I'll Stand Alone

-In reality, the mind is very, very fragile.
There are cracks in everybody's minds-

From the diary of Liliana Woodville:

Tuesday:

Woke up with terrible headache. Don't feel like being eloquent in diary because of said headache so posterity will have to live with it. Students are pissed because they can't hex anything anymore. Worried for a few moments that they might decide to start hexing me instead. I'm pissed because now I have to lecture until I find another way for them to curse things that won't turn on me in a suitably ironic way. Did lecture about vampires; students stayed interested long enough that there was a minimum of fidgeting. I can't stand fidgeting. It seems all those days and nights spent reading One Thousand and One Ways to Identify Ghouls, Hags and Gadabouts and the Compendium of Creatures So Dark and Dastardly They Eat Light for Breakfast paid off. At least my eyes weren't ruined for nothing.

Snape still following me like a overly stretched and mutated version of my own shadow. Won't leave me alone, even after I showed him a nice and convenient window he could jump out of. It was the right height and width and everything. Sneers that he promised the Headmaster. Well, I never promised the Headmaster that I wouldn't hex Snape into a jellyfish. Probably be an improvement. He could make friends with the giant squid in the lake, except the squid would probably be repulsed by Snape too.

Lilika put her quill down and tried to rub away the tension in her forehead with stiff thumbs. Her headache had grown even worse over the course of the day and she was beginning to develop a slight cough as well. It was just about time for her to fall ill again; she hadn't been sick in oh, about six months now. She was always falling ill from something or another-colds, coughs, rashes and one memorable time, walking pneumonia, which caused her a five week stay in a Muggle hospital with doctors poking and prodding, trying to find the reason a perfectly healthy young woman kept falling ill. If that hadn't been enough, a few overly happy Muggle reporters had shown up as well, delighted to finally catch the elusive Lady Woodville in a position where she couldn't run away from them or better still, turn them into toadstools which could then be stepped on.

Lilika snorted to herself. It wasn't as if she was all that high a noble anyway; her father had only been a baron, the lowest "rank" possible for a peer. No, they weren't interested in her just because she was a privacy-loving creature; they were interested in the only survivor of a family massacre. Nevermind that she had been miles away at the time. Her fingers plucked at her skirts.

"I don't want to think about this," she said out loud to herself. "I'll just get all broody again, and brooding does not mix with headaches. I should just go to bed."

With a snap of her fingers the bedside lamp went out.

After the meeting with the Headmaster, Lilika had mentally prepared herself for even more unpleasantness from Snape. Headmaster's request aside, she never really believed Snape would temper his behavior towards her, and she strongly suspected that it would take more then a few words to change Snape's mindset towards her.

She was right.

After Tuesday, not a stellar day to start with, Lilika's week went rapidly downhill. Her headache persisted, despite trying nearly all of Madam Pomfrey's remedies for it, and her cough worsened into a rusty, painful hack that left her throat aching. Teaching her classes had become almost intolerable; her students lacked the patience to endure an entire week of nothing but lectures after they'd been having so much fun. The whispers and fidgeting were driving her to distraction and her entire teaching plan was in tatters.

There were worse things then mere fidgeting. Fidgeting almost looked good next to the stares and whispers that dogged her in the halls after the attack and seeing the fear and suspicion on the faces of some of her students; they were the ones who refused to meet her eyes. Many seemed to think that since Dumbledore hadn't sacked her she wasn't responsible for the attack, but seeing the carefully downcast gaze of the few who did think her responsible made her stomach writhe.

And Snape. Snape, who was fast becoming the first thing she saw in the morning and last thing she looked on at night, was close to driving her mad. In her weakened state, overwhelmed by the events of the past few days and her illness, his behavior was quietly and efficiently shredding away all her self-control. He seemed positively determined, nay, eager to be even nastier to her then he had been before, and now he was timing things so there was always an audience (usually Slytherins) for his frequent barbs. Lilika had no choice in these situations but to press her lips together more tightly, hold her head higher and pretend she had gone deaf. The man was begging to be hung upside down from the Whomping Willow in nothing but his shorts, but the thought of Snape in nothing but his shorts gave her stomach a nasty turn.

On Wednesday she finally lost it after Snape made a particularly nasty crack about her dress and the effects the colour had on her complexion. Whilst the Slytherins around him sniggered appreciatively, she snapped.

"Get away!" she growled, pointing at a nearby flight of stairs. "Promise or no-remove yourself from my presence-get you gone, squish away like the nasty little slime you are-just GO!"

One of Snape's eyebrows went high and a smirk drifted across his face as he lapped up the proof of his success, almost licking his lips as if he was pulling the juicy bits of rage out of her words and savouring them. The Slytherins watched avidly, their eyes darting back and forth from one face to the other like darts, waiting with barely concealed eagerness for the next words from their Head's mouth.

"My lady," he said smoothly, "I don't believe you can command me to do anything. You have no power here-something you very much seem to forget-and it certainly isn't my fault that you are such a fragile little flower that you require my constant protection and vigilance." The Slytherins laughed, nudging each other whilst her hands knotted themselves into fists that shook.

"I am merely doing someone a favour by watching you," Snape went on, a benign expression on his narrow face. "I'm sure you don't want them to become disappointed because you are trying to prevent me from fulfilling my duty. This is all for you, after all. You might be a little more appreciative. Pity you are so ungrateful. The hallmark of a spoiled child."

He'd taken to calling her "my lady" now; possibly trying to subtly tip off someone to the truth of her origins. She'd heard about Remus Lupin and how Snape had "accidentally" let slip the secret that he was a werewolf from Sinistra, and all Monday night her blood had swirled with icy dread at the idea that Snape might also "accidentally" slip that she was a Woodville. Dumbledore had apparently had a word with him on the subject however, as none of the other teachers had run shrieking in fear from her yet. No, they wouldn't run shrieking from her; they'd either try to hex her at sight, or close ranks and look at her from the corners of their eyes. Snape had been a flipping Death Eater and the faculty didn't seem to care, whilst she, who was pure and clean and had never succeeded in killing anyone in her life (and it had only been one person and she had a sneaking suspicion that most people would have not only preferred but approved it if she had managed to off Lucius Malfoy after all) was condemned because of the completely random accident of birth. Ahh, to be sport for the gods.

Lilika listened to the snickers of the Slytherins, took in the cold, amused sneer on Snape's face and felt all of her resolve not to give in to Snape crystallize into large, sharp points.

She let him off very leniently with "At least I don't have a nose so large it casts shade enough for ten men", turned on her heel and marched back to Ravenclaw Tower.

By Thursday, the Slytherins knew their Head had an enemy and proving once more that birds of a feather flock together (especially if those birds were nasty and overeager vultures) set out to make her life absolutely miserable. Her Slytherin classes went wild, laughing and cavorting about, paying their lessons no mind and mocking her whenever her back was turned. She'd ended up taking nearly fifty points from Slytherin in retaliation; then word began to drift back that Snape was suddenly coming down very hard on the Ravenclaws for all sorts of trivial infractions. Gryffindor had been the only House that typically received that treatment and the whispers passing from person to person held her responsible. Low mutterings and angry eyes watched her from the shadows pooling in the corners of the Ravenclaw common room and Lilika had never been so glad to shut the door of her bedroom.

Friday she awakened feeling flushed and agitated. When she looked at herself in the mirror, her eyes looked too bright, the pupils almost swallowing the blue. She put a finger to the glass and the image wavered, smearing as if seen through shifting water.

Somehow she made it through her classes, her throat raw and her cough never-ending. To top it all off, her period came unexpectedly, wracking her with severe cramps and nausea. Lilika skipped dinner, saving what little remained of her energy to request a painkiller from Madam Pomfrey, and she spent the rest of the night in a drugged stupor, finally falling asleep at dawn with the potion bottle clutched between unfeeling fingers.

All the students had left for breakfast; the Tower was finally quiet. The Grey Lady smiled to herself as she began her daily inspection of Ravenclaw Tower, humming a tune from her youth as she went about her rounds. She took this duty very seriously; it was the core and purpose of her afterlife and when she was in a ironic mood she would say that she lived only to do it.

She had lived in Ravenclaw, mourned her husband and friends in Ravenclaw, died in Ravenclaw and it had sheltered her, kept her steady for nearly five hundred years. Therefore the Tower must be looked after, cared for, neatened and above all loved so it could continue to shelter students and refugees for the next five hundred.

She trailed lightly over the girl's dormitories, silvery skirts fluttering in a nonexistent wind, noting frayed curtains and chipped furniture. Professor Flitwick's rooms were always so neat; it always gave the Grey Lady a pale glow of approval when things were ordered correctly. Professor Sinistra's rooms were covered in star charts and papers scribbled with interplanetary conjunctions. Sinistra had once amused her greatly by offering to do a horoscope for her based on the star alignments at her birth and then calculating how many of the predictions had come true. Some had and many had not, but the ones that had been true had stunned her with their accuracy. Defeat by a bastard child, victim of rumours and a long exile were all certainly on the mark. The Grey Lady sighed, stroking the shining body of Sinistra's telescope with one pale finger, nudging away the dust that clung to the instrument. Poor Richard. He tried his hardest, but fate had turned away from him and when Richard had fallen, they all tumbled down with him.

There remained only Professor Jardin's room to examine, and the Grey Lady set off, singing once more until she realized the tune was "Greensleeves" and broke off with an oath. She continued on her way, passing through several walls and taking a shortcut through the boys dormitory. The Professor's room was right off the common room, and the nearest to the door out of Ravenclaw Tower.

The Grey Lady was not afraid to admit she was very fond of the little professor, mostly because the girl reminded her so strongly of well...herself. A young woman lacking any kind of family, wealthy and well bred, fleeing to Hogwarts for refuge...Of course she had never had the Professor's positively foul temper or her irreverent manner, but the similarities were there.

She slipped through the door of the Professor's room, frowned as she stepped into a dim, half-lit place where objects loomed out of the shadows like threats. The curtains were drawn and the light was still burning feebly at the bedside table. What was the reason?

Blankets were massed into a lump in the center of the bed.

"Still sleeping?" the Grey Lady asked, not yet worried. The professor did have a tendency to oversleep on the weekends. "Get up my slug-a-bed; you'll miss breakfast and it will make you cross."

A low moan rose from around the middle of the mass. "Please stop."

The Grey Lady blinked twice. "Stop what?" Prickles of unease began tapping her gently and she bent, began unwinding the blankets.

"The clock, the ticking clock. Please stop it. It makes my head ache so badly."

She lost the concentration necessary to make her form solid enough for her to handle objects and the blankets slipped back between her transparent fingers. "There's no ticking clock here dearest," she finally replied. A few minutes pause; a few memories of deep breathing gave her back the composure she needed.

The blankets parted, revealing a tangled mass of hair limp and clotted together with sweat. The Grey Lady brushed her finger over the hair, moved it enough to glimpse the girl's unnaturally red face beneath. She couldn't feel temperatures, but there was clearly no need.

"That damn clock won't stop," Professor Jardin muttered and turned away.

The Grey Lady was rooted to her spot on the bed, turmoil and fear causing the silvery mists of her body to churn and darken much like ocean water before a storm. Memories flooded her; a memory of panic, a memory of despair, a memory of a young woman in a room just like this one, lying in a bed remarkably similar to the one she was seated on now, burning with fever and tossing, raving, dying...

She was halfway down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower before she remembered herself, and as she hurried, she began to do something she hadn't done for nearly five hundred years. Yell.

"PROFESSOR FLITWICK! PROFESSOR FLITWICK!"

They had gathered in the Ravenclaw common room; himself, the Headmaster, and Professor Flitwick, all seated in a ring and waiting for a door to open. An hour passed. The only sounds audible were brief bursts of noise that emanated from behind the closed door in frustratingly incoherent and random intervals and the slow, ponderous ticking of the ancient grandfather clock that stood sentry in the Ravenclaw common room. Once in a great while they would hear the soft, strained sounds of the Grey Lady weeping.

Flitwick leaned forward, touched the Headmaster's arm. "You must forgive her-you realise it's a heavy subject for her, that's how she died, after all...she had a right to be wild about it. And she is very fond of Lily."

The Headmaster's reply was too low-pitched for him to catch, though he leaned forward as subtly as he could. He sat back again, muttered a curse under his breath. There was really no end of trouble from this girl. Pain and strife and stress; that was all she brought.

Wood creaked from across the room, and he looked up just in time to see the door inch open and Madam Pomfrey's broad hand come around it and wave. "You can come in now, if you want," she called, and the hand disappeared.

The Headmaster rose to his feet at once. "What's wrong with her Poppy?" he asked, striding to the door ahead of Flitwick and stopping right on the threshold. Flitwick managed to slip in underneath the Headmaster's arm, but he was left trying to peer over the Headmaster's shoulder. Snape could see Madam Pomfrey bustling about, tidying up her instruments and making little clucking sounds with her tongue.

"Thankfully, it isn't serious. Oh, it looks bad, and she has a nasty fever, but it just seems to be a violent case of the flu. The fever's the tricky part-she was raving just a few moments ago. I've given her a sleeping potion and something to bring the fever down, but once the fever breaks she'll most likely be fine. Just weak." She sighed, looking grim. "I better lay in a good supply of Pepper-up Potion if she's passed it on to any of the students. That's just what I need-an outbreak of the flu and with the holidays coming up!"

Just the flu! He snorted to himself. All this fuss over a common cold! Well, she never could do the simplest things without a lot of dramatics, now could she?

Dumbledore caught his eye, nodded to him once while Flitwick was busy squeaking over the girl. He nodded back, mouth tight.

They had already been over this plan, hastily formulated in the first few moments after they had learned of the girl's illness. Snape was to wait until Madam Pomfrey had departed and then carefully check the girl to insure that her condition wasn't the result of some hex or potion. After all, the Headmaster had pointed out, the timing was suspiciously close to the attack by the golem. If there was someone after the girl, they might be trying more evasive means the next time around. And what was alarming about a case of the flu?

The Headmaster touched his arm once more, nodded to Madam Pomfrey and Flitwick, then slipped out the door, finally allowing him to step into the room and see things for the first time.

The girl was nothing more then a limp curl of flesh underneath the heavy blankets of her bed, face turned away from him. Her raspy breathing echoed off the high ceilings, and it made his ears ache.

Flitwick had left when he wasn't looking, mumbling something about telling the Grey Lady; that just left himself and Madam Pomfrey. Excellent. The faster this could be done, the happier he would be and he didn't want to stick around too long in a room filled with the fetid smell of sickness and distorted breathing. He moved to her side, pressed a finger into her hot cheek. The bright red of her skin faded away from his touch, leaving a small white dent. He took the finger away and watched the red flow slowly back into the depression his finger had left.

"Professor Snape?" Madam Pomfrey said from behind him and he nearly jumped. Fine thing this was, being so involved with this girl he forgot everything else! She wasn't worth it.

"Are you planning to stay?" Pomfrey asked, and he nodded, a quick jerk of his head. She looked pleased. "Good. You don't mind keeping an eye on her for a few moments while I go and get my things from the infirmary, do you? I'm going to be watching her all night."

"No, I don't mind." Not when I'm forced to be here anyway.

"Thank you," she said, looking so perfectly cheerful he wanted to shake her.

The girl shifted, turned over. Her hair fell in damp waves across her face and Madam Pomfrey brushed it away with a grimace. "I'll have to braid her hair out of the way-goodness, how does a little thing like that manage with all that hair?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, nor do I care," he said stiffly. "Now, Madam Pomfrey, I do have other things that require my attention..."

"Of course." Pomfrey picked up her bag and moved to go. Finally! He slid his wand out of his sleeve, waiting for the precise moment when Pomfrey left the room.

The Woodville girl's eye moved restlessly under the lids, very much like the way they had under the Veritaserum, and she began to murmur, then whisper brokenly to herself.

"Nurse," she called suddenly, eyes still shut tight. "Nurse! I didn't say you could leave. I need you here besides me." Her tone was lighter and higher then normal, with the peevish undertone and petulant pout of a child used to being obeyed at once.

Snape stared at her. Was there no limit to the girl's nerve? "I don't believe you," he finally hissed. "Do you think everyone here is at your beck and call?"

Madam Pomfrey moved back to his side, placed a hand on the girl's forehead. "Oh, don't get so worked up." She looked up at him, eyes round and serious. "Don't you realise, Professor? She's not calling for me. She's most likely calling for a nanny she once had. I've seen this before; lots of people slip back to their childhoods when they're delirious. She hasn't been in her right mind since I came up here." She took her hand away from the girl's forehead, shaking it as if she'd been scalded. "Her forehead's still hot."

"Mother Greta," the girl said, a hint of panic crawling into her voice. "Where are you? You promised...you promised you wouldn't leave me. Clara, Agnes." She stretched her hands out imploringly, eyes now open and darting desperately around the room. "Where are you? I can't find you anywhere."

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "Didn't think she'd come out of it so soon," she muttered, a pensive look crossing her face. "I'd better get a stronger grade of Sleeping Potion if she's going to get any rest at all tonight."

Pomfrey left-much more quickly this time-and he was left with a delirious girl who seemed to have drifted back into her childhood. Her eyes had shut once more, but her limbs were still twitching under the covers.

"Just hold still," he murmured in what he hoped passed for a soothing tone, tapping his wand lightly on the hollow of her throat. "This will only take a minute..."

Her eyes opened.

"Don't," she said clearly, hands locking into place around his wand and pushing it off her throat. "I won't let you."

He touched the wand to her skin again. "Stop being so bothersome, you wretched girl. I ought to start a tab billing you for all the trouble I go through on your behalf. Now HOLD STILL."

Anyone else would have, should have frozen at his tone, but oh no, not her. She rose weakly, leaning heavily on her right side and shoved his wand away again, her breathing so rough it seemed like each breath was abrading her throat.

"You hate me," she whispered, her blue eyes so cold he could have gone ice-skating on them. "You've always hated me! I will not let you do this."

He shrugged, determined to keep his emotions from showing on his face. "What you want is irrelevant; I'm trying to help you. Accept it."

Her eyes locked onto his. They were flat and empty; mirrors turned inward, keeping everything hidden from him. "Do you want me to die?" Her voice was level, serious and steady.

Snape rolled his eyes and bit back a sigh. "Sane or delirious, you can't get that particular notion out of your foolish mind, can you? Rest assured Miss Woodville that I am not after your life, although if you continue to behave in your usual immature and vexing manner I might be before long." He took hold of her narrow shoulders, forced her to lie back as she squirmed in his grip. "Cease your convulsing so I can do my job."

"Father will kill you!" she gasped as she fought against his hands. "Don't think you can get away with this!"

He looked at her, taking in the fever-flushed cheeks, the matted black hair and her glassy, hate-filled eyes. He loosened his grip for just a moment.

"Your father is dead," he said as patiently as he could manage and tilted his head so he could stare directly into her eyes. The Woodville girl blinked a few times and then the corner of her mouth drew up.

"Now you're just being ridiculous," she said, shaking her head, the same small grimace on her lips. Some of her hair fell back into her eyes and he brushed it away, held it out of her face so he could keep watching her eyes. "Stop trying to trick me Mother; we both know Father isn't dead. He just went to Austria on business."

Snape dropped his hands to her shoulders, felt them curve inward under his fingers, the high sweet voice of a child echoing through his mind. "Ah," he said quietly, a gleam of comprehension rising. "You're reliving the time you were Sealed, aren't you?"

What she might have said he would never know, for at that moment Madam Pomfrey returned, lugging a large bag that appeared to be stuffed to the brim with jars and supplies. Snape quickly moved his hands off of the girl; she lay back against the pillows, panting like a man on a hard race.

"Now," said Madam Pomfrey, bustling over to the girl with a large blue-tinged bottle. "My dear, let's get you settled..."

Madam Pomfrey laid a hand on her shoulder and the girl went wild.

"NO! NO!" she shrieked frantically, slapping at Madam Pomfrey's hands. "GET AWAY FROM ME!"

The jars went flying; some broke against the rug and the room filled with the acrid, nose-tightening smell of medicinal herbs. Madam Pomfrey was trying in vain to control the raging girl, who was screaming and kicking as if a dozen strong men were around her. Blood shone on the nurse's face from where the girl's nails had slashed her and he realised with a bit of shock that Madam Pomfrey was not going to be able to control the girl on her own.

"STOP IT!" he yelled, pulling Miss Woodville away from Madam Pomfrey. "CONTROL YOURSELF!" Nothing he said did any good; if anything his shouts seemed to frighten her and made her fight all the harder.

"I WON'T LET YOU!" she yelled, clearly hysterical. Her lips were drawn back from her teeth like a wild animal waiting to spring and tear throats out. Snape wrapped his arms around her and managed to pin her arms down to her sides, but not before she clawed at his face, leaving a long, bleeding wound.

"She can't hear you," Madam Pomfrey said hoarsely from across the room. She was dabbing at the cut on her face. "Yelling isn't going to do any good; she's in her own world now. You don't matter to her."

"She will not be allowed to act like this, delirium or no," he snarled, feeling blood dribble down his face. "Not when she's injuring people." The girl continued to struggle, small gasps of rage escaping her lips. If he didn't find a way to hold her still and keep her subdued he would be left unable to fulfill his duty. That could not be tolerated.

He settled onto the bed, wrapped his much longer arms and legs around her small body so she was effectively trapped in his lap. Her body burned as if fire simmered in her veins instead of blood; the heat seeped into his bones, making him feel briefly light-headed. Still she fought him. He circled his left arm around her waist, leaving her arms pinioned to her sides, and raised his wand.

"I'm going to do my job now," he muttered, "and no one is going to interfere."

"Don't Stun her!" Madam Pomfrey yelped in alarm.

He ignored her and settled the point of his wand in the hollow between her breasts, right over the Woodville girl's heart.

It was a simple scrying spell, meant to reveal any abnormal magic or enchantments that might have been cast over a person. He closed his eyes, letting the picture the wand gave him flow into his mind; absolutely no fresh enchantments of any sort. So, it was just a case of the flu.

But what was this?

Right over her heart, just about where his wand was positioned, there was a most curious object. It resembled nothing more then a large tangled knot of ribbons, all twined and twisted together with the free ends streaming in all directions. The loose ribbons pulsed with a dull golden light while the knotting itself was more of a grey. His eyebrows came together and he frowned. What the hell?

The girl moaned and shifted in his arms.

"Stop it," he murmured, resting his chin on top of her head while he prodded the odd item through his spell. He could dimly hear Madam Pomfrey calling him as if from a great distance and he did not care.

Some of the ribbons looked a bit crinkled, as if they had been tied and then straightened out. The knot itself also bulged in strange places; as if someone had been pulling at the twining ribbons, trying to loosen it. He pulled lightly at one of the slacker turns in the knot and she gasped.

"I see," he whispered, feeling a mounting excitement course through his veins. " I see. This is your Seal, isn't it?" He tugged again at the loose fold, attempting to work it free. "Someone's already been at this, hmm? You? I doubt it," he muttered into her hair. "Enchantments like this are usually cast so the victim can't undo it...was your father trying to free you? How thoughtful of Andrew."

So, if he was right (and he was almost entirely certain he was) the ribbons represented her magic power and the knot was the representation of the flow of power being choked off. He continued his efforts to tease the lax strand free, all the while wondering if this was the right thing to do. Freeing her from the Seal would only give her more power; and if the thickness of the free ribbons represented the power of the wizard then she was already commanding a fair bit of power. Not as powerful as him, but certainly enough to be a decent and potentially dangerous threat. He shrugged, dismissing his qualms. The pleasure of having something to hold over her head spurred him on despite his misgivings.

"Ungrateful minx," he breathed as her movements became more violent. "Stop fighting me-you will be thankful for this later, though I'm sure you won't admit it. And I anticipate a very large favour in return."

She whimpered in his grasp.

Another tug and his thread slipped free, joining the others now flowing off to different directions and he laughed out loud, feeling quite pleased with his triumph. Snape then turned his attention to other loose strands, pulling with his power, coaxing reluctant ends free. Each time a ribbon fell free she would thrash and make low-pitched sounds, but he only took casual notice of her reactions.

"Relax," he said sharply after her movements threatened to become too agitated, tightening his arm around her body. "Relax. This is for your own good."

He shifted his chin into a more comfortable place on her hair and breathed deeply. She smelt of illness and the fulsome scent of fever sweat, but underneath the more offensive smells lay hints of vanilla and lavender and he inhaled again, searching for the sweetness hiding within the reek.

"Stop," she muttered, twining against him. "Stop..."

He lifted his nose from her hair.

"I'll stop when I'm done," he snapped, returning his attention to the shrunken knot hovering in her chest. "It won't kill you to stay still for a few more moments. Go to sleep or something."

The knot was by now much smaller, but the ribbons that lay at the center were bound together so tightly he could find no room to slip his magic in. He tried, pulling and picking, but after several long and frustrating minutes only a tiny bit had been pulled out. He gritted his teeth and redoubled his attempts as the girl writhed.

There... His thread became looser and he clutched it with all his strength.

Miss Woodville had become perfectly still in his lap.

Almost have it...

The golden ribbons flashed, the light so bright it blinded him for a few moments. The girl slumped forward. "Miss Woodville..?"

Snape barely had time to process all this-light, blind, girl-before a force pushed very hard on his chest.

He flew backwards out the bedroom door and smacked hard into the floor of the Ravenclaw common room, skidding to a stop almost at the feet of the Headmaster and Madam Pomfrey. He groaned quietly, already feeling the bruises rising on his hip.

"Ah, Severus," the Headmaster said, offering him a hand up with what looked like a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "I did wonder when you were going to finish, but I hadn't the heart to interrupt you while you were so engrossed. You're not hurt?"

"No, I..." Before he could finish, Madam Pomfrey shrieked and pointed at the room he had just exited. "Look!"

Books were flying about, hurling themselves off shelves with abandon and crashing into the floor with loud, gleeful thumps. The Headmaster crossed to the door, peered in, then ducked as a book flew past him at roughly the speed of light. "How very interesting."

"Is Miss Woodville doing this, sir?" he asked quietly, eyeing Madam Pomfrey. "I'm afraid I might have caused this-that Seal she's under..."

With soft, rapid words he told the Headmaster of spotting the Seal during his examination, and of his efforts to loosen it. Dumbledore nodded at several points in his explanation but made no comment. "Stored energy gone wild-and since she's ill she's unable to control it," the Headmaster muttered. "I suppose I'd better put a stop to this before our Dark Arts professor damages herself or her library further."

The Headmaster ducked inside the room and there was a brief flare of light, then several thuds as errant books dropped out of flight and onto the floor. Madam Pomfrey darted back inside, and he heard a very audible gasp followed by more worried hen noises. The Headmaster remained inside the room, talking in a low, reassuring rumble; whether it was meant for the girl or Madam Pomfrey he couldn't tell.

So that was that. He glanced at the bedroom door quickly, but the Headmaster showed no signs of emerging anytime soon. There was really no reason to stay: he had completed his task as promised and now there was no further use for him. Snape tucked his wand back into his sleeve, turned to go-he did have several potions waiting for his attention-and came face to face with the brilliant silver stare of the Grey Lady.

"What did you do to her?" she asked softly, her eyebrows raised and her gaze imperious. Noblewomen were all alike.

"I did nothing to your precious lady," he snapped, turning to go past her-or through her if it became necessary. "I have things that require my attention elsewhere, so kindly move out of my way."

She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes further and the pale light that radiated off her turned a somber and murky grey. "You were holding her, doing something to her, all in a most inappropriate manner. I ask you again. What did you do to her?"

He could feel a vein throbbing in his temple. Everything he did in regard to that woman was treated with suspicion and misgivings, even when he was trying to help. Did his years of loyal service count for nothing where this girl was involved? "It was all for her own benefit! Ask the Headmaster if you don't believe me. I have nothing further to say to you; now move please."

He was getting thoroughly tired of this. Pestered by a ghost and a girl. Perhaps the Grey Lady was some distant ancestor of the Woodville girl; it would explain perfectly why they were both so damn haughty and annoying.

The Grey Lady looked at him once more, then stepped aside, a grim expression on her translucent features. He strode past her, out the door to Ravenclaw and began to make his way down the steep and winding stairs.

"She doesn't like you, you know!" the Grey Lady shouted when he was halfway down the staircase.

"Tell her the feeling is mutual then!" he yelled back, and stalked back to his dungeons, in a very bad frame of mind all the way.

The note came for him after his third period class; a simply folded sheet of parchment with many ink blots showing darkly upon it. He opened it carefully, using a spare quill and the tips of his fingers; skimmed the contents, recognised the spidery handwriting and groaned. No wonder the letter was so messy. Why didn't she get someone to write it for her if her fingers were still too weak to hold a quill properly?

Snape:
I want to talk to you. Get yourself up here whenever you have a free moment, but no later then three.
LW

"Of all the cheek," he muttered, folding her note into smaller and smaller squares. "Does she think I'm at her beck and call?"

At precisely five minutes before three he entered Ravenclaw Tower and walked over to her room, a sweet and rather melancholy tune ringing in the air around him. So, apparently she was well enough to both be her usual rude self and to play music very loudly. He stood and listened for a moment. Single piano notes clear and chiming like bells, lots of humming and words sung in a language he couldn't identify.

Je voudrais, si je le pouvais...lalalu..si je le pouvais

He rapped on the door forcefully. The musics' volume seesawed for a moment, then lowered. "Come in," she called, in a distinctly irritated tone of voice.

mmmm...rose rouge...

Snape entered and stopped in the doorway, arms crossed and fingers tapping his elbows impatiently. The Woodville girl looked up from her bed, her expression both expectant and annoyed. She lay propped up on pillows, a dark blue dressing gown around her shoulders and her face had a nasty green tint to it that made her look as though she was fighting a bad case of seasickness. Her hair was braided and fell heavily over one shoulder; it looked unwashed and most likely hadn't been, and a large black book lay on the covers at her side, the pages ruffled. She took her round black glasses off and shook her head disapprovingly at him. "Finally."

"Don't give me that," he sneered. "You're damn lucky I came here at all, after receiving your filthy and arrogant little scribble. What do you want?"

yoake ni...kirameku...hikari no naifu de...

Her eyebrows made a quick trip to her hairline and came back down again, yet amazingly she remained silent. The girl folded her hands neatly in her lap and eyed him for a few minutes, her expression neutral.

"I understand you are the one taking over my classes while I'm recuperating," she said smoothly, before he could wonder at the meaning of her behavior. "Why is that?"

"Why? Because I am the one with the most experience in the Dark Arts at this school," he said stiffly, still slightly put off by her calm attitude.

"And yet you say that without a trace of irony," she said in a musing tone, her lips pursed.

anata no...yume no naka...nozoite mirai...

He found himself leaning over her bed with no recollection of having moved, fighting a very strong urge to show her exactly, down to the finest details why it was not a good idea to cross him. "You vicious, ungrateful woman," he whispered, face close to hers and noticed with distant satisfaction that she had pressed back against the pillows ever so slightly. "You should be on your knees thanking me that your classes will not suffer your absence! My life now has to revolve around your problems and yet you refuse to show even a little proper gratitude for everything I do for you, much less even acknowledge it!"

itooshii...sono mune no.

"Everything you do for me?" she said very quietly. "Like what you did to my power?"

"What?" he asked and actually blinked in confusion, the unexpected question bringing his fury to a halt. "What are you talking about?"

"You know perfectly what I mean Severus Snape." She hissed his name like it was a curse, like something filthy that deserved to be dragged in the mud, her thin face distorting with anger. "You took it upon yourself to try and undo my Seal that night...not even caring that it felt like a thousand knives stabbing me every time you dissolved a bit...yes, it hurt. And you neither noticed, cared or stopped."

chiisagu...

"I didn't realise! I thought you were thrashing about because of the fever!" Beads of sweat slipped down his face, pooled at the back of his neck.

"That's another thing! I wasn't in my right mind that night, yet you went ahead and did something that will have a major affect my life from now on without asking my permission or if this was something I wanted! Now I have to get used to dealing with a whole new level of power then what I'm used to and I can't handle this while I'm sick! I tried to Accio a book before and the damn thing came at me so fast it nearly broke my hand!"

Her words came out on a quiet but very angry rasp and to his alarm she moved forward, leaning in ever closer in her fury. He found himself moving back until he nearly tumbled off the edge of the bed.

This...isn't right.

The Woodville girl leaned back against her pillows once more, face pale and eyes glittering, her fury apparently spent. They looked at each other in silence for what seemed like a very long while.

Then...she laughed.

"Now you see how it feels when someone gets right in your face!" she chuckled. Her laughter turned into a fit of coughing and she turned away to take a handkerchief from her bedside table.

He got back to his feet with a most undignified scramble, felt hot blood flooding his face. "You...you..."

She tilted a brow at him. "You can't take being on the receiving end, can you? I meant what I said Snape. I'm not happy with you right now...though I've never been happy with you to begin with."

"I was only trying to help!" he snarled, nearly biting his tongue off in rage. "You at least have more power now, you can defend yourself better, can't you find some satisfaction in that?" Silence was his answer and he found himself not wanting to look at her face. "Fine. I promise I will never again do anything to you without your permission. Happy?"

"Is that all you're going to say?" she asked softly.

"Yes!" He couldn't stand this. She was angry at him and he was angry at himself because she was angry at him and he was even more angry with himself for caring about what she thought...

She picked up a folder that had been laying on her night table, pushed it towards him. "My lesson plan. All my classes have an exam next Monday; the outline for each year is inside. You will make sure to go over all the review material with all my classes?"

"Don't tell me how to teach," he snapped, tucking the folder into his robes. "I'll come to you if there are any problems."

"Fine," she said, suddenly sounding very tired. The girl rolled away from him and pulled her covers over her head. "You can show yourself out, I'm going to take a nap."

"Goodnight," he growled, heading for the door. He shut it a little too loudly behind him and left Ravenclaw Tower for his dungeons with a queer throbbing tightness in his chest and the last strains of her music beating in his ears.

I refuse to grow soft...I cannot tolerate any weaknesses now...

yasashii...

"C'mon Hermione," Ron said through a mouthful of potato. "It's got to be you. Snape'll go nuts if he finds out Harry or I ratted him out. So, what do you say?"

"Why can't any of the other Gryffindors do it?" Hermione replied, feeling a little frustration bubble up. Oh of course, let's use good old reliable Hermione as if she didn't have enough to do already with three exams and two papers coming up! "Snape's just as likely to go off on me as any of the others, right?"

Ron took another helping, darting a look at Harry as he did, but Harry was staring off into the shadows that lined the Great Hall and eating in a rather mechanical way. The distant look in his eyes gave the impression that he could be eating Galleons instead of cereal and scarcely notice. She tried to fight down a twinge of worry as she watched him, knowing perfectly well that if she questioned him he would deny anything was wrong once again.

"Right, but I reckon if things go well Snape won't even know it was one of us who told. And we're the best friends Neville's got, you have to admit that," Ron said and finally pushed his plate away with a sigh. "The woman might be a complete loony but I'd take her over Snape any day."

Hermione turned her head to look at the empty seat up at the high table. Professor Jardin had been out for almost a week now, and most of the Gryffindors (and every other House except Slytherin) seemed ready to snap under the pressure of having Snape snarl at them twice a day, every day.

Ron caught what she was staring at and turned around himself. "Snape seems to hate her as much as Lupin," Ron said in a low voice, peering at Snape out of the corner of his eyes. "Wonder why?"

"Maybe they knew each other when they were younger, just like with Sirius and Professor Lupin," Hermione replied, a little distracted. Was it her imagination or did Snape's narrow eyes keep flicking over to Professor Jardin's empty chair?

"I don't think so," Harry said unexpectedly and she jumped, cracking her shin painfully against one of the table supports. "I heard she didn't go to Hogwarts and Sirius said he's never heard of any wizarding family with that last name."

"Finally decided to rejoin us, eh Harry?" Ron said, clapping Harry on the back with a look of delight. "You haven't said a word all morning." Ron's face was cheerful, but he sent a look over to Hermione that clearly said Help me out here. "Sirius said he'd be coming for Christmas, right? Doesn't that help a bit?"

"Yeah," Harry said slowly, picking at what remained of his food. "He did."

"No news is good news, right Hermione?" Ron said, his cheer starting to sound a little forced.

She put on a smile, tried to make her tone light. "I guess."

Harry stood up, his face drawn and dark in the candlelight. He simply stood there for several minutes, eyes fixed on some object only he could see.

"That's what I used to think," Harry finally said, in a very quiet voice.

Later that day, Hermione climbed the stairs to Ravenclaw Tower, where Professor Jardin had her rooms, feeling a constant dull ache of apprehension with every step. She'd needed special permission from Professor Flitwick in order to enter the Tower, as students were typically not allowed into other Houses' common rooms. The staircase was very steep and became tighter at every turn, so when she finally came in sight of the door she had to sit down and take a few deep breaths, wondering dizzily how the Ravenclaw students managed it.

Ron had disappeared with Harry after lunch, citing the need to cheer Harry up and judging from the lack of enthusiasm on Harry's face Ron's efforts weren't going to be worth much. Hermione breathed a sigh into the palm of her hand. Harry was so distant this year-so worried even though he tried to hide it. He had every right to be, yet...She still vividly remembered the look on Harry's face as he told her flatly at the beginning of the school year that no, his scar hadn't hurt once and there had been no dreams. Far from making a triumphant return, You-Know-Who had instead seemed to vanish off the face of the Earth. No disappearances, no Dark Magic flying about, nothing...Even Sirius couldn't find any news of Voldemort's return despite the very secret things he was busy doing for Dumbledore and every owl he sent merely said "No word" whenever the subject turned to Voldemort.

The silence was getting to Harry.

Her breath caught, Hermione stood up and climbed the last few steps to the door. After a quick look to make sure no one was around, she whispered the special password Professor Flitwick had given her.

The large raven statue swung out silently from its niche in the wall and Hermione stepped through.

"First door on the left...first door on the left," she muttered, trying to ignore her pounding heart and the sweat collecting on her sides. Professor Jardin had quite a temper and once she heard what Snape was doing to her classes...not to mention that it just wasn't right to criticize one teacher in front of the other...

The first door on the left was shut fast. Hermione raised her hand and gave a few quick and timid sounding raps, then waited, scolding herself for being so nervous.

"Who is it?" the Professor called from behind the door, sounding a bit puzzled.

"Hermione Granger ma'am," she replied, licking her dry lips.

She could a few startled exclamations and then the door eased open. "Come in."

"If I'm bothering you ma'am, I can come again later..." she said, stepping into the room and fumbling with the door knob so it would shut properly.

The room turned out to be small, blue and quite pretty, with lots of dark wood and a curved window seat. There were many bookcases, filled with many large, heavy books all bound in dark leathers and several bore stamped of gold and silver titles in languages Hermione couldn't identify. Her eyes jumped from book to book, a sharp feeling of envy pricking her. To own all those books...to hold them and call them your own...to be able to read all those books and have that knowledge safe inside you...

In the centre of everything was a large four-poster with pale blue curtains where Professor Jardin was sitting, wearing a deep red dressing gown with a temptingly fat black book bearing the title The Big Book of Darkness in lacy golden script on the cover laying at her side. The Professor's face was dead white and large dark blue circles rimmed her eyes, making her irises look bleached of colour in comparison. Those pale eyes flicked over her and Hermione shifted her eyes, feeling a bright red wave of embarrassment slide over her face.

One of the Professor's sharply slanted eyebrows went up. "You're not bothering me at all. I was just doing some light reading." She patted the book with a small hand. The branching blue veins could clearly be seen through skin made transparent by illness and Hermione fought down a stab of revulsion. "I've been doing research on magic circles vs. magic wands in my free time. Circles would certainly solve the problem of not having access to a wand. Though, I'm not sure if magic circles are really feasible for most wizards."

"Yes ma'am. That is very interesting ma'am," Hermione replied dutifully, even though under normal circumstances she would have dearly loved to have a discussion with the Professor on the subject. There were several books she had just read that touched on that very subject and there really was no one in the school to debate the finer points of wands against free magic with and Flencher's book had some really lovely arguments on the issue...

Professor Jardin's lip quirked, just a tiny lift at the corner. "Spit it out."

"Excuse me ma'am?" She's ill, remember she's ill...

"Spit_it_out. I have no patience for the indirect approach when I'm ill Miss Granger. You clearly have something bothering you, so get it out."

Hermione quaked.

"You don't understand!" she heard herself wailing suddenly. Part of her was horrified; another, larger part was happy to see her tongue finally loose. "I really don't want to criticize a teacher in front of another teacher, but it's really not right what Professor Snape's been doing and..."

The Professor closed her eyes for a moment and whispered something to herself. Her eyes reopened, looking as hard and glassy as marbles.

"Snape?" the Professor said, in a tone only a few degrees reserved from sub-zero. "Just what has Professor Snape been doing with my classes? Hasn't he been going over the material for your exams like I had specifically asked?"

Hermione felt a terrific desire to wring her hands but managed to keep it from manifesting. "Well, ma'am, he has, but only up to a point."

"Explain."

"He went over it somewhat," Hermione started. When he wasn't insulting you, that is. "Then he said we were all horribly behind and that it was ridiculous to give the Dark Arts job over to someone so young who clearly didn't have any idea how to teach it properly. Even when people told him that they needed more time to go over things for the test he wouldn't listen. He said that we would have to have someone teach us right for once and he wasn't going to waste the opportunity. But that's not the worst of it..."

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was twisting the coverlet in her hands and her mouth was so thin and tight with anger that it seemed to disappear off her face. Her face had hardened and now looked almost like a mask carved of stone, the bright burning blue of her eyes the only living, moving part. "Not the worst?" she said, in a peculiar, detached kind of voice. "What is the worst Miss Granger?"

Hermione gave in and wrung her hands. This is just as bad as I imagined it and even worse too. "Ma'am, you must understand that this is only what I've heard, but Justin Finch-Fletchley told me that Professor Snape got angry at the fifth year Hufflepuffs when they said they needed more help and wouldn't do anything with them that period. They lost a whole day. And Neville...Neville Longbottom...Ma'am, Professor Snape was furious when Neville couldn't answer his questions. Neville was so scared...Professor Snape barred him from class for the week. He's been out since Monday." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she reached the end.

"I'm going to kill him," Professor Jardin said with a quiet certainty that gave Hermione chills. "I'm going to kill him and then I'm going to resurrect him so I can kill him again. Neville Longbottom! That boy needs every class he can get! Does Snape give a damn about anything?"

To Hermione's surprise, the Professor swung her legs over and climbed out of bed. Stumbling a little, she made her way over to a large squat chest, flipped the lid open and began rummaging through it, eventually coming up with a pair of black stockings and a sheer white scarf.

"Ma'am, what are you doing?" Hermione asked, her alarm mounting with every move the Professor made. Surely...surely she didn't mean to...

"I'm going to take my class back," the Professor said calmly, talking around a handful of bobby pins she was holding in her mouth. She spat them out and used them to anchor her braids on top of her head, then turned and pulled open the doors of an armoire. "Miss Granger, if you would be so kind as to leave so I can get dressed?"

"But you're still sick," she protested weakly. The Professor sent her a sharp look; her eyes were full with a brilliant, manic gleam. Hermione quickly swallowed. "I am not going to sit around and let this eat at me. I'm going to get Snape now."

"Right," she said, backing away. "I'll just leave then." Maybe Ron wasn't so far off base after all. Hermione stepped quickly through the door and shut it gently behind her.

"Stay there," Professor Jardin yelled, her voice accompanied by the sound of much rustling. "I want you to come with me."

Oh no...

Professor Jardin was trying to move at a brisk pace, but the effort was clearly tiring her. Hermione walked at her side, mute. Each time she had offered assistance to the obviously frail Professor she was rebuffed, so she quit asking. The long corridor was deathly silent and Hermione had nothing to say nor any desire to speak; the Professor walked on with her mouth set in a grim line and Hermione crept along at her side, suffering from both nervousness and indignation.

She looks like she's going to collapse any minute! Why can't she stop being stubborn and stupid and rest for a bit? She'll be in no condition to tackle Snape if we even manage to get there. She hid a sigh behind a fake yawn. I thought only Ron got like this, but obviously not.

They reached the the drab beige walls that marked the beginning of the echoing corridor where Defense Against the Dark Arts was held and stopped in front of the first thick wooden door. Professor Jardin reached out and placed her fingertips on the door, then closed her eyes.

"Thursday, sixth period-Slytherin fourth years," she muttered. "God damn it all to hell."

Hermione pretended not to hear that.

The Professor reached out and turned the brass knob on the door, then tried to push it open. Her strength seemed to give out before she could get it open all the way and the door fell shut once more. "Miss Granger. Please," she asked, her voice weary and ragged around the edges.

Ignoring all the inner warning voices shrieking at her, Hermione stepped forward and opened the door. Snape's voice became audible as the door slowly opened, creaking faintly as if in protest. He seemed to be in the middle of a lecture of ghouls, but his voice died away abruptly when he saw Professor Jardin framed in the doorway.

Professor Jardin slipped into the classroom, her feet silent on the stone floor. She walked slowly into the centre of the room and cast a slow, deliberate look around at the shocked Slytherins, then faced Snape and snarled: "What the HELL are YOU doing to MY classes?!"

Whatever Snape might have been feeling at that moment, it didn't show on his face. "Professor Jardin. I believe you should still be on bed rest? You shouldn't be here," he said composedly. Professor Jardin's fists clenched and Hermione saw a fine tremble run up her arm.

"Shut up," Professor Jardin said in a frightening whisper, her mouth shaping into a feral grimace. "Just shut up, you bastard. "

Snape's lips drew back from his teeth. "My lady, I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea what you're so worked up about."

Hermione clung to the door with clumsy fingers whilst the Slytherins got over their shock, settled down and began chatting amongst themselves. They looked quite ready to watch Snape and Professor Jardin go at it and many even looked eager at the prospect.

"How dare you muck around with my classes, after I had asked you specially to make sure everyone would be prepared! All my plans for the exam ruined! Neville Longbottom, Snape! The fifth year Hufflepuffs! God alone knows who else!" the Dark Arts Professor raged, the tendons on her neck standing out. "Haven't you done enough to me? Haven't you?"

Snape went very still; his face blanched and his eyes grew as hard as diamonds. Very slowly, he turned to stare at Hermione and the cold fury in his eyes made her cringe back against the door. "You!"

Professor Jardin mercifully stepped in between Hermione and Snape's ugly stare, her back rigid. "I swear to God that if you take any anger out on Hermione Granger or Neville Longbottom or anyone other then your precious Slytherins I will make you regret it with every iota of your being, Snape."

"Don't make yourself hysterical again," Snape said, his greasy hair shrouding his eyes. There was a bite to his voice. "You'll just get sicker."

"Don't tell me what to do Snape," Professor Jardin said in a mocking lilt, her eyes full of the same derision. A muscle in the side of his face jumped.

"I thought there wasn't anything you could do to make me hate you more, but this proved me wrong," the Dark Arts professor said quietly, her voice now hoarse and thick with effort and strain. "You have no problem screwing around with my classes and my work, but God forbid I do the same to you. Would any of the other professors here have done something like this? No! If I had done something like this to you-and I wouldn't because I at least HAVE some RESPECT for other people's work!-you would have had me sacked almost at once, right? But you obviously think yourself above the rules and above treating people decently, so of course you don't care."

Hermione realised, trying to swallow against the awful lump in her throat that the hitch in the Professor's voice meant she was very close to tears. Professor Jardin drew a deep, quivering breath, then began to cough. She turned away from Snape and Hermione saw, with pity stirring inside her, that the Professor's face was bright red from both coughing and trying to keep from crying. A few tears had escaped despite her efforts, dripping down her face and running off the narrow line of her jaw.

Snape remained where he stood, almost as if he had been glued to the spot, a dazed look on his face. He had made no move, said nothing to defend himself, only stood there and stared. Once or twice his lips moved, but that was all.

Professor Jardin's words were now punctuated with fits of coughing. "Maybe I should just leave, but I know the Headmaster won't let me. I almost think being hounded by Death Eaters is preferable to your abuse Snape. Your Slytherins have been bothering me, you've been bothering me, and I swear I'll make you pay. Nothing's ready now and it's all your fault..." She broke off into a coughing fit so violent she had to lean against the wall for support.

Hermione put an arm around the Professor's tremulous shoulders, tried to make her sit down. Her coughs had an awful hacking sound. "Professor Jardin, please try and relax."

Footsteps coupled with the rustle of robes came towards them and Hermione looked up, trying to make her expression as defensive and serious as possible. If Snape was going to give them trouble...

"Remove your hands, Miss Granger," Snape said, stopping right in front of them. He reached out and gripped the top of the Professor's shoulders in an effort to support her as she continued coughing.

Hermione reluctantly let go and watched Snape yank an empty desk away from the wall and force Professor Jardin down into it. The young woman made a weak effort to push him away, but he ignored it and crouched at her side. "Thaning, what are you waiting for?" he snapped at a Slytherin close to them. "Go get a glass of water. Quickly!"

Snape fumbled around in the wide sleeves of his robe, and pressed something small and grey into the hand Professor Jardin wasn't coughing into, then bent close, his nose nearly touching her face. "You're much too ill to be down here carrying on like that," he said in low tones, but there was an emotion underlacing his words that Snape was generally thought to be incapable of.

Hermione's eyes nearly popped. Snape? Concerned? Why? He sure as hell didn't waste any pity on me after he made that awful crack about my teeth last year.

Professor Jardin seemed to notice it too and gave Snape an strange look, her eyes wary. The grey thing proved to be a handkerchief and she was using it to cover her mouth as her harsh coughing went on. Snape remained kneeling by her side and watched her, his hawk-like face intent.

The Slytherin boy returned with the water and Snape snatched it from him, not even glancing at the boy who sank back down at his desk, his confused face mirroring every other Slytherin in the room. Hermione could see the single look passed from one pair of eyes to the next; could almost hear the wheels grinding away in their heads, all sharing the same thought: Why is he acting so concerned?

Snape waited quietly until her coughing abated enough for her to drink, then pressed the glass of water into her hand. Professor Jardin took it, drank a long draught, then handed the glass back to him and stared.

"Do you think you can stand now?" Snape asked the professor softly, barely moving his lips, as if he were trying to shut out every other person in the room. He rose to his feet, still hovering over her and waited for her answer.

She looked up at him, her face unreadable and slowly nodded.

"Good," Snape said and slipped a long hand under her elbow, helping her to rise. Once she was on her feet, he stepped back, his face twitching slightly but his black eyes looked as cold as ever. "Professor Jardin and I are going to go outside and have a little talk." He sent a final, burning look around the class, making sure to include Hermione in his glare. "Anyone who eavesdrops...dies."

Snape led her out into the hallway, his hand firmly under her elbow and shut the door behind them once she stepped over the threshold. Lilika supposed she should have protested over him leading her about like a cow on a rope, but since she could barely stand at the moment it seemed better to just let him support her.

"I think you've managed to set yourself back another few days," Snape said softly, his black eyes hooded in the shadows of the hall.

She pulled away from him and walked a few unsteady steps forward, rubbing her elbow with a deliberate and contemptuous motion. The floor seemed to be swaying under her feet. "Shut up. I don't want to see you, hear you or register your presence with any other senses. There aren't enough words on this Earth...no, in this universe to convey how much hatred I feel towards you."

He held up a hand and sighed deeply and a little dramatically as if all the weight of the world were on his shoulders. "There you go again, being overwrought. At least hear me out; then you can upbraid me all you like. Grant me that much."

Lilika snorted and turned her back on him; started to count the stones in the wall as a method of keeping her temper. He stepped in front of her; she tried to turn away again. She fled and he followed until Snape successfully backed her into one of the statuary niches lining the hall; no way to look except straight ahead. "So like a serpent you are Snape; slippery, cunning, cold and hideous! Do you think I really want to listen a man who doesn't keep his word? Give me one compelling reason I should be standing here with you."

His eyes gleamed in the dim light and his smile bared just the tips of his teeth. "Well, to be scrupulously accurate, I didn't break my word. I said I would come to you if there were any problems. There weren't any, as far as I was concerned."

"Of course that's how you would see it," Lilika breathed bitterly and a hot, shining rush of fury swept through her body, dazzling her eyes and making her feel savage. She very much wanted to spring on him and tear his throat out; she settled instead for trying to punch him. "You filthy waste of life! Disgusting bastard!"

He caught her hand easily and held it down at her side; looked down at her. His face was rigid. "Control yourself. I have no wish for you to make yourself even more ill." His expression turned dark, his mouth twisting. "You said my Slytherins have been bothering you? How? Why?"

Lilika tried pulling her wrist away; when that didn't work she turned her nails into the side of his hand. He let go with a yowl. "Because they've managed to finally get it through their curse-addled brains that you and I don't like each other. Therefore, they try to make my life miserable each time I have them in class. Terribly sweet of them to stick behind you like that. What inspires such devotion?"

"That will stop," Snape murmured, a quick flicker of some dark emotion passing over his face. He ignored the rest of her words and clutched at his injured hand, massaging it. When he spoke again, it was in a tone entirely different from any she had ever heard him use before; soft and rather tentative.

"Did you really mean it when you said you might leave?"

"No, I say everything I do because I simply adore the sound of my own voice. Yes. I did. Not that you care."

He turned his face so it was hidden in shadow and folded his arms across his chest, his thin fingers moving restlessly. "If you left I would have to follow you."

Her jaw dropped so low it was a wonder it didn't fall off. "WHAT?"

Snape moved out of the shadows and smiled in a way that told her that was exactly the reaction he expected and wanted. "Despite what you think of me, I do keep my promises. I made a promise to the Headmaster to protect you and that is what I intend to do, even if I have to follow you into the Muggle world and beyond."

"You can't," she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady, "you cannot possibly mean that. I don't believe you."

He shrugged, his eyes on her face.

She stared at her feet, at her skirts, at anything but him. "You would give up everything for a promise. Your job, Hogwarts, everything?"

"Yes."

Lilika stared at his chest, then dropped her gaze and studied her hands instead. They looked exactly the same as always. "How can you stand here with a straight face and talk to me like that? You know perfectly well you would do no such thing. Especially for someone you hate. No one would. People are not that good. Liar." Her voice quavered on the last words and she felt perfectly disgusted with herself for allowing that quaver in.

"I am becoming quite tired of being told I am a liar," Snape said in a soft and dangerous whisper. His cold, thin fingers cupped her chin and tilted her face up, making her look right into his eyes. She could see herself there, reflected endlessly on the flat black surface. "I do not lie; I do not permit myself to lie. It's far more difficult and interesting to tell the truth one way and let people think another. You believe whatever pleases you. But should you ever take one step off Hogwarts grounds, you will see how quickly I am behind you."

She could do nothing more then give a few paltry shakes of her head; her tongue faltered for the first time in her life. What do you say when your worst enemy makes a declaration like that? How can he hate me and yet follow me anywhere? Her legs felt suddenly weak. What kind of person is Snape?

"Now that I have your attention," Snape said calmly, "let's discuss things, shall we?" He released her chin and stepped back; a weak shaft of light illuminated his bony face and sallow skin, picked out a few silver strands in his black hair. "I would like to say that I did not deliberately try to ruin your classes and ignore your wishes. I forgot myself; I acted as if your classes were no different then my Potions lessons and treated the students accordingly. However, that is not the way you wanted things done, and I did not realise that fact until you showed up in a high temper at the door of the classroom." She tried to speak, having found some words for him, but he waved his hand, wanting her silence. "Please let me finish."

Snape looked away; bit his lip.

"This part, I admit is not easy for me to say and you should be very grateful as you are one of the few people who will ever hear me speak these words. Pay attention with every inch of your being; burn these words into your brain as you will most likely never hear them again. Ready?" Lilika nodded, tongue shocked into stillness once more. This day has gone beyond strange into mental.

Snape looked around, his eyes darting quickly, then peered at the door to make sure not a single organism capable of hearing was present.

"I'm sorry. I apologise for every way I've wronged you. You are right and I was wrong," Snape said carefully, grimacing at each word. "Forgive me."

"I accept your apology," Lilika said quietly, after a deafening silence of several minutes had gone past. I accept your apology but I will not forgive you.

His dark eyes widened slightly at her words and she thought there was almost a gleam of pleasure within them. That pleasure prickled her, made her uneasy and agitated. He's a vicious bastard; why should I want him as anything but my enemy? He's already hurt me enough. "However," she said with slow emphasis, "however you still must atone for the work my classes missed and for not following my directions."

The light in his eyes had vanished, to be replaced by Snape's more familiar scowl. "Of course. But how? Tomorrow is Friday and if you are well enough to resume your teaching duties once the weekend is over..."

She had a wonderful answer, but it wasn't going to make him too happy. He deserved a bit of twisting on the rack anyway, deliberate actions or no. "Give Hufflepuff and Gryffindor-plus anyone else I don't know about- twenty points," she said and smiled sweetly.

He sucked in his breath as if someone had punched him in the stomach. "Twenty points?"

"Twenty points, unless you want me to make your life a living hell," she said in her most solemn voice. "May I remind you that the Headmaster would not be pleased with your behavior?"

Snape's coal black eyes had gone hard again. "My lady, you are a monster," he said flatly.

"I try," Lilika said nonchalantly, rocking back and forth on her feet in the small space. "I try."

He glared at her, his mouth twisting into a sneer. "Any other requests? Blood perhaps?" He turned away from the niche, his face twitching in anger and strode back to the classroom door, finally releasing her. "If not, then I believe our interview is ended. Good day."

She couldn't let him go yet. "Wait!"

Snape paused, one hand on the door knob and stared at her, his eyes glittering. "What now?"

"Here." Lilika reached into her sleeve and found her handkerchief after a little rummaging. "Take it," she told him, pushing it in the direction of his hand.

He looked from the handkerchief to her and back again. "Would you be so kind as to tell me why?"

"Because I got your handkerchief all filthy," she replied. "Take mine as a replacement."

Snape stepped away from the door and narrowed his eyes at her. "Again, why should I take yours?"

"Just take it!" she snapped, shoving the little linen square at him. "I happen to have a code of conduct that states if someone gives you something, you are obligated to give them something in return. I owe you a handkerchief now. So oblige me."

"But it's got lace," he muttered, looking at the innocent handkerchief with something akin to horror.

"Take it! Please!"

"Oh all right, if it means that much to you," he murmured and plucked it out of her fingers. A small, curious smile drifted across his mouth as he unfolded it, but it vanished before Lilika could determine what it meant.

"Peculiar code of honour you have there, Lady Woodville," he said silkily, placing the handkerchief somewhere in his sleeve. "I find it very interesting."

"Glad you like it," she muttered, put off by the look that had just crossed his face. "I'll go back to my room now."

"Yes, do," Snape said, his face now closed. His hand was back on the door knob and he gave it a twist, then stopped and looked at her once more. "Do you require help?" he asked, his expression shifting subtly into a contemplative one.

Her stomach felt odd, almost queasy. Time to leave.

"No, I'll be fine. Oh, and Snape-write an excuse note for Hermione Granger. She must have missed classes by now," she called as she left, not looking at him and instead concentrating very hard on putting one foot in front of the other.

Behind her Snape muttered a curse; she could hear that and the rush of voices from curious students all demanding to know what had been going on as he opened the door. Snape shouted at them, straining his voice to be heard above all the others. Lilika smiled to herself, running a hand over the worn, smooth stones of the walls for balance.

The door shut with a bang and the corridor was mute once more, save for the light shuffle of her feet and the scrape of her fingernails against stone.