When the morning sun first grazed her cheek, Saturnine Eileen Snape sat up with a groan. Her back was stiff, and her shoulders tense. Looking at the crumpled blankets pooled around her legs, it was easy to understand why. She wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep but knew it couldn’t have been more than two or three hours ago. And it had not been a restful sleep.

Sitting up, she moved to the small adjoining bathroom. Like every other part of her new accommodation, it was as tiny as it was practical. On one side, there was a porcelain sink with a small hanging cabinet with mirrored doors. On the other, a toilet and a square-shaped shower cubicle completed the set.

Saturnine had always suspected Hogwarts teachers had modest accommodations, but she had hoped for a little more space for herself. She brushed her teeth quickly, then removed her clothes and stepped into the shower. Well, at least the rent is free, she thought as the first drops cascaded down her back. The water was pleasantly warm and did much to loosen her taut muscles.

Finishing up, she wondered at how this had happened. How could life have taken such a turn? Earlier that year, she had been desperately searching for a way out of the Aurors’ clutches. But now she posed as Hogwarts’ new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher—all so that she could protect one Harry Potter from the looming fate that awaited him. Lily’s son, the prophesied hero of the Wizarding World. The Boy Who Lived and was destined to defeat Lord Voldemort one day. A child whom she had cared for and grown to love in the two months they had spent together in Professor Dumbledore’s Cornish safe house.

“For Harry,” she said aloud as she tiptoed out of the shower, waving a hand up and down her side. At her command, the water drops that pearled on her naked skin lifted and returned to the shower stall. They went willingly, happy to do as directed. Saturnine applied slightly more focus to her magic and similarly dried her dark-brown hair.

She hadn’t seen Harry since she had taken him to the Weasleys three days prior. It was barely more than seventy-two hours ago, but she missed him as if it had been a month. She did all this for him, she reminded herself. Regardless of her issues with the mission, she had agreed to take on this role because of him. Because the boy needed her, and she needed to know that he was safe. So, she got to work.

Standing before the mirrored cabinet, Saturnine retrieved her hairbrush and started taming her long tangled locks. It took no time at all to style them in a tight chignon, held securely with a thick elastic band. The makeup was a different business. Although she’d practised daily for a week now, it still took over half an hour to apply the various layers of foundation and powder—in dark and light shades of brown—to alter her traits beyond recognition. Once satisfied, she retrieved the small plastic box containing the unassuming brown-coloured lenses to hide her striking azure-blue gaze. She dressed quickly, slipping into a pair of tight black denim trousers and a long-sleeved, cerulean pussy-bow blouse.

“For Harry,” she said again as she inspected herself in the mirror. A near-stranger gazed back at her.

The carefully crafted persona Saturnine had created, Leen Nine, a demure French professor, would be put to the test today. She had, so far, kept to herself—taking possession of her private quarters alone and readying her classroom on her own. But she had yet to venture into the rest of the castle or eat in the Great Hall with the other teachers. Many had, like her, arrived before the students to prepare for the start of term.

The staff meeting she was now on her way to was mandatory, and despite her resolve, Saturnine felt jittery. Several teachers here had known her when she was younger. She had sat, front row, in Professors McGonagall and Flitwick’s classes for seven years. And Severus Snape—well, the resident Potions Master had known her for far longer than that; he’d known her all her life.

Stepping onto the Grand Staircase, she wondered at the folly of it all. Her own brother, for Merlin’s sake. She was sure he would see through her disguise in a heartbeat, and then—

Saturnine shuddered at the thought as the stairs lurched to the left. Her stomach followed with some difficulty, and she brought a hand up to her mouth, feeling thankful that she had had nothing to eat yet. What would happen if Severus recognised her? she wondered. She dreaded to think how he would react. It had been fifteen years since he had last seen her—fifteen years since they had talked. It was time enough to seal old wounds and forget. But it was also enough time for them to fester and grow into the most nefarious beasts. So, which would it be?

“Professor Nine, I presume,” a middle-aged witch said as she joined her on the stairs. The plump, blond-haired woman had come in from the second-floor corridor. She introduced herself. “Bathsheda Babbling. I teach the Study of Ancient Runes.”

It took Saturnine a second or two to push the thoughts of her brother to the back of her mind and focus on the moment. She reached out a hesitant hand to grip the one Professor Babbling held out to her. “Leen Nine,” she said, twisting the consonants of her first name so that it sounded like there was an additional ‘e’ at the end. Having decided that her made-up character had a British father and French mother, she pronounced her family name how an English speaker would. “Enchantée,” she added, knowing the other woman would most likely be accustomed to that foreign word.

“Ooh,” cooed Professor Babbling. “Are you French? J’adore la France!” she exclaimed, badly mangling the words.

They made their way to the ground floor together, Professor Babbling showering her new colleague with a downpour of trivial questions. By the time the two women made it to the meeting, Saturnine had her act all warmed up, down to the uneasy mannerisms and twitches. She was proud of the nervous tick she had come up with: to push her fake prescription glasses back up her nose while talking to people. It was an ingenious way to keep them from staring at her facial traits for too long. The distracting, sparkling earrings she wore served the same purpose.

When they entered the staffroom, where Saturnine had never been in all her time as a student, Bathsheda Babbling quickly introduced her to everyone. The dark-haired witch was thankful to the Ancient Rune professor for that; it saved her from having to do it herself. Instead, she shook a hand or two, looking demure throughout. It wasn’t easy to pull off, given that she was nearly six feet tall. But the hunched shoulders, nervous twisting fingers, and fleeting gaze added a lot of credibility to her act.

The staffroom was unassuming. A little smaller than a standard classroom, it was furnished in the same vein, with four small tables and an assortment of mismatched chairs. Large windows decorated the wall opposite the door, letting in the morning sun and offering the visitors a nice view of the greenhouses. On the right-hand side of the room, several cabinets seemed to be filled to the brim with parchments and books, while a large notice board took up most of the opposing wall. It was covered in an assortment of flyers and notices—most of them outdated. Several trays containing various drinks and pastries had been left on the tables by the house-elves, and Saturnine felt her stomach rumble.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Professor,” Filius Flitwick said from the stool he had stepped on to be tall enough to shake her hand.

“Likewise,” she replied in barely a murmur. The short, half-goblin Charms teacher caught her gaze, and she held her breath. He smiled, released her hand, and introduced himself. Saturnine breathed a little easier, knowing he hadn’t recognised her.

She had similar luck with Professor McGonagall moments later. The Scottish Transfiguration professor and Head of Gryffindor House was much like Saturnine remembered. There were maybe a couple more lines to her face, but the rigour with which she held herself was eerily familiar. The way she scolded Saturnine for her absence of the past three days was familiar, too.

“I apologise,” she said, hunching forward a little more. “I have had a hard time understanding what the previous teachers did with the class, you see. There were few notes left.” She paused and swallowed thickly before gazing at her black ankle-high boots. “It took me more time than I had expected to prepare the syllabus,” she admitted, nervously pushing her glasses back up her nose. She was forced to raise her chin so they wouldn’t slide back down. “I’m afraid it has taken all my time, Professor McGonagall.”

Her lies must have been convincing, for the Scot’s expression softened at once. Next to her, Pomona Sprout, Herbology professor and Head of Hufflepuff House, nodded in commiseration. “Such an uneven streak,” she said. “I thought we’d hit rock-bottom with Lockhart, but then last year—”

She didn’t have the time to finish her sentence before Professor Babbling cut in, “Dolores Umbridge—can you believe it?” She placed a drink of pumpkin juice in one of Saturnine’s hands. “Whoever thought that woman was qualified to teach anything…”

She let her words hang, which allowed the other professors to weigh in with their views of Saturnine’s predecessor. Choosing not to join the conversation, she barely listened to the downpour of critics; she’d already heard it all from Harry during the summer.

Instead, she sipped her drink, and it did wonders to soothe her stomach. Thinking of the lad made her heart ache, and she had to school her features not to let it show. Three days—it had only been three days, and yet it felt like three months.

“Thought we had found ourselves ano’ter Professor Snape,” a loud, deep basso voice cut through her musing. Saturnine started at the words, almost spilling her drink down the front of her elegant blouse.

Turning to face the man who’d spoken, she was faced with an enormous chest sporting a black-and-red chequered shirt and a yellow tie. Looking up, she saw a wild, tangled beard and the familiar face of Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds and current Care of Magical Creatures teacher.

“I—I’m sorry?” she stammered. This time, she did not need to fake the tremor in her voice.

“Oh, yeh probably haven’ met him yet,” the half-giant said, words mangled by his thick accent. One of his large hands rose to scratch his chin. “Severus Snape, tha’s our Potions professor. He likes ter keep ter himself, too.”

“Only makes the staff meetings if the headmaster expressly requests his presence,” added Professor Sinistra with a pinched expression, having joined their discussion. “And then he broods through it all, like a sullen child.”

Don’t let him hear you say that, Saturnine thought as she started breathing again. Sweet Circe, but I believed he’d caught me.

“No, I—I haven’t met him yet,” she confirmed softly. And she hadn’t; she’d made sure of that. She had decided she would see as little of her brother as she could and had already thought of a strategy to secure herself a seat as far away from him as possible at the staff table. Her next steps would be to work out when he liked to take his meals and make sure not to show up when he did if she could avoid it.

As it was, she had only caught the briefest of glances of the Potions Master through one of her office windows the day before. Severus had been on his way to the outer gates—going Merlin knew where. Despite the many layers of black on his back, tension had been easy to read in the hard set of his shoulders.

Seeing her brother again, even from afar, had taken the breath out of her. And it had forced Saturnine to lean against the windowpane for long minutes afterwards. The mere sight of him had felt like a stab in the heart, and she wondered, How will I last the year without it completely breaking?

As it was, that question would go unanswered today, as would the question of knowing whether her facial camouflage could deceive the greatest spy of all time. Severus Snape never made it to the mandatory staff meeting, and Saturnine knew at once that the excuse Dumbledore gave her peers to explain his absence was phoney. Dread filled her as a hundred dark thoughts crossed her mind—each more sinister than the next. She wondered what could have happened to her beloved brother.

In the following hours, she tried catching the headmaster’s gaze several times, hoping to silently request more information, but she didn’t manage it. Once the meeting ended, the old man left before she had the time to corner him.

Two drinks later, Saturnine made her way back to the Grand Staircase with Professor Babbling in tow. Given the choice, she would have preferred to go alone so she could rummage through her dark thoughts. But as it was, she needed to make a friend. Or rather, Leen Nine did—preferably one that sat on the left-hand side of the Head Table. Given that the alternatives were the buoyant Hagrid or the stuck-up Professor Vector, Saturnine figured that a place next to the reasonably loquacious Ancient Runes teacher would be a suitable alternative.