that thought make him feel so unbearably sad all of a sudden?

oooOooo

Alina Petrel turned out to be less of a nuisance than Snape had expected her to be. She was smart, studious, mostly obedient, and adapted well to her magical abilities and life at Hogwarts. But still, he knew a born troublemaker when he saw one, and when his instinct told him to watch certain students, watch them he did.

Additionally, watching Alina was quite amusing. She got along well with the other Slytherin girls of her year – Geilis Duncan, Mika Malkin, Dorothy West. But her best friends belonged to other houses: a little Ravenclaw girl, Prudentia Halleywell, and a boy from Gryffindor house with the unfortunate name of Myrddin Loewe.

At the moment Snape was standing in an alcove near Ravenclaw tower. Alina and Prue were seated just around the corner, in the shadow of an enormous bookcase.

'Well, I don't think you're at all silly,' Alina was saying earnestly. 'What's silly about missing home?'

Wet snuffling was the only answer. Miss Halleywell was obviously suffering from a violent bout of homesickness.

'If my home were magic, I bet I'd miss it just as much as you do. You know, you really should talk to Miss Granger.'

'But she's a teacher!'

'Well, yes, but not really. She's like ... almost a teacher. She's Professor Snape's apprentice. That means she's still a little bit like us. She's still his student, even if she's our teacher. You can talk to her. And she listens. Even if you think you're being silly.'

'How do you know?' Prue sniffled.

'Well, I went to her when I was worried ...' Alina squirmed. 'You know, about if it's okay to be friends with people from other Houses.'

'Oh. What did she say?'

'She said how everyone's House is real special, and so is Slytherin, and I ought to cherish my House. But how it's also okay to have other friends, because it would be silly not to. She's helping Geilis with her reading, and she's tutoring those Gryffindors that don't know the inside of a cauldron from the outside. She won't treat you special because of your House, 'cause she doesn't really belong to any House anymore.

'She's fair.'

Which surely was a grand and sweeping statement for an eleven-year old.

'Maybe I'll do that, then.' Prue Halleywell sounded faintly hopeful.

oooOooo

Silently, Snape slipped away. He was almost sure that those two would return to their respective Houses in time for curfew.

So Miss Granger was fair? And she was helping a neglected Slytherin child practice her reading? Telling another Slytherin to cherish her house, while supporting her slightly unusual choice of friends?

Why, Miss Granger, he mused, I believe Miss Petrel is right: you are almost a teacher. And I bet you're not even aware of it ...

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

37. A Dark and Stormy Night

At the beginning of November, a moonless night filled the Forbidden Forest with near impenetrable gloom. Gusts of a stormy North-Eastern were shaking the branches of the Whomping Willow and rushing through the treetops, driving icy showers across over the castle and grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds, trusted his monsters' good sense to stay cooped up in their caves and lairs in a night like this and had cut his late night rounds short. Now he sprawled on his huge bed and was snoring with great gusto, making the shutters of his hut vibrate on their hinges.

But there were predators that not even the foulest weather kept from prowling. Around three o'clock in the morning the agonized death-screams of nine young jarveys carried over the howling of the storm and the creaking of the wind-swept trees.

In Hagrid's hut old Fang groaned softly in his sleep. For a moment his rheumy eyes opened. But when no other sound reached his wrinkled ears, he rolled closer to the fading warmth of the fireplace and slept on.

oooOooo

Inside the castle, another sound woke Hermione Granger from a restless slumber that had been haunted by familiar nightmares. She sat up in her bed, her heart racing, her nightshirt drenched in sweat. For a moment she wondered why she had woken. A strange sense of urgency filled her, of need, as if she'd been called.

But everything was silent now. Waiting for her frantic heartbeat to slow down, she listened to the darkness. For once she was alone in her chamber, her cat Crookshanks hadn't returned from his nightly prowls yet.

There. Again.

A groan. As if someone was trying not to scream with pain.

Snape!

She reached for her wand and jumped out of her bed. Only when she found herself standing in front of her master's bedroom, she hesitated. Snape hadn't needed to tell her that she was never to enter his bedroom – that had gone without saying.

Another agonised moan.

He hadn't told her not to enter his bedroom without his permission. He'd never mentioned his bedroom at all.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione reached for the door.

oooOooo

Inside, the first thing she noticed was the smell of blood. Then her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and a scream caught in her throat.

Professor Snape was lying on the floor, his wand next to him. He was clutching his left arm and a pool of blood spreading below him.

'Sir! No! No! What have you been doing?'

She slid down on the floor beside him. He groaned again and tried to push her away.

'It's not what it looks like,' Snape rasped. Then another convulsion of pain seized him. Hermione's left arm went around him, pulling him into her embrace and the weight of his body off the injured limb. When the spasm had passed, she turned his arm into the light.

She swallowed dryly. The skin at the inside of his left arm looked very much like a skinning spell gone very wrong.

His left arm.

Hermione almost sighed with relief, as sudden understanding flowed through her. He had told her the truth. It really wasn't what it looked like at first glance. He hadn't tried to kill himself. He had merely attempted to remove the Dark Mark.

Following her gaze, Snape ground his teeth. 'Not. One. Word.'

'Of course not, sir. But please let me help you.'

After a moment he gave a curt nod then minutely relaxed in her arms.

Knowing better than to use magic on an injury resulting from an unknown spell, Hermione clapped her hands and summoned the house-elf. 'Nag, I need clean towels, bandages, a bowl with water. Sir, do you have some antiseptic potion here?'

Snape shuddered, but nodded again, his teeth clenched, sweat forming on his forehead.

'Accio Antiseptica,' Hermione flicked her wand and held out her hand. A moment later she winced at the impact of a big brown bottle. Then a soft CRACK! made her whip up her head in panic, but it was only the thin, wrinkly house-elf who had appeared at her side, the items she had requested in his arms.

'Thank you, Nag.'

The house-elf bowed to her, threw a scared look at his master and disappeared again.

Hermione used one of the towels to wipe off the blood while keeping a steady pressure above the wound to staunch the blood flow. The towel was drenched in seconds. Awkwardly, Hermione poured a little of the antiseptic potion on another towel. She didn't dare to release his arm. There was so much blood. As if she'd walked in on a scene from one of her worst nightmares.

Bunching up the soaked towel, she carefully cleaned the outline of the wound. He jerked weakly in her arms at the sting of the potion. Cleaned, his arm was a mess of raw flesh and raised black lines. He had managed to completely skin his forearm – except for the parts of his skin that were covered by the black lines of the Mark.

Hermione's stomach clenched.

And he was still bleeding heavily. She couldn't keep the blood flow staunched. She had no idea how to treat a spell damage wound that obviously resulted from the use of Dark Magic.

'Sir? Sir?'

He was deathly white, his eyes shut tightly. Low moans escaped his lips, when another convulsion shivered over his body. It felt as if she were holding someone in the throes of the Cruciatus Curse.

'Sir, I cannot staunch the bleeding. I need to call for help. You might bleed to death if I don't get help.'

'Wouldn't be all that bad,' he mumbled. But he cracked open his eyes and regarded her for a long moment.

'Sir,' Hermione whispered urgently, as unheedful of her tears and his blood as she had been once before, many months ago. 'Please.'

'Very well,' he sighed wearily at last. 'Get Poppy.'

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

38. Dear Harry

Dear Harry,

Hermione hesitated. A good start. Friendly. Normal. She resisted the urge to chew on her fountain pen. Taking a leaf out of Ginny's book, she'd enchanted the ink cartridge to magically refill itself. Writing had been much more comfortable since she'd thought of that. No more bits of feather getting stuck between her teeth.

Thank you for your letter.

That was good, too. Polite and nice. If a trifle obvious. She halted again and stared out of the window. She loved the view of her new rooms, even on such a dismal day in November.

I hope you are well. I am ...

She paused. The cold and wet weather of November was taking its toll. An adult human body numbered exactly 206 bones, and every single one of her bones was aching right now.

I am feeling absolutely rotten?

No. Not good. Harry didn't react well to honest answers. He'd only blame himself if he knew that she was still suffering from the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

Hermione stretched, winced, yawned, and reached for her tea. She'd picked an invigorating mixture instead of one of her usual calming or soothing draughts today. Mixing the long-term effects of the Cruciatus Curse with her insomnia was doing nothing for her presence of mind and she still had the study group of the Hufflepuff Third Years to supervise this afternoon. Thank God it was the Hufflepuffs, and not the Slytherins, or worse, the Gryffindors.

I am ... I still feel ... utterly shaken?

She shuddered. Shaken. What an understatement. Whenever she closed her eyes she could still feel the weight of his body against hers, the wetness of his blood on her skin. The smell of his blood mixed with the scent of his body. She recalled the way he had looked at her, that dark, desperate gaze. She still wondered what he had seen in her eyes that had prompted him to agree to her request to summon help.

I am still feeling a little bit shaken, which is really not surprising given what happened.

Of course he didn't appreciate your visit. Honest, Harry, what were you thinking? He's still Professor Snape, after all. Although I suppose I do understand why you had to come, and I suspect that he does, too.

Severus Snape was now the only close connection to Harry's parents and Harry's family that was left. He was the only person alive who'd been really close to Harry's parents, in good ways and bad ways. He had perhaps suffered even more than Harry because of Voldemort. And because of Albus Dumbledore, a small nagging voice at the back of her mind insisted.

Hermione recalled an unsettling conversation she had had with Harry a few weeks after the final battle.

oooOooo

'Do you ... do you hate Dumbledore? For what he ... for what he did to you?' she had asked.

Harry shrugged. Shrugging was still his default gesture. But he met her gaze calmly. The fierce anger that used to blaze in his green eyes, that had kept him going, had almost vanished, drained away in war and death. She remembered how he rubbed his scar – his second favourite gesture.

'Of course not,' he said. 'Dumbledore did what he had to do. Just like the rest of us.'

Then he fell silent, while his gaze grew distant and his lips thinned to a harsh, straight line.

'Sometimes, I guess,' he admitted finally. 'You?'

She had stared at her balled fists. Hermione remembered that she had visited Snape just the day before that conversation.

oooOooo

'Yes,' she whispered, and the sound of her voice echoed loudly in the silence of her room. 'I do.

'Sometimes,' she added. Propping her elbows on the table, she wearily rested her face in her palms. The skin of her hands tingled almost painfully at the touch.

For example, every time she'd visited Professor Snape in St Mungo's.

She picked up her pen again and placed it on the parchment.

Professor Snape is much better. Ron's idea to ask Lois for advice was really brilliant. For some reason – we are still not sure why – the Mark behaved just like a Muggle tattoo under the laser beams. They could 'scrub' it right off. He'll have some hideous scars left, because Healer Mugwort says the residue of Dark Magic that is still in the tissue would act up again if she were to try and heal it prettily with magic. But that doesn't bother him at all. I think he's just glad that he got rid of the damned thing finally.

'Act up.' She snorted at her own words. But Harry would handle that euphemism better than 'might make Professor Snape bleed to death within half an hour'. She had summoned help just in time. She tried not to think of that. It made her hands shake too hard to keep writing.

The apprenticeship is interesting, although I'm really scared that I'm an utter failure at it. Ignore whatever Ron's saying. He just can't understand that I might enjoy learning all about Potions regardless ...

'Regardless' was the most unobtrusive way she could think of to refer to The Plan.

And The Plan ... Hermione inhaled deeply and tried to suppress the quivering that always seemed to grip her stomach lately whenever she thought of her master.

The Plan was not going well.

The fact that she had saved Snape's life yet again, and the rather spectacular circumstances of the event (which included a blood-drenched nightshirt clinging to her body, Snape barely conscious in her arms, an absolutely livid Headmistress and a thoroughly disgruntled Master Healer) added even more strain to the already tense relationship between master and apprentice.

I'll let you know at once if anything happens.

Give my love to Ron & George. And no, I most certainly won't keep an eye on Ginny.

Love,

Hermione

There. She sighed. All done.

Just in time to leave for that study group with those Hufflepuffs.

oooOooo

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oooOooo

39. Cruciatus

Muriel Mugwort had assumed that Hermione Granger's request for an appointment was about her master. Either to talk about his health, or ... about other things. But when she saw how stiffly the girl moved, the Healer realised that Hermione's reason for the appointment was all her own.

'Good afternoon, Miss Granger,' she greeted the young woman, holding out her hand.

'Thank you for making time to see me,' Hermione replied.

'That's my job, dear.'

Unobtrusively, the Healer catalogued several clues about her patient's condition. Very pale. Too thin. Dark circles under the eyes and the eyes themselves dull with lack of sleep. Stiff, careful movements, as if in considerable pain. No strength to the handshake. Skin cold, clammy. Hand trembling. The symptoms were quite clear. Nevertheless, Mugwort was thorough in her examination, both with the mundane and the magical procedures.

Finally Muriel asked Hermione into her office, where the healer plucked a small blue phial from a shelf and counted twenty drops into a tablespoon.

'Swallow quickly. It burns, but it will help.'

Hermione did as she was told, although her grimace showed just how awful the potion tasted.

'And now, a simple herbal tea.' Mugwort went to another shelf. The small pot was labelled for its ingredients, a mixture of meadowsweet, nettle, rosemary and willow bark.

For herself, she settled on a strong, plain Assam. She needed it. She'd seen too many cases like Miss Granger's in recent years.

Quiet minutes ticked by on the clock-faces of an elaborate time-piece on the mantelshelf. Ten dials sporting different sizes and hands were a testament to the many duties of a Master Healer in the Spell Damage Ward.

'You should have come sooner,' Muriel remarked.

Hermione shrugged. Much easier, the healer noted. The potion had worked its magic. For now, the pain was gone.

'Would that have changed anything?' A hint of bitterness in her voice. Mugwort narrowed her eyes at the girl. That was to be expected – the long-term effects of the Cruciatus Curse were never only physical.

'No,' Mugwort admitted. 'But there are potions – like the one I just gave you – that alleviate the pain. Salves that help with the stiffness. Other potions to help you sleep. As I am certain you are aware of.'

'I am. But all of those potions are very strong and highly addictive. They also interfere with my magic. And they mess with my mind.'

'If you prefer the pain, why are you here now?' Muriel raised an eyebrow at the girl.

Hermione sighed. 'I hoped that it had passed. I was fine in summer, and it's been more than a year now. I hoped it would be over.

'But it's not,' she concluded bleakly. 'Is there any kind of cure? Something I missed when I did my research?'

Now it was the healer's turn to sigh. 'I am very sorry,' she said gently. 'But no, there is no cure for the after-effects of the Cruciatus. The long-term consequences vary, of course. They depend on the strength of the wizard or witch who cast the curse, as well as on the magical powers of the victim, the length of time and the number of times the victim is subjected to the curse. Women usually withstand the curse better than men, but Muggle-borns have less resistance to magical attacks. Other factors involved are how quickly treatment is provided afterwards and how soon the victim uses magic again.'

Mugwort studied Hermione's face. It was never easy to talk about the details of torture, but she needed to know the facts to provide the best treatment she could.

'Who did this to you?' Muriel asked, keeping her voice quiet and even.

The young woman balled her hands into fists so hard that the knuckles stood out whitely and in sharp relief. Her veins shimmered blue through skin that was so pale it was almost translucent.

'Bellatrix Lestrange.'

Hermione's gaze strayed to one of the clock faces. The inscription below it said 'Longbottom'. The hands were titled 'Alice' and 'Frank'. Frank's hand pointed to 'asleep'. Alice was 'counting bubble gums'.

'It wasn't all that long, I think,' Hermione went on. 'It seemed an eternity to me, but from what Harry tells me, it can't have been much more than an hour.' She put down the empty mug and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. 'I'm weak. I started talking almost at once. And if ... someone else hadn't corroborated my lies, she'd have had me tell the truth within moments. If I'd still been able to speak that is, which I really wasn't.

'They took me to Bill Weasley's house right afterwards. His wife took care of me. But there was no time to summon a healer, or to wait with ... what we had to do.

'I ... recovered quickly, or so I thought at the time. I was back on my feet the next day, after all. But of course it was summer at the time.'

'Cold and damp weather are common triggers for the after-effects of the Cruciatus,' Mugwort observed.

Hermione grinned wryly. 'So I noticed.'

'Any other symptoms you haven't told me about yet?'

The young woman sighed and nodded. 'Not very often, luckily, but ... I do get ... cramps of a sort sometimes. Convulsions. As if ...'

'As if you were being tortured all over again?'

Hermione hid her face in her hands. 'Yes.' Even muffled the strain in her voice was clearly audible. 'I told you I'm weak.'

'No, you are not,' Mugwort said briskly. 'You are merely having a harder time with the after-effects of a horrible curse than other witches might have. There's nothing weak about that. Some of us get horrible migraines, others don't. Some women suffer monthly cramps, others don't.

'You have to talk about this with your master. There are potions you will need that have to be brewed freshly and which require highly advanced skills along with steadier hands than you have right now.'

oooOooo

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oooOooo

40. Slytherin Pastimes

Caring didn't come easily to him, but it was part of his job as head of Slytherin House. He was responsible for sixty-seven students this year, thirty-five boys and thirty-two girls, and he took that responsibility very seriously. He always had. Therefore Snape made a point of talking to each of 'his' children once a month.

He kept a notebook for that, with a list of the names so he wouldn't forget anyone, and to keep track of the small troubles the children expected him to remember. Mostly he managed to remember without consulting his notes, but he had found filing that information quite useful over the years, when the development of some bout of teenaged angst or other coincided with a notable drop in academic performance. He invariably hated resorting to that strategy, but sometimes it was easier to tackle the emotional end of things to produce the desired result in the classroom, no matter how awkward and uncomfortable the procedure made him feel. And of course, compared to other discomforts of his sorry existence, trying to take care of the emotional needs of his Slytherins was almost cosy, so he wouldn't complain.

Naturally, this special schedule of his was a well-kept secret, since such maudlin sentimentality wasn't very Slytherin, even if it was a necessary routine.

Much like administering a dose of Skele-Grow after a Quidditch match, Snape told himself, as he made his way down to the Slytherin common room on a Monday evening in late November. Just another annoying task.

Due to the Slytherin Quidditch practice taking place on Monday evenings this term, the common room was emptier than usual of an evening. Draco had occupied one of the alcoves and sat huddled over a stack of books. The NEWTs for the accelerated Seventh Year would take place shortly before Christmas. It wasn't easy for the three Slytherins who had returned to Hogwarts, least of all for Draco. But – Snape allowed himself to feel just a little bit of pride – the boy – no, the young man – was holding up well. Better than he would have assumed at the start of the summer academy. He smirked. Potter's absence was clearly doing Draco a world of good.

Little Geilis was curled up in an armchair, a fat book on her lap. Her right index finger was following the line she was reading at an agonised crawl. Her lips were moving soundlessly, and there was a look of intense concentration on her pale little face.

In one of the niches, four girls were gathered around a square table and playing a board game: Pansy Parkinson and the other three First Years. He frowned when he didn't recognise the game as one of the traditional wizarding games. It looked to him as if the board was made up of hexagons that had been enchanted to mirror landscapes, meadows, fields of barley, woods, mountains, muddy or sandy areas and even a small patch of desert. Along the edges of the pentagons villages, towns and roads were springing up, directed by the players. It seemed to be a very involved strategy-game, based on trading and building. There was certainly a lot of giggling and groaning and swearing involved. With a gleeful grin, Alina was prodding the figure of a black knight across the table. She seemed to be the most accomplished player.

Had they dared to enchant a Muggle game? It certainly looked like it. For a moment Snape considered interrupting the game and demanding an explanation. Enchanting Muggle objects was dangerous. On the other hand ... it was only a game. And Pansy Parkinson was quite adept at charms. And she had grown into a quite responsible young woman.

In the end, he turned away and went over to Geilis. The girl looked up and smiled shyly at her head of house. 'Hello, sir.'

Then her gaze slid worriedly to his left arm. At his scowl, she blushed ferociously. 'I ... I ... How ... how is your arm, sir?' she stuttered.

The official story was that he had had a potions accident. Which was utterly humiliating, but preferable to the truth, of course. He forced a smile. 'Thank you, child. Quite well. I hear that my apprentice has been tutoring you?'

The blush deepened into a crimson colour. 'I...uh...yes, she does, I mean – Miss Granger. She noticed how I was having trouble...and uh...she's been...uh...'

'Helping you?' He wouldn't force her to admit out loud that she'd been sent off to Hogwarts barely able to read. Discreet inquiries had revealed that due to Hermione's help, lots of practice and her innate magical talents, Miss Duncan was quite a good reader by now. Not quite on the same level as her class-mates, but certainly up to the curriculum of her year.

The child nodded fiercely.

'That's good. What are you reading?'

Geilis swallowed hard. 'Just – just a Muggle book, sir.'

When he frowned, she added quickly, 'I – the magical ones – they are harder to read, sir, with the story shifting and pulling you in and all. But it has magic and wizards, sir.'

'Magic and wizards?' He raised an eyebrow. What kind of Muggle rubbish had He...Granger given to the child?

'They are reading 'The Lord of the Rings',' Draco put in. 'Hermione comes over twice a week in the evening and reads a chapter to us, then we take turns. Everyone reads a page.'

Snape turned to Draco, aghast. He didn't know what shocked him more, the book that his imbecilic apprentice had chosen or the fact that his Slytherins were apparently quite happy to spend an evening reading Muggle mythology.

His apprehension and consternation must have shown on his face, because Draco laughed.

'You don't need to worry,' Draco reassured him. 'Their favourite character is Gandalf, not Saruman. Slytherins prefer to side with the winning team. And he's quite a wily wizard, that Gandalf character. Sneaky. Could have been a Slytherin, I think.'

oooOooo

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NOTES

Banner

The banner is based on CC Attribution/NonCommerical licenced pictures by cambiodefractal and on CC Attribution pictures by "Drawings Of Light – Paul" and i.m.indraneel. The face of my Hermione belongs to Minnie Driver.

FAQ

See Part 1.

Chapter: The First Days

The uses of unicorn horn are based on the essay 'The use of unicorn horn in medicine' by William Jackson, The Pharmaceutical Journal, Vol 273, No 7330, p925-927, 18/25 December 2004.

The recipe for the bathing lotion is based on one I found online at http://magickrecipes.com Magick Recipes.

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Chapter: A Walk in the Forest

Jarveys are from 'Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them'. The properties of their musk are AU.

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Chapter: Almost a Teacher

The name 'Geilis Duncan' is based on the historical 'Geillis Duncane', a Scottish woman who was accused of witchcraft in the 16th century. Her story can be read at sacred-texts DOT com. 'Mika Malkin' refers to the canon Malkins, of course. 'Dorothy West' should be rather obvious. 'Prudentia Halleywell' alludes to the TV-series 'Charmed', of course. But 'prudentia' is also Latin for 'wisdom' and thus a very good Ravenclaw name. And 'Myrrdin Loewe' is wordplay referring to another wordplay. In Susan Cooper's 'The Dark Is Rising' series Merlin uses the name 'Merriman/Merry' 'Lyon/Lion'. Myrrdin is also an old name for Merlin, and 'Loewe' is only a weird way of writing 'Löwe', the German word for 'lion'.

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Chapter: Cruciatus

Canon says nothing about any long-term effects of the Cruciatus apart from the case of the Longbottoms who were tortured into insanity, as far as I know. Fanon otoh includes that motif a lot, and as I think it makes sense, I've chosen to do so as well. I interpret the severity of long-term effects to be dependant on various factors (as outlined in this chapter), so every wizard/witch would react differently, from having next to no symptoms to having something like a 'relapse'.

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Chapter: Slytherin Pastimes

The board game is 'Settlers of Catan'.