The Last Sanguimagus

Severus prowled the classroom, watching the first years intently. This was their first real try at a potion with explosive possibilities, and he wanted to avoid melted cauldrons and charred desktops.

Really, he loathed having them as his first class on Monday. It always seemed to cast such a shadow on the rest of the week. He had to pay attention to the first years at every moment because there were always several who had never touched a knife before, let alone dealt with a heat source and a cauldron. He glared at a Hufflepuff.

"Tell me, Miss Finch...how did I direct you to stir your potion?"

She gulped audibly and stared at him. "Er...er...counter-clockwise...sir."

"Ah," he said lightly. "Counter-clockwise. I see. Then you will explain to me why you are stirring clockwise."

"I...I don't know," she said, frightened.

"You are admitting to me that you do not know the difference between clockwise and counter-clockwise? I was under the impression that you knew how to use a clock correctly, as you have managed to get to my class on time for an entire month. Or perhaps your friends"--here he sneered at her--"tell time for you, as I have heard that it can be a rather complicated concept."

She was completely frozen, eyes wide.

"I suggest that you work out the apparently difficult puzzle of which direction is which before you attend my next class," he said softly. He walked back up to his desk and sat down, glowering at the rest, whose attention had been drawn by the interaction. They went back to work.

He turned his attention to the last of the homework and resisted the urge to sigh. The next class would contain Potter, and that was another reason to detest Mondays.

Really, the only good thing about today was the cauldron full of Sarah's antidote which even now sat on his worktable. It was beautiful, the periwinkle now true and evenly coloured instead of having the barest undercurrent of sickly green. It was a masterpiece. He had filled a vial to keep for himself and it was like a warm jewel in the pocket of his robe. It clinked next to the Veritaserum and he could feel both against his chest. The knowledge that he had brewed the near-unbrewable--twice--filled him with pride. Few had accomplished the Lingering Wounds Potion. None but he had completed the antidote. He would administer the potion to Sarah on Friday, and she would be perfectly healed, and then she would be out of his head forever. No more worrying. No more nightmares about her. He could safely bottle her and leave her on a shelf, his guilt finally finished. She could discard her horrible Painstone and live life anew somewhere else.

The Finch girl was crying softly at her desk.

He marked the essay in front of him with a D and went on to the next.

***

"That potion on his worktable," whispered Hermione.

"What?" said Harry. He was attempting to mince the leaves as finely as possible, but stopped to look at her.

"It's periwinkle," she said in a low voice. "That's the potion Ginny saw. That's the potion for Professor Tanner." She looked to where Snape sat at his desk, seemingly oblivious to their exchange. "We need to get a sample of it."

"No, Hermione. It's too dangerous!" he hissed.

"Hush up, you two," warned Ron, but it was too late.

Snape looked in their direction, his black eyes glittering. "Something on your mind, Potter?" he drawled, making his way across the classroom to stand in front of him.

"No, sir," said Harry quietly.

Snape leaned in. "I don't remember giving leave to gossip, Potter." Harry tried to stay calm. "What is the matter? Another Witch Weekly article smearing your girlfriend's reputation?"

I won't react I won't react I won't react, he thought firmly to himself.

"Oh, I had forgotten, you've set your sights much higher now...where was it your little interview appeared...oh, yes, that paragon of journalistic excellence, The Quibbler." There was an appreciative snicker from the Slytherins. "I must say, that publication was the wisest choice for your...story."

Harry looked up, his face turning red. Snape merely sneered at him.

Then he narrowed his black eyes, staring at something else. "Where did you get that?" he said softly.

Harry looked down and realised that his amulet was partially visible, having somehow gotten tangled in the neck of his robe. "Er..." He looked desperately at Ron, who looked frightened.

"I asked you a question," hissed Snape.

"Professor Tanner," he said as quietly as he could manage.

Something akin to shock flickered in Snape's eyes for a moment. He reached one long-fingered hand towards it, and Harry instinctively stepped back.

"Speak to me after class," said Snape angrily. He stalked back up to his desk.

Hermione turned worried eyes towards him. He tucked the amulet back into his robe, hoping that no one else had noticed. He measured out the minced leaves with unsteady hands and stirred them in slowly.

His potion was the right consistency, but the wrong shade of violet, and he corked it and left it on the desk with the rest of the students' vials.

The bell rang, and Ron and Hermione lingered, picking up their books as slowly as possible, but Snape noticed and immediately sent them on their way. That left only Harry.

"When did she give it to you?" asked Snape, fixing him with a dark look.

"The first day of term," he answered.

"What is it for?" he asked softly.

"To block Vol--to block him from my mind," said Harry, not wishing to lose more points for Gryffindor by angering him further. Snape didn't like to hear Voldemort's name spoken aloud.

"Let me see it," he said, holding out his hand.

"I can't take it off." He brought the stone out of his robes and showed it to him.

Snape touched it with one yellow finger, murmuring something to himself, and then straightened up. "Professor Tanner was very generous to create such a thing for you," he said, making it sound as if Harry was quite unworthy. "I hope you appreciate her...sacrifice."

Harry looked up at Snape and realised that the professor knew that she was a Sanguimagus somehow. "I do," he said truthfully.

"You are dismissed," he said with a wave of his hand. Harry left as quickly as he could, sparing only a single backwards glance to see Snape looking at the cauldron on his worktable.

***