The teachers of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had gathered together in the staff room for their first meeting of the year. It was only an hour until the students arrived and the beginning of year feast began, but the meeting was only a formality. Most teachers had arrived a day or two before, settling into their old rooms and organising the first lessons of the year before classes began, and so most of the announcements on new timetables and other school business had already passed by word of mouth.

Each settled into their accustomed positions around the meeting table. The staff of Hogwarts rarely changed. Even in these dark times, when many were fleeing the reemergence of He Who Must Not Be Named, confidence in Albus Dumbledore's ability to deal with any situation was high. As a consequence, it had become routine over time for Professor McGonagal to sit on the right hand of Dumbledore, at the head of the table, beside professors Flitwick and Hooch. Hagrid, the half-giant groundskeeper and teacher of Care of Magical Creatures, sat next to them. On the other side of the oval table, Madam Pince, librarian, and Madam Pomfrey, school nurse, were seated further down, next to Argus Filch, caretaker, who sat at the very bottom of the oval table. In such a manner were all the teachers sat, in the mixture of rank and preference for neighbours that had developed over time.

As the teachers settled, only two places remained empty. At the head of the table, an empty chair stood where the Headmaster of Hogwarts generally sat, and further down the left hand side of the table the spot next to Professor Snape was empty - the place usually taken by the Professor for the Defense Against the Dark Arts.

A few teachers cast curious looks at the empty chair, and at Snape sitting beside it. The position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was one of the very few to change hands in the last few years. In fact, in recent years, no teacher had lasted more than a year in the position. There were rumours - not believed by the teachers of Hogwarts, of course - that the position was cursed.

It was well known that Severus Snape, who for many years had taught Potions, desired to be teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts as well. Many thought that this was why he had positioned himself to sit next to the teacher of that subject. Snape, a darkly brooding man, could be very intimidating when he wanted to.

The babble around the table ceased as the door to the staff room opened and Albus Dumbledore strode in. The teachers rose to greet him, as was tradition, and Dumbledore waved them back down. Dumbledore was not one for pomp.

He walked to his seat and beamed down at his staff, before taking his seat.

'Well, my friends, another new year,' he smiled. 'I will not be long as I am sure you all want to go and prepare for the feast.' With a wave of his wand a notepad appeared before Dumbledore. He glanced at it briefly and looked back around the table. 'Ah. Well, to begin with: the fourth floor this year is only to be used by students in their seventh year, as for some reason the stair has taken a dislike to any person under sixteen years of age.' Several teachers nodded. In the last few months of classes, several students had been thrown from the stairs to the landing on the third floor. Dumbledore cleared his throat. 'All of your services will be needed for the periodical reinforcement of the protective spells around the castle this year, as we have gone for the highest security possible. Also, any anomalies found, psychic impulses in the grounds, et cetera, are to be reported at once. Now,' Dumbledore looked around the room, his eyes resting on the empty place next to Snape. 'Ah,' he smiled. 'I suspected this might happen. Oh, well, this gives me time to inform you all that there is to be a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year.' Teachers nodded again. The position was hardly one that could be could remain open, especially in these dark times. Dumbledore continued, 'This teacher has had extensive experience in defense against dark magics, having traveled extensively through many of the more dangerous areas, and, with our current trouble, it is very fortunate for us that they also have had several experiences with those who support Voldemort.' Several teachers cringed. Even here, safe in Hogwarts, the name of the Dark Lord drew fear. 'Furthermore, as an ex-student of Hogwarts, their knowledge of the grounds will be of invaluable help in strengthening our defenses this year. There will also be a new class-' Dumbledore paused, and turned towards the door. 'Ah, here she is now.' As he spoke, the door slammed open and a figure, cloaked, scarved and loaded down with several pieces of baggage, tumbled in the door. It dropped the bags in a corner, noisily stomping feet and puffing.

The figure turned towards the table, struggling with scarf and cloak as it approached the empty chair. With a bright, 'Sorry!’, it removed its hat to reveal a long plait of dark hair and a rosy-cheeked feminine face.

'Ah! Glad you made it,' said Dumbledore, turning to the rest of the table. 'May I introduce Margaretta Drumknott.'

The woman finally freed herself from her cloak and scarf, throwing them on the floor behind the chair. She smiled brightly at the group.

'Hi,' she said, quietly, and sat down.

Severus Snape had been in a relatively good mood. Though he was reluctant to admit it, he enjoyed teaching at Hogwarts. Forcing information into reluctant young minds was a fairly rewarding task, though frustrating at times. He enjoyed seeing the students in his care blossom under his watchful eye; students who reminded him so much of himself, who had so much promise. Occasionally he would come up against a completely hopeless case, such as young, smarmy Harry Potter- not all students could be future greats.

He enjoyed teaching. He also enjoyed the research he was able to do in his spare moments- being a professor had its perks. And, though he didn't agree with everything the man said, Albus Dumbledore had his brilliant moments, frustrating though some of his policies were. The rest of the staff were, in general, tolerable, though there was nothing to encourage more than civility from most of them.

All in all, life at Hogwarts was acceptable. Dull, without a single bright mind to provoke intelligent discussion, but acceptable.

He had sat in his usual chair, letting the banter of the other teachers wash over him and nodding hello to any he hadn't already met over the past days, waiting patiently for Dumbledore to arrive. The announcements the headmaster had made came as no surprise, being mostly things that had been settled over the holidays. Even the announcement of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was unsurprising. Snape had felt the looks of the other teachers as they noticed the empty chair beside him, looks that had increased as Dumbledore read out a description that could very easily have fitted Snape, but, having spoken to Dumbledore upon his arrival, Snape knew he had been passed over for the position again.

He was interested to hear, however, that the new teacher had a career so similar to his own. Was it too much to hope that the committee had chosen someone worthy of the position, instead of the usual fops that had been the fodder of recent years?

His hopes sank when the figure had blundered in. An undignified entrance. The new teacher would be in the usual line, it seemed.

Snape had been taken aback when the figure had manoeuvred the scarf from its face. It was a woman- no, she could be no more than a girl. It seemed more likely she should be a student than a teacher. Snape reflected that it was amazing that such a child could have the resume that Dumbledore had announced- the old man must have been exaggerating. Yet another of his favourite ex-students, favoured and spoilt.

Just as he was turning back to the table, the girl took off her hat, and Snape saw the long plait tumble down. He looked back up as the girl removed her cloak and scarf. Her cheeks were rosy and red, her green eyes sparkled. Her hair was transformed by the light, now a rich dark brown, now black, now auburn. A few strands curled over her cheeks. Snape found that he was holding his breath. He released it. She was a mere child, he told himself, forcing his stare back to the table. Still, he sensed the slim figure, clothed in robes of dark red velvet, as she sat down beside him.

'Sorry to interrupt, everyone, the weather was amazing on the way up,' she said. Her voice, Snape thought, was far too bright. A naive child.

He felt her settle into her chair as Dumbledore began to speak again.

'Margaretta will also be teaching a new course this year, Advanced Bewitchment. I'm sure we will all do our best to make her welcome.' The old man smiled down the table before rising. 'That concludes our business for today. I will be in my office until the feast should anyone wish to talk to me.’ Snape watched as Dumbledore exited the room, and stood himself. Several other teachers moved from the table slowly, congregating for a chat beside the fire. There was not much to do but await the feast. Snape wished to visit his office before the meal.

He was halted by a hand on his arm. He looked down to see Margaretta smiling up at him.

'Professor Snape.'

Snape was mildly surprised at the familiarity in her tone. Surely he hadn't himself taught this- youngling?

'Do I... know you?' he said, with barely polite civility. He didn't want to encourage this child to be any more familiar than she was.

She chuckled and leant back in her chair. 'I doubt it. But I felt we should be reacquainted. Margaretta Drumknott.' She held out her hand. Snape ignored it, staring straight at her.

'Yes, Dumbledore said. Congratulations.' Snape turned to leave, but again felt the woman's hand on his arm. He turned to find her standing beside him.

She leant against the table. 'You know, I'll also be teaching the new Advanced Bewitchment classes for excelling students. It'll involve the usual chants, of course, but I thought I would include a few herbal treatments that I have found come in handy. Your help with that side, of course, would be invaluable.' She smiled cheerily up at him.

'I doubt my help would be of any assistance to you,' replied Snape, dislike permeating his voice. His help would indeed be of no assistance, as he felt he would rather become Harry Potter's babysitter than give this whelp any useful advice. Let her make her blunders unassisted.

Margaretta seemed unperturbed. 'Oh, I'm sure you're wrong, Severus.' She smiled again and whirled off before Snape could correct her for using his first name uninvited.

He watched as she bounced over to the group by the fireplace. She was like a puppy, he thought. So irritatingly bouncy, so naively happy. So easily intimidated with a few harsh words. It would be amusing to see her enthusiasm quashed.

This year, Snape reflected, would be interesting.

The beginning of the year was always exciting for the students of Hogwarts. The journey through the countryside on the Hogwarts Express, reacquainting themselves with friends and swapping holiday tales, arriving to see the castle standing imposingly above them, the excitement of the feast, the first years being sorted into houses.

This year, however, an extra ripple of excitement went through the crowds at the four tables. There was a new Dark Arts teacher- that came as no surprise- but it was a woman, a young woman, and the rumour was that she would be teaching a new class also on bewitchment. Students peered up at the teachers' table, straining for a glimpse of the slim figure in red, seated next to Snape.

Snape, as usual, seemed to dislike the new teacher. Under the gaze of hundreds of curious students, he sent her several looks of extreme dislike, turning pointedly to his other side should she ever glance at him. This was nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone in the school knew of Snape's ambitions, and the pretty young woman would irk him. The fact that she was also beginning a new, advanced, class of her own choosing would be salt on his wounds.

The young woman laughed merrily at something Professor Flitwick, on her left, was saying. She leant over to repeat the joke down the table, leaving Snape to glare at her while the other teachers chuckled. The students stared, fascinated, as her hair, which had been fastened in a bun, undid itself and tumbled down her back as she talked, changing magically from dark brown to a curly red gold. This was going to be the new bewitchment teacher? Somehow, the students sensed her classes were going to be worth striving to get into.

The first week of classes passed by slowly. The start of a year invariably involved reminding students of what they had learnt in years before, teachers marveling at the rate at which knowledge could be lost in a student head, and students getting lost between classes, so that a lesson could be begun as many as five times.

No such consideration was given to students late to Snape's classes, as several fifth year Gryffindor students found when they came in after class had begun. Snape particularly enjoyed his fifth year classes. Draco Malfoy, a most promising student, was in this class, as was the insipid Harry Potter, always a delight to observe and deride.

Snape was locking away the more sensitive ingredients in the potions cupboard at the end of this lesson when he heard a noise in the classroom. Gryffindor students, he thought; those simpering children were always looking for ways to earn extra admiration from teachers. He stormed out of the storeroom with a smile on his face. It was always pleasing to have an excuse to remove points from Gryffindor.

'Miss Granger-' he began, then halted. Margaretta stood at his desk, examining a specimen in a jar. She looked up and smiled.

'No, Severus, Drumknott: Professor, though Margaretta is fine.' Putting down the jar, she walked around the desk and sat down on a table in the front row.

'Miss Drumknott, what-’

She cut him off again. 'Professor, Severus, if you please.'

'Miss Drumknott,’ he continued, 'Why you are invading my classroom? And I prefer to be called Professor Snape.'

'Really?' Margaretta tilted her head and stared at him. 'But Severus suits you so much better.'

'Why are you in my classroom?'

Margaretta rested her foot on the table and hugged her knee, her skirt immediately dropping to cover her ankle. 'I came so we could discuss the potions I will be using in my Advanced Bewitchment classes.'

Snape sat himself down at his desk and began shuffling papers. 'As I have said before, I can give you no help in this matter.'

'Oh, I know,' said Margaretta. Snape's head snapped back up to look at her. She hid a smile. 'I came to discuss what you will be covering in your classes. I don't want to tread on your toes in any way.'

Snape's mouth formed into a thin line. 'I doubt there will be anything your class could cover that I would teach. My classes concentrate on practicality, not love potions.'

Margaretta chuckled. 'Oh, love potions are only a small part of my curriculum. Now, as for potions, I will begin with the Liquor of Imperceptibility, always a good one in a tough spot-'

Snape interrupted her with a derisive laugh. 'It was my understanding that your classes are being offered to sixth years, Miss Drumknott. I doubt you will find any student below NEWT level that could even approach a decent Liquor of Imperceptibility. Perhaps you should set a curriculum that is a little less... ambitious?' Snape's tone made it clear that he thought her attempting to impress him with her knowledge.

Margaretta smiled, swinging her legs over the edge of the table. 'It's Margaretta, Severus, if you please. Oh, I don't know, Severus, I remember your experimentations in that area-'

Snape cut in. He was perturbed by the memory that her words stirred- he had tried to make an Imperceptibility solution in his sixth year, and by a miscalculation had been invisible for a month. He had been forced to submit to being painted in order to be visible, and had been a laughing stock in the corridors for months.

'Yes, you say that you remember. I am puzzled, Miss Drumknott. I do not believe we have ever met before.'

Margaretta got up and wandered around the room, picking up instruments and jars and smiling at them fondly. 'I don't doubt it, Severus, I don't doubt it.' Snape almost suspected that her overuse of his name was deliberate. She turned to him. 'I remember you were always one to know everything.' Her mouth was not formed in a smile, but Snape could swear that she was laughing at him. 'Slytherin, wasn't it? Always such sneaky characters. Do you still favour the old alma mater, Severus?' Her eyes lit on a green and silver bookmark that was sticking out of a tome on his desk. 'Ah, I see you do. Oh, well. Not all of us learn.'

'How do you know me, Miss Drumknott?' It was not a question, it was a command. Snape was irritated, growing more by the second, and not comforted by the fact that Margaretta seemed to be enjoying making him so.

Margaretta finished wandering and sat down again before she spoke. 'Margaretta. So much fun, that house cup. Every house doing all they can just to earn a few points, to get the thanks of your housemates.’ Snape took a deep breath. The wench was positively relishing annoying him, he was sure of it. She continued, 'You know, once I did the most silly thing for a few points for my own house-'

Snape stared angrily at her. 'Let me guess,' he muttered. 'Gryffindor.' Disdain oozed from his tone.

'No,' Margaretta replied with a bright smile. 'Hufflepuff.' She jumped down from the table upon which she was seated and dusted her skirt, which again draped quickly down to her ankles. She looked back up at Snape. 'You see, Severus, we are capable of outgrowing our childhoods.' She raised an eyebrow, her green eyes boring into his. She broke the stare and turned to the door. 'I must be off. Enjoy your dungeon.' At the door, she turned again, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. 'By the way- I graduated a mere three years behind you, if you must know. So please, Severus, call me Margaretta. Can't have any formality between old school chums.' With a smile, she left, leaving Snape to stare, puzzled and angry, after her.

It was twilight. Margaretta meandered down the corridor, not particularly going anywhere, going everywhere.

God, it felt good to be back at Hogwarts. She hadn't realised how much she'd missed the feeling here. There was something about the place that made the people in it feel good; about themselves, about their lives, about their abilities.

Not that weren't things to regret from her time at Hogwarts. Like any teenage girl, she hadn't got along with her parents. Towards the end of her education, it seemed like every holiday was one endless row- their reluctance to talk about anything to do with their past, their attempts to force her to hide what she was; it was a canker in their relationship.

Margaretta had discovered that she was different to other students at Hogwarts in her third year. She had always felt especially attuned to the world around her, and had thought it strange on coming to Hogwarts that others in her class couldn't tell that the castle was nervous when a storm was coming. She soon learned not to tell her friends of her ramblings in the woods at home, seeing through the minds of the animals around her, running alongside wolf packs in the hunt; learnt that her hair- which had always been a kind of mood ring for her, glowing red and curly when she was excited, twisting itself into whatever shape matched her mood- was best kept hidden, though, nervous as she became about her oddities, it settled down to a straight drab brown most of the time.

But when she had begun to realise that people did whatever she wanted, responding to her unconscious commands, her abilities scared her. Already shy, finding that she was so much more different to the others was the last thing she wanted.

She was terrified. They had been taught nothing about this sort of thing in class; she could only conclude that it was a terrible dark magic, that she was a monster. She had taken to being alone as much as possible, frightened that she might make anyone she was with obey to her will by accident. Her parents didn't help at all; she had tried to broach the subject, only to be told that she was to hide her affliction at all costs. They had tried to be gentle with her and do the best for her, she realised now, but scared as she was their words seemed to confirm her worst fears. Why hide something at all costs if it wasn't dark magic?

Eventually, one of the teachers noticed her unusual behaviour. She could still remember the fright she had felt when Dumbledore had approached her one rainy day as she sat outside under a tree. Certain that she was going to be thrown in Azkaban, she had fought the impulse to run as the kindly old man sat down beside her.

He had patted her hand and told her she had a very special talent. She hadn't believed his reassuring words at first. Crying, blurting out all her fears, she had been startled to hear Dumbledore chuckle. He waited until she had calmed down, and then told her about the Gypsies.

To the Muggle world, Gypsies were a nomad race, hated, feared, moved from place to place. To the wizarding world, they were a strange people with strange powers.

Dumbledore spoke of the persecution Gypsies faced in both worlds. Muggles didn't understand their need for a nomadic life- couldn't accept that some people desired to live with the land, not off it. Wizards were unable to comprehend the strange powers of the Gypsies; the ability to be at one with nature even to the point of controlling it, being able to command magic from birth without need for wands or training, and especially the power to guide minds, was a frightening prospect for a world that had long since lost such powers. Though Gypsies obeyed Wizard and Muggle laws, never using their powers to persecute others, the wizarding community shunned theirs as a black magic. As a consequence, Gypsies retreated even further into their own world. The lasting effect was that few were able, or even tried, to understand this shadowy people, and their powers remained a mystery.

Many wizards now were making the effort to breach the gap between the world and the Gypsies, understanding that here were the ancient powers. Like any prejudice, it took time to change the commonly held ideas.

Margaretta listened in amazement. Was she, then, an adopted Gypsy child? Were her parents not even her parents any more?

But no. Dumbledore continued to say that several people in the wizarding world had the powers of the Gypsies. People were people everywhere, and Gypsies and wizards occasionally fell in love and got married. The Gypsy magic was carried down the blood line, sometimes exhibiting itself in only one child every few generations.

Margaretta had stared into the rain, feeling an overwhelming relief. Having Gypsy powers was still a problem, but at least she wasn't a dark witch. Dumbledore had asked her a few questions along the way, and had smiled and nodded when she had talked of her self-revulsion when she realised she had been controlling people unknowingly. He explained that with Gypsy powers came a responsibility; she must never use her power to harm others. This was the furthest of Margaretta's desires: she only wished to know how to stop it. Dumbledore had patted her on the head and promised to arrange the proper tutelage. Before he had returned to the castle, leaving her alone to ponder over the news, he had looked into her eyes.

'There are great, great things in store for you, my special child,' he had said, before he left.

Margaretta had been too overwhelmed to take in his last words at the time, but later, during secret classes that taught her to control her gift, she thought of them often. She felt stuck between two worlds. Yes, she had Gypsy powers, but she also had the talents of a conventional wizard, able to use wand as easily as hand. It too often seemed to her that she was a freak, an abomination. Her parents seemed to think so. It was their continuing fear of her abilities that made her insist that her gift be kept a secret. Dumbledore may have been an enlightened man, but others, she knew, would not be so kind to her once they knew.

Hiding her gift grew more and more difficult as she matured. Her abilities became stronger, and, even though she had learnt how to prevent controlling another person by accident, her connection with all things natural only grew. She found that she could no longer touch meat; though she knew that in the natural scheme of things animals needed to live off each other, she could not bear the guilt of eating something she hadn't had the respect to kill for herself.

The other students began to treat her with suspicion and fear. The more she tried to hide her talents, the more suspicious her classmates became. By the time she graduated from Hogwarts, Margaretta had felt alone in the world and so very, very lonely.

Her relationship with her parents had deteriorated to the point that she barely spoke to them. Ashamed of her gift, she had hid herself in the wilds of Scotland as soon as she was able to leave home, where she began to find her gifts useful. Against the wild creatures she found in the mountains there, she finally began to find her place in the world.

Margaretta knew now that trying to hide her gift in the first place had been a mistake. As she grew older, she had become more at ease with her talent, and others, wary at first, had generally become used to it also. There would, of course, have been some students at school who would have never accepted her, but Margaretta knew that after a few months of teasing her strange talent would have become old news. Instead, hiding it, the mystery had grown until no one in the school had trusted her.

Time had brought reconciliation with her gift, but unfortunately Margaretta had never had time to let her parents know she forgave them. They had died at the hands of supporters of Voldemort while she had still been on her journeys in Scotland.

That fact was the one thing that haunted her. Knowing that she had lost her parents just when she was ready to love them again, Margaretta had gone mad with the need for revenge. She had offered her talents up to the Ministry of Magic, becoming one of their best spies, working her way almost to Voldemort's inner circle. Margaretta shuddered at the memories of that time. It had been a cruel time, both for her and those she came up against. Her anger was like a beast inside her, and she had not always been as fair with Voldemort's supporters as she should have been. The truth was, many of those she found suffered their punishment under her hand, never receiving the trial that would have assured real justice. There was much blood on her hands.

She shook the memories off. It would do her no good to dwell on them; it had been a dark time for everyone, and she had done what she felt was needed. It was always easier to stand in cold judgement of actions performed in the heat of war than to make them.

All of her fighting had, in the end, accomplished nothing. Vengeance on those who killed her parents had not brought them back, and she had had to accept that she could never make the peace with them she needed. Margaretta could only hope that she now lived in a way that they would have been proud of.

Her meanderings had brought her to her Dark Arts classroom. She leant against the doorway, gazing into the room. A smile lit her face. Peace. Here, she felt at peace. Encouraging these young things to grow, Margaretta found she could come to terms with her past. She was fascinated by her students, fascinated by the little worlds they created. Having missed out on that part of childhood herself, she found herself taking an interest in all the little intricacies of her classes, doing her best to make things easier occasionally when she could see a student wandering from the path.

Margaretta had come to see that all life is worthwhile. Her former self might have scoffed at the notion that even in the most seemingly malignant being something magical might exist, but it was a conclusion she couldn't help but come to after her experiences. What a person showed to the world wasn't necessarily all they had; the trick was to take the time to look further.

She also knew the dangers of such thinking. Yes, there was something incredible in every one- but you had to be careful not to ignore a dark spark completely. Some people chose to bury any goodness in them, embracing darkness and power completely.

Yes, she thought. Some darknesses were too tempting for some to resist.

But there was hope. Embracing darkness was a personal choice. A person could always be encouraged to change.

A bemused smile crossed Margaretta's face. With some people, it was a pure pleasure to do the encouraging.

She had known about Severus Snape even during her years at Hogwarts. She had a particular fascination with Slytherin students- all other people in the school seemed to cross them off as menaces, but Margaretta could sense something else in them, and it fascinated her. Snape had been particularly interesting- she could sense a war in him, selfishness and treachery battling with loyalty and courage. Not that she had paid particular attention, but, being on the outskirts of life in the school, the young girl had had nothing to do but observe those around her. As a consequence, she felt she knew more about all of the students that had attended the school at that time than anyone, even Dumbledore.

Returning to Hogwarts as a teacher, she had found Snape unchanged. He still battled with himself, she could sense it; he was also incredibly bored and lonely. The intensity in him, so powerful that she could almost see it as an aura when she looked at him, was bursting to be let out. He was nasty, malicious and very, very dangerous.

Margaretta found it delicious.

She had decided to make it her job to shake him up. As she stood in the moonlit classroom, Margaretta decided that now was as good a time as any to begin.

She made her way to Snape's office with mischief sparkling in her eyes.

Snape's office was in a tower overlooking the lawn. Margaretta found him staring out the window onto the cold night, his office lit by a single candle on his desk. The room was dark and chilly.

'Knock knock,' she said brightly, entering the room. Not giving Snape a chance to object, she sat down in a comfy chair in front of his desk and placed two warm bottles of butterbeer in front of him.

Ignoring his speechless glare, she added, 'Chilly in here, isn't it?' and, with a wave of her hand, summoned a bright fire in the grate beside the desk. The room immediately took on a more cheery light.

Snape leant forward and said rudely, 'What are you doing here?'

'Just came for a friendly chat,' Margaretta answered, waving her hand at the bottles of butterbeer, making the bottles uncork themselves and rise to pour themselves into the two mugs that apparated next to them.

Snape stared suspiciously at the mug that slid over his desk toward him. 'I repeat, what are you doing here?' he demanded in a quiet voice.

'I felt in the need for intelligent conversation,’ she answered, taking a sip of her beer. 'Mmm. Since I know that you have significant interest in my field, and I have heard rumours that you are intelligent, I came to you.' She let the mug rest in the air, gesturing with her hands to indicate his office.

'Well, I'm afraid I'm busy, so-'

Margaretta cut him off with a smile. 'Ah. Reluctant to talk shop with a competitor?' She leant forward and whispered, 'Don't worry, Severus, I'm well aware that you wanted to be DADA this year. I'll do my best not to show you up.'

Snape shot her a puzzled look, then shook his head. He sent her his most serious look. 'Go away, Margaretta, I am busy.'

'No, you're not.' Margaretta sent her drink to his desk with a wave of her hand and stood, walking over to one of the bookcases that lined the wall. 'Ah,' she said, picking up a volume. 'Exactly what I was thinking of. I've been wondering what a person like you would do with a crazed Malahoot?'

Snape ignored the provocation. 'Go away.' He said in a flat tone, staring at her.

She shook her head. 'No. Now, I was thinking-' she continued to talk as the walked back to the desk, placing the book open in front of him and pointing to a paragraph. Snape stared at her, shocked, for a moment. Not many people ignored him, in fact, many people reacted to him with fear. This woman was strange indeed.

He took a resigned sip of his beer and began to read the indicated paragraph.

Over the next few weeks, Margaretta's invasions of Snape's office and classroom continued. She appeared to enjoy provoking heated discussions with him, never quailing when his anger rose to fury, matching him argument for argument even when he stormed around her. Snape began to almost look forward to these talks. It had been years since there had been anyone knowledgeable enough on the dark arts to discuss methods with, and Margaretta seemed well versed in a wide range of areas. Snape found himself reading up on old subjects, looking for a provocative argument that would startle her. Life certainly seemed to be getting interesting.

At the same time, Snape began to sense something in Margaretta, something deeper, below the glittery surface. It was a darkness that he couldn't pin down, couldn't even say for certain that it existed. Not that he cared, but it was his nature to dig out others' secrets.

Her ability to control things without a wand was also a source of intrigue. It was not unusual for a wizard to be able to perform simple tasks without a wand, but the ease with which Margaretta summoned objects was strange. She seemed to be more comfortable without a wand than with it. She had one, he knew, a very individual half-length oak, tipped with a sharp nib of silver. The number of times he had seen her use it, however, he could count on one hand.

Snape's suspicions deepened when he caught Margaretta deep in conversation with Dumbledore one dark evening. The two were standing over an animated map in the old man's office; Margaretta's face unusually serious, her voice hard and commanding. Snape, who had been meaning to have a word with Dumbledore, remained in the outer area of Dumbledore's office, curious, but was unable to make much of the low voices that filtered through the crack in the door.

The only thing he heard clearly was when Margaretta raised her voice slightly, angry, saying 'Really, Sir, it's not like I can just say 'Leave this place'- I wish it were that simple with these folk-'

Snape heard no more. Under a strange compulsion, he hurriedly left the office. When he next saw Margaretta, she was her usual brightly annoying self, and Snape wondered if he had been mistaken.

Weeks rushed forward towards Christmas, but the weather seemed reluctant to move into the snowy depths of winter. The day was grey, reflecting perfectly how Severus Snape felt as he paced in front of the desk in his office. For some reason, he could not work today. He had been meaning to continue his treatise on the use of monkey spleen in sleeping draughts, but continually found himself staring straight ahead, his quill halted mid-sentence. He had finally given up in frustration, wandering around his office in search of... what?

Snape sighed and threw himself down on his couch. Restlessness very rarely afflicted him. Usually, he was able to channel his energies into some task or other, but nothing tempted him today.

Something out of the window caught his eye, and he found himself looking outside with an eagerness he did not know he possessed. A group of third years was crossing the lawn, accompanied by the slim figure of Margaretta. The woman seemed to be everywhere he turned these days. She was dressed in deep green robes today, bringing out the red glints in her hair. So changeable, Snape reflected irritably- couldn't the girl simply settle on one colour, and save all this chameleonic foppery? Could she possibly just land in one place long enough for those around her to draw breath, instead of chasing after her myriad images?

Snape let out a deep growl. No, she could not. For some reason, he could not imagine Margaretta Drumknott settling one one spot for too long.

He watched as the group neared the greenhouses. He was wrong about her ability to control a class, he noted; the students formed two perfectly ordered lines, no uncontrolled running about as usually happened between classes.

A crack of thunder struck overhead, making Snape jump. Outside, the skies opened, pouring down on the group on the lawn. Snape smiled maliciously as Margaretta's perfect lines broke away and dashed for the shelter of the greenhouse. His smile dimmed somewhat as Margaretta continued on her way, graceful and dignified. He also appeared to wrong about Margaretta's behaviour in front of students. He felt slightly disappointed- he couldn't truthfully accuse her of behaviour that she didn't exhibit.

He watched as Margaretta paused at the greenhouse door to have a word with Professor Sprout and turned back to the castle. Such grace in such a boisterous girl, Snape thought. She really was a quandary. In her behaviour towards himself, she was really too... bouncy. She seemed to positively revel in making him angry, a novel experience for a man who was used to easily intimidating most people. She seemed to have no respect at all, no fear. Not good qualities in these times. It would really be best for everyone if he squashed her enthusiasm as soon as possible.

Snape's brow furrowed. That would, of course, mean an end to the spirited discussions they had been having of late. He had to admit that he took a wicked pleasure in provoking her in any way possible, even almost enjoying the way she provoked him. Spirited discussions- no. More like wonderful, delicious arguments.

His breath caught in his throat as he looked back down to the lawn. The rain still hammered down, and Margaretta was- she was dancing. The rain poured over her, making her clothes cling to her body as she turned her head up to the sky and spun. Her arms were spread wide, as if to embrace the weather, her face radiating pure sensual delight. As he watched, her hair unfurled from its orderly bun and tumbled down her back, wet curls clinging to her body like a caress. For some reason, watching, Snape felt like an intruder.

Under his gaze, Margaretta weaved her body through the rain, jumping and skipping. Snape could see the water running down her sodden clothing, could see the contours of her figure as the wet material hugged her like a second skin. He stayed perfectly still, afraid that any slight movement would disturb the figure on the lawn. His breath slowed and shallowed, the silence in his room so perfect that he could hear his heart thudding in his ears.

Suddenly, Margaretta stopped her dance, darting a quick look around the grounds. She ran her hands down her clothing, smoothing it, and resumed her walk, her enchanted hair twisting itself back into a bun. As she approached the castle, Snape relaxed his fingers as they rested on the stones of his windowsill, loosening the death grip he wasn't aware of having.

Snape's office, with no fire even in this weather, was chilly, but as he pressed his hot forehead to the cool glass of the windowsill, he felt very warm indeed.

As time passed, the late-night discussions between Snape and Margaretta began to get more heated. Personal insults were often traded at the height of an argument, both of them striding around whichever room they were in gesticulating at each other. Snape often found himself pondering on the things she had said once the fervour had died down. Was he really an old bat? An ape? A prehistoric relic?

Even more disturbing was the raw anger he exhibited during these rows. He was not used to losing his temper, and the frequency with which he lost control shook him. He was often physically exhausted afterwards, slumping down on a chair as the echoes of her raised voice bounced around the empty room, and the impression of the heightened colour of her cheeks echoed in his mind.

He knew that other teachers were beginning to cast mystified looks his way, and he had to admit to himself, that he was behaving very out of character lately. He couldn't seem to settle down to his work with the relish he had felt in the past; he often found himself staring into space instead of marking the work of his students. He sighed despondently. There was nothing he could do about it while that witch invaded his thoughts.

In the staff room, Snape's out-of-character behaviour was beginning to cause remark. While the teachers were quite used to Snape's dark figure stalking moodily along the corridors, and his reluctance to talk to any other teacher was nothing unusual, it was disturbing to see him continue this behaviour outside, rambling sulkily around the grounds of the school and snapping at students. Snape was simply not a man for the outdoors.

Even more disturbing were his bouts of anger. Snape angry was not an unusual sight, but Snape yelling was. Professor Flitwick voiced his concern to Margaretta one rainy afternoon.

'It is just not like Severus to be acting this way,’ he said with a frown. 'In all the years I've known him, I have never seen him raise his voice more than was necessary. And to lose his temper in front of the student population- why, I would just not have believed it of him!'

Margaretta knew what he was talking about. One particular incident had brought on much remark.

It had been the end of breakfast. Luckily, most of the students had departed; however, most of the teachers, apart from Dumbledore, were beginning to dart curious looks their way.

Margaretta had merely intended to discuss a recent development in the preparation of mandrake root for the incantation of the Cantus Machina. It had before been thought that the only way to get a decent result was by providing fresh mandrake root, prepared with the proper ceremony, which took quite some time. Margaretta's argument was, as usual, that the observation of natural witchcraft could replace such time-wasting ceremony; a mistake, perhaps, to bring up at the breakfast table, as natural witchcraft was, in Snape's opinion, useless tripe.

'But if you only cut them on the half-moon during the period in which sunflowers have their heads down, you have no need to make any further preparation!' she argued.

Snape snorted derisively. 'As you know, Margaretta, that device does not always work. What about when Venus is high? You cannot discount the power of the planets!'

'Nonsense. That's absurdly simple to avoid, and you know it.'

'Ah, so our Professor Drumknott is able to move planets now, hmm?'

'Of course not, Severus.' He only ever used her title as an insult; his intonation annoyed her, and he knew it. 'I'm just saying that these things can, with careful planning and observation, be avoided.'

'Ha!' Snape sipped at his tea. There was a know-all look on his face that he seemed to adopt, when she was obviously winning an argument, for no obvious reason other than to irritate her.

''Ha'? pray tell me, Severus,' said Margaretta, buttering her toast with fastidious care, 'why you feel so incapable of reading the movements of the planets. Is this an affliction that developed in childhood?'

Snape turned on her, furious. '*What?*' His voice echoed in the hall, causing heads to turn towards them once more. He swallowed, took a breath, and turned calmly back to his tea.

Margaretta turned to him with a smile. 'Well, I was just thinking that that must be the problem, since there can be no other reason for your reluctance to acknowledge this procedure, other than your apparent- and might I say unusual for you, Severus- inability to predict the movements of the planets, to avoid harvest at the wrong times. Really, I'm sure the astrology classes wouldn't mind you dropping in if you felt the need to brush up on your stargazing.'

Snape muttered a curse under his breath and turned back to Margaretta. 'Perhaps we should deal with your apparent lack of patience, Margaretta, if we are considering individual problems. Perhaps if you were capable of sitting still long enough to perform the proper incantations, your difficulties with the preparation of a simple mandrake root would disappear, along with the many other problems you so often seem to have with all aspects of potion preparation. However, for this to be so, you would probably need to cease behaving like a stupefied puppy!'

Margaretta narrowed her eyes. 'I am perfectly capable of performing the proper incantations. I am merely arguing for the introduction of methods that will reduce preparation time for essential potions. It is difficult to keep a Morganic Oscillatorium at bay while spending hours preparing the Cantus Machina necessary to dispel it! Some of us are aware of the dangers of being vulnerable to attack while muttering the same chants wizards have been using since the stone age, even if long-winded magicians like you prefer to huddle over cauldrons for hours! Some of us have serious wizardry to do, and even decrepit old bats have to admit that things could be made easier!'

'Easier!' Snape shouted. 'So we should all abandon the old ways so that jumped-up children can perform slap-dash spells to impress their sweethearts! Ha!' As his voice echoed off the walls, Snape sent Margaretta a deadly glare. She stared up at him; his cheeks were flushed with anger, his eyes sparkling. She felt quite breathless. 'And really, Margaretta,' he was adding, 'I do not see how even you could be so imbecilic as to confront a Morganic Oscillatorium with the Cantus Machina incantation!' Snape paused for breath, and noticed for the first time that all eyes in the room were turned to him. He stood for a dumbfounded moment, then resumed his seat.

Clearing his throat, he said, 'Well, regardless.' He picked up his cold tea and took a sip, with what Margaretta considered an admirable recovery of dignity.

'Well,' said Dumbledore to their left, standing. 'It is time for classes.' Following his lead, the rest of the staff stood and followed him to the door, casting the occasional curious glance over their shoulders. Margaretta stood and followed them, leaving Snape, still staring into his tea, at the empty table. Margaretta felt a thrill- it was always gratifying to see Snape lose control. With a chuckle she raised her hand and waggled her fingers in his direction, turning just as his hand went to his neck as the tickling charm took hold. She could feel his eyes on her back all the way to the door.

Now, in the cosy staff room, she did her best to reassure Professor Flitwick that nothing could be physically wrong with Snape. Though she did not admit it even to herself, it was only a half-truth.

Christmas approached swiftly, days drifting by in a flurry of classes. Deep winter finally drove out the drizzly days, cloaking the ground with a thick blanket of snow.

Snape saw less of Margaretta in these weeks. She seemed preoccupied; he often looked out of his window to see her tracing the edges of the Forbidden Forest, a deep frown marring her face. Her nighttime visits were as spirited as ever, but she often seemed tired, and her eyes were not so bright as they had been.

Snape's deeper instincts told him that she was up to something. He had begun to suspect that all was not as it seemed when concerning Margaretta Drumknott, but now an inkling began to form in his mind of some dark purpose.

He began watching her movements closely. She seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time roaming the grounds. Snape followed her several times, but always lost her; he always seemed to take a turn in the opposite direction to her.

She was hiding something, he knew. The question was, how to get the information out of her? He was not so naive as to openly approach her. If she was indeed plotting something, she would do her best to deny it. Intimidation seemed to have no effect on her, he knew that from much experience. Angry, Snape began to drop snide remarks when they talked, watching as she grew more and more edgy.

Suspicion became an almost tangible presence between them. Snape felt inclined to mention his thoughts to Dumbledore, but for some reason never did. That was yet another problem; the closer he felt he was getting to Margaretta's secret, the more he felt his actions were not his own.

It was not until Christmas Eve that his suspicions were confirmed. He was leaning against a windowsill in the third floor corridor, watching as Margaretta chatted to some students that had remained behind for the holiday in the distance. As she began to move away, Snape prepared to follow her, but he was distracted by the chatter of the students as they passed.

'It's amazing, what she can do,' one of them was saying.

'Wow, I wish there was some Gypsy blood in my family. Imagine being able to make people do whatever you want!'

'Yeah. I'd get you to do my homework for me,' the other giggled, skipping down the corridor.

Snape stared after the students long after their steps had faded from the corridor. It had been a mere thought, but apparently he was right. So- Margaretta was a Gypsy. It was the only conclusion to come to, really- the ease with which she commanded without a wand, her enchanted apparel, her hair- all Gypsy tricks. And she had been cleverly and slowly bewitching him, to the point that she could control his actions from afar.

Snape bit back a curse. How had he become so soft? The woman could have made him do anything, her hold on him sneaking over him so gradually that he wouldn't even notice her was being controlled. And he had let it pass without a fight.

Dumbledore had to know, of course. A student with Gypsy powers would certainly have been unable to hide it from the old man. But that meant nothing. Dumbledore was a trusting fool, welcoming with open arms any creature that provoked his pity. Margaretta- the Gypsy, Snape corrected himself, could do anything with her powers, and she would be doing it right under Dumbledore's nose.

Snape bit back the bitterness in his throat and went in search of Margaretta. They had to have a... chat.

It was not until after dinner that he was able to approach her. The festivities had gone on longer than usual this evening, the teachers creating an impromptu ball, pushing back tables and dancing in the moonlight of the enchanted ceiling. Snape managed to get near Margaretta after she had finished her dance with Hagrid.

She turned to him with a broad smile, puffed with the exertion of dancing.

'I need to have a word with you,' he said without expression.

'Of course,' she replied, with a puzzled smile.

As they exited the room, Margaretta turned towards the tower corridor, but Snape halted her. Just the thought of having her in his office again made him feel sick.

'No. My classroom, if you please.'

They walked in silence, Margaretta darting curious looks at him from time to time. Feeling her presence beside him, feeling the now familiar pull he felt whenever she was around him, Snape's anger grew. By the time they reached his classroom, he was in a fury. He motioned for her to go in, and, following, slammed the door behind her. He was pleased to see her jump.

'Severus, what-'

'Never call me by that name again.' He remained by the door, reluctant to be any closer to her than he was now. 'I heard a rather interesting conversation between two of your students today. They happened to mention your Gypsy powers.'

He paused, but her face remained blank.

'Is this true?'

'Of course,' she replied, sitting on the top of a nearby desk. Her casual tone angered him even more.

'How dare you work your type of witchery here! Someone like you shouldn’t even be near this school at this time!' he exploded. 'I would have thought, as an ex-student, you would have some little loyalty left even if you are a Gypsy.'

She recoiled at the hatred in his voice. 'You know nothing about me,’ she said quietly.

'I need to know no more than I have already observed!' he darted forward, making Margaretta jump. He stopped a few desks away from her, leaning forward. 'I do not know what you were planning, but your plots can stop right now. Did you think I was blind? Or perhaps just an idiot?' he hissed.

'I'm not plotting anything!' Margaretta said, pale-faced. Snape snorted in disgust. 'I have only ever used my powers to help Dumbledore-'

'Help?' Snape's hand went to his wand, with obvious effort restraining himself from using it. Margaretta removed her own wand from her pocket. She had never seen Snape in such a fury. 'That poor old fool is to be pitied for his trusting nature! But your hold over this school will soon be over-'

'If you would just listen! Severus, as I told you-'

'**Stop using my name!** I do not want you to speak my name even once more- Gypsy!' Snape began to pace in front of his desk, massaging his brow. 'You may be able to fool Dumbledore but you will not lead me by the nose for a moment longer! Be aware, Miss Drumknott, I am a dangerous man to cross. There is not a thing you will do in this school that I will be unaware of, no matter how hard you try to control my mind to think otherwise!'

'I have never controlled your mind!'

Snape laughed derisively. 'Yes, of course. And the many times I have been following you and felt compelled to turn away were just a coincidence. I suppose my reluctance to tell Dumbledore of my suspicions about you was just a whim on my part?' Margaretta looked genuinely shocked. What an actress, he thought, shooting her a look of pure disgust. 'All this time, you have put yourself forward, seeking my advice, concentrating your powers to bend my will!' She sneered at his last accusation, and he glared at her. 'Do you deny it?'

'No, you're right!' she said sarcastically. 'I don't see how I could possibly wish to befriend you if it wasn't under the orders of the Dark Lord!'

Snape ignored her response. With deadly calm, he stalked toward her.

'There is one thing I do not know. From the very beginning I have been unable to think of any reason for you to pester me as much as you do. But perhaps I do know the reason.'

Snape placed his hands either side of Margaretta, leaning almost nose to nose with her. Margaretta was leaning back as far as she could, but he was still disturbingly close: she could feel the heat emanating from him, could sense his heart thumping beneath his black silken shirt. If she moved even an inch their bodies would be pressed together nose to toe.

'You bewitch me,' said Snape, staring into her eyes. His voice was a harsh whisper drifting over her. 'You have put some sort of spell over me. You come into my office just to show me your smiles; you invade my classroom; you provoke my students- your hair enchants me...' At this, he leant forward and left, brushing his cheek to her hair. Margaretta let out a shaky breath.

Snape moved back to look at her, then moved his eyes deliberately down her body. 'Even your clothing is designed to intrigue,' he muttered. His eyes retraced their journey. 'But I believe that I've discovered your secret.' He moved sharply; Margaretta looked down to see his wand hand trail above the length of her leg. He pointed the wand at the hem of her skirt, and whispered, 'Desistus!' Her skirt immediately ceased its grip in her ankle and sprang to its natural length, revealing the lower half of a shapely calf. Margaretta watched with bated breath as Snape slipped the tip of the wand beneath the hem of her skirt and moved it up her leg, the material magically parting before it. The wand halted at the top of her thigh, dark wood against white skin. She watched in fascination as first his fingertips, then his whole hand came to rest on top of the wand, pressing hotly against her leg. She couldn't disguise the shiver that ran through her.

She tore her eyes away to find him watching her face intently, his eyes glittering.

'You,' he spoke, 'are a temptress. You enchant your skirts so that they lap at your feet, revealing only glimpses of that pure white flesh beneath.' His thumb began to stroke the sensitive skin of her thigh. Margaretta shivered again, and Snape smiled evilly. 'You entrance the whole school. Men and boys pant as you walk by, and I- I am as defenseless as anyone else.' He leant forward so that his breath caressed Margaretta's lips, moving even closer as he whispered, 'Who am I to protect myself against Gypsy trickery?'

His movement was halted as he felt the sharp metal tip of Margaretta's wand pierce his shirt and scratch against his abdomen. His expression grew hard.

'Be careful, Professor,’ he said harshly. 'Men have died for less.'

Margaretta pressed her wand further until Snape drew in a hissing breath and moved away slightly. Her face was pale and shocked.

'Men have got away after doing far more,' she said, her voice strong and cold, no trace of laughter in it. 'Which is why you will suffer greatly if you do not remove your uninvited hand from my leg.' Snape, feeling the wand cut even deeper into his flesh and blood begin to trickle from his skin, backed away slowly, putting a foot's distance between them.

Margaretta slid from the desk and touched her wand to the tear in her skirt, whispering, 'Reparare.’ The torn skirt repaired itself, hiding all trace of her long white leg.

'Witches who were suspected of betraying the Dark Lord, Professor Snape,' she said, 'suffered a far different fate to men.' She looked quietly at Snape for a moment, her cheeks flushed, fire darting from her eyes. 'I do not command my skirts to enchant *you.*'

Her mouth was a grim line as she turned and strode from the room.

Snape stared after her in silence. The assurance that he had finally wiped the smile from her face was of little comfort.

Christmas Day seemed grey and dreary to Snape as he paced restlessly in his office. He had remained there all day; he couldn't bear the noise of students as they pranced around in half-witted festive gaiety.

It was now almost time to head down to the feast. Snape was half-inclined not to go. He had a bitter taste in his mouth, and he suspected all food would be reduced to ashes.

But that would not do. He did not wish to give Margaretta an idea that he was hiding from her. It would be best to keep as close an eye on her as possible, lest the fright he had given her yesterday had not been sufficient to dislodge her from her path.

Still, he felt something like relief when he entered the dining hall to find her place empty. As their seats were usually together, the meal was likely to have been unpleasant.

As he took his seat, he reflected that she was probably afraid of seeing him. Somehow, the smirk that this thought would usually provoked didn't appear. The fiery fury he had felt last night had been reduced to a cold rage today; he could feel nothing but anger.

When a spare moment came, Snape leant over to Dumbledore and enquired about Margaretta. It would be best to make sure where she was, after all.

Dumbledore looked at him, his eyes unusually hard. 'Margaretta is on some business for me tonight.'

A jolt of anxiety went through Snape. 'Sir,' he said, in a low voice, 'I really think-'

'Oh, do you?' the old man cut him off. 'That's wonderful.' Before Snape could utter another word, he turned to talk to another teacher.

Snape left the feast as soon as he had eaten. He had never enjoyed the frivolities of the festive season. He spent an evening in front of the cold and empty fireplace in his office with a book open upon his knee, unread, before retiring, to spend a night in wide-eyed sleeplessness.

Earlier, in Dumbledore's study, the old man had been confronted by a wild-eyed Margaretta.

'They’re coming,' she said. 'I can feel it. They wish to strike tomorrow night.'

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, giving her a look of concern. There were shadows under Margaretta's eyes, and her hair, light brown today, hung in frazzled clumps. Her face was unusually pale, her clothing wrinkled as if put on carelessly.

'That's fine. We will begin our plans from tonight, then,' he said. 'I'm afraid that will mean you will miss the feast, but I will have something sent up for you. We really cannot afford to wait.'

'Of course,' Margaretta replied. She paused. Dumbledore's frown deepened.

'What is the matter, my dear?'

She sat on a chair, a shocked look on her face. 'I have been controlling people again. I don't know how it's happened- I'm always very careful not to give a command- I don't know how I lost control-'

Margaretta's voice trailed off, and Dumbledore sensed that she was near to tears. He walked around the desk to take a seat beside her, and held her hand in his.

'Calm down, Margaretta. I'm sure you are mistaken. Since your lessons with Mr Floop, your control over your powers has been admirable-'

Margaretta shook her head vigorously. 'Severus said I've been controlling him!' she said. 'I knew he was following me- probably I should have considered making him turn away, but I swear that I didn't do a thing to prevent him coming near me!' She swallowed, shaking now. 'I thought I was able to lose him. I know I wanted him to stay away- I was scared that he would find something out.' She looked up at Dumbledore, pale and serious. 'I know how Voldemort's supporters draw information from people.' She shuddered. Her experiences with their techniques had been quite personal. 'I didn't want him to find out anything that would harm him, I know that was in my mind strongly, but I never commanded him to go away! I haven't touched a single mind since the fall of Voldemort! Dumbledore,' she said, gripping his hands tightly, 'what if I'm losing control of my gift again?'

Dumbledore patted her shoulder, whispering comforting words. She was shivering as if from a severe chill, and her hands felt icy in his. He looked down at her bent head with soft pity.

Eventually she calmed slightly. Dumbledore leant back to look at her.

'Margaretta, I have a feeling you don't need to worry.' Smiling at her incredulous look, he continued. 'You have gained the strength to command your powers now: when you were a child you were too young to understand how. Your command over your other powers hasn't ceased, has it? And you haven't controlled anyone else?'

Margaretta shook her head, still looking downcast. Dumbledore stood, and looked down at her kindly. 'Margaretta, you have always been able to sense when you are controlling a person, even when you were young. As a child, you never controlled someone to this extent without knowing it. I managed to calm your fears then; believe me now: you have not been controlling Severus Snape unwittingly.' Going to his desk, Dumbledore took out a block of chocolate, and handed her a piece.

'Eat that, and you will feel better. We all need you to be as strong as possible for the next few days.'

Margaretta nodded, her face shaped with resolve. This was not the time to dwell on personal problems.

The next day brought on a snowstorm of fantastic proportions. Very little snow fell within the grounds of the castle, but the air surrounding it was one white fog of whirling flakes. Snape was in his office, once more gazing from the window, when he saw Margaretta walking across the lawn to the Forbidden Forest. She stumbled slightly, and Snape frowned. It was not like that wench to lose her grace; perhaps, he thought derisively, she sensed him watching and wished to gain his sympathy. It would not work, he promised inwardly.

His curiosity deepened when, just as she entered the forest, the storm surrounding the castle dimmed. After about ten minutes, it had ceased altogether. He stood at the window for the next half hour, watching intently for Margaretta's return. Around the castle, the storm began again, reaching its original height just as Margaretta emerged from the forest once more.

Snape watched her slowly approach the castle, her path occasionally wavering. He stood staring out at the snow-covered lawn for a long time after she had disappeared.

Classes began again the next week. Snape was relieved; the atmosphere within the castle had become tedious, and a class full of students, though noisy, was a welcome respite. The business of his days did not help to fill the nights, but he was satisfied.

He was surprised to be asked by Dumbledore to teach Margaretta's classes for a few days. Though he had not spoken to her, Snape had kept track of Margaretta's movements; she had stayed, almost without exception, in her rooms. She had been getting thinner of late, he had noted when passing her in the corridors, and her enchanted hair had lost all of its red-gold lustre, no longer twisting itself into intricate knots, but hanging drably down her back. Perhaps the servants of the Dark Lord were putting more pressure on her to strike. Snape agreed to Dumbledore's request, biting down hard on the weak niggling of worry that formed in his stomach.

There was more to surprise Snape in his teaching of Margaretta's classes. At first, he was interested to see that all of her students were well advanced in their lessons; she had obviously been teaching them well. The students were also well skilled in the practical sides of their subjects, able to produce two or three alternatives for dealing with a problem. Snape was quietly impressed, though he didn't show it; although he had always rallied against Margaretta's methods, knowing your alternatives could come in useful against the dark arts at times.

The biggest surprise was yet more overheard student conversation. Snape frequently heard snippets that hinted at Margaretta's past, things like, 'Yes, that's how Professor Drumknott dealt with the Sniping Grimeater You Know Who sent after her,’ and 'Professor Drumknott said that the Ministry of Magic preferred it that way.’ Curious, Snape wrote to an old contact at the Ministry for more information. Though what he got back was insubstantial and heavily censored, he was able to piece together some idea of Margaretta's escapades as an agent.

Snape took to prowling the corridors near Margaretta's rooms. The storm still raged around the castle; she still made her curious trips to the Forest, occasionally accompanied by Dumbledore; and now he found her frequently in a deep sleep, exhausted.

One night he found Dumbledore waiting for him outside Margaretta's rooms. The old man motioned for silence, and indicated that Snape follow him to his office.

When they reached their destination, Dumbledore waved Snape into a seat and sat at his desk. He fixed Snape with a serious look.

'It is an amazing power, Gypsy power,' he began. Snape opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore waved him down. 'The Gypsies are an astonishing people. And a surprising people.' He leant his elbows on the desktop, steepling his fingers to look sharply at Snape. 'With their power comes a responsibility. A person with Gypsy powers tends to be very attuned to the world around them; able to feel the wind in the trees, and also just as able to sense the feelings of those around them. As a consequence, Gypsies tend to be people who care for the world, living outside themselves.'

Dumbledore took out his wand and apparated two glasses of sherry. Snape left his untouched. 'Hmm. It is an untruth that all Gypsies are liars. This would not be possible with any race, of course; no one race has a monopoly on liars. What is not commonly known is that Gypsies tend to be amazingly conscientious. This is because of their powers, of course. After all, can you imagine what it must be like to feel the pain of the people you are hurting?' Dumbledore looked at Snape for a moment, nodding to himself.

'I have been told by Margaretta that you believe her to have controlled you over the past months. I can tell you right here that that is utter codswallop.' Snape made a noise of protest, his face growing cloudy, but Dumbledore motioned him to be silent. 'Gypsies cannot control people without their knowledge. Even an untrained Gypsy will realise after the event that they have made someone submit to their will. And before you protest, I believe Margaretta when she says she was not consciously controlling you. I happen to remember her disgust when she realised she was commanding others as a child; I remember even better her self-disgust after her experiences with the supporters of Voldemort.'

'Albus, the woman is able to control minds,' said Snape sarcastically. 'Of course you think that what she says is the truth.'

Dumbledore put his glass back on his desk, looking at Snape calmly but with an angry spark deep in his eye. 'There are many people in this school who, for some reason or another, would be untrusted in the outside world, Severus. The school, I might say, has only benefited from their presence here.' Snape leant back in his chair and sighed disgustedly. Point taken. 'Of course,' Dumbledore added with a smile, 'I might just be a trusting old fool.'

He took a sip of his sherry. 'Now, here is where we get something interesting. I happen to know of yet another Gypsy trait, one that Margaretta is not aware of herself. Occasionally a Gypsy can unconsciously command another person and not know it; however, it is very rare. It only happens, you see,' he twinkled over at Snape, 'when the other person is attuned very closely to the Gypsy's thoughts themselves. In other words, where there is a very strong link between the two, the person being commanded is only doing what they sense is what the Gypsy wants. In fact, you might say it is more to do with the desires of the person than the Gypsy.' Dumbledore finished his sherry, hiding a smile. He put the glass down. 'Oh, well. It is late.' Rising, he ushered Snape from his office.

Snape pondered over the old man's words. It wasn't a thing of subtlety; Dumbledore was saying that it was his own friendship with Margaretta that had led him to obey her will. Not liking the conclusion that seemed to bring him to, Snape forced his thoughts away from the subject, only to find them wandering back again and again.

He continued his nightly watchings of Margaretta's rooms. In her recent trips to the Forest, she stumbled more than walked over the lawn. She never joined the other teachers for meals. She had, however, resumed classes. When he had approached her to say that he would be willing to continue them, she flinched away, and, with a muttered apology about his trouble, had fled.

Snape had to admit feeling a certain amount of worry. There seemed to be nothing left of the fiery woman from the start of the year.

All the while, the snowstorm surrounding the castle raged.

One night, observing Margaretta preparing for some sort of trip, Snape followed her. Taking a box from her mantlepiece, she threw some floo powder into the fire. Snape did not catch what she muttered before she stepped in, but managed to jump in after her.

When he emerged, he found himself in the ruined fireplace of an abandoned house. He glimpsed Margaretta's slim figure as it slipped through a hole in the wall, and followed.

He emerged in a graveyard. He saw no sign of Margaretta. The night was cloudy, and it was difficult to distinguish the headstones from the black night beyond, let alone a figure wreathed in black. He finally found her, kneeling at the foot of two identical headstones. She was bent double, sobbing silently. Snape stopped in the shade of some nearby trees, watching silently, not even breathing. He was stunned at the feelings provoked by the sight of the thin shaking figure- she looked so cold, so small against the black headstones.

Eventually, the sobs subsided. Snape let out a shaky breath.

The figure at the gravestones froze.

Margaretta spoke without turning from the graves. 'I could have made myself invisible to you, you know. I could have commanded that you didn't see me when you began to follow me.'

Snape was silent.

'I could have accomplished anything with my powers. If I wanted to, I could be as powerful as the Dark Lord himself.' The graveyard was deadly still, Margaretta's quiet voice echoing from the surrounding tombs. 'I'm sure a god-like being like yourself wouldn't be able to understand, but we mere mortals are subject to temptations. Many wizards with my abilities would have been sorely tempted to run with the Dark Lord. I never even considered it.' She leant forward and brushed some moss from the grave in front of her, her hand lingering on the date of death inscribed there. 'No. I was too full of hatred then. In my rage, I did things that would make even you shudder, using my powers to punish anyone connected with the Dark Lord as soon as I could get them alone. I made sure...' Margaretta's voice grew hard, 'that they suffered.'

Getting up and brushing soil from her skirt, she added, so quietly that Snape had to strain to hear, 'And I have never, never since then used my powers on a single soul.' She turned quickly, facing the trees in which Snape was hid. The full moon came out from a cloud, bathing the graveyard in light almost as bright as day. Snape moved further into the trees, startled.

Margaretta seemed to sense his movement. She laughed bitterly. 'No, I didn't do that, either. It takes an immense amount of energy to change the weather, and I-' she swallowed. 'I am afraid that impressing you just isn't worth the effort.'

She made a circle in the air around her and muttered something under her breath. Just as Snape dashed forward into the light, she vanished. Snape stood in the empty moonlight, stunned. His thoughts were on the silver light reflected from the tears on a wan cheek.

It was the next day. Margaretta awoke slowly, feeling the warmth of the fire in the grate beside her chair. She took in the mess of papers at her feet and sighed. Would she never stay awake long enough to complete her marking? Even sitting in the staff room, as she was now, was no preventative to sleep. With another sigh, she straightened, and jumped when she saw Snape in the chair across from her, staring intently.

'Oh!' she said. 'I'm sorry-'

'How much have you been sleeping?' he asked, his face expressionless.

'I'm sorry,' she said, quickly bending to gather the work at her feet. 'I know you have had to take some of my classes recently, but I assure you it won't happen again-'

'You need to rest,' Snape said. 'You will make yourself ill.'

Margaretta straightened, looking at him curiously. Surely he didn't know...?

'Why would I need rest?' she asked.

Snape inclined his head to the window in answer, where the snowstorm she had created still raged.

Margaretta felt a wave of tiredness wash over her. Yet another reason for him to hate her, she supposed.

'I haven't been doing anything other than what Dumbledore wished,' she said. Snape shook his head, his face solemn, his eyes boring into hers.

What could this mean? she wondered. He seemed determined to torture her. He leant forward and she jumped, spilling the papers she had gathered. She sighed and wearily bent to pick them up again, cringing when Snape picked up a paper that had dropped at his feet and stood, walking over to her. He handed it to her without a word, and remained standing over her. Fine. She was too tired to play this game anymore. If he wanted to win, he would win. She couldn't get up the energy to fight.

'Severus,' she said, then flinched, afraid that he would remonstrate with her use of his first name. When no reprimand came, she continued shakily, 'I am well aware that you dislike me-'

'Margaretta,' he cut in, his voice slightly less severe. 'I have said some very harsh things to you in the past.' Margaretta stared. 'I have since come to learn that... my ideas were incorrect.' He turned back to his seat and sat, facing the fire. His face was unreadable.

Margaretta gathered her things and stood to leave. It seemed that was all the apology she was going to get, but it was something at least. At the door, she paused.

'Severus,' she said softly, waiting until he looked at her before continuing. 'Your friendship would be a really big help to me at this time...' When he didn't reply, she left.

In the hall, she staggered and leant against the wall. The marking could wait for tonight. Somehow, she had to find the energy to drag herself to her rooms.

Friendship. It was a strange word to Snape. Yet it crossed his mind often in the following weeks. As Winter turned to Spring, the tense mood in the school faded. The storm that had raged for a month and a half subsided, and Margaretta finally began to look like her old self. She once again walked with a sunny smile on her face, bathing all those around her in her warmth.

The tension between Snape and Margaretta also changed. Without having spoken of it, their differences seemed to have been resolved, or at least put aside. Their nightly discussions resumed, but without the pure rage of former talks, both of them able to put their point across calmly. Most of the time. Raised voices could still be heard outside either of their offices some nights, but the bitterness that had pervaded their preceding arguments was gone.

The unfamiliarity of their friendship still disturbed Snape occasionally. Sometimes he felt almost in an alien world. The woman still made all of his better instincts tell him to avoid her at all costs. Though he remained wary, he felt himself being drawn in to her.

Friends. The concept eluded definition for him. The woman was not the sort of friend he would normally make. She had nothing of value to give to him; she was too often happy for no reason; she wanted nothing, apparently, from him. Certainly, now, there was nothing she could hope to get from him.

Snape could see no reason to be friends with Margaretta yet a slight smile crossed his face when he thought of her. The girl amused him. That was as good a reason as any for... friendship.

These were thoughts he was contemplating as he found himself walking to her office yet again. But, he reflected as he neared her door, this was what a friend did; he was dropping in for a friendly chat.

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. He could hear Margaretta's voice inside. Obviously, she was in, but he didn't want to disturb her. Then another voice drifted through the wood of the door; a male voice, deep and masculine, followed by a trickle of Margaretta's laughter.

Before he knew what he was doing, Snape was inside the office, confronted by a slightly startled Margaretta and... Gilderoy Lockhart.

Snape bit back a growl. Lockhart. Ugh. He had been bothered with that hot airbag's presence for one year, when Lockhart had been at Hogwarts teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts. With the climax of the year, Lockhart had managed to place a memory charm on himself, removing all trace of his egotistical personality. He had since visited the school periodically, as part of a treatment to regain his memory, though Snape had avoided him as much as he could. From the looks of it, it had been too much to hope that the damage would be permanent; Lockhart once more had a slimy smile plastered on his face.

Snape stared at Margaretta. Typical, he thought. Women were fools for Lockhart's showy style. How he could ever have thought Margaretta above Lockhart's charms, he didn't know. Certainly there had been no reason to suppose that the witch was different to any other female, even forgetting her apparent need to charm every man she met.

His thoughts had barely turned to self-remonstration when the lady in question jumped from her seat, greeting Snape with an unmistakably relieved, not guilty, look on her face.

'Severus!' she gasped, sending him her most charming smile. 'I had forgotten our appointment! Oh what a shame, Mr Lockhart,' she added, turning to the blond egoist. 'I'm terribly sorry but I had completely forgotten. Severus and I need to go over some chants before my next class. You must excuse us.' Before Lockhart could utter a word of protest, Margaretta had manoeuvred him, with one last charming smile, out the door and shut it firmly behind him.

Snape was still standing in bewildered silence when Margaretta looked up at him, laughter in her eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but she motioned for him to be quiet, turning her head to listen through the door. After a moment she burst into laughter.

Snape watched the woman who was doubled over with laughter from sending away a colleague, and wondered what one was supposed to do in such a situation. Was she ill? he wondered. Should he perhaps take her to the infirmary?

Finally, she seemed to recover a little and staggered breathlessly over to Snape, leaning against his shoulder for support. Snape ignored the stab of electricity her touch provoked and looked down at her. She saw his serious expression and burst into giggles again, taking a few steadying breaths to calm down.

'Oh, Severus,' she gasped, brushing hair away from her flushed face. 'Thank God! Lockhart was just about to launch into his theory on vampires. He'd already spent an hour telling me about ghouls! He told me-' she was taken by a fit of laughter once more and pressed her face into his shoulder. Snape stared at her, dumbfounded.

'Severus,' she said with a grin, when she was able to talk again. 'That man spent an hour telling me about the repressed sexuality of ghouls. Can you imagine wh- what he would have to say about vampires?' She giggled again. 'He’d just started on the erotic qualities of the vampire bite...'

Snape found his eyes drawn to Margaretta's bare neck, imagining the feel of her pulse beneath his lips. He took a deep breath and dragged his concentration back to what she was saying, trying to ignore the way her lips moved.

'Really, I think- I think he was trying to pick me up!’' she chuckled, sighing. She caught his perplexed look and shook her head at him. 'Severus,' she said. 'It is funny. Now, what you do when something is funny, is laugh. You know- 'ha, ha, ha'? You see, your mouth curves up like this- I know this is a new experience for you-' She lifted her hands to his face, placing her fingertips on the edges of his mouth and forcing them up.

Feeling her fingers on his lips was more than Snape could stand. He grasped Margaretta's shoulders and pulled her towards him, his right hand tangling in her hair. He felt her gasp, felt her racing pulse beneath the thumb on her neck, a second before his lips touched hers and he could think coherently no more.

Heat danced along his body. From the first moment he felt her soft lips beneath his, desire overwhelmed him, gushing forward like a flood, filling the dry and cracked places that had for so long been in drought. She opened her mouth slightly, and he forced his way in. He wanted to devour her. He wanted to drown in her- he felt her moving closer-

Fear gripped him, and he pulled away. He cast a startled look at her, still feeling the whirlpool she had created around him. He looked at the hands that possessively framed her face and dug into her hair, astounded to realise that they were his. He dropped them as though she were a hot coal and backed away from her, ignoring her bemused look. With only the thought that he had to get out of there, he darted for the door.

It slammed shut in front of him. He turned to see Margaretta with her hand flung out, commanding the door closed. A wicked glint lit her eye.

'You're not getting away that easily,' she said, striding toward him. Snape barely had a moment to panic before her lips were against his again, her whole body pressing him against the door. His clothes felt too tight; every inch of her was pressed against him. He had no choice but to wrap his arms around her and hold on as he was dragged down again.

Just as he was almost completely consumed by passion, Margaretta disappeared. She simply vanished from his arms, leaving his whole body tingling. Snape opened his eyes in shock to see a butterfly flapping in the air in front of him. A chuckle echoed in the air.

He rested his hands against the cool wood of the door, trying to steady his rapid breathing. After reducing him to jelly, she had transformed into a butterfly. She always had to have the upper hand.

'Witches,' he muttered into the empty room, before leaving it.

Dumbledore was interested to see the behaviour of two of his teachers over the next few weeks. Severus Snape was acting just like his usual self again, condescending, nasty to students, menacing anyone who displeased him. Margaretta seemed also to have recovered nicely from her exhaustion, returning to happy smiles and jokes. Her enchanted hair had regained its glossy red shine and flowing curls, letting itself trail down her back more often than not; a good sign. Yes, everything seemed back to normal.

Almost. Snape and Margaretta seemed to be friends of a sort again, but, to anyone who was watching, there seemed to be an electric field, a barrier between them. And Dumbledore was watching.

He watched now as the two sat at the end of the table in the staff room, chatting after the teachers' meeting. At a glance, they seemed relaxed enough in each other's company. Margaretta leaned back in her chair, her feet resting on another chair in front of her, Snape, with his usual composure, sitting not far away from her, sipping at a cup of coffee. Margaretta gesticulated widely with her hands, explaining a point; Snape's eyes narrowed at her. Absolutely normal behaviour from each. But a few moments' watching revealed otherwise. Margaretta dropped her feet to the floor and leant forward, talking quickly and waving a hand at a book nearby, and Snape's gaze darted down her body at the movement. Margaretta leant back, point made, and settled her feet on the chair again, her enchanted skirt dropping after just a glimpse of ankle, and Snape's jaw clenched.

Snape's expression became condescending as he began to speak. Margaretta took a sip of the butterbeer in front of her, her gaze not directly on his eyes... On his lips instead, perhaps? Dumbledore mused with a smile. Snape began to get poisonously sarcastic, raising an eyebrow, and Margaretta's hands tightened on the mug she held.

Yes, it took very little observation to come up with a few interesting ideas. Dumbledore had to admit that he had been curious, when he had decided to hire Margaretta, to see how the two of them would get along, knowing Margaretta would be drawn to Snape as a challenge. He had not expected quite something like this, but it was entertaining to observe nonetheless.

And very, very interesting.

'I cannot believe what you are saying!' Margaretta said exasperatedly, flinging her hands in the air. They were in Snape's office once more; his vast collection of books on the Dark Arts drew them there often when they were discussing their craft. The night was black outside, but for once Margaretta had arrived to find a fire already lit in the grate; Snape, who usually so favoured the cold, must be warming to her, she had reflected with a wry smile upon her arrival.

Now, as Snape stood by the fire, leaning on the mantelpiece, he seemed anything but cold. Margaretta sensed a teasing dangerousness about him tonight; he was still out to get her back for her trickery in her office, she knew. Her heart beat a little faster. Shadows cast by the fire played on his face as he watched her intently. She wasn't sure she wanted to know how Severus Snape exacted revenge.

'You seem to forget, Margaretta,' he said in a low voice, 'I am nothing but a decrepit relic of past thought. Is it so unreasonable that I should be senile also?'

Margaretta inwardly groaned. Snape was a master at bringing up past insults: he also only ever became this deliciously sarcastic when he knew he was going to win. The question was, what game was he playing?

'Oh, come off it, Severus,' she answered, her tone falsely light. 'Don't try to change the subject. Using an Befuddlific Curse on a vampire would be utterly ridiculous!’ Snape regarded her silently. Nervously, she turned to the bookcase behind her and began to search for a book she knew would back up her point.

Before she knew what had happened, Snape was behind her, catching her arm and twirling her toward him. He pressed her back against the bookcase with his body.

'And what about now, Miss Drumknott?' he said, his eyes darting fire. 'What if you were being attacked by a vampire now, hmm?'

Margaretta gulped, trying in vain to free her hand. She breathed in quickly as Snape began to lower his head toward her neck.

'I-' she gulped, stopping as she felt his lips, whisper-light, on her neck. She tried again. 'I would-' This time, the words caught in her throat as she felt his tongue dart out to taste her skin.

Margaretta closed her eyes, unable to concentrate. Vampires never used this technique, she thought vaguely. If they did, there would be an awful lot more victims, lining up.

With a last effort, she raised her free hand and summoned a vase from a nearby nook. With a distracted gesture, Snape waved the item away, sending it crashing to the floor. The sound made Margaretta jump, forcing her to be even more aware of the feel of his body against hers.

Her heartbeat began to pound in her ears. She could feel Snape's wet kisses devour her neck; she could feel the heat that came from his body, reflecting that inside her. She stretched her hand beneath his, and their fingers entwined, their hands gripping together tightly. Margaretta knew that the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor was the weight of his body pressing her against the bookcase.

Feeling drugged and languid, Margaretta fought for one last moment of coherence. A mischievous glint came into her eyes, an evil smile on her face as she moved her leg, manoeuvring her knee to rest at his crotch.

Snape froze. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at Margaretta. The dazed look faded from his face, gradually replaced by a bemused one.

'A... novel way to deal with the problem,' he said with a dark smile. Margaretta beamed back up at him, laughter in her eyes. With great care, Snape backed away, Margaretta only dropping her knee when he was well away from her. With a smile, Snape inclined his head at her in defeat. Margaretta gave a small chuckle before turning back to the books, missing Snape's silent laugh and admiring look as he sat down behind her.

Margaretta had been trying to think of a way of getting Snape back for his trick. The days at Hogwarts had turned balmy, spring winding its way towards summer, and the outdoors activities that such weather brought on had left her little time to plot. Margaretta had taken to taking her Advanced Bewitchment class outside on these days, using the tranquil breeze to teach them how to direct the wind.

Today, however, was overcast. Glancing out the window on her way to her classroom, Margaretta's face split into an evil smile. She had just come up with the perfect way to irk Severus Snape.

She whirled into the classroom and with a sunny smile directed the students to follow her.

As she led them down to the dungeons, she bit back a chuckle. Snape had no class at this time, she knew. She couldn't wait to see his face when he realised she intended to take over his classroom.

It wasn't an unreasonable idea. Her class involved potions making, and Snape's classroom was a much more suitable environment than her room on the fourth floor. He couldn't reasonably refuse, but she would bet that he would dearly want to. She wondered what excuse he would come up with.

In the end, he didn't offer any. Margaretta had forgotten that Snape was always particularly restrained around students, never dropping his severe demeanor. He merely gave her a look that could kill and bowed her into the room, retreating to his desk.

As she directed her students to ingredients and cauldrons, Margaretta saw that Snape was preparing to leave. This would never do. The idea was to make him suffer- letting him get away was the last thing she wanted.

'Oh, Severus,' she called, walking demurely over to him. 'I do hope you're not leaving.' He glared at her silently. Apparently her innocent act was fooling only her students. Good. 'We're doing a particularly tricky potion today, you see, and I was absolutely counting on your help.' She looked at him through lowered lashes, all innocence. She was tempted to bat her eyelashes, but felt that perhaps that would be pushing things to far. The man did have a nasty temper, after all.

He stood, and said in a tight voice, 'Fine.' His lips formed a thin line.

Margaretta highly enjoyed the next hour. She made Snape help several students cut their tanglevines the correct way, telling him guilelessly that she was sure he could do it so much better than she. She chuckled silently to herself as he was forced to answer a rather boring question on the preparation of mugwort, turning her back and pretending to be busy at another student's cauldron. She smiled widely when he finally approached her, as she stood at her own cauldron at the front of the class. The students chatted happily to each other in the room behind them.

'Having fun, Margaretta?' he said lowly, his tone dangerous.

She smiled brightly up at him. 'Oh, yes. But I always enjoy my Bewitchment classes.'

Snape grunted beside her, bending down and pretending to examine the potion. 'So long as you're enjoying yourself. You never know what the future might bring.'

Margaretta chuckled at the veiled threat. He didn't scare her. 'Oh, no time like the present, I always say.'

They stood watching the potion bubble away. Margaretta decided he was getting too comfortable.

'You know, one of the things I love about my classes is the students. Having so many bright young minds around is very stimulating, don't you agree?' Snape nodded cautiously, waiting for the hook. Margaretta continued, 'For instance, Ginny Weasley. Such a bright young girl. Picks things up very easily.' Margaretta let her words hang for a moment, lulling him into a false sense of security. 'Though the poor girl has such a crush on that Harry Potter.' Snape tensed beside her; she stirred the potion absently. 'I can't say I blame her, really. When I was at Hogwarts, I had such a big crush on his father- you remember James Potter, don't you Severus?' Snape scowled at her. Margaretta held back a laugh. Snape despised Potter, and she knew it. She decided to be merciful. 'Of course, now I have much more- sophisticated tastes.' She let her words sink in, let Snape get just a little bit smug, before adding, 'Vampires.' Ignoring Snape's deadly look, she turned back to the class and requested that they begin to pack up.

As she left the room, following her class past Snape and through the door, she chuckled again. 'Vampires,' she said as she passed him, in a tone only he could hear.

'Hello.' Snape looked up to see Margaretta standing in the doorway to his office, and put down the book he was reading. They had arranged to discuss a new way to prepare new yarlshoot- a technique Margaretta had seen in her travels in Scotland. Snape had been looking forward to it- he had thought of a way to exact revenge for Margaretta's little stunt earlier in the week.

He motioned for her to sit in a chair, but she smiled and shook her head.

'No. I think not.' Snape frowned. It would be difficult to exact revenge on a person who refused to enter his office.

'Come,' said Margaretta, turning to go back through the door. She waited a moment, then turned back to him. 'Severus, it is a beautiful night. Now you can choose to sit in this ivory tower, but if you want to chat with me, you will have to come outside.' With that, she left.

Snape sat for a moment, then with a sigh got up from his chair. It would be too much to hope that she was playing a trick on him- no, she actually intended that they go for a stroll in the moonlight like two lovestruck loons. Ugh.

His disgust turned to surprise when he reached the front doors of the school to see most of the teaching staff gathered there, preparing to go out.

As he walked slightly behind the rest of the group, Snape fumed quietly to himself. The wench had done it again- she surely would have known that he would get even with her tonight. He had no doubt which teacher it was that had suggested this 'pleasant late-night stroll through the gardens.’

He watched as she walked in front of him, chatting to young Professor Mercury, a mere boy. Snape had felt a short, sharp bite of jealousy when Margaretta had mentioned her schoolgirl crush on James Potter; he felt the same pang now as he watched her walk beside her young colleague. She chatted up at the young man in her usual friendly manner. Snape wanted to attack her, which he suspected wasn't at all healthy. The boy touched her arm to draw her attention to a falling star and he bit back a growl.

Margaretta seemed to sense his gaze, and looked back at him with a broad smile. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, Snape pondered. The woman was a menace. The best thing for him to do would be to return to his office, to deprive her of victory by refusing to play. She would have no fun with him if he locked himself in his 'ivory tower'. But perhaps, he thought as he watched her smile up at Professor Mercury, perhaps after the young professor had retired.

Eventually, Margaretta dislodged herself from her conversation and walked back to stroll with Snape. He gave her no acknowledgement; he was trying to decide whether to speak to her or not.

'It was a low trick, I know,’ she admitted, after a few moments of silence. Waiting for a response, but receiving none, she added, 'I couldn't let you have the upper hand now, could I?'

Snape pursed his lips. 'Apparently not.'

The woman beside him chuckled. 'You started it, you know,' she said.

'I could also finish it,' Snape threatened in a low tone, his eyes glittering. He had the satisfaction of seeing Margaretta shudder.

'You wouldn't,' she whispered, staring straight ahead.

'I would,' Snape answered, an evil smile crossing his face. 'A charm, perhaps, to make you dance the jig in front of all your colleagues. Or perhaps a love spell to make you passionately embrace that young professor up there,’ he indicated Mercury, 'to whom you seem so attracted?'

'Severus-' Margaretta warned.

'Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't mind sampling your charms, Margaretta. I know you are some years older than him, but they do say a woman of experience is good for a young lad-'

'Severus...'

'-And, of course, there are plenty of dark nooks around here, if you should need them, don't worry, I won't tell anyone-'

'Severus!' Margaretta said under her breath.

'-Of course, as I'm a gentleman,’ Snape said with a smile, 'I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing.'

Margaretta let out a breath. Snape was capable of anything in the right mood, and she wouldn't put such a thing past him after her tricks the other day.

They continued their walk in companionable silence, Margaretta too afraid of provoking him to speak to him in her usual teasing manner.

Late one evening, sharing a particularly fine bottle of red wine in Snape's office, they both felt a change that seemed to have occurred between them. There was less tension in the air tonight; less anger in the way they spoke, even when they disagreed. The room was warm, the wine relaxing, the fire casting an amiable light over the room.

Snape was draped on the couch, his robe thrown over the back of the chair behind the desk. Margaretta, as was her habit in any room, was perched on the edge of the desk. Behind her, books lay scattered and open, their paragraphs occasionally plunged into to prove a point. The evening had been spent roaming across varied topics, exploring avenues idly, evaluating alternatives. Talk had been less of the technicalities of their craft, as was usual, but of possibilities.

Margaretta chatted happily, swinging her legs idly and occasionally waving her hand. Snape watched her with a slight smile. The fire had caught the light in her hair, so that her face glowed. She pursued her point enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up at the possibilities she was thinking of. Snape sleepily considered that here, this moment, he was all admiration for this woman.

'You know, there's a section in one of these books that has something about quagmire rats,’ she was saying. 'There's something that's always worried me about those-’

Margaretta jumped from the desk and turned, bending to look at one of the open books upon it. Lazily, Snape stretched out an arm and grabbed her around the waist, drawing her onto his lap.

'I think the only thing you have to worry about right now,’ he said, 'is me.’ His head dropped down and he kissed her.

Margaretta went into orbit. Her world was reduced to the feel of his lips and the thrill of his arms around her. She was unaware of gripping his shoulders tightly until he raised his head.

He looked at her intently, tracing her cheek with his fingers. Margaretta held her breath as his hand trailed down the side of her body, following the curve of her waist and hip. Finally, he flicked the hem of her skirt and commanded, 'Desistus!’ Margaretta was startled out of her entranced state by the release of her skirt. Feeling suddenly naked and vulnerable, she waved her hand at it, whispering 'Subsistus!’ Snape looked at her challengingly, raising an eyebrow. After a frozen moment, he again commanded, 'Desistus!’ His arm tightened around her. With delicate slowness, he ran his hand down her leg and caressed her ankle. Margaretta shivered, her hand gripping his shirt tightly. Again, he lowered his head to hers, building a fire that burned deep in her stomach.

Margaretta ran her hands over Snape's shoulders, finally slipping her fingers beneath his collar to caress his chest. His skin felt icily fiery to her touch. The top button of his shirt popped open; she wasn't sure if it was accident or if she had willed it. She couldn't concentrate, couldn't form coherent thought. She reached her hand inside his shirt, forcing the rest of the buttons to come undone. She felt his thundering heartbeat beneath her palm, felt the shiver that ran through him.

Snape's hand ran up her leg as he deepened their kiss. His hand was a fiery brand on her thigh, moulding the soft flesh. He shifted her to lie beside him, sliding her body across his with deliberate leisure. His hands were everywhere, sending electric trails across her skin. Snape manoeuvred her leg between his, his hand pressing her hip against his own. Margaretta groaned into his mouth, biting his lip. With a growl, Snape pushed even closer to her, trapping her body against the back of the couch. Margaretta didn't care; she was unable to will herself to move anyway.

He broke off the kiss, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He leant his forehead against hers and moaned. Margaretta reached up and stroked his cheek; she knew how he felt. Kissing him was like stepping off a cliff- after that one move, there was no way she could control herself. It was a scary feeling.

Snape moved off the couch, kneeling before it with his head resting on his hands. He looked up at Margaretta with smoky eyes, his face flushed, his lips swollen. She knew she looked the same.

She reached out and ran a trembling finger along his jaw. He shuddered, seizing her hand in a tight grip. The look in his eyes was too tempting; he looked a mixture of little boy and wolf on the hunt, and both drew her to him. She sat up, her hand still in his, and tugged him towards her. She bent her head and kissed him softly.

His hands went to her hips, drawing her closer to him. Margaretta felt his arms around her, felt herself being crushed to him, felt her hands twist through his hair and run over his chest in a frenzy. She wanted to engulf him and drown in him, all at once.

His lips moved to her neck, biting and kissing his way down to her collar. One hand snaked beneath her askew skirt, sliding hotly along her thigh to rest on her hip. His mouth paused at her collar, then with his teeth he pulled at it. The top button tore off; Margaretta knew that he had willed it. The thought of Snape ripping her clothes off magically made her shiver. She moved so that her legs were around him, holding him tightly to her as her hands trailed over his bare back beneath his shirt. There was something so decadent about touching his body beneath his clothes, she thought briefly, her excitement rising even higher.

Snape gnawed at the sensitive skin near her collarbone, causing her to dig her nails into his flesh. Snape growled, grinding his hips against hers. Pulling back to look into her face, he drew a hand down her bared neck, then back up to tangle in her hair and bring her lips roughly to his once more.

Margaretta ceased awareness of the outside world completely. All she could know was the feel of his lips devouring hers; his hands creating fire with their caresses; his body pressing against hers. She was dizzy and startled when he pulled his head away and turned it, with a frown, towards the fireplace.

Snape frowned and blinked, dazed. Something had managed to penetrate the fog of passion surrounding him; he heard it again and jumped- a hiss from the fire and Dumbledore's voice issuing from the grate.

'Severus, could you please come in here for a moment?' the old man's voice said.

Snape cursed, his arms still around Margaretta. He turned back to face her. She gave him a bemused, dazed smile and removed her arms from around him slowly, pushing on his shoulders to indicate he do the same. Snape took in the sight of her, the disheveled state of her clothing, the enticing tangle of her hair between his fingers, the bright passion that lingered in her eyes. With great force of will, he pushed himself away from her, straightening his clothes on the way to the fireplace. He paused to put on his robe, grateful, in his excited state, for a wizard's flowing costume.

With a last look at Margaretta, tangled and tempting on the couch, Snape threw a pinch of floo powder into the fireplace and stepped through to Dumbledore's office.

Watching him go, Margaretta ran a shaky hand through her tousled curls. She wondered if the interruption had been a nuisance or a blessing.

Snape arrived at Dumbledore's office with as much composure as he could muster. The old man leant against a filing cabinet in a corner of the room, looking at a piece of paper in his hand. He looked up when Snape stepped from the fireplace, taking his mussed appearance in with a smile. Snape smoothed his hair awkwardly.

'Ah,’ said Dumbledore. 'Severus. I trust I didn't... disturb you?'

Snape could have sworn the old man was laughing at him, but didn't have time to think on it as he noticed Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, sitting in the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. He inclined his head in greeting.

'I was just about to summon Margaretta...' hinted Dumbledore. Snape decided the man was indeed laughing at him, and took the hint.

'She's in my office,' he said, and turned back to the fire, throwing in another pinch of powder and stepping through. He returned with Margaretta after only a slight pause, appearing somewhat more composed. Dumbledore noted with an interested eye that, though Snape immediately went to the opposite side of the room from her, the man's eyes never left Margaretta.

Margaretta, rosy-cheeked and slightly flustered, went forward and shook Cornelius Fudge's hand, then took a seat next to the minister, looking at Dumbledore expectantly.

'There have been developments,' Dumbledore began, sitting behind his desk to address them. 'I'm afraid that another plot has been uncovered to blockade this school. Unfortunately, this time, we do not have a thorough idea of their plans. This means that we do not know where they will strike, or when, or how many.' Dumbledore looked seriously at each of them, in turn.

'Severus,' he said, turning to him. 'We'll need your help in organising the staff. I'm afraid we don't have enough time to summon enough people from the ministry to help us; we'll need to organise ourselves as best we can.' Snape nodded. His experiences with the supporters of the Dark Lord had given him enough understanding to know the sort of thing they planned.

'Margaretta,' Dumbledore said softly. 'I'm afraid we'll need you to put into action our most drastic plan. I had hoped it would not be necessary...'

Margaretta nodded, her face stern. 'I'm not afraid. If it will help.'

Dumbledore gave her a small smile. 'Now-'

Snape interrupted, glancing at Margaretta. 'Albus, I will need to know what Margaretta is planning if I'm to organise support.'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Of course.' He looked at Margaretta to see if she would like to explain, but she shook her head nervously. He continued, 'The only way to ensure ourselves against infiltration is to secure a wall completely around the school. Of course, it has to be impenetrable. A mere physical wall would not be sufficient. Neither would a magical one; magic, unfortunately, is not as invincible as we all would like to think. Therefore-' he took a breath. 'Margaretta will move the trees of the Forbidden Forest to protect us.'

Snape stepped forward in a sudden movement. 'No-'

'Yes, Severus,' Margaretta said quietly. 'It is the best way.'

'It is, unfortunately, the only way,' Dumbledore said soothingly.

Snape stared at the people before him. Creating a snowstorm had made Margaretta ill- uprooting the trees of the Forbidden Forest to surround the castle could kill her. Fear gripped him. 'Margaretta, you can't do this-'

'I will do as I please. This is no concern of yours.'

Snape recoiled as if slapped. 'No concern! Margaretta, you will kill yourself! There are other ways- I won't permit you-'

'There is no other way.'

Dumbledore stood, preparing to leave. 'I will leave you to discuss this between yourselves. We will meet in the staff room in an hour.' He looked kindly at Margaretta, then moved to the door.

Cornelius Fudge stood to follow him. 'I assure you, Severus,' he said calmly, 'if there had been any other way to protect the souls in this school, we would have taken it.'

When the door had closed behind them, Snape turned to Margaretta, to find her glaring at him.

'You do not own me!' she said furiously.

'Margaretta, I simply-'

'You do not control me, Severus Snape. I have no need of your permission for anything!' She began pacing angrily. 'Whatever makes you think-'

'I simply do not wish to see you die!' Snape raged. 'Though obviously my concern is a waste of effort!'

'Severus,' Margaretta said, trying to regain her calm. 'My only purpose at this school this year is to protect it. If I failed to do so now-'

'You can protect this school without danger to yourself.' Snape strode toward her, gripping her arms. 'Margaretta, you can join with the rest of us- there are spells-'

'Simple spells do not work against these people! They never will, not with the people here incanting them!'

Snape stepped back, stung. His face became expressionless. Margaretta reached towards him, aware that she had inadvertently insulted his skills.

'Severus, I didn't mean-'

'Of course,' he said, turning away from her. 'Go. Destroy yourself. We mere mortals will do the best we can without you.'

'Severus-' Snape sent her a look of pure antipathy. Margaretta swallowed back the bitterness in her throat, her resolution hardening. 'Fine. I have to prepare.' Without another look at him, she swept from the room. Snape sighed and went back to his own rooms.

Talk buzzed through the student population the next day. Students had been told at breakfast that all classes were to be canceled for the next few days, and all students were to remain in their dormitories. No excuse would be accepted for a student roaming the halls.

All of the teachers were tired after being woken in the middle of the night for a strategy meeting, and were in no mood to put up with student questions. Prefects were instructed to keep students quiet and busy within the dormitories.

Margaretta was nervous. There was tension in the air; an expectancy that slowly sapped confidence. Teachers prowled the halls, faces tense. There was no conversation.

At around 4 o'clock in the afternoon, a rainy weather front came in over the castle. Margaretta, reading the weather, knew it was a sign that things would soon happen. She warned Dumbledore.

'All right,' he nodded. 'I will summon the staff.’ He gave her a look of concern. 'Will you need any help?'

Margaretta shook her head. With a wave of foreboding, she wrapped her arms around the old man and hugged tight. After a short pause, he did the same, resting his cheek in her hair.

'Good luck, child,' he said.

Without a backward glance, Margaretta exited the castle and walked toward the forest.

In the staff room, Snape attempted to calm the other teachers, not feeling particularly calm himself. He sent nervous glances out of the window. Margaretta had retreated to the forest an hour ago; now the dark clouds surrounding the school began to rumble. What could it mean?

Without warning, a wave of psychic energy washed over the school. Quickly, Snape summoned the teachers into a circle of power, each muttering a low chant. Their job was to ward off any ill willed magic that managed to pervade the protective spells surrounding the school, protecting the castle from magical attack.

Outside, the storm broke with a crash. Margaretta shuddered as she pressed her hands against the tallest tree. It was time to ensure protection from physical attack; mere weather changes would not do it this time; the forces outside were too strong. The trees would be their champions tonight.

With immense effort, she reached her mind into the tree, trying to tap the basic creature that resided there. The rain washed over her, making her physically cold, but, as her concentration deepened, the rain began to flash into steam at her touch.

Slowly, the roots buried deep in the soil around the tree began to move. One, two, then more uprooted themselves until at last, the giant oak stood proudly before the thin form of Margaretta. With a wave of her hand, she commanded it to walk, trailing dirt and moss behind it, towards the edge of the castle grounds.

Others followed. The oak became a tall leader among many, then just a bunch of leaves in the crowd as the Forbidden Forest uprooted itself.

Margaretta stood in deep concentration as the trees flowed past her. Here and there an animal would run by; unicorns, rabbits, werewolves. All moved with the forest, following her command.

Finally, the castle was surrounded by a living wall. Margaretta could sense those who tried to attack, sense the battle raging at the edge of the woods. A sword hacked into the limb of a tree and she flinched. A stray spell ignited a branch and she dropped to her knees, only raising herself again with an effort. The rain washed over and around her.

From the windows in the towers of the castle, hundreds of student eyes watched as the trees of the Forbidden Forest swayed and swung. The battle that raged outside was invisible even from these high windows, but here and there sparks of light flashed. Though they had been told nothing of what was happening, many guessed and held their hands together in fear. Dark forces raged outside.

Within the staff room, teachers clenched arms together to increase their efforts. Beads of sweat formed on foreheads as they continued their chants. The rain pounded at the windows.

After many hours, the storm around the castle stilled. Rain became a fine mist on the wind; the flashes of light outside the living wall lessened, then stopped. The mood surrounding the castle lifted, and those within its walls breathed in with relief.

Snape, who had been facing the staff room windows, looked anxiously for some sign of Margaretta. The teachers continued their chants- the danger had subsided, but was not over. When the moon had passed its way across the sky and the sun began to wash the horizon in light, their chanting slowed, and stopped. They turned and watched as the great forest began its trek back to its original place, roots sliding through the mud. Faces pressed against glass for the parade as sunlight winked upon the wet leaves.

Snape, occupying a window by himself, watched without noticing the display before him. The trees wandered across the lawn, replanting themselves, but still what he waited for did not come. Finally, in the morning rain, a figure emerged from the forest. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the figure, mud-splattered and torn, approach the castle. His heart stopped as it stumbled, then fell, its mudstained clothes blending in with the sea of mud around it. With a cry, he dashed from the room.

Hundreds of eyes watched from the castle as he picked up the figure and stumbled his way to the door.

The sun shone down and baked the mud that had once been the lawn of Hogwarts. Within the castle's walls, students and staff walked around with relieved smiles, feeling a weight had been lifted from them. A carnival atmosphere pervaded the halls, and laughter and chatter once more could be heard.

In the infirmary, many stopped by to look with concern at the prone figure of Margaretta, pale and lifeless against white sheets. The only sign of life was the occasional rushed breath. Madam Pomfrey was at a loss.

'There is no spell seems to help,' she said tremblingly to Dumbledore. He patted her hand and shook his head slowly.

'We must wait,' was all he said.

In his study, Severus Snape stared absently at an empty grate.

Things slowly turned back to normal over the next few weeks. Dumbledore took over Margaretta's classes temporarily, students began to turn their thoughts to exams. The only noticeable difference was Professor Snape, who was often preoccupied in his teaching and not half as nasty as usual. Still, students reflected, a gift horse should not be looked in the mouth.

Only Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey knew of the lone figure that spent each night in watchful silence beside the bed of the invalid.

After two months of living death, Margaretta opened her eyes to a bright summer morning.

The whole school rejoiced. The one pall over their joy, after defeating the attackers, had vanished. Margaretta's sick room became a party of friends and well-wishers, Madam Pomfrey so glad to see her awake that she didn't send anyone away.

Margaretta, exhausted but happy, received everyone with a smile, but there was one noticeable absentee from her sick room. She deliberated on what this could mean as she packed up her things, preparing to leave after a week's rest in the infirmary.

She found what she was looking for when she entered her office. Snape stood, arms crossed, in the far corner. Both stood for a tense moment without speaking.

'I understand I have you to thank for bringing me into the castle,' Margaretta said, finally. Snape nodded his acceptance. Margaretta waited a moment, then continued.

'I am leaving. The Ministry has called me back- I'm needed elsewhere, now that Hogwarts is safe.'

'I know,' Snape said softly.

'It isn't my choice, Severus,' Margaretta continued, a pleading look on her face. 'I would stay if I could. For many reasons.' She moved to her desk and began straightening papers.

'When do you leave?' she heard him ask. She rested her hand on the edge of the desk. She was still weak.

'Tonight. As soon as the moon is high.'

Snape regarded her silently, then nodded. 'A good time to travel.'

Margaretta looked up at him, staring into his eyes. She wished he would give something away, wished that he would take one step in her direction. He could be frustratingly unreadable when he wanted.

She sighed inwardly when he moved toward the door, then felt his hand on her shoulder. He stood behind her, lips in her hair. She reached up and covered his hand with hers, squeezing lightly.

'You will be missed,' he said. She heard the door close softly behind him on his way out.

Weeks drifted away, bringing on the end of the school year. Snape watched as the last students tumbled onto coaches, destined for the Hogwarts' Express, and sighed. This summer would be a very long one.

Wishing to get away from himself, he decided to go for a walk in the sunshine. It would be several weeks before he could make his own plans; marking had to be done, timetables for the new year sorted out. Though he usually didn't mind a few weeks of winding down before setting off for the holidays, this year he felt impatient to leave the castle. It had too many ghosts, this year.

Snape paused in the middle of the lawn, sensing a presence behind him. He turned, but there was no one there. With a puzzled frown, he turned back on his way, only to feel a hand brush his shoulder.

'Severus,' came a whisper in his ear. Snape's eyes widened. He recognised that voice- how could he not, having had its owner haunt him in his sleep for weeks past?

'Where are you?' he said, casually putting his hand out and swiping at the air before him. He heard a chuckle, felt a wisp of material slip past his fingers.

'Tut tut tut,' Margaretta whispered in his other ear. 'Anyone watching will think you've gone mad.'

'Let them think,' he said, taking another swipe, 'whatever they wish. Where *are* you?'

She chuckled again, this time from yet another direction. 'Severus,' she said, as he felt a hand trace down his cheek. He made a grab for it, and caught it. Quickly, he pulled Margaretta into his arms. It was very disconcerting to hold someone he couldn't see.

'Severus,' she whispered in his ear, 'have you ever made love in the sunshine?'

With another chuckle, she put a vial to his lips. Snape tasted the Imperceptibility potion a moment before it began to take effect. Margaretta splashed some more on his clothes before trying to dart away again.

'Oh, no you don't,' Snape growled, pulling her in again.

The grounds of Hogwarts seemed amazingly deserted to any onlooker, but anyone going for a wander would have been startled to hear, carried on the wind with a wicked chuckle, 'Margar*et*ta...'

Epilogue

A few days later Snape heard a knock on his office door. Looking up, he saw Dumbledore standing in the doorway, holding a piece of cloth.

'This shirt was found on the lawn yesterday, Severus,'the old man said, placing it on a chair. 'The laundry mark is yours. I can't think how it got to be out there, can you?'

Snape heard the old man chuckle as the door closed behind him.

THE END.!!!!!