Draco Malfoy's voice floated across. "Hi, Mozell! Can't you tell the difference between boys and girls?"

"Yes, Draco. Can you?" There was general laughter. "Muggle fashion, kiddo."

At the head table, Snape spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard by most of the students. "It seems that some people believe they deserve special treatment."

Scribe looked up innocently. "Oh, Draco isn't that bad."

More laughter. Ron whispered, "You know, I don't think that anyone's ever managed to make Snape and Draco blush at the same time."

"You'd better watch it," Hermione whispered. "You have Snape for Potions."

"Hermione, I could kiss his feet, and it probably wouldn't do any good. I have a feeling that once Snape makes up his mind it would be easier to shift Stonehenge than to change it."

Neville, who had been listening, gaped. "You wouldn't really move Stonehenge, would you?"

She exchanged looks with the others. "Only if I was very, very well paid. How on earth do the house elves manage to keep the bacon so nice and flat?"

"This sort of dungeon. I was in one once run by a friend from the Internet--Mistress Steele--and it was..." She trailed off, noticing that the other students were listening curiously. "You're too young."

Professor Snape swept into the room, and stopped short at the sight of the woman. "This is third year potions."

She nodded. "I'm not officially starting till tomorrow. I'm supposed to be collecting equipment and supplies today."

"And?"

"And Dumbledore told me to come to you for whatever I'd need for this class." She fluttered her eyelashes at him and said sweetly, "Can you give me what I need, Professor?"

Snape's hands were clenching into fists, half-hidden by his robes. The students exchanged questioning glances. Why would he be upset by such an inoffensive question?

"Class, turn to page nine in your textbooks and begin the transparency potion. You--come with me." He stalked to the storeroom at the back of the room as they began to obey. Opening the door he said, "Well, don't just stand there. Get in."

Scribe thought about saying that she was choosy about who she allowed behind her, but remembered that she could have points taken away from her house, and she didn't want to let her fellow Gryffindors down. Kids took these things so seriously. She sidled past Snape, and he entered behind her. Pointing a finger at a lamp, he created a flame, then shut the door.

Scribe looked around. The room was very long, and very narrow. It had counters on each side, and the walls above and below them were covered with shelves. The shelves were crammed with the oddest assembly of objects, boxes, bottles, jars, boxes, and etceteras that she'd ever seen. Her nose crinkled. It wasn't the pleasantest smelling place she'd ever been. Snape's voice was condescending. "Offensive to your delicate sensibilities, Miss Mozell?"

She smirked. "I grew up in the middle of oil refineries, chemical plants, and marshes. You'll have to go a ways to find a smell I can't handle."

"Really? I look forward to your reaction when we do the canker potion. I always loose a few students on that. First thing, you'll need a cauldron." He opened a cabinet and began taking out objects. "Mortar, pestle, scales, weights, scalpel, tweezers, gloves..."

"Can I have a box? Juggling isn't one of my talents." He stopped what he was doing and stared at her. "That wasn't meant as a smart-off--it was a bald statement of fact."

"You are insolent, Miss Mozell."

"You don't like insolent?"

"No."

"Could have fooled me. I thought that you and Draco got along famously."

He took a deep breath. "I will make allowances for your adjustment to your new situation, and will not take points away this time, but you should watch yourself in the future."

"Gotcha."

"Put your things in the cauldron. That's how most of the students carry them." He took out a small, partitioned box, and a supply of jars. "You will carry your ingredients in this." He began to fill the receptacles with roots, powders, liquids, goos, and unidentifiable objects. "There are labels and a quill there. Mark them as I give them to you."

"Where's the ink?"

"For heaven's sake, woman, just write! It should be full. Sea snake scales." She scratched the nib on the label, and it wrote easily--too easily. It blotted. He sighed. "Oh, lord, not another Longbottom."

"Patience is a virtue. I've never used one of these before."

"I assumed you'd know how."

"Well, you know what they say about 'assume'."

"What?"

"You don't know?"

"No."

She printed neatly. "I forgot."

His eyes narrowed. "You're going to make this year interesting, aren't you?" She spread her hand on her chest with a 'who, me?' expression.

Snape found himself looking at that hand. Beneath the vest and the boyish white shirt there was the swell of bosoms. She heaved a sigh, and they bobbed gently. "What are those red, wiggly things."

"Blood worms."

"Ick."

"Marsh salt. Unicorn hoof shavings. Frogstools."

Finally the case was filled with jars, the last ones labeled much more neatly than the first. As he closed and latched the case, Snape said, "I hope you appreciate the generosity of Hogwarts. The other student's have to buy these items themselves, and I don't appreciate having my stock dipped into like this."

"Which is more appropriate--remorse, or gratitude? I can do both."

He took a quick step toward her, and she took a half step back. That was all she could manage, because she came up against the back wall. "Miss Mozell," he said softly, "it is in your best interests to be civil. I can make your stay at Hogwarts very unpleasant, if I so choose." *She's frightened,* he thought. *She can't hide that. But it's almost as if she's excited, too.*

Mozell swallowed. "Professor," her voice was very soft. "I have no doubt you could." She tilted her head, bringing her face closer to his own. Her eyelids lowered, and the faintest hint of a smile curved her lips. "I bet you could make it very pleasant, too." Head tilted even more, closer. He felt a brush of warm breath against his ear. "Dare I say even pleasurable?"

Snape froze, staring down at the woman in astonishment. He felt himself begin to get hard. She laid one hand delicately on his shoulder and slipped between him and the counter. He felt the brush of her breast and hip, and got even stiffer. She picked up her kit, cradling it before her, and smiled back at him. "You know, you're a very attractive man. I bet your hair would be gorgeous with a good shampoo and conditioner." She slipped from the room.

Snape leaned against the wall, staring at the door. He needed to get back to his class. There was no telling what the hooligans could get up to, but... He reached down and wonderingly felt the bulge in his fly. When was the last time that had happened? Oh, he had sex occasionally on breaks, or in the small bordello that Hogsmead pretended didn't exist. But to get a spontaneous erection from no more than a bit of closeness, a bit of suggestiveness... He closed his eyes. "She's a student. She's a student."

The class remarked later that Snape seemed rather preoccupied.

"Miss Mozell," said McGonnagle, "you must be practical. There are things in our life that we do not teach her for the simple fact that they are so basic that we assume that our students will already know them when they come to us."

"You know what they say about assume."

"No. What do they say?"

"You're too young. So, you'll be teaching me this kindergarten level stuff?"

"No, I'm afraid my schedule won't allow it. There is only one instructor who is capable, and has some free time." She looked past Mozell. "Ah, here he is."

She turned, and her stomach gave a tiny lurch as she saw Severus Snape entering the classroom. "Oh, joy," she said faintly.

McGonnagle said, "Severus, here is your pupil. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a lesson plan I need to fine tune." She left.

The man and woman stared at each other. Finally Scribe said, "What are they holding over your head?"

"You're assuming that this was forced on me, Miss Mozell, and you know what they say about 'assume'."

Her mouth dropped open, and she said slowly, "And now it sounds like you do, too."

"I'm proficient at researching Muggle colloquialisms. Very colorful. I volunteered."

"Why?"

"As I said--I think an eye should be kept on you. First lesson..." He held up a feather. "Quills, and their usage."

"Complaints will get you nowhere. Grasp the quill. No, no--not so far up. Not so far down, either. You aren't supposed to strangle it. It isn't going to fly away--not unless Neville Longbottom has possibly been practicing spells around it. Here," He put his hand over hers, molding her fingers around the quill. "Like this."

She shivered slightly. It wasn't that his hand was clammy, as she might have been led to expect by the books. No, it was quite dry and warm, and his touch was firm. She sensed a lot of strength in that hand. She was speaking before she realized it, and the words she heard coming out of her own mouth made her wince inwardly. They were so corny that he was bound to tell her off. "You have very strong, smooth hands. Do they get that way from all the grinding and mixing that you do in your work?"

His grip tightened a little. His voice was very quiet. "Miss Mozell, are you teasing me?"

"Would I do that?"

"A question is not an answer. Answer me."

The door opened. "I left it over here..." Ron's voice trailed off, his hand poised over a textbook lying under a desk. Hermione and Harry were peeking in from the hall, and all three sets of eyes were fastened on the two adults. Snape sat back slowly, letting his hand drop. He stared at them, one after another. He didn't blink. "Potter, Weasley, Granger--you are interrupting a class."

"What sort of class?" asked Ron suspiciously.

Snape looked over at Scribe. She returned his look without comment. "Life lessons. I want an entire page of copy work, with no spills, smudges, strikeouts, or blots. You may bring it to potions tomorrow." He got up and left the room without saying anything further.

Scribe smiled wanly at her three friends. "I'm treading Campbells."

"What does that mean?" Ron asked.

"It means," said Harry, "that she's in the soup. How are you in trouble with Snape, Scribe?"

"I'm not sure, but he may be taking me seriously."