Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. Just borrowed. Will be returned. Snape is welcome to stay, though.

My beta readers, Maggie and Melusin, deserve much thanks and the highest praise, a lot of chocolate, flowers and relaxing music. All remaining errors are my fault.

Chapter 3

The next day was a Wednesday. You got up early and only dressed in a shirt and black trousers, nervously paced up and down in front of your fireplace while you drank a cup of coffee, frowning and murmuring all the while. Clearly, you were preparing yourself for your first Potions lesson, which, so I guessed, would be the seventh-years' Advanced Potions class. Oh, how I wanted to see this!

While you were still walking up and down, I climbed up the longest branch in my cage and jumped out of the jar altogether. I scuttled quickly to the wall and climbed up, wondering how I could get to the classroom unseen. Then I saw your robes hanging on the door of an armoire. Hoping that these would be the robes you would wear to class, I hid in one of the pockets.

You didn't notice.

Radiating vibrations of tension, excitement and something that smelt remarkably like fear, you finally put your robes on and left your private rooms in a hurry. Instead of going to breakfast, you moved directly to your office where you resumed the nervous pacing. I felt an odd sensation of sympathy for the young man who was too excited to eat before he gave his first lesson. This was so different from the cold, unemotional, arrogant teacher I knew. Come to think of it, you looked unmoved and cold, but my spidery senses told me that this clearly wasn't what you felt.

After what appeared to be an endless time, you stopped, took a deep breath and left the office. Walking briskly, you threw the door open, swept into the classroom and closed the door behind you with a bang. I heard suppressed giggles that were countered with a cold, "Silence." I hoped that you would stand still long enough to let me climb to the rim of the pocket to glance outside; a few strands of spider silk would keep me in place and comfortable. After a few moments of just standing there and glaring at the students, my wish was granted. You strode to the front of the room and sat down at your desk.

You started the class by taking the register, and when you reached the name of Alfie Abercrombie, you looked up and paused.

"How delightful that the moving staircases allowed you to get to class on time – without getting lost," you said in a low voice, almost a whisper. "Let us hope that your skills in Potions surpass those of navigating the castle."

A few of Alfie's mates giggled, but you silenced them with an icy glare. After finishing the register, you stood up and walked to the blackboard.

"As students of this advanced class, you have proven in the past to not only have an interest but also a certain aptitude for the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," you began, speaking in a low voice and ignoring the muted giggles from the back benches. "After six years of studying and honing your skills, I expect you to understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... By now you will have learned how to bottle fame and brew glory. And in your last and final class, you will learn how to even stopper death – if you were accepted into this class based on more than just influential relatives or an old name." With these words, you swept towards the four culprits in the last row and looked down on them menacingly.

"That would be five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Peakes, five points from Ravenclaw, Miss Van Snyder, five more points from Ravenclaw, Mr. Patil, and five points from Hufflepuff, Miss Winterbottom. There will be silence in this class. One would expect that seventh-year students might have learned some sort of self-discipline over the years." You sneered at the four students' surprised stares and walked back to the blackboard. A flick of your wand made a list of ingredients and instructions visible, and you continued.

"You see here the ingredients and instructions for the Entrail-Reinsertion Wash. You will brew the first stage of the potion in the second half of this class. You have the first forty-five minutes to write an essay about the different ingredients, their properties, and their interaction. Your homework will be a detailed analysis of the method of brewing and how it was developed. Begin."

Glaring at them sternly, you sat down again and studied the register. After forty-five minutes, you Summoned the parchments and opened the door to the store cupboard for the students to gather their ingredients. While they started to cut up fanged geranium roots and to crush dragon eggshells, you read through the essays. After a while, you stood up and prowled around the classroom.

"Your technique of cutting up those roots is abysmal, Mr. Peakes," you said, smirking. "Who can tell me why Mr. Peakes' geranium roots won't be buffering the caustic effect of the crushed dragon eggshells? Yes, Miss Pritchard?"

A tall Slytherin girl had raised her hand. "Only the smooth surface of the thinly and evenly sliced roots will produce enough sap to stick all of the eggshell powder to the root slices. The powder and the sap have to interact. Those unevenly cut slices will contain pockets of poorly coated shell powder, and areas where no powder sticks at all. There won't be a thorough mixture of sap and powder for the potion to be efficient."

"Very good. That makes ten points to Slytherin. And why don't we extract the active compounds in the sap and mix them with the powder? Mr. Abercrombie, perhaps you can tell us? But only if you didn't get lost in the instructions." You raised an eyebrow and sneered down on the unfortunate student, who stood before you with a red face.

"I don't know, sir," Alfie Abercrombie said with a mutinous expression. "I've never brewed this potion before; how should I know?"

"That'll be five points from Gryffindor for cheek and another five for being ill prepared. Ever since your third year, you have prepared potions ingredients with a similar technique. A dry powder is bound to the surface of a root or bulb, held there by the resin, gum, or sap that interacts with the powder." You sneered at Abercrombie again and then asked the class, "Is there anyone who can tell me why that technique is used?"

The same Slytherin girl raised her hand again. You smirked at her and nodded.

"The magically active compounds in the saps are often unstable without the other substances present in the root or bulb. It would be very expensive and time consuming to extract all the compounds that are needed to keep the active compounds stable. It is much cheaper and easier to just use a thin slice from the whole plant."

"Here we have a young lady who has learned to think beyond her textbook," you said with a contented nod towards the girl. "You are correct, Miss Pritchard. That makes another five points for Slytherin. You are a fine example for your noble house."

The girl blushed, pleasantly surprised. I thought to myself that I had done just as well, or better, in your classes, but I never got any praise from you. It looked like you had started to favour your own house straight away.

Your eyes returned to Alfie Abercrombie. "I suggest you start to think, not follow instructions blindly, Mr. Abercrombie. I am surprised and appalled at the level of knowledge in this Advanced Potions class. I wouldn't have accepted half of your number. Why exactly are you taking Advanced Potions, Mr. Abercrombie? Enlighten me, please."

"I always had good marks in Professor Slughorn's classes," Alfie replied with a sulky expression. "Professor Slughorn was of the opinion that I had an intuitive knowledge of potion-making. He knew my great-grandfather, who was Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot for several years. Professor Slughorn said that I have what it takes to become a good potions brewer." While he'd been speaking, Alfie had raised his chin, clearly proud of his relative.

"Is that so?" you said in a low and dangerously soft voice. "Very well. Professor Slughorn has his methods of teaching, and I have mine. And in my class, you will be judged according to your knowledge and aptitude, is that clear?" Your voice had become louder, and your nose almost touched Alfie's. "If you want to remain in this class, Mr. Abercrombie..." You looked up and glared at the other students. "And that goes for the rest of you, too. If you want to continue this class, I expect you to work hard. I don't expect less than an Exceeds Expectations on all of your Potions N.E.W.T.s. And now, continue with your work."

There were no other interruptions; the students brewed the first stage of their potion – all of them were sufficiently skilled to avoid dangerous situations, and when you dismissed them, they shuffled off more or less agitated. The Slytherins looked smug and hopeful; they had picked up on the favouritism you had employed for your own house quickly. The other students grumbled, since many of Slughorn's favourites had considered Potions an easy class and were rather displeased that it was now turning out to be one of the toughest classes instead.

The second Potions class of that day, single Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw third-years, was more or less uneventful. A few well-placed deductions of house points had assured you of the undivided attention of that class. You gave them a slightly modified version of the same speech you had given your Advanced Potions class, and I stayed in your pocket all day and watched.

In the early evening, the prefects of Slytherin house were coming to your office to confer with their new Head of House. This was a rather dry and formal meeting that reminded me very much of my own meetings with Minerva when I had been a prefect: the same formality, the same boredom, maybe a bit less warmth. I was rather surprised to find that you possessed a dry wit similar to Minerva's, but I also thought that your kind of humour was completely wasted on your students.

The evening ended uneventfully. While you were in the bathroom, I crawled from your pocket back to my cage, and when you came out in your ridiculous, grey nightshirt again, I stared at you through the glass of my cage.

"Ah, Arachne, there you are," you said. "I missed you earlier. Been crawling around again, have you?" I didn't move.

"Well, it's easy to end up as a potions ingredient around here, so you'd want to be a bit more careful. You're such a beauty; it would be a shame if something happened to you."

I had climbed the wall and hopped out of the cage again. I crawled towards your hand, and you stroked me cautiously and then put me back.

"Time to get some sleep. Goodnight, Arachne."

So ended your first day of teaching at Hogwarts. I, however, made another time-jump and spent another uneventful evening at the Hog's Head.

Over the next two days, we established a kind of routine. I would hide in your pocket during the day, something you noticed soon enough and tolerated with amusement. You took great care not to put anything into that pocket that could hurt me. I slept through most of your lessons and was wide-awake and alert in the evenings when you read or marked essays. When you went to bed, you put me into the cage where I waited until I could leave for Hogsmeade.

Sometimes you talked to me in a soft voice, commenting on the events of the day with dry humour and a sharp wit. I enjoyed those moments; I found them highly amusing and only wished that I could add my own remarks to yours, since you commented on all the things that had caught my attention, too. This was something I hadn't expected at all. I found that I actually started to like you as a person, and not only respect you as a teacher and an ally. I decided then to try to get to know your older self better after my return to my own time – if we both survived the confrontation with Voldemort.

I wondered when you would be summoned to a Death Eater meeting for the first time after starting to teach. For a little while, I panicked, thinking that you might not be summoned at all, and that you would use other means to get information to Voldemort. I knew that as Voldemort's spy, you would have to provide some information eventually, but I wasn't certain if you perhaps used a secret code and merely sent messages.

However, when Minerva and I had come up with the plan, she had told me that you were summoned regularly in your function as Voldemort's spy after our fourth year. I tried to convince myself that this would be the routine used by you and Voldemort in 1981 as well.

On Saturday morning, a bright green flame flared up in the fireplace of your office. Someone had opened the Floo connection, and a head appeared in the flames.

"Severus, may I come through?"

"Professor Kettleburn? Of course, please come."

The green flame flared even higher and began to spin, and a moment later an old man stepped through. I recognised him; he had been Hagrid's predecessor as Care of Magical Creatures teacher and by the time of his retirement had only had one remaining leg and a total of five fingers on both hands. In 1981, he was missing the leg already, but his hands still seemed to have their full set of fingers.

Kettleburn was limping towards you, smiling. "No need to be so formal when no students are around, boy. Call me Lysander."

"Thank you," you said. "Was there a reason why you wanted to see me?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I brought the crickets for your spider." Kettleburn took a cardboard box with small holes out of his pocket and handed it to you.

"That wasn't necessary. Thank you. I could have picked them up easily from your office."

"Of course you could have, but I'm a nosy, meddling old codger. I wanted to see your spider. Where is she?" Kettleburn grinned disarmingly at you, but you only raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly.

"She's right here in my pocket. Most of the time, she sits on my shoulder or in one of my pockets. I don't know what she means by this, but that's where I usually find her."

"She seems to crave the warmth. May I hold her for a moment?"

You searched in your pocket and carefully took me in your hand. You presented me to Kettleburn on your open palm, and I crawled onto the old teacher's hand and let myself be admired.

"A perfect specimen. Such a beautiful girl. Nice, long, shiny hair, covering the legs evenly, and quite dense on the body. A lovely colour, too. And her temperament is rather fiery, or so I've heard?"

You smirked. "She is amazingly strong-willed for a spider. Docile when you're calm, aggressive when someone bothers her. She even hissed at the Headmaster."

"Did she now?" Kettleburn laughed. "But Dumbledore seemed to be quite taken with her when he told me about it. I daresay that most of our colleagues are less... ah... enthusiastic about your idea of a pet."

"She's not my pet. I can't keep her. I don't really have the time to care for an animal at the moment, although she would make a good familiar. I will keep her until the first Hogsmeade weekend, and if no one has claimed her by then, I will try to find a permanent home for her."

"I know someone who would pay you twenty Galleons for her. She's perfect; she could be very valuable for breeding... Hey, what did I say?" Kettleburn gave me back to you after I had raised my upper body and front legs threateningly and started to hiss. "Here. She really seems fixated on you, Severus. Maybe it's your voice, your smell, or the emotions you transmit, but she seems to like yours, and not mine." He chuckled. "There you have it; even a spider prefers the young bloke to the old codger."

You smiled coldly. "Can I do anything else for you?"

"No, I'd better go now. I have to mark some essays." Kettleburn grabbed a handful of Floo powder and left.

"How you must have laughed about the idiot who spoke to spiders!"

"I'm sorry. No, there's still quite a bit of explaining to do. Just hear me out, please."

Later that day, you put me into my cage, told me firmly, "You stay here, no hiding in my pockets when I go out!" and left.

I was worried. I had no idea where you were going and when you would return, or if you had been summoned.

When you returned several hours later, you looked pale and drawn. You threw your travelling cloak over a chair, went to the fireplace and called to the Headmaster.

"Professor Dumbledore, can I come through?"

I jumped out of my cage in a hurry. I wanted to be in your pocket before you Flooed to the Headmaster, but before I could get there, Albus Dumbledore stepped through the flames into your room.

"You must be very tired, Severus. Sit down and get some rest. You look terrible."

You nodded and sank down on the sofa at the fireplace, looking forlorn and very young. The Headmaster summoned a house-elf and ordered a cup of hot chocolate for you.

"Now, get your strength back and then tell me all about it." Dumbledore pressed your shoulder briefly and sat down in an armchair facing you.

You drank down the hot chocolate in a few gulps. I wondered how you could drink the steaming liquid that quickly, but when you had finished, some colour had returned to your face, and you took a deep breath before you started to speak.

"The Dark Lord was pleased, Headmaster. He summoned me privately, without other Death Eaters around, and indicated that this would be his preferred method of receiving my reports unless there is need for a general meeting. I am to meet him every weekend at around the same time, upon his summons. He explicitly ordered me to socialise with my colleagues, as I did today. The Dark Lord thinks that listening to their gossip will give him an idea about how ordinary people think about his campaign. He trusts that not all teachers are loyal to you."

Dumbledore nodded and glanced encouragingly at you. "Good. We can work with this. Continue, please."

"He was especially pleased with my status as Head of House. He expects me to gain the trust of the Slytherin students and give them advice that benefits him." You pressed your lips tightly together and glared at the Headmaster.

Dumbledore returned your glare with a kind smile. "I'm well aware of the burden this imposes on you, Severus. It is a fine balance between counselling pureblood students to follow the directives and traditions of their families and actively sending them to become Death Eaters. Only a Slytherin can gain their trust sufficiently to do that. Only a Slytherin can walk that fine line." You were scowling, but he beamed brightly at you. "Oh, Severus, I'm so glad that we have you on our side."

"More like being caught between a rock and a hard place," you mumbled, but I, who by now sat on your shoulder again, wasn't sure if that comment had been loud enough to be heard by Albus Dumbledore. I, however, had felt the suppressed anguish, and my heart went out to you. I always had thought that Harry's fate was a hard and unfair one. But to me, your younger self's fate didn't seem much easier, although fairness demanded me to admit that you had mostly brought that fate upon you yourself, unlike Harry who had always been used like a chess piece.

"I can only repeat again and again how much this means to our cause, Severus, and how grateful I am. But now you should get some sleep. You look completely worn out. I will take your full report in my office tomorrow. Goodnight." And with a friendly nod, the Headmaster stepped into the fireplace.

I cursed violently. What good did all my scheming, transforming and hiding do, if when the important things happened, I sat in a cage and might not even be able to listen in on the full reports you were giving the Headmaster? This wasn't good. I would have to go to Hogsmeade as soon as you were asleep, but instead of watching you and following you wherever it was you were summoned to, I had to help out at the bar of the Hog's Head to do my 'general spying'. Finding the artefact that was used with Dorcas Meadowes' death had to be my first priority, after all.

The thought of the young woman being killed soon made me depressive. How could I sit here and speculate about the 'use' of Dorcas' death when I could neither warn nor help the poor woman? Not for the first time, I heartily cursed the inventors of time-travelling devices. With a sad sigh, I waited for you to go to sleep. Then I made my way to Hogsmeade to start my new job.

The work at the bar was fairly easy; most of the patrons were very quiet, more the type to listen than to talk. The barman, Aberforth Dumbledore, wasn't very talkative either, but I hoped that I might get some information through him over time.

Halfway through the evening, I saw to my surprise how you came to the pub, accompanied by Professor Kettleburn and some other Hogwarts teachers, neither of whom I knew. They must have retired before I started school. I tried to watch you, but all I saw was that you were sitting quietly with your colleagues, drinking a glass of Firewhisky. Professor Kettleburn did most of the talking; he laughed heartily and drank with gusto.

After a while, your colleagues left, and you moved to the bar, ordering another glass. I felt rather weird serving you the drink. I very much wanted to talk to you, but didn't quite know how to start a conversation. I thought I made a rather poor barmaid, but then, I wasn't paid for talking to the guests, but for serving them drinks. Just when I summoned my courage and approached you, I saw you flinch and jump up from your barstool. You threw a few Knuts on the table and left in a hurry. You must have been summoned, I thought. But instead of following, I had to stay the rest of the evening and serve drinks until the pub closed for the night.

None the wiser than before, I cleaned myself up in my rented room and then secretly went back to Hogwarts where I wondered in my cage what the next day would bring.

"So it was all planned after all. You approached me deliberately... I think I've heard enough, now."

"Perhaps. Continue."