AN:

IMPORTANT NOTE RE RATING AND WARNINGS

Dearest readers,

It's been a wild few months with moving and school and personal stuff so many apologies for the scarcity of these updates. Thanks so much for keeping on with this story, or if ur new here thanks for checking it out. Stay tuned, shits gonna hit the fan pretty soon if this pans out the way i want it to. Which brings me to a more solemn thought; the subject matter of this thing is gonna start to get a little dark and heavy, I'm talking issues with mental health, sexuality, substance abuse, and suicide. This might not be the story for you, and I don't want to surprise anyone with anything that might make them uncomfortable or impact them negatively. I'm not going to dive straight into it, it's going to come up slowly, but I'll be updating the ratings and warnings probably sometime soon, and including trigger warnings for subsequent chapters. I'm sorry that I didn't have this planned out before, it's sort of developing in my head as I go and there were a lot of aspects of these characters that I was unsure of before I really got into this story. If you don't think you should continue to read because of how this subject matter may impact you, I totally understand and want to thank you for having read thus far regardless. Anyway, much love to everyone! Enjoy!

---

Severus Snape didn't often get nights off. Between marking assignments, consoling pre-teen Slytherins, nightly patrols and research, a moment to sit down and let the mind wander was very scarce indeed. Even in idle moments between classes, staff meetings and meals, his mind was racing with lesson plans and potions that needed brewing; anything and everything he could think of, just to keep his thoughts away from the dark. If he could sleep at night, he'd struggle to find the time for it.

It was a blessing and a curse to be so consumed by the overwhelming tasks of his daily life; sure his waking thoughts rarely had the chance to turn to his less than shining past, but the stress was sure to kill him eventually. He'd been sleeping an average of three hours a night since the start of term, and even those hours were spent tossing, and waking every hour. The man that looked back at him in the mirror in the early mornings was becoming gaunt—at least more so than usual— with dark under eyes and protruding cheekbones. He could almost understand the student body's speculation as to whether he was indeed a vampire. Eating had become a chore between his almost nonexistent appetite and a pesky ulcer that survived every potion he'd thrown at it.

His private lessons with Ridley Clarke had surely added a good helping of stress to his ever growing workload, but he couldn't bring himself to regret taking on the task. The girl was curious and eager to learn, despite a well crafted mask of nonchalance she'd formed over her years as a student. She had always been clever, he would admit, turning in carefully worded essays with eloquent and engaging theses, and preparing adequate if not perfect potions in class. It was a subtle cleverness, a confidence that she didn't feel compelled to parade in front of her peers—rather it seemed she aimed to do the opposite—and he wondered if her abilities were truly a secret between herself and her teachers. He'd been happy enough to watch her grow from a distance, humble in every task other than quidditch where everyone could witness a strategic and technical skill that was frankly rare to see in a witch of her age. But now, the mask she'd perfected as he watched her grow up had started to crack, and a passion shone through that burned brighter than any flame he'd seen. At first he'd reckoned that the defense sessions she seeked were a distraction, just as they had been for him. He didn't want to think about the war, and surely she wanted to distance herself from the events of last year. His motives for teaching her had been selfish in reality, he needed an escape and he was drunk on the pride that Dumbledore finally allowed him to teach a subject that he'd been denied time and time again. Maybe she had been feeling selfish as well? They would mutually waste each other's time for the sake of ignoring their problems in as unhealthy way as they possibly could.

But they weren't wasting each other's time, were they? Clarke hurtled every obstacle he threw at her, and overcame every challenge with glee. Sure, there was no shortage of swearing and frustration involved in their lessons, but the satisfied grins that she would shoot at him shone with a brightness that had Severus enthralled. He wanted to challenge her, push her past her boundaries and watch her grow. Every countercurse he'd taught her was perfected in a matter of hours, and they were quickly in danger of surpassing the requirements of the NEWT curriculum. Within weeks they'd blasted through a collection of spells and theory that would take almost a year to teach to a class of thirty. Soon he could call an end to their sessions, sign off his approval on her brief but fruitful education in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and hope she'd be able to recall their lessons come exam season.

Or he could keep going; teach her practises that he'd only learned from experience and an unhealthy amount of time spent in the Hogwarts Library as a student. She would have a more advanced knowledge of defensive spellwork than a good handful of adult witches.

But she is an adult witch, sneered a voice in the back of his mind. His brow furrowed, as his cynical subconscious pulled him out of his musings. In his right hand he grasped a glass tumbler holding two fingers of whiskey—Ogden's Old, of course—while his left propped open a hefty tome in his lap. The glow of a crackling fire bathed his sitting room in warm light, and the plush velvet wingback chair combined with the cozy embrace of the fire's heat along his clothed legs afforded him a sense of comfort he rarely sought out. Ignoring the book as he had for the past couple of minutes, he swirled the amber liquid around in the tumbler, upsetting his bleak reflection on its surface. Ridley Clarke was a woman grown, he thought to himself before taking a pensive sip of whiskey, she had been an adult by wizard standards since the January of that year, nearly ten months ago. Severus hummed and licked the last bit of whiskey off his lips. Why did that seem so relevant just then?

An aggressive hammering on his office door, just a room away, jarred him out of his meager few moments of comfort. Startled, he sloshed a splash of whiskey onto his lap, narrowly avoiding the open pages of his book. With a snarl, he set the glass down on the table next to him with perhaps a little force than was necessary, and dropped the book onto the seat of the armchair. Stalking out of his personal sitting room, he crossed the threshold of his office and hastily warded off his quarters. The open doorway no longer visible, he stomped over to the office door, nimbly buttoning closed the top fastenings of his shirt. He seldom hoped for the maiming or serious emotional trauma of the students in his house, but truly he thought that was the only justification he could tolerate for encroaching on his time that night.

Withering glare already in place, he whipped open the wooden door which creaked in almighty protest, and opened his mouth to berate his unfortunate visitors.

"Fix him!"

Severus's jaw snapped shut at the impudent greeting, casting his critical gaze up and down the couple that he least expected to be at his door. A red cheeked Ridley Clarke was standing in front of him in her quidditch robes, jaw clenched and eyes steeled with determination. Her wild brown curls seemed to have been persuaded into a messy bun atop her head, but for a few rebellious tendrils that hung about her face and the nape of her neck. Hysterically wide blue eyes looked even more vibrant in colour against the redness in her cheeks and her stark, thick eyebrows were furrowed almost comically. If she were a cartoon character, she would have steam pouring out of her ears. Severus' eyes flashed to her left hand, where she held the shaft of her broomstick in a white knuckled grip, and then over to her other hand which was encased by the larger, healthily tanned hand of Calvyn Neering.

"I told you, I'm totally fine, babe," the boy looked drunk as he whined, releasing Clarke's hand and moving to wrap his arm around her shoulders. Wrinkling her upturned and freckle dusted nose, she caught his forearm before it reached her and pushed it back down to his side. She looked as though she wanted to whack him with her broomstick.

"Please?!" She cried desperately, holding the taller blonde boy at an arm's length. A goofy smile had stretched across his lips, and his eyes looked upon Clarke adoringly.

Severus was nearly speechless. "Well," he pondered the strange pair in front of him, too confused to feel any of the anger that scorched through his veins just moments ago, "I suppose you two had better step inside."

Clarke's shoulders relaxed in relief, and Severus stepped out of the doorway as she dragged the lovesick boy to the chair before his desk. Unceremoniously, she pushed Neering into his seat and stepped back with her arms crossed over her chest. "I love a girl that's not afraid to push a guy around," Neering sang with fluttering eyelashes.

Clarke's face screwed up in disgust and she whined, "Professor!"

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, starting to get over the shock and becoming increasingly annoyed by the present situation. "Whatever it is you're doing, Clarke, that thing with your voice...making words..." He groaned, drawing his wand from his sleeve and approaching the seated boy.

Ridley's eyebrows furrowed, and she looked at him with obvious suspicion, "You mean talking?"

"Yes, that," he waved her off, taking her place beside Neering, "Stop it." He could almost hear her roll her eyes as she stalked off to look at one of his bookcases. For reasons unknown to him, the girl was uncommonly curious about the jarred specimens he kept on the uppermost shelves.

Muttering lumos, he reached for Neering's face and shone his illuminated wand into each of his eyes. Neering winced at first, but the sight of the irritated Potions Master with his wand pointed at his face—probably his greatest asset—seemed to be enough to quell any fight or flight responses. He simply froze.

"He doesn't have a concussion, Professor, believe me it would take a lot more than a knock to the head to make any guy interested in me," she deadpanned, joining the pair once again. "He opened a cupboard in the fieldhouse and this huge puff of smoke came out. I think he breathed a fair bit of it in."

Severus dropped his wand and straightened up with a sigh. "Some sort of love potion then, I expect." He moved to his desk and leaned against it, facing Clarke with what he was sure was a mischievous glint in his eye. He wanted to push her. "So what is there to do about it?"

Clarke blinked. Dropping her arms from her chest she quickly looked to Severus, then to Neering, and back to Severus again. "I don't know, that's why I brought him to you?"

"Oh surely you paid attention in fifth year, this is elementary," he sneered. "You've studied love potions; you know how they work and what they're made of. Look at the symptoms, think about what that smoke looked like—what it smelled like!"

Clarke was still looking at him slightly slack jawed, and he questioned whether this was the same girl that had nearly conjured a corporeal patronus in their last defense session. Crossing his arms over his chest he snarled, "Use your head, girl! If you can figure out what the potion is, then I'll give you the antidote. Or maybe you'd like to spend a week with Neering pawing at you and reciting sonnets in the courtyard."

His student glared at him, lips thin in frustration. He almost expected her to tell him to piss off, but instead she turned to face Neering, who had been watching the exchange in happy confusion. Tapping her bottom lip with her index finger she reasoned aloud, "It was a vapour, so it must have a pretty high temperature threshold; it didn't light aflame or bake into a solid as a lot of love potions would have."

Severus nodded her along as her eyes flicked up to his inquiringly. Chewing her bottom lip, she began to pace the length of the office, "It looked sort of iridescent, pink but with a pearly sheen to it; sort of like how a Devotion Draught looks after you drop in the fairy wings."

Humming in agreement, Severus queried, "And what did it smell like?"

Halting in her pacing, Clarke closed her eyes and tilted her face just the slightest bit upward. "It smelt really floral, but I guess a lot of love potions do. There was a definite lavender scent, and maybe rose oil...and mint?" Eyebrows furrowed, she tried to gather her wits about her. Severus could see the thoughts racing behind her eyes, and when they finally stuck on one answer, he couldn't help but smirk. "Catnip!"

There it was, that grin that had him hooked from their first lesson weeks ago. It lit up her whole face, and was simply infectious. He couldn't help but chortle when realization dawned upon her and she cried, "Some bastard is targeting my team with Miss Augustine's Tenderness Tonic for Terrible Tomcats?!"

"I don't expect it was Miss Augustine's brand, but plenty of variations exist. Witches and wizards have been trying to make their unruly cats tolerate them for hundreds of years," he lectured her, straightening up and padding over to his private stores. From inside the narrow but long closet he searched the shelves for the right vial and continued, "The amount of product that Neering inhaled was more than enough to foster an intense infatuation, but would surely kill anything as small as a cat. For that reason the use of the Tenderness Tonic largely fell out of use in the 1840's," he grunted as he stretched to reach the vial he was looking for, dusty and almost invisible at the back of the shelf. Antidote in hand, he walked back into the office where Clarke was listening to him raptly, and dusted off the old glass bottle, "A great many wizard families were said to have loved their pets to death."

Clarke gave him a small smile, eyeing the vial curiously. It held a translucent, emerald liquid and left a green film on the glass as it sloshed around. Looking up at him from under her eyelashes, she asked, "Why is he infatuated with me specifically? I don't see him trying to jump you?"

Severus sighed and rubbed at his temple with his free hand, exasperated by her crassness, "Because you were the first person he saw after he was dosed with it; he imprinted on you, if you will."

"Like a baby bird?" she questioned, ignoring the ire in his voice completely.

"Sure, like a baby bird," he droned, shooing her away from his charge and standing in front of the boy. "Drink this, quickly now."

Neering looked at the antidote dubiously, shooting a nervous glance at his friend. Even with his back turned to her, Severus knew Clarke was glaring at the boy. With an exaggerated gulp, Neering reached a reluctant hand forward and wrapped it around the neck of the bottle. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, brought the bottle to his lips and threw it back. Within a good couple of swallows he'd emptied the bottle and had a good old fashioned coughing fit.

"Merlin's pants," he rasped handing the bottle back to Severus who looked on in vague interest, "Do you have a chase for that or what?"

"You still can't handle shots," Clarke said passively, wincing when Severus shot her a glare. The girl drank like a mountain troll, and rarely thought twice before letting her teachers know that. If she were as dedicated to her studies as she was to self medicating with firewhiskey, Severus thought there would be no limit to what she could do.

"How do you feel?" the girl queried, taking a tentative step towards her friend. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, "No burning desire to snog me?"

Neering's face paled, and his eyes widened as realization crashed over him like a tidal wave. Running a shaking hand through his pale hair, he groaned, "Oh no, I kissed you didn't I?"

"You sure did!" Clarke sang, almost mockingly. "With no small amount of enthusiasm, I might add." Crossing her arms over her chest, Clarke was looking more smug than ever, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Neering on the other hand, was looking more and more nauseated. Frantically, the boy looked about the room before he set his sights on a rubbish bin at the end of Severus' desk and snatched it. Don't you dare, Severus thought to himself as he glared at the swaying boy. No such luck.

With a great wretch, Neering hurled his face forward and proceeded to empty his supper into Severus Snape's rubbish bin. The wet splatter didn't seem to repulse his friend, however, who's smirk had slid clean off her face. Eyes narrowed at the heaving boy, she hissed, "Well I didn't exactly enjoy myself either, but I wouldn't have thought I was worth hurling over!"

Severus had a feeling the girl was about to hit her sickened friend, and reached for her just as she moved toward him. Grasping her shoulders assertively, he steered her away from the boy, "Gods above, Clarke. It's just a side effect."

Ridley narrowed her eyes, peeking around Severus who stood as a solid barrier between the pair. "Those are some nasty side effects for a love potion antidote." he turned his head to observe the afflicted boy; he'd paled considerably and was shivering in his chair.

Severus was suddenly feeling much too tired to deal with the situation. "It's not from the antidote, it's the tenderness tonic. It's quite addictive."

Clarke still looked dubious, and slightly confused.

"He's going through a withdrawal of sorts. Surely you know how that feels."

Her eyes narrowed and her upper lip tensed as if to curl, "No, actually I don't!" Severus groaned internally, all too familiar with that tone of hers.

"I don't understand why you're always implying I'm some sort of out of control addict? So what if I drink a little bit every now and then? I'm an adult and it's not as though I'm not interrupting anyone else's learning. I'm not even really messing up my own learning, I mean, all of my work gets done well and on time, and I hardly ever miss—"

"Clarke!" barked Severus, making the rambling girl jolt out of her growingly hysterical rambling. She blinked, face cleared of emotion but for the stubborn dip of the corner of her mouth. He watched her upper lip curl once more as he began, in a voice that even he thought overly patronizing, "I quite frankly couldn't care less about your drinking, or your recreational drug use, or any other activity you engage in outside of school hours and out of my line of vision. I am well aware that you are an adult and knowing that, I expect you to understand that while the consequences of your actions fall entirely upon your shoulders, they may in fact also reflect poorly upon your house and peers. Thus you have a duty to conduct yourself with a certain measure of decorum. Do I make myself clear?"

The girl bit her lip and narrowed her eyes; Severus could nearly see the thoughts running through her head as she grasped for the words she needed. Wrinkling her nose, she merely claimed defensively, and entirely missing the point, "I have never taken drugs!" Vehemently she added, "Ever."

Something ugly was trying to force itself out of Severus's throat—something blistering like smoldering coal, repugnant and vile as poison. He barely noticed as Clarke shrunk away, confused as to how she had so suddenly incurred the potent wrath of the Potions Master. Severus himself couldn't pinpoint himself what it was about her that set his temper aflame, but still he towered over her and scowled coldly.

Clarke was a liar, no doubt about that. He was as well. But it was beyond offensive, Severus thought, for this girl that he had defended and advised through the years—had used his own precious time to teach defensive magic—to so blatantly lie straight to his face. Him—the one that had found her, for Merlin's sake!

Severus's jaw was set, and it took all his strength to keep it clenched shut when all he wanted was to verbally eviscerate her. It would have been all too easy to remind her of just how intimately he was aware of her substance abuse—how well he knew of what it had almost cost her. Did she know how much that had cost him?

"Get out."

The girl blanched, "What?"

"I have righted Neering as you demanded so ardently, and seeing as I have yet to find a bottled cure to general ineptitude, there is nothing more I can do for either of you and thus must insist the pair of you go back to your dormitories. I will not hear another word from you tonight other than, Thank you and Good evening, sir." He snarled, punctuating his demand with a slash of his wand through the air. Behind them the door to the office flew open and hit the wall with a slam. The racket made Clarke jump, but that was quickly countered by the carefully neutral mask she'd affected. Quietly, she ushered a very disoriented Neering out of his seat and towards the door.

As she made to pass Severus, eyes forward and Neering being dragged alongside her, she intoned, "Thank you, and Good evening, sir." She was close enough that Severus could just barely catch the smell of lavender on her as she breezed by him. He held himself very still, not daring move until he heard the soft click of the door latching shut, Clarke evidently taking more care with the old thing.

Alone again, he pinched the bridge of his nose and thought to himself that this was precisely the reason that Severus Snape didn't often get nights off.