Hello hello hello! Ok, please don't bash me round the head with a heavy object, I know it's been over a month since the last update, but life's been a little crazy. Assignments and illnesses all around, kidney stones, bursting appendixes, fevers and vomiting and Goddess knows what else. But here's a new chapter for you, all doom and gloom and misery as always, and I will do my best to publish the next one sooner. I promise. I might even make it less miserable. :)

As always, a thousand thanks to FawkesyLady, without whom my writing would be as atrocious as Alice's table manners. :) Love you, Fawkesy

Alice was drained, hallowed out, emptier than the pack of fags she'd already smoked through in the anxiety of the day and its aftermath. As soon as she found her new quarters, she made a beeline for the bedroom without stopping to look at her personal chambers and fell face-first onto the bed.

Sleep eluded her. She laid in the darkness and stared at the ceiling, mulling over the abrupt change in Snape's attitude. Of course she did not expect him to trot up to her and snog her breathless in the middle of the Great Hall. She certainly wished that he would, but she never imagined that he could be so cruel to her, not after what happened in summer.

Well, that's me taught, she reflected bitterly, shifting from her stomach to her back. I was his friend for as long as I was useful, and now he's tossed me out like an empty wrapper. Well, fuck him. Plenty of fish in the sea.

The assertion did nothing to ease the wrenching pain in her heart. Sure, she could find another bloke, but the idea of another failure on that front was unbearable. Snape had many faults, but what she believed they had made her feel on top of the world. She should have seen it coming, really. That man was a double agent, a master of deception, and she could not believe just how stupid she had been to think that whatever they had was anything more than another illusion. And she fell for it, hook line and sinker. It was soul-crushing.

Drawing in a shaky sigh, she thought back to her very first boyfriend, the first notch on the belt of disappointments. Bartosz was a lad from Durmstrang she had met in her fifth year, the year of the Triwizard Tournament. It didn't take him long to have her wrapped around his little finger - the first boy ever to give her any attention, to see her as the girl she was rather than a non-entity, or in the case of Fred and George, a sister. Within weeks he had her in his bed, and all she received in return was a nickname and the forbidden knowledge that had landed her where she was today. Alice snorted bitterly, thanking her lucky stars that at least he didn't knock her up.

Bartosz had lured her in with promises as sweet as they were empty, fed her a steady stream of false hope, then forgot all about her after returning home, leaving her to pine for him for months after his departure. At first, Alice desperately believed that the owl would eventually come with a letter - for many months, she told herself that it would be tomorrow, or the day after, or perhaps next week. When it became apparent that the owl would never come, Alice spent countless nights crying into her pillow, knowing that Bartosz never intended to come back at all.

He had taught her the basics, the framework of the Dark Arts which she had built up on. There was no doubt that she had fallen down the rabbit hole, extending her repertoire at a rapid pace. So entranced she was with these new, unexplored magics, that her regular school work began to suffer, shoved to the back burner in favour of experiments that pushed her abilities to their limits, gave her a sense of fulfilment and satisfaction as her repertoire grew with each passing day. This didn't last, either. One stupid error, one detail overlooked was enough to leave her condemned to servitude, trapped under the rubble left behind after her kingdom collapsed. The fact that no living soul had been harmed in her quest for knowledge meant nothing to the wizard who now owned her, and it mattered not one jot that it was the handsome lad from Durmstrang who introduced her to the Dark Arts in the first place.

Then there was Fred. It took him long enough to open his eyes and see what Alice was a girl, and last year they became casual lovers. They loved each other dearly, but it wasn't that kind of love. Their occasional sexual encounters served as a way of letting off steam, and both parties were well aware that it would all end as soon as one of them found a permanent partner. Fred would always see her as one of the lads, and would never treat her the way she would like to be treated as somebody's witch. Alice didn't labour under any illusions, and there was no point dwelling on it. The arrangement they had was more than satisfactory for the time being.

And then there was Snape.

Reason told her that she had build her dream cottage on a quagmire, and it had already sunk out of view. His actions and words were absolutely clear, and whatever uneasy alliance they had forged over the summer under the duress of need was broken. Alice couldn't blame him, really - he was, after all, her teacher and a wizard twenty years her senior. She had nothing to give him that an older witch couldn't.

She sat up and punched the pillow before collapsing back into the wonderfully comfortable bed. She closed her leaden eyes, overcome with exhaustion despite the myriad thoughts whirling in her brain. As she finally drifted off into sleep, a new resolve blossomed in her heart and she now knew what she had to do. Forget and move on, and distance herself from Professor Snape.

A few hours later, Alice was woken up by the sound of the Floo network. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up in her bed, momentarily disoriented by the bright green flames in the grate opposite her bed. As she clambered out of bed awkwardly, she briefly wondered who had decided to contact her this early in the morning and why, and then decided to hex the intruder into oblivion for doing just that. Before she could utter the 'bugger off' that hovered around the tip of her tongue, the Headmaster's wheezy voice interrupted that thought.

'Good morning, Miss Crowley. I hope you've slept well?'

Alice yawned loudly, ignoring the good-natured question. She hadn't the energy or inclination to exchange pleasantries with the wizard she considered most dangerous to her personal health and well being. On the other hand, her sense of self-preservation was rearing high above the sullen resentment that she harboured for Dumbledore, and she found her way to heightened alertness. Barefoot, she walked towards the fireplace and sat down cross-legged on the hearth rug, looking into the flames through sleep-addled eyes. 'Morning', she grunted in a low, hoarse voice before lapsing into a fit of smoker's cough. Her throat was sore and tickly, and she could taste the filthy tar in the back of her throat as she coughed violently.

Alice made a sound that resembled that of a cat hacking up a fur ball, and then finally her cough subsided enough to allow discourse. Maintaining his facade of concern, the man spoke, 'I'm sorry to have woken you up, but I wanted to ensure that I could speak to you before you leave your quarters. I hope that you find them comfortable?'

Alice grunted, 'Not looked yet.'

Dumbledore answered with a hint of amusement in his voice, 'I am surprised, I expected you to have deep-cleaned all the rooms three times by now. As you will undoubtedly see, the decor is in Gryffindor colours, but feel free to make the place your own and transfigure the colours if you wish. Please abstain from knocking the walls down, it would be awfully inconvenient.'

Alice narrowed her eyes and scowled nastily, chin in hand. 'Have you called to talk to me about interior design, or is there something I can do for you?'

She could hear the Headmaster taking in a deep, weary sigh before he replied. 'Yes, yes. Well, I just wanted to let you know that the Hourglasses have been reset successfully, and that your detention with Professor McGonagall had been cancelled. I was made aware of the situation, and I wanted to acknowledge that your lack of judgement was due to extreme stress.' After a brief pause, a hint of humour crept back into his voice. 'You might wish to keep a low profile for a little while.'

Nodding, Alice rubbed her eyes again, then barked, 'Fine.' Ready to end this conversation, she shifted her weight to stand, but Dumbledore was not yet finished.

'Please note that your Wednesday detentions will still go ahead. You will report to Professor Sprout at 6 o'clock precisely.'

Alice rolled her eyes. Unlucky. She was now desperate to piss and eager to have a fag before breakfast. As though he could sense her thoughts, Dumbledore added, 'And please remember that smoking is prohibited. I also expect a report on the status of the Essence every Monday after my Honeydukes delivery.'

'FINE! Now leave me unless you're going to pay for a show!' Alice growled. She stood up, knees creaking, and walked to her bedside cabinet, where she picked up her wand and pointed it at the fireplace. A single flick later, the connection ended. Noticing that she was already pissed off and the day hadn't even started properly yet, Alice left the bedroom in search of the bathroom.

If the usual standards of Hogwarts bathrooms were rather luxurious, the Head Girl's private bathroom could only be described as positively opulent. Alice had found the bathroom directly opposite her bedroom, and gasped in awe as soon as she entered. Admittedly the bathroom was much smaller than the shared bathrooms scattered around the castle, but the fixtures more than made up for it. The walls were bare stone, and the floor was black marble, polished to a high shine. There was a white porcelain toilet tucked away in one corner next to a sink with an ornate mirror over it, and a large boat-shaped bath, breathtakingly beautiful, was placed in the centre of the room under an enormous chandelier.

Sliding her finger around the tub's rim as she walked around it, she was surprised to find that it was made of glass, tinted a brilliant blue, like sea water in an exotic island. The sides were decorated with what looked like a thin fishing net, shiny and filigree, and Alice strongly suspected that it may have been made of real gold, not that cheap tinted chrome that peals. The bath had six taps, all with knobs stylised to look like sea shells, made of shiny glass. Alice had never seen anything like it in her life, but could already imagine wasting a lot of time in the bath from now on.

Further inspection revealed a shower cubicle tucked away behind a stump of a wall in the far corner, with stone walls and a gleaming bronze tray and a variety of shower heads. Deciding to save the bath for a lazy evening, she shed her pyjamas and jumped in the shower. She washed quickly, using the plain bar of soap provided by the school. The water was soothing, warm and soft against her skin, and soon she felt vaguely human again.

As she stepped out of the shower, an enormous fluffy white towel floated towards her and wrapped itself around her body. It was enchanted to keep itself warm and felt rather like a thick blanket. With a small sound of approval, Alice walked over to the sink and stared into the beautiful mirror, wandlessly summoning her makeup bag. She rummaged inside the flowery bag for a while, digging out her collection of cosmetics, and laid them all out neatly on the little shelf above the sink. As she rubbed a thick layer of foundation into her skin, she muttered, 'Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?'

The mirror replied, 'You are!', causing Alice to nearly jump out of her skin. She had heard of these fancy enchanted mirrors before but had never encountered one until now.

'Oh.' She said dumbly, fluttering her eyelashes at her own reflection. 'Well, cheers. Nice to see that we're in agreement.'

The mirror chuckled. 'You're welcome. But if I were you, I'd do something about these dark circles under your eyes. They aren't very flattering, dear. Have you not had your beauty sleep?'

Alice grunted, 'No rest for the wicked' as she applied concealer under her eyes and on top of the few spots that appeared around her jaw and chin and then covered the lot with powder. She found her eyeliner pencil and, keeping the cap pinched between her teeth, drew a thin black line on her upper lid and smudged it out with the tip of her finger. Finally, she applied two coats of mascara and a swipe of pearly pink lipstick. She smacked her lips, smiling coquettishly into the mirror's polished surface. She asked aloud, 'How about now?'

'Much better.' The mirror paused for a beat, then added as an afterthought, 'Perhaps you could do with a little blusher on your cheeks. You do look rather pale.'

'No time for that, I'm dying for a fag.'

Alice took hold of her wand and began working on her hair, charming it dry and poker-straight. When she was done, she ran her fingers through her now-silky locks and smirked in satisfaction. 'Well, that's me sorted.'

The mirror made a small sound of thoughtful approval. 'Yes. You're certainly presentable. Perhaps you should consider adding some highlights to your hair, and maybe a few layers to frame your face.'

'I know, I know.' Alice waved her hand in annoyed dismissal. 'I've been meaning to do it for ages. Maybe after payday.'

With that, Alice banished the towel to the rack and left the bathroom.

Back in her bedroom, Alice put on her school uniform quickly and stuffed her bra with rolled-up socks to give an illusion of a swell under her shirt, reflecting that she rather liked the mirror and would probably steal it at the end of the school year. Whilst washing, she had taken the time to think, her mind clearer now that she was calm again.

She had decided on a new plan, having taken a hard look at her behaviour last night. She had been too rash, too overcome with stress and emotion, and admittedly the vodka didn't help. Taking careful stock of the possible repercussions, Alice came to the conclusion that she hadn't done herself any favours by refusing to take the blame. Presenting herself as the meek and quiet student meant that she had slipped under the radar numerous times in the past. It was very useful, and to shatter the illusion now was not in her best interest. She would have to remedy the problem quickly, preferably before lunch.

Alice left her rooms and carefully made her way to the seldom-used exit located near the dungeons. It was Fred and George who had discovered it a while ago, hidden among the myriad winding passages that made up the bowels of Hogwarts. It was still very early in the morning, too early for breakfast, and most of the castle's inhabitants would likely still be in bed, and Alice did not encounter a single living soul as she stepped into the fresh, chilly air of the outdoors. Quickly, she walked along the castle's outside wall and rounded a corner, making a beeline to the windowless blind spot in the castle's walls which served as her her own private smoking refuge.

She hadn't had a fag since the previous day, and the nicotine rush hit her quickly, making her light-headed. She savoured the roll-up, which eased the rumbling of her hungry stomach, and longed for a mug of steaming, strong black coffee. Hogwarts did not provide such delicacies to students; the only beverages permitted to them were either pumpkin juice, which Alice hated with a passion, plain water, or tea that was intentionally tepid for health and safety reasons, none of which were of any use to the caffeine-dependent witch. Grimacing, Alice made a mental note to try her luck and request a mug of coffee from the House Elves. She would quite gladly swap most of the 'perks' that came with being Head Girl in exchange for the privilege of her preferred beverage.

In the corner of her vision, she spotted a bright lone figure approaching from the opposite direction at a leisurely pace. Startled, she stubbed out her cigarette and stiffened reflexively for a moment before her instincts kicked into gear, compelling her legs to move as though of their own volition. Heart pounding, she sprinted back to the secret entrance as though chased by a throng of Death Eaters, cursing vehemently under her breath as she ran. Damn and blast. She didn't get a good glimpse of the newcomer's face, but had strong belief that it must have been another student. Which meant that her smoking spot was no longer her own. Which meant that she would have to chase the intruder away next time, by hook or by crook.

Panting, she navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the dungeons and made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Her throat was hurting and she had a stitch in her side after the brief sprint. She really ought to take up some exercise, but the very idea made her nauseous. It was one thing to watch football on the telly, and another thing entirely to run around like a bloody goon or jump up and down like a monkey on a rope. No, sports were sweaty, smelly and unhygienic, and she would rather shove a garden gnome up her arse than partake in any such madness.

Alice's first period was Defense, followed by a free period, then Runes after lunch, followed by double Arithmancy, as she found out during breakfast when she finally cared to take a look at her timetable. She huffed a small sigh of relief, glad that she wouldn't have to suffer Herbology or Potions today. It took an awful lot of effort to avoid looking in the direction of the Head Table anyway, and Alice wasn't sure if she could restrain herself from hexing Professor Snape on sight if she did.

Ever the self-proclaimed hater of the Great Outdoors, Alice was appalled to find that the Defense class was to be held on the grounds rather than in a classroom. She nipped back to her room to find her jumper, and then doddered to the meeting spot a short walk away from Professor Hagrid's hut. She had always been wary of the half-giant and preferred to keep her distance despite his lovely reputation, offended by his enormous bushy beard and the unpleasant smell of the stables.

Soon, she arrived in the meeting spot with only minutes to spare, where a group of students had gathered already in a rough semi-circle around Professor Tchihende. The air was quite chilly, and several students could be seen shivering slightly, having foregone their jumpers. The edge of the Forbidden Forest was visible in the near distance, and Alice dry-swallowed reflexively. She had always felt intimidated by the ominous-looking woods. She noticed three huts in various stages of construction, one large and two smaller ones, and wondered who was going to live there.

Standing off to the side, close enough to see and hear clearly but visibly distanced from the rest of the class, she caught snippets of hushed whispers among the students who, like her, were obviously curious about Professor Tchihende. The ancient-looking witch was not quite a midget, roughly five foot, and wore an odd mix of a light green flannel shirt which appeared around three sizes too large, coupled with a thick quilted bodywarmer in a garish shade of fuchsia, and a pair of shabby-looking brown cords tucked into knee-high dark green wellingtons. She had waist-long silver hair that looked desperate for a good trim, and Alice was taken aback by the sheer informality, as there was not a teaching robe in sight.

Alice took a keen interest to the four young people behind Professor Tchihende, two girls and two boys. They seemed to be in their late teens or perhaps very early twenties. Dressed in Muggle clothing that seemed as ill-fitting and odd as the professor's, they stood in a loose row, smiling at the class. Alice's eye was drawn to one particular boy, tall and lean, with tawny skin, gleaming dark eyes and long brown plaited hair that reached the middle of his back. He had a strong brow, high cheekbones and full, boat-shaped lips that revealed a set of pearly teeth as he sent the students another bright grin. Not bad, she thought. Not bad at all.

Professor Tchihende cleared her throat and clapped her hands. She said, 'Welcome to seventh-year Defense Against the Dark Arts, everyone. My name is Professor Tina Tchihende, and these,' she pointed to the people behind her back with her thumb, '- are my apprentices. Their names are Eskaminzin, Tarak, Onawa and Liluye, and they will be assisting us over the course of the year.'

Her voice was pleasant if a little croaky, and Alice had trouble working out her accent, sing-song with a noticeable twang. It was decidedly foreign, but pleasant to her ears. Alice smiled lightly. Ah, so the pretty boy's name is Tarak. Nice. But why do they all have such odd names?

The Professor continued, her voice taking on a tougher edge, 'Look scrubs, I know you've been subjected to a series of inconsistent instruction throughout your years here at Hogwarts, which I was led to believe was one of the best schools in the world. I'm here to correct all of the old mistakes, iron out your bad habits, and open your eyes to what's waiting out there for you when you graduate. You cannot afford to not know this subject inside and out in these very dangerous times.'

She gave the class a long, searching look. 'This year, you will spend less time writing essays and learning about creatures you are unlikely to come across in the United Kingdom. You are going to concentrate on bringing your practical skills up to scratch, and you will spend a lot of time outdoors, practising spells, duelling, and eventually simulating battles. I will give you as much real-life, hands-on experience as possible. Ultimately, what you get out of it is entirely up to you and will depend on the effort you put in. I will expect you to follow my instructions to the letter, and bullshit will not be tolerated. Am I making myself clear?'

Alice nodded along with the rest of the class. Suddenly, the small and dotty-looking witch seemed almost intimidating, but Alice was quietly impressed. Professor Tchihende was a massive improvement on Umbridge, but then again, the bar was set ridiculously low in the first place. The young witch felt something akin to shy hope. Alice wasn't particularly powerful, even Dumbledore had said so, but compared to many of her peers she was a living war machine, even taking into account the fact that many of her classmates were members of Dumbledore's Army. It was a sad state of affairs that Hogwarts students were so unequipped for dealing with the horrors that were undoubtedly just around the corner.

Before she had a chance to dwell on the thought, Professor Tchihende bellowed, 'Alright! Today I want to do a little test. Get yourselves into pairs!'

Alice grimaced lightly and did not move from her spot, knowing that she would end up the odd one out, as she always did. Standing with her arms crossed, she scowled, watching the other students pair up quickly, and waited for the professor to spot her and add her as the third wheel to an existing pair, as usual. She was surprised when the ancient witch trotted over to her shortly before she was left standing awkwardly alone and took her arm, and led her gently to where the apprentices stood. 'We have an odd number today,' she said. 'How about you practise with Tarak?'

Alice nodded as they came to a halt in front of Tarak and Professor Tchihende patted her arm lightly, sending her a small, understanding smile before she turned around to address the class. Alice drew in a deep breath. The professor had saved her the embarrassment of being the odd one out before it became apparent. Nobody had ever done this for her before, and an uncomfortable knot of gratitude formed in her chest. It felt strange, leaving her off-balance.

Shifting her weight from side to side, Alice mustered up the courage to look up at Tarak. As though sensing her uncertainty, he flashed her a wide, reassuring smile, which Alice returned awkwardly. He said, 'Hello. What's your name?'

His face was open and friendly, and he also spoke with the slight twang that Alice found equally funny and fascinating. Having decided that he seemed nice enough, Alice cleared her throat before replying, 'Um, hi. I'm Alice.' She averted her gaze, suddenly fascinated with the tips of her shoes.

Tarak bowed slightly. 'Nice to meet you, Alice. I -'

He was cut off abruptly as Professor Tchihende's voice, magically amplified, reverberated around the area, and they both turned around to listen. 'Right then! I will be observing you all as your square off in practise duels with your partners. While real battle does not follow rules, I expect you all to restrain yourselves to clean spells only today. Begin!'

Like a flash of light, Alice whipped out her wand and pointed it at Tarak's chest, taking up the duelling stance, one foot forward. The corner of Tarak's mouth quirked up slightly as he mirrored her stance, wand at the ready. He sent a disarming spell her way, which she blocked easily and non-verbally, without even thinking about it.

'Nice one,' he said, a small glint appearing in his eyes. He sent another spell, this time a stinging hex, and Alice deflected it with only a slight twitch of her wand. Tarak raised one thick eyebrow, surprised or mildly impressed, and Alice felt the blood grow hot in her veins as the rush of battle filled her from within, sharpening her senses. She sent a strong Knee-Reversal Hex and tsked when Tarak deflected effortlessly. This would be fun.

They sparred for what seemed like hours, although it could have been minutes, the back-and-forth of attacking and blocking spells rising to a furious cascade of flashing colours. Alice fell into a trance, her awareness narrowed down to attack-deflect-duck-survive, the fire in her eyes matching Tarak's, who seemed equally focused on their duel. A thin layer of perspiration appeared on Alice's face as she successfully blocked another jinx. Unexpectedly, she felt a hand pat her shoulder, and she turned around sharply, shrieking at the top of her voice just as a Sardine Hex shot out from the tip of her wand before she could stop it.

She watched, horrified, as the sparks dissipated almost immediately, a couple of inches away from Professor Tchihende's chest. The professor had blocked the hex wordlessly and wandlessly, an impressive skill, and Alice gasped, knees shaking. 'I'm sorry, Professor, I was…'

'Distracted, yes, I know.' Professor Tchihende's mouth stretched into a warm, indulgent smile and she chuckled good-naturedly at her student. 'We have a young warrior here, haven't we, Tarak?'

'You can say that again, Teacher!' Panting, Tarak walked over to where the two witches stood, wiping his sweat-soaked brow. 'She gave me a good workout!'

Alice turned an unflattering shade of red to the tips of her ears, and she cast her eyes downwards. 'Likewise.' She muttered, digging into the soft ground with the tips of her shoes.

Professor Tchihende grabbed the piece of parchment that was hovering on a clipboard behind her back. Fishing a small pencil out of her pocket, she gave Tarak a questioning look.

Tarak muttered, 'Offensive, definitely', and Tchihende made a small mark next to Alice's name on the parchment. Satisfied, she nodded and walked back to the centre of the clearing, ignoring Alice's bemused stare.

Tina Tchihende shouted, 'Gather round!' and watched her students flood back to where she stood, arranging themselves in a loose cluster. The children looked tired and muddy, and she clucked her tongue in irritation at their lack of stamina. They really should have been able to go for a lot longer than a mere twenty minutes at this point in their education.

'I've seen enough to tell that you all have potential. What many of you lack in confidence and skill can amended with hard work and practice. Sure, you'd pass your exams, but I'm concerned about making sure you have the best chance of surviving if you are caught in the crossfire. Towards this, I've divided you into two sections based on what you have shown to be your strengths. Specifically, Offensive and Defensive styles of fighting. Neither is superior to the other, so don't go on getting ideas about yourselves.'

The ancient witch had to close her eyes briefly as there was a disturbance in the residual magic that filled the air and it was tugging at her attention.. She could sense it earlier, a small undercurrent of Darkness beneath the clean, school-approved spells. She had been briefed, and knew all about the disturbing politics of House Slytherin in particular, and now the evidence was there. No Dark spells had been used in this lesson, but the Dark magick's stain was noticeable even when the most innocent spells were used. It filled her nostrils and prickled the tip of her tongue. More than one of these ruddy-cheeked adolescents were touched by it, and she grimly mentally marked each, intending to watch them closely. One student in particular pulled her inner senses, a Gryffindor. It wasn't surprising to the ancient wise woman. Despite what everyone said, there was always one, even among the so-called white hats. This one didn't merely have a hint of dark magick, she was disturbingly saturated with its metallic, alien tang.

Tina gave a brief lecture concerning the variety of offensive and defensive spells they were going to cover and concluded the lesson, her brilliant mind whizzing with plans to cram all of the necessary knowledge into these children's heads in the space of one academic year. Dumbledore was right, this place needed her.

It was appalling that the other Professors hadn't a notion of the plague that walked among them. British Wizarding culture had removed itself from the base magick, preferring to use wands as crutches. skipping over the baser connection with their magic in favour of precision; thereby blinding themselves to the world around them.

She squinted as she considered the witch as she walked away. Something was off, not quite right. Then it came to her. Alice Crowley, for all of the eye-watering, bitter and suffocating quality of the magic steaming off of her, lacked the unholy aura of a corrupted Dark Witch. Tina looked forward to unraveling this knot, and needed to do it soon, come hell or high water.

Tarak appeared at Tina's side, humming thoughtfully. The look in his face confirmed that he shared Tina's sentiment. Exchanging a long, knowing glance with Tarak, she muttered, 'Keep an eye on this one. She does not dabble with the forbidden arts, she is an active practitioner. Don't let her near Harry Potter if you can help it.'

Voice heavy with concern Tarak asked, 'Teacher, what can be done?'

Feeling old, Tina replied, 'You can bring a witch to the sacred hearth, but you can't make her swallow the healing flames. But for her sake, we will try.'

That evening, Alice washed away the stresses of the day in a lovely bath. She recognised that she was stalling as she massaged scented lotion into her skin, her mind shying away from what awaited her in the extremely small lab. It probably had been a storage room in former use, but now was outfitted with an ingredient cabinet which had yet to fully explore and a tiny basin. There was an equipment trolley that had to be wheeled out into her bedroom to allow her space to move and reach the wooden workbench, which a charitable person would have described as full of character. Alice knew it was cheap, but as it was sturdy, she had nothing to reproach the Headmaster with.

Alice's favourite part of all was the single wall that was occupied by bookshelves, stocked with her own impressive collection of books and scrolls dedicated to the forbidden Dark Arts, obtained by questionable means from disreputable sources. Part of Dumbledore's deal was that he would allow her this freedom to explore, but would not support her should she get caught. After all, this was necessary to her success with the Essence, and was undertaken for the Greater Good.

Alice doddered to the workbench, her floppy footsteps echoing around the room, towards the solitary cauldron in which the Essence swirled lazily from one side to the other. It had become noticeably darker, now a deep shade of mahogany, and also thicker. The oily substance swirled about the cauldron slowly, as though too heavy to move with ease, and as soon as Alice stepped closer, familiar voices began to speak, the whispers rising up like curling mists above the potion's surface.

The pages-long Arithmetic calculation suggested that the next growth spurt wasn't due for a little while longer, and she took the return of the whispers as a sure sign that the time was approaching. Wrinkling her nose, she tried to clear her mind as she picked up a jar of black powder and dropped a single pinch into the cauldron. The Essence accepted the Ashes and released three large bubbles that popped loudly as soon as they reached the surface, and Alice chuckled lightly, the sound reminding her of a good old belch after a hearty meal.

Reviewing her notes, Alice reflected on her first day back, the Essence's whispers providing a soothing if unintelligible background noise to her thoughts. The day hadn't been as bad as she feared. When she went to apologise profusely to both Sprout and McGonagall, she ended up receiving a tight hug from the former and a biscuit from the latter, along with a pitying look and an acknowledgement of the stress she must have been under.

But you were in the right. You should not have to apologise for being right…

Alice muttered, 'Shouldn't have to, but had to nonetheless.' She brushed the thought aside. What was done was done, and she managed to maintain the status quo. If she kept her head low for a while, she would continue to protect her image as the blue-eyed girl. Yes. She had done the right thing.

What's more, the classes, so far, seemed rather enjoyable. The seventh-year curriculum seemed challenging, and it looked like this year she would have to dedicate a lot more time to her studies, but Defense, Runes and Arithmancy had gone reasonably well, although the new set of Arithmatic formulas had been harder to grasp than she expected, but it was only the first lecture of the term. Most importantly, she managed to avoid Professor Snape.

You love him.

Alice snorted under her breath. 'I want him more than anything. But he doesn't love me.'

You could make him love you.

Skim-reading over her many notes, she spoke to the empty room absentmindedly, 'I can't force him to love me. I could pour a gallon of Amortentia down his throat and it still wouldn't be love. A parody, or even a facsimile, but not the real thing.'

Don't be silly. Let me help you. It would be easy to make him yours. Why not bind him to you forevermore?

Alice shook her head in confusion at the strange ideas that bred inside her mind. 'Bind him to me?' She whispered, gazing at the worktop. Unexpectedly, her inner vision was filled with lewd images of her and Snape, mating furiously on an enormous bed. She fell into the vision of Snape labouring over her, his features creasing in a rictus of unrestrained masculine pleasure as he fucked her savagely, powerful and untamed in his passion. She could hear his grunting and her own mewling as she writhed beneath him, the pressure between her legs growing stronger, her need more urgent. She could smell it, the unmistakable scent of sex, of sweat and semen and heat, heady to the point of overwhelming.

Drunk on desire, she fell onto the desk and held onto its edge for dear life as her knees went weak, sending the parchment flying. Her head spun. The vision took control and made itself real in her mind. She could feel it, she could feel him bringing her ever closer to the completion that she craved so desperately. A drawn-out, tormented moan escaped her throat, ripping from the very depths of her soul. She needed him so badly she could die. His black, demonic eyes burned in her vision, two endless, gleaming tunnels leading to infinity.

She was free-falling, briefly suspended in space and time. The fire in her lower belly died down for a split second before it exploded in a raging bonfire once more, and Alice began to scream, a jolt of blinding ecstasy shaking her to the core as she let go.

The sound of glass shattering into a million pieces pulled her out of her trance. Panting and whimpering, Alice went down on her hands and knees and crawled out of the room, her passion spent, her arousal giving way to fear. 'What the… what the hell was that…'

As soon as she reached her bedroom, she kicked the door closed and fell onto her side on the carpeted floor, trying to catch her breath, her instincts screaming at her to flee through the haze inside her head.

'Oh fuck…' she croaked brokenly, coming to understand her mistake. The Essence was as fascinating as it was dangerous, more addictive than opium. She had let her guard down, and the whispers took advantage. She should have known better than that. This was the Dark Arts in their purest form she was fucking with, and one does not fuck with the Dark Arts without risking getting fucked in return. She could almost hear the Essence, laughing blackly just at the edge of her awareness.