It had been two weeks since Lena had introduced the children to the Society of Ravens, and the young librarian had kept their interest by telling them many tales, not only about Raven, but also the ancient Welsh myths, about Bran the Blessed and Llew the Fair, powerful warriors who followed a code of honor, but who had been tutored by their sorcerer kin and so were comfortable with magic as well as swords.

She told them the story of Blodewedd, or "Flowerface" who was a woman created by magic, using nine different kinds of wildflowers, by the great sorcerers Math and Gwydion for Gwydion's nephew Llew. Llew was under a series of magical bindings by his powerful mother Ariarhod, and one of them was that he could never have a human wife, so Blodewedd was created to circumvent that condition. However, what the two sorcerers failed to realize was that Blodewedd might have been fair, but she lacked the heart and fidelity of a human woman. She was a good wife to Llew for a few months, but then when he left her was swayed by the promises of his enemy, who convinced her to betray her husband. She persuaded him to tell her his deepest secret, how he could be killed, for he had many protections about him. Then she conspired with his enemy to do so, and the fickle-hearted woman nearly succeeded. Near death, Llew transforms into an eagle and flies away, Gwydion tracks him and saves the gravely injured young man from death using knowledge he had gained from many years of study of the Healing Arts. Then he hunted down Blodewedd and transformed her into an owl forever more as punishment. He cursed her with the following saying, "You shall never dare show your face in the light of day again, and as consequences all other birds will shun and harass you wherever they find you. Darkness shall be your companion, but you shall keep your name, Blodewedd, so that all may know and remember your fickle heart!" In Welsh, the name for owl is Blodewedd, and owls do have a face that resembles an opened flower.

"Does that mean the Welsh believe that owls are fickle creatures?" asked Hermione when the tale was done.

"No, of course not!" Lena shook her head. "It's simply an interesting way of explaining why an owl has the face that it does. But the real meat of the tale is the fact that men, even wizards with the best intentions, should not attempt to play God and create a woman, for all we can do, even with magic is a poor imitation, and you can see where that led. It was a sharp lesson that Gwydion and Math learned. Can any of you tell me what that was?"

Hermione of course raised her hand, but Lena turned and called on Harry. "Go on, Harry."

"Umm . . . that even if you have the power to do something, it doesn't mean you should. You need to think before you act."

"Very good! That's a lesson that all the powerful wizards and witches need to remember. It is not enough to wield magic, but to do so responsibly. And as you know, there was one wizard who has forgotten that lesson, and who made others suffer because of it."

"You-Know-Who," Ron whispered.

"Correct, Ron. Power such as his can be deadly, especially when wielded by a proud and arrogant sorcerer who has no respect for rules and morals. We of the Society strive to teach our apprentices that knowledge and pride do not go together, though some knowledge must be kept locked away, for there are those who will use it for their own ends. That's why we have the Restricted Section of the library."

"Are the books in there really that dangerous?" Draco queried with a faint sneer in his voice.

Lena eyed him and said sharply, "Yes, Draco, they are. There are spellbooks in that section with wards on them that could fry your brain were you to glance at a page. There are others which could burn your fingers off if you touch the cover and still others that will suck you within the pages and trap you for a hundred years. Many of those books bear spells of darkness within them, or spells and enchantments too draining for any young wizard to cast."

"Then why have them here?" asked Hermione.

"Because here they are safe from those who would misuse them. And there is some knowledge in them that can be useful in the right hands." The librarian answered. "But you shouldn't concern yourself with those books, Hermione. They are nothing that a young witch needs to traffic with at your age."

"Lena, you said that the Society has magical objects," Ron asked. "Where do you keep them? Do you have your own library or something?"

"Yes. The library is hidden from all save full members with keys, and the magical items we have collected are tagged and stored in a magical vault, only accessible to the Ravenmaster or Ravenmistress. You need their permission to study the collection and nothing is ever allowed outside the vault."

"Is the vault in Gringotts?" was Ron's next question.

"I cannot answer that," Lena told him. "Only Society members know where the vault is hidden, and we are pledged to never reveal its location."

"Have you ever been in it?" asked Harry.

"Once or twice. Every initiate is required to study an item as part of their training."

"Are there stuff like Cerridwen's Cauldron in there?" Harry had read about the magical cauldron in The Mabinogian.

"What kind of cauldron?" Draco frowned.

"It's the cauldron of the goddess Cerridwen, she's the goddess of battle and death. Legend says that if you throw a dead body into it, it'll get resurrected and be able to fight forever and never feel pain and never grow tired." Harry explained.

"Yes, but those who are Cauldron-Born cannot speak and it is said that they have lost their souls, for theirs is no true rebirth, but a half-life only," Lena added. "It is a terrible thing, to use the cauldron for such means."

"But . . . with something like that you could create an undefeatable army," Draco cried, his eyes glowing as he imagined leading such an army.

"True, but you would also break the Balance between Life and Death itself," Lena said sharply. "It's been tried before, young Malfoy, and those who have used the cauldron for ill were boiled alive in it once they were caught."

"How horrible!" Hermione gasped.

"Back then it was considered justice," Lena said. "But Cerridwen's cauldron was not always an item of evil. It could serve up an endless feast for however many guests came knocking on one's door, and brew cauldronsful of mead and other drinks. It could also heal the sick, and when filled with pure water, could be used to scry as well. Often a magical item such as that has many uses, but it only takes one evil-minded wizard to turn the good into bad."

"Where is the cauldron now? Did it really exist?"

"Yes, it does. But where it now lies only the ravens know." Lena answered enigmatically.

Harry wondered if Skullduggery knew. As if his thoughts had summoned the raven, Skull flew into the library, circled the group, and called, "Mistress Bard, 'tis time to let thy students fill thy bellies. For no mind retains knowledge upon an empty stomach."

"Hello, Skullduggery," Lena called up at the raven. "Might I have a word with you later?"

"I would love to stay and chat, however . . . my wizard is held hostage by homework and needs me to keep him from exploding . . ." Skull puffed up his neck feathers, making him look like a feathered ball, and a sound came from his beak remarkably like an explosion. "But I shall return and speak with you anon!"

With that, he fluttered off towards the entrance.

"Anon? What kind of word is that?" Ron looked confused.

"An old-fashioned one," Hermione answered. "Like they used back in Shakespeare's time."

"Who's he?"

Hermione stared at him. "You've never heard of Shakespeare! What school did you go to that you don't know about the Bard, England's most famous playwright and poet?"

"It's not his fault, Hermione. He wasn't raised Muggle like we were," Harry put in.

"I wasn't either and I know who Shakespeare was," Malfoy put in smugly.

"Oooh! Well, aren't you the brainbox, Malfoy?" Ron glared at the other boy.

"Stuff your hat in it, Weasley," Draco scowled, then he stalked from the library.

"Prat!" muttered Ron, before he too left, followed by Harry and Hermione.

Lena shook her head before rising and beginning to alphabetize the books in the new section of the library, upon a revolving shelf, which were all marked with the blazon of a raven flying. The shelf was home to some of the Society of Ravens collection of mythology and history, both magical and Muggle, and contained over a hundred volumes at the present time. They were meant for everyone to read and learn from, in hopes that it might foster cooperation between wizard and Muggle as well as interest in the Society. But so far only the Ravenclaws had checked out any of the books, save for Hermione, Harry, and Draco.

Still, perhaps the students would take more interest in the new books once their end of term exams were over. She straightened, brushing a tendril of honey-colored hair out of her eyes. The library was almost restored, and she looked forward to the day when every volume was shelved and the library fully functional once more.

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That evening

Snape's quarters:

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were sitting about a low table, their textbooks, notebooks, quills, and parchment scattered across the table top. All three had wished to study in the quiet of Snape's quarters, the Gryffindor common room was much too loud and boisterous, since several of their older Housemates were more interested in betting on a cutthroat game of Wizard Chess or playing practical jokes than studying. Harry and Hermione had convinced Ron to come with them, despite the chess tournament, because they needed him to help them with Transfiguration, at least Harry did, and he also needed their help with Charms and Potions. Hermione was a decent all-around student, but she really shone in Charms, and Harry was excellent in potions, a fact which made his guardian very proud.

Severus was sitting at his desk, struggling to grade a batch of second-year homework without taking a quill and totally crossing out whole paragraphs where students had simply made up the properties of ingredients rather than read the text. When he looked over at the three, he was relieved to see Hermione demonstrating the wand movements for a Color Change spell, and the boys scribbling down notes and then copying her.

There came a knock on the door.

"Enter."

The door to his quarters opened to admit Malfoy.

"What is it, Draco?" asked Snape.

"Professor, I was just wondering if I could study in here?" Then his eyes widened as he caught sight of the three Gryffindors. "Hey, what are they doing in here? Is it some kind of detention?"

"No, they are studying, like you wish to, Draco." Severus replied.

Ron looked up and groaned. "Aww, Merlin! Don't tell me Malfoy's going to join us?"

"What's that supposed to mean, Weasley?" Draco bristled. "I'm a better student in Defense than all of you, I'd bet!"

"Enough!" Severus' voice was soft, but there was steel in it. "Mr. Weasley, I am the one who decides who is free to study in my quarters. Mr. Malfoy may stay, so long as he agrees to abide by the rules." He fastened a stern look at his Slytherin. "The rules are as follows, you are here to study, not to cause trouble. There will be no insulting, no snide comments, no hexing another student, and no fistfights. If you are rude or disruptive and I have to speak to you about it more than once, I shall throw you out of my quarters by the seat of your trousers, no excuses. And there will be no second chances. You are all old enough to know better and share a common interest in studying and improving your marks on your exams."

Draco's eyes widened. "You're not serious! You wouldn't really throw us out?"

Severus frowned at him. "I mean what I say, Malfoy. If you would like a firsthand demonstration, by all means test me."

Draco gulped. "No, sir."

"Very well then. Go and join the others. I will be grading, so you will refrain from any loud voices. If you need help, you may ask me quietly." He then turned and sat down at his desk, eying the mountain of paperwork with a resigned scowl.

Draco joined the other three at the table, ignoring Ron's unwelcome glare and Harry's scowl and Hermione's sigh. "What are you working on?"

"Charms. Hermione's showing us a Color Change Charm," answered Harry.

"I already know that one." Draco sniffed.

"Who asked you?" Ron growled.

"Just saying." The Slytherin pulled out his Defense text. "My father would sack Quirrell if he knew how little I actually learned in Defense this year. He was so useless!"

The others murmured in agreement.

"It's a good thing I actually learned a few things about defense before coming here," Draco said.

"Like what?" asked Harry.

"Like a Shield Charm."

"Oh! I've read about them!" Hermione cried.

" Brilliant, Granger!" drawled Draco. "But I've actually cast a Shield Charm."

"Could you show us?" the witch asked.

"I could . . . if you'll teach me how to cast an Unlocking Charm?" the Slytherin bargained.

"I will," Hermione agreed.

"All right. Wands out and follow me . . ."

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"Well, that's the last of the lot," Irma said, waving her wand over the pile of books upon the circulation cart. They immediately alphabetized themselves and arranged themselves on the cart according to section.

The elder librarian stifled a yawn and prepared to roll the cart over to the shelves and begin shelving, since the automatic shelving system did not kick in until twelve o'clock, when the library was closed. She rubbed the back of her neck, it had grown stiff from bending over to shelve books on the very bottom shelf. Most students thought all the shelving was done by magic, and a good deal of it was, with books that were not very old and delicate or having special charms upon them. This last cart, however, contained rare volumes and two or three books from the Restricted Section that Professor Dumbledore and Quirrell had borrowed. Thus, they required human hands to reshelve.

Madam Pince rubbed her glasses, thinking that it grew harder every year for her to keep such late hours. Her body cried out for rest now around ten o'clock. She was reaching for a book, while thinking longingly of a warm bed and a cup of peppermint tea, when her niece said, "Aunt Irma, why don't you turn in? I'll finish up here."

"No need to coddle me, my girl. I'm perfectly capable of shelving these last volumes," Irma said defensively, wondering if it were that obvious that she was getting old.

"I know you are, but sometimes it's good to take a break," Lena persuaded. "You were in meetings all day with that stuffy Minister of Archives, Barry Troutwieler, I'm sure your head is pounding from trying to keep your temper around the old windbag."

"You can say that again!" Irma snorted. "Still, I'm hardly in my dotage."

"Of course not, but you did make me your assistant and what's an assistant for except to do some disagreeable tasks every now and again, like staying up late shelving while you get an extra hour of sleep?"

"Hmm . . . you do have a point . . ." Madam Pince conceded. "Oh, very well. That's what assistants are for. This once, I shall let you finish up. Here's the key for the Restricted Section. Do you know how to deactivate the wards on the shelves?"

"Yes," she took the silvery key from her aunt. "You showed me that two days ago." Lena hung the key about her neck. "Good night, Aunt Irma."

The aging librarian yawned. "Good night, Lena dear. Don't stay up all night researching some obscure spell." Then she waved and left, heading across the hall to her quarters.

Lena hummed, reveling in the smell of old parchment, leather, and ink. She carefully walked back to the Restricted Section, which had now been separated from the rest of the library by a large scrollwork-edged door with a small window set in it and a wall. She inserted the key and entered, closing the door behind her. Rows and rows of books, some with crumbling spines, others that looked newly minted, were shelved here. All of them shimmered to Lena's Mage Sight with ambient magic.

She set her hand upon the first shelf and muttered the word to give her access to the shelves, so the wards would not react to her placing books on the shelf. She carefully shelved an old book which contained several treatises on ways to extend your life span and another about Nicholas Flamel's great discovery of the Sorcerer's Stone and its alchemical properties.

Once that was done, she re-set the wards and left the Restricted Section. The door automatically locked behind her. She Summoned the cart with a wave of her wand, and began to finish the rest of the hub. It was nearly nine, curfew for the first years. It was then that she heard it, a soft sniffling.

Frowning, she cocked her head. "Hello?"

She heard a slight scuffling sound coming from the far right hand corner, where the lamps were dimmest. She hurried over to investigate, fearing a rat or mouse had found its way into the library. She had her wand out, a Repelling Charm on her lips, prepared to eject the rodent from her library with all haste. She detested rats, like most women, and almost all librarians, who regarded them as enemies for they ate parchment and books. But what she found when she rounded the corner was no rat.

It was a rather plump Gryffindor first year, huddled on the floor inbetween a bookshelf and a comfy chair, sobbing into his hands. An open book titled Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger lay beside him.

For one moment, Lena just stared at the distraught student. Then she cleared her throat and said softly, "Surely, it can't be as bad as all that."

The boy nodded, not looking up. "Yes, it can. If I fail potions, my gran will . . . she'll pull me out of Hogwarts . . .she n'Uncle Algia already think I'm a Squib . . ."

Lena knelt next to him. "Oh, I doubt that. You wouldn't be able to cast even small spells if you were a Squib. Just ask Mr. Filch."

"Y'mean, he's one?" Slowly, the boy peeked at her from behind his knees.

"Yes, but you mustn't tell anyone. It'll be our secret," Lena said quickly, only then realizing her mistake. Filch would skewer her if he knew she had told his secret to a student.

"All right." The boy whispered. But then he sniffled again.

"Here." Lena handed him a blue handkerchief. "Now then, suppose you tell me your name and why you think you are going to fail potions?"

"M-My name's Neville Longbottom and I'm going to fail potions because I can't brew anything right. All my cauldrons melt and explode every time and Professor Snape hates me. He thinks I'm hopeless!" Neville wailed. "I . . .I just can't seem to . . . concentrate and . . .and when he hovers over me . . .I just . . .he glares at me and I just go all to pieces. . ."

"Neville, are you afraid of Professor Snape?"

The boy nodded miserably.

Lena frowned. "Why? Has he ever harmed you? Struck you? Hexed you?"

"N-no. He's just . . . looked at me. Like he was disgusted. And he wanted to . . . to use me for potions ingredients. Fred and George said he . . . does that sometimes . . .and that's why some students disappear during his detentions . . ." Neville's eyes were round with horror.

"Oh, good heavens!" Lena sighed. "Neville, listen to me. I know that Professor Snape can be very intimidating, but I doubt if he would ever do anything to truly harm a student, like you describe. He would not have remained a teacher at this school if he were given to . . . murdering students each year. I believe Fred and George were having you on."

"Y'mean, they made it up?"

"Yes. Are they older than you?"

"Uh huh. They're the Weasley twins, two years older than me."

"Ah. I thought as much. They were trying to trick you, Neville. I assure you, Professor Snape doesn't chop up his students or eat them for breakfast."

"He gave me a detention for blowing up my cauldron for the fifth time and he m-made me gut some horned toads. It was . . .disgusting. The smell nearly made me puke."

"I see. Well, that's not so surprising. My Potions Master also made students who misbehaved or didn't pay attention harvest and chop up disgusting ingredients also. Or scrub twenty cauldrons or clean up the floor with a scrub brush and a bucket of water."

"Did you ever get one?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Lena admitted. "I tended to be very talkative in class."

"Oh."

"What kind of things are you having problems with in potions?" she asked then. "Perhaps I can help a bit. I was a decent potion maker in school." Lena said modestly.

"I . . well . . . sometimes I forget how to chop stuff and . . . and how many stirs to give it and then I missed a step when we made the Boil Cure and put my porcupine quills in before I took the cauldron off the fire and it melted . . .the professor makes me nervous, the way he walks about all scowling and then he hovers over my shoulder and I . . .knock things over . . .if I don't pass, Gran will be so disappointed and she'll probably tell me I need a tutor and I really don't want to go home . . . I kind of like it here . . . I've even made some friends . . ."

Lena felt sorry for the child, he was so obviously stressed and terrified of disappointing his grandmother, and his professor as well. "Neville, it seems like you have a bit of potions anxiety. Perhaps you'd do better with some extra lessons in potions, one on one, just you and Professor Snape."

"Extra lessons . . .with Snape . . ." Neville looked as if he were about to pass out.

"Yes. Perhaps alone, you can concentrate better, and the professor will be able to pinpoint where you're having trouble and correct it before it gets to the explosion stage. Sometimes tutoring a student is the best way to help them."

"But . . .Professor Snape would never . . . give me extra lessons . . ."

"Have you ever asked him?"

"No, but . . .I don't think he would . . ."

"You'll never know unless you ask. I'm sure you're not the only student he's had who's blown up a cauldron every class. Why don't we go and ask him now if he would be willing to give you some extra tutoring?"

"Oh, no, ma'am! Please! I don't want to be any trouble."

Lena stared at the white-faced boy. "All right. Calm down, Neville. If you don't feel comfortable asking him, than I shall." She patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll sort this out. You're not going to fail potions. I would go over your homework with you tonight, but it's almost curfew and you need to get back to Gryffindor Tower. Do you have potions tomorrow?"

"Yes. In the morning."

"Good. I shall speak with Professor Snape afterwards." Lena told him, helping him up. That way she could also observe the class and see the reason why Neville reacted the way he did towards Snape.

PageBreak~*~*~*~*~*PageBreak

At eight-thirty, Severus dismissed the study group, saying that two-and-a-half hours was plenty of time to study for that night. "You may return tomorrow and study some other subjects if you wish."

"Could you help us with History of Magic next time, sir?" asked Draco, smothering a yawn. "Because all we learn in that class is how to fall asleep faster."

"Binns is so boring!" groaned Harry.

Severus' mouth twitched. "Yes, I am well aware of his soporific tendencies. He taught History of Magic when I was a student here as well. I shall give you some pointers next time. Although one of the most important pieces of advice I can offer you is to tell you that the evening before your exam it is important that you get a decent amount of sleep, and no cramming beforehand. Sleep will cause your body and brain to be alert, and an alert mind remembers things easily. It is also important to eat a proper breakfast, and by that I mean something that contains the four food groups, not just sugar." Here he eyed Harry and Ron, knowing they tended to eat sweets before eggs, toast, and fruit.

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered, "What is it with adults and breakfast? My mum was always on us to eat breakfast too."

"Breakfast, Weasley, jump starts your metabolism and wakes up your brain." Snape answered.

Hermione was nodding. "Breakfast is an important meal, Ron. Studies show that kids who ate breakfast before a test performed better than those that didn't. By about 80%."

"Miss Granger is correct. Now, all of you return to your common rooms, it's nearly curfew. Mr. Potter, stay for a moment, I need to speak with you."

Harry waved at his friends to go on, knowing that Snape would walk him back if it grew too late. The other students departed. "Did I do something wrong, sir?" he asked, looking up at the tall professor.

"Guilty conscience, Harry?"

"No, but . . . usually when you ask a student to stay after class it's because you're about to kick their arse."

"If I were, as you put it, 'about to kick your arse', you would most assuredly know of it beforehand." Severus said dryly. "I wished to discuss setting a ward about your belongings and bed in Gryffindor Tower. I know Professor McGonagall has probably warded the dormitory, but it never hurts to set extra ones. I find that ones I have set myself are usually more effective than ones others have done for me, and best you learn how to defend yourself now."

"That makes sense. All right, I'm ready, Severus."

"This is a standard Repelling Charm, but instead of using it on a specific person, you'll need to make the ward an all-purpose charm that will repel anything which doesn't belong in your bed or on your belongings," Severus explained. "The wand motion you use is this . . ."

He spent ten minutes coaching Harry on setting the ward, making sure the boy could cast the charm correctly before finally dismissing him. "Has anyone attempted to do anything to your bed or belongings since that night?"

"No. But somebody did dump my bookbag out on the floor and spilled all my ink and broke my quills," Harry admitted. "That happened yesterday."

"Put the ward over your bag as well. I trust you have sufficient ink and quills for tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir. McGonagall—I mean Professor McGonagall—got me some more from the supply closet."

Severus nodded, then said, "Off to bed with you. You have potions tomorrow morning and I don't want you sleeping in front of your cauldron."

"Good night, Sev," he gave the Potions Master a cheeky grin and a quick hug before scampering out the door.

The Potions Master rubbed his eyes, which burned from so long staring down at the batch of sorry essays his second years had turned in. He had managed to finish grading both their homework and the first years, but still had his other classes to mark, as well as detention essays that some of his House had earned for trashing the common room the previous night during an unauthorized parchment ball war. He considered staying up to finish them, but then decided to take his own advice for once and get a decent amount of rest.

Skullduggery tapped at the door, and Snape opened it to admit the raven. "You're back. All quiet, my friend?" he queried the bird, who perched upon his shoulder.

"As the grave, Sev," Skull answered in a sepulchral tone, stretching his neck for a scratch from the long fingers. "Not a creature was stirring . . .except Mrs. Norris and the mouse she caught."

"Good." He had been sending the raven out on short patrols about the castle, trying to see if he spotted anything odd in the behavior of the staff. He was almost certain that there was a spy in the school, feeding information to the Dark Lord's allies. "Now I can sleep."

Only for some reason he found it difficult to rest that night and tossed and turned, his mind still wakeful.

"Shall I sing you a lullaby, Sev?" crooned the raven from atop the headboard. "Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop, when the wind blows—"

"Skull, enough," rebuked the wizard mildly.

"Don't like that one? How about—Now I lay me down to sleep—"

"Skullduggery, you are the most annoying bird," grumbled Severus.

"But you love me anyway, don't you?"

"Right now I wish you would shut up."

The raven was silent for about two seconds, then he began to snore loudly, imitating Dumbledore.

"Skull, go to sleep!" snarled the Potions Master. He picked up a quill and threw it at the raven.

Skullduggery dodged it and stopped snoring.

Severus turned over and buried his face in the pillow. Morning came too swiftly as it was.

Above him, the raven hissed, "Fear not, my wizard. I shall keep watch."

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Severus finished grading the samples of the first-years and was banishing those that were unusable while trying to massage the headache out of his eyeballs. Today he had tried something different, instead of having the class all brew the same draft, he had divided the class into those who had a talent for brewing and those who did not, and given them different drafts to brew. The talented section brewed a Cough Elixir, the average section brewed a PepperUp Potion. By doing so he hoped to minimize the number of accidents from the average students, like Crabbe, Goyle, Weasley, and Longbottom. It would also challenge the better students and keep them sharp. The class had gone fairly well, Longbottom had not melted another cauldron, though that was only because Snape had been breathing down his neck for the first twenty minutes during the prep stage. The boy's potion had turned out adequate, the first such since the beginning of term. Snape wondered if it were a miracle.

He tucked the homework he had collected into his satchel and was heading out of the classroom to his office when he encountered Lena. "Is there something I can assist you with, Lena?"

"As a matter of fact, there is. May I speak to you privately, Severus?" she asked, her manner crisp and firm.

"Certainly. Come into my office." He led her into his office, he had about an hour before his third year class began. He shut the door and cast a Privacy ward over the room, just in case prying students tried to listen in on their conversation. He set down his satchel and seated himself. "What is it you wished to discuss? More Society business? Or is this about the library?"

Lena coughed and looked rather uncomfortable. "Neither. It's actually about a student of yours. You see, I found him in a corner of the library last night, crying his eyes out, almost hysterical. He told me his name was Neville Longbottom and he was terrified he was going to fail potions this term. He said if that happened, his grandmother would think he was a Squib and pull him out of Hogwarts. I tried to reassure him, I told him to come and ask you for extra tutoring, but he seemed terrified of you, Severus."

Severus scowled. Longbottom again! The boy was like a millstone about his neck. "Lena, the boy has a very nervous disposition. He's scared of his own shadow. If you're implying that I have harmed the boy in any way—" his eyes flashed.

"No, not intentionally, but . . . you can be very intimidating, Severus." She stated, looking him in the eye.

"Yes, what of it? I cannot afford to be anything other than strict with my students. Potions is a dangerous subject, the students must be focused and not fooling about while in class, or else a tragedy may occur. And has in times past. Students have died before I came to teach from exploded cauldrons or misbrewed drafts that have turned toxic. I am their teacher, not their friend, and I have a responsibility to their safety before all else. Longbottom is a walking disaster, madam. I haven't had a more inept, clumsy, addlepated student since Marsha Hawkins, my second year of teaching. When Longbottom enters my classroom, I feel the need to issue protective masks and head gear to the rest of the students."

"Severus, perhaps that is because you are too impatient with him. He fears your displeasure and that in turn makes him so nervous he cannot think straight. I've seen this kind of anxiety before. Surely you can see that barking orders at the boy is only making him worse?"

"Miss Rosario," here Severus's tone became sharp as a dagger. "I have been teaching for over ten years, I think I know the signs of anxiety. However, I cannot afford to spend all my time watching Longbottom when I have a class of nineteen others to supervise. I am very aware that the boy has problems, he is forever exploding and melting cauldrons because of his lack of attention to the formulas. My 'barking' at him, Miss Rosario, is a direct attempt to make him pay more attention and avoid an accident which could prove fatal."

"I understand that, but perhaps what the boy needs is some individualized instruction. If you could tutor him alone, away from the others, he might be able to concentrate better, and you could afford to be more patient with him and try and overcome his anxiety gradually. He told me that your hovering over him makes him nervous."

Severus' scowl deepened. "Indeed? And how, pray tell, am I to inspect his potion if I do not 'hover' over him? If Longbottom is not kept a sharp eye on, you can be sure his potion will be ruined within half-an-hour. Furthermore, I have no leisure time in which to tutor the boy, as I am swamped with work from my seven other classes, plus my duties as Head of Slytherin, and attempting to spend an hour or two with my ward. In addition to that, I also monitor the halls every other night with Mr. Filch."

"It sounds like you need a teaching assistant."

"Perhaps, but they are hardly crawling out of the woodwork. Unless you are volunteering?"

The librarian stiffened at his scoffing tone and snapped, "Why? Do you think I can't do it? I'll have you know I was third in my year in Potions on my NEWTS. If you need help grading homework and such I am perfectly capable of doing so! You needn't act so superior . . . Mr. Snape!" Now she glared at him, in an indignant fury, her Italian temper sparking. "All I'm trying to do is to help a student. Don't you care if Longbottom fails your class?"

"Of course I do! But I hardly need you to interfere with my teaching methods, Miss Rosario!"

"Quit being so stubborn! You say you need an assistant, well, here I am. I have half of my days free now that the library is nearly fully restored, I can grade your homework, so then you have an hour or two free to work with Neville. I don't think he's hopeless, he just needs some encouragement. From you, Professor. You obviously care about your students, so why not show Neville that? The boy's heard all sorts of horror stories about you from older Housemates. Here's your chance to prove them all false. As well as help a student from failing and ruining your reputation as a decent Potions Master."

Severus bristled at her for several minutes, tempted to tell her off. Who did she think she was, coming here and trying to tell him how to teach? But he held his temper by a very slim margin. Because deep down, he knew her assessment was mostly correct. He was impatient with those who did not grasp his subject easily, it frustrated him because brewing was like second nature to him and always had been. It irritated him when students kept making the same errors over and over, because it seemed like they weren't applying themselves or paying attention. It also worried him when he had a student like Longbottom in class, because it was all too easy to cause a bad accident and he would be responsible for the injured children under his care. The worry expressed itself in sharpness and temper.

He met her eyes with a challenging gleam, and replied, "You have a great deal of nerve, Miss Rosario, to presume to tell me how to teach my subject and my students."

"So I've been told," she said dryly. "Will you accept my offer?"

"I need not prove myself to you," Severus said stiffly.

"True. But how about to yourself, Potions Master?"

"You are determined to drive me to drink, aren't you? Has anyone ever told you that you are an exasperating pain-in-arse?"

To his surprise, she chuckled. "My family does, all the time."

"Humph! Why am I not surprised?" he drawled irritably. "Very well. I shall speak to Minerva and arrange a tutoring schedule with her for Longbottom. I shall also tell her of our arrangement. But be warned, you must follow my grading rubric exactly, no deviations. And I have the final say on all the grades, no exceptions."

"Yes, sir, Master Snape," she saluted him. "What time do you wish me to start tomorrow?"

He smirked. "Six-thirty A.M."

She didn't bat an eye. "Shall I meet you in your office?"

"Yes. Be prepared to work."

"I always am, Professor. I'll see you at lunch." With that, she left, leaving an irritated Potions Master staring after her.

He was torn between a grudging respect for her audacity and a desire to shake her till her teeth rattled. But she had pricked his pride, and in truth he didn't want to have a student as terrified of him as Neville was. His reputation as the snarky dungeon bat served him well with recalcitrant and cheeky students, and those who were troublemakers and rule-breakers. Those he did not mind making weep with terror when they saw him coming. But Longbottom was not one of their ilk, and Severus did not enjoy seeing the boy look at him as though he were the Dark Lord come again.

Setting aside his batch of homework, he checked his watch and the schedule he had posted upon the wall of his colleagues' classes. He saw that Minerva was free at this time as well, and tossed down some Floo Powder. "McGonagall's office." Then he stepped through the glowing green flames.

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That evening, as Harry was about to make his way down to Snape's quarters again for his study session, he noticed Neville standing in front of the fireplace in the common room, looking rather shellshocked. "Hey, Nev. Something wrong?"

"Huh?" Neville jumped about a foot. "Oh, it's you, Harry. You startled me."

"Sorry. You look sort of dazed."

"I . . well . . . you see . . . Professor McGonagall just told me that I need some remedial potions lessons on Tuesdays and Wednesdays and . . . uh . . ."

"Oh. That's not a bad thing, right? I mean, you could use the extra practice," Harry said honestly.

"I know, but . . . I have them with . . . Professor Snape." Neville whimpered, saying Snape's name the way another person might have said Voldemort.

"Well, sure you would, Nev. I mean, why wouldn't you? He is our Potions Master. He knows how to help you the best." Harry patted the other on the shoulder. "Quit worrying, Nev. He's not as bad as he makes himself out to be in class. Trust me on that. His bark's worse than his bite . . . most times."

"Maybe to you he's like that. But I'm not brave like you, Harry. I'm afraid of my own shadow. The Hat only put me in Gryffindor 'cause I asked it to, since my mum and dad were in this House."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What House did it originally want you in?"

"Hufflepuff."

"Well, you're a Gryffindor now. The Hat must have seen you have courage, or else it wouldn't have agreed."

"I guess so." Neville looked doubtful. "But I still don't think I have a lot of courage."

There came a sudden flutter of wings and both boys looked up to see Skullduggery perched upon the window of the Tower. The raven peered at the two Gryffindors and said in a quiet voice, "There are many kinds of courage, young wizard. Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow."

Neville smiled shyly at the raven. "Thanks, Skull."

The raven made a purring noise.

Harry grinned and stroked the black bird's feathers. "Where'd you hear that, Skull?"

"It is a quote from Mary Anne Radmacher, an inspirational writer. Severus has read some of her work aloud to me." He winked at the boy. Then his voice shifted, to sound like Snape's. "If you don't hurry, Potter, you shall be late for your study session."

"Right. On my way, Skull. See you later, Neville!" Harry waved and raced out the door.

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Tuesday night, the following week:

Severus was waiting in his classroom at seven o'clock, next to his desk, his arms crossed over his chest. This was his first tutoring session with Longbottom, and the boy was late. He heaved a sigh. Students who were chronically late always annoyed him. Didn't Longbottom know how to tell time?

There came a timid knock on the door, and then Neville entered. The boy was rumpled, his tie askew, his moon face red from having run as quickly as he could across the grounds and down to the dungeons. "S-Sorry I'm late, sir . . . was helping Professor Sprout . . ." Neville gasped, struggling to catch his breath. He began to wheeze.

Suddenly Snape was beside him, taking his arm and leading him to a chair. "Sit. Put your head between your knees and take a deep breath. Slowly." The professor's voice was soft, lacking its usual scornful bite. Neville found himself obeying the tone immediately. He managed to take a deep breath.

"Good. Again."

Neville drew in another breath and then another, until he was breathing normally again. Some of the red hectic flush faded from his cheeks and he peered warily up at his tall professor. He expected some sarcastic comment and half-cringed.

But Snape merely raised an eyebrow and said, "Next time you are working with a professor and know you will be late, have them send a note to me or Floo me. That way you won't need to run yourself into the ground, Longbottom."

"Yes, sir." Neville squeaked. He gulped hard.

Then he blinked as Snape held out something to him. It was a cup of water. He took the cup and sipped it gratefully. Then he wondered why Snape wasn't sneering at him. Could Harry have been right after all? "Th-thank you, sir."

"No need to thank me, Longbottom. Dying will not save you from taking my exam."

Neville nodded quickly. He had no doubt that Snape would come and fetch him from beyond the Veil just so he could finish his potions final. "No, sir."

Severus bit back a sigh. He had intended that as a joke, but apparently the boy didn't share his dry wit. "All right, Longbottom." He waved his wand at the chalkboard and a Sleeping Draught wrote itself upon the board. "Look here. This is a standard Sleeping Draught, one that all first years should be able to brew by the end of the term. Professor Sprout tells me you are good in Herbology. Tell me what the properties of these herbs are and what they do."

Neville peered at the board and read slowly. The herbs in the Sleeping Draught were chamomile, lavender, valerian, and passion flower. He explained the properties of each in a soft voice, that started out uncertain and shaky but gained confidence by the end of the recitation.

"Correct. Knowing the properties of ingredients is the first step in becoming a decent potion maker," Snape instructed. "Once you know what the ingredients do, you can determine how they react. Go and fetch the ingredients from the back cabinet."

Neville rose hastily, tripped over his robe hem, and almost fell on top of the professor. Horrified, he trembled and waited for Snape to bellow at him and call him a dunderhead that couldn't even walk straight. But all Snape did was take him by the shoulders to steady him and point to the cabinet.

Flushing scarlet, Neville hurried to the cabinet. His stomach was still in knots, but so far the professor hadn't lashed him with his tongue.

Once the ingredients were gathered, Snape told Neville to begin preparing them, making sure he read the instructions carefully. The professor watched, standing a few feet away, trying not hover so much. "Take your time. There is no need to rush."

Neville began to cut up the valerian roots, wrinkling his nose at the disgusting smell.

"Usually it is best to chop or grind all your ingredients before you begin adding them to the cauldron. Also make sure you check the flame, you do not want your potion to scorch."

"Yes, sir."

Neville finished chopping and grinding, then began to add the ingredients.

"Stop!" Snape ordered.

Neville froze. The Potions Master was frowning. "S-sir?"

"What did you forget?"

Neville bit his lip. "I . . .I . . .oh! The fire! I forgot to check it! And the water too!"

He quickly checked the flame level and filled the cauldron with the required amount of water. Then he re-read the directions.

Snape watched as Longbottom added each ingredient. Occasionally, the boy would slide his gaze over to him, as if confirming that the professor was still there. Severus was silent, allowing the boy to proceed at his own pace.

Neville was still nervous, but he managed to finish brewing the potion, allowing it to simmer for ten minutes. He looked up at his teacher, wide-eyed.

"Not bad, Longbottom." Severus praised. "I believe this is the first time you have brewed a successful potion."

Neville looked at the cauldron in astonishment. "I did?"

"Yes."

"Merlin, I really did!" the boy said, his voice full of amazement. "I guess I'm not so hopeless."

"No. Now that you have seen you can brew one potion properly, let us see if you can do it again, without prompting." Snape waved his wand and bottled the fresh draft. "Begin."

Neville practically ran to the cabinet, a smile blossoming across his face. On his return trip back to his workstation, he saw his professor with a—dare he think it—pleased expression upon his saturnine features. He paused and gaped up at the man.

"Longbottom, what are you staring at?" Severus demanded, waving a hand impatiently. "That potion won't brew itself."

"Nothing, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Quit apologizing and brew," the other ordered gruffly.

Neville hurried over to the workstation, and set to work, only this time his movements were a bit surer and more confident.

Perhaps he had been too hasty and misjudged the boy, the professor thought. Longbottom did work better alone and without the sharp edge of his tongue. Snape felt a warm glow of satisfaction stirring within him. If he could manage to bring Longbottom up to a competent standard, he would prove that he was capable of teaching even the most difficult student. To himself, of course. Severus almost smiled then.

So did someone else who was observing silently from the corner of the lab, hidden beneath a Shadowed Charm. Lena smiled, and thought that she had misjudged the professor, and was sorry she had quarreled with him. She had not thought he would succeed, based upon what she had observed of his teaching methods in class. She had been wrong. When he wished, Severus could be quite patient. It was too bad, though, that the man rarely showed this side to anyone, except perhaps his ward and his familiar.

The librarian-turned-potions-assistant slipped away while the professor's back was turned, demonstrating the proper way to stir a cauldron, smoothly and with a firm swirling motion. Once outside the classroom, she cancelled her charms. The professor was a man of his word. Hiding a grin, she hurried back to his office to pick up another batch of homework to grade. She was certain that if he caught her shirking, he would not spare her the razor edge of his tongue. And rightly so.

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Severus caught Lena mid-yawn over a student's parchment when he returned to his office after the tutoring session. "Working overtime, Miss Rosario? Or are you finding the students' essays as boring as Professor Binns' lectures?"

His new assistant looked up, blinking owlishly behind her spectacles. "Huh? Oh, no I wasn't really bored . . . some of the students have rather . . . err . . . shall we say . . . unconventional explanations for their potions reagents . . ." She stifled another yawn.

Severus snorted. "There is no need to be diplomatic. I know full well how bloody boring they are, which is why I tend to grade with a large cup of coffee at my elbow. Sometimes that's the only thing keeping my eyes from shutting, unless I take a Stimulant Draft."

Lena bit her lip, looking like a guilty schoolgirl. "Fine. I admit it. This is worse than memorizing Caesar's Commentary on Gaul. I don't know how you do it, Professor Snape. Every day, I mean. This requires immense dedication. I don't think I could make a good teacher." She lifted her eyes and met his. "I owe you an apology. I misjudged you."

"Oh? In what way?"

"I did not think you would be able to keep your temper while tutoring. I was wrong."

"You have been spying upon me?" Severus scowled at her. The blasted witch did not trust him. Of all the nerve!

"Guilty as charged, sir," she admitted, flushing. "Curiosity had always been my bane. As has my temper. You are more than what you seem, Professor Snape."

"Aren't we all?" he drawled, with just the hint of a smile. "And it's Severus, Lena."

"Friends?" she held out a hand.

"Friends," he clasped hers in his own. "Now finish those essays."

She scowled. "Has anyone ever told you that you are a bloody slavedriver?"

"Quit complaining, Rosario. You agreed to this." He turned to leave, flicking his wand as he did so.

An extra-large mug of steaming coffee with milk and two sugars appeared on the desk at her elbow. Before she could say anything, he was gone, black robes billowing.