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Chapter Text

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This story contains depictions of violence, sexual content, swearing, adult themes. Read at your own risk. I suggest people below 18 do not read. I'll try giving a warning at the chapters.

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Chapter-01

Candidate Selection

"I believe she would be an excellent choice," the portrait of Minerva McGonagall spoke, her voice filled with conviction. "Oh! The other young man, what was his name Albus? Carrytin Welligton? Carrington? Ferrington! Yeah Cartin Ferrington, that young man was also good. His qualification and work experience was great." 

Beside her, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "Indeed, if I were in your position, I would seriously consider either of the two candidates."

Ahead of them, at the Headmaster's table sat the current headmaster of Hogwarts. He had listened to their opinions multiple times, though he found himself dissatisfied with the candidates that had been interviewed so far. The young man Minerva mentioned possessed impressive qualifications and work experience. However, his arrogance and rudeness proved to be significant drawbacks.

Shaking his head, the headmaster declared, "I am not satisfied." All the other portraits sighed in response. "We shall conduct a fresh round of interviews tomorrow, with a new set of candidates."

"When are you ever satisfied? Hmph," grumbled Minerva, her frustration evident

"Professor McGonagall, we Slytherins do not settle for anything less than perfection. After all, our current Headmaster is also a Slytherin. I hope you remember how impeccably he performs his duties," remarked the portrait of Phineas Nigellus with a smug expression

Minerva rolled her eyes but couldn't help a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, yes, perfection indeed," she replied, her tone laden with sarcasm.

"Alright, maybe it's time for you to consider my suggestion. This young lady I have been talking to you about," Minerva informed the only human in the room.

Indeed, she had been persistently discussing a certain young lady with him ever since he began the search for a deputy headmistress or headmaster. But he had dismissed her, not particularly eager to entertain her discussions about her beloved ex-Gryffindors. However, faced with the realization that the current candidates were leading nowhere, he reluctantly conceded and gave in to her persistent urging. "Speak."

Minerva's face lit up, and she began describing. "The young lady's name is Samara Pritchett. She studied here years ago and excelled in potions. She also served as a prefect and possessed a calm and organized demeanor. Allow me to remind you of the Samaratarian Conquest that took place during your sixth year."

The headmaster nodded, he remembered it well as he had won many prizes in that conquest. It was an inter-school scholastic competition. Talents and knowledge in various aspects of magic were tested in students. He had won a good amount of prizes as a Hogwarts candidate, but a small tap on the back was all he received from Albus back then.

"She single-handedly orchestrated the entire event, from meticulously collecting the names of participants to flawlessly coordinating all the necessary elements for the guest students and judges. Simply outstanding," Minerva exclaimed, her admiration evident. "I bring this up because the role of a deputy headmistress or headmaster is undeniably demanding. It requires exceptional organization skills to assist and support the superior effectively. And that, my dear headmaster, is where Samara truly excels.

Minerva leaned forward, a twinkle in her eyes as she continued, "You must understand the intricacies of the deputy position, as you once witnessed firsthand during my tenure as your deputy headmistress. The responsibilities and challenges faced by the deputy often surpass those of the headmistress or headmaster themselves. It takes a capable and dedicated individual to handle such a demanding role, and Samara possesses the necessary qualities in abundance. Not only is she proficient in potions, but she is also a proud Hufflepuff." 

Curious about her Hufflepuff association, the headmaster inquired, "What significance does her being a Hufflepuff hold?"

"Forgive me, but have you forgotten that we require a new Head of Hufflepuff House, as Pomona is retiring? This would address that requirement as well. Minerva, is this the same Miss Pritchett who was involved in a marital dispute? I recall you mentioning it before."

"Yes, it is indeed the same person," Minerva affirmed. "You see, we have a solution to all three issues at hand: the need for a Potions teacher, a Hufflepuff Head of House, and a deputy headmistress."

"What is this marital dispute? I do not wish to have any personnel with ongoing family complications. They must be fully available whenever required." 

Minerva reassured him, saying, "That won't be an issue. Samara divorced her husband years ago. I was a witness in her case. Her husband was abusive, and Pomona and I became aware of the situation when we encountered her in London. We expressed our concerns, but she assured us that there was no cause for worry. A year or two later, she reached out to Pomona, requesting her presence as a witness in her divorce trial. As far as I know, she has been living independently without any trouble."

"Hmm, she does seem like a strong candidate. Does she have any teaching experience?" the headmaster inquired.

"Certainly. When we met, she mentioned that she had been teaching at the Salem Witch's Institute. Though I am uncertain of her current whereabouts, you can draft a letter to inquire about her interest in this position."

He thought about. According to what Minerva was saying, she must have been in the same year as him. He doesn't remember anyone with the name Samara, but again he never paid attention on his classmates. She was a Hufflepuff at that. He ignored everyone except his own house members. 

Yet, a flicker of intrigue sparked within him, urging him to give this unexpected suggestion a chance. With a determined resolve, he retrieved a quill and parchment, poised to pen a letter that would set the wheels in motion for a potential meeting with Samara Pritchett. After all, sometimes the most remarkable individuals can remain hidden in the depths of one's forgotten memories.

Miss   Pritchett ,

I extend a unique opportunity for you to join Hogwarts. We are in need of a Potions instructor, a Head of House for Hufflepuff, and, most importantly, a Deputy Headmistress This letter might be a surprise to you, as we have never met before. But you were a suggestion made by Professor Minerva McGonagall .

I would be pleased if you consider this offer. Should you be interested, I invite you to visit Hogwarts in the coming week for further discussions and an interview.

Sincerely, 
Severus Snape,
Headmaster of Hogwarts

Severus sent the letter through his owl and took a seat at the table. "I hope you will be satisfied with her Severus. You have gone through a lot of candidates." Dumbledore mentioned. Severus ignored his comment and walked out of his office. 

Chapter Text

Chapter - 02

Severus took a stroll around the castle, thinking as usual how his life had taken a U-turn. He must have died in the Shrieking Shack that night. He had done his job for the world, had fulfilled everything that had been entrusted to him. Yet, he survived. He had to live life all over again. 

His father had once told him that Severus was nothing but a waste of space, that he had no ambition in life. At that time, he had denied it and lashed out at his father. Thinking back now, he knew his father was right. Severus really did not have any ambition. He had become a Death Eater and put Lily's life in danger. If it weren't for Dumbledore giving him a task, he wouldn't have known what to do or where to be. 

That's what was happening now. He didn't know what to do with the rest of his life. He was barely in his forties, and as a wizard, he could live for another century. After the battle he had been in a coma for around 6-7 months. When he woke up he had cried, cried in front of everyone because he had survived. 

Then he spent another three months in court trials proving his innocence. Potter, Weasley and Granger had helped him a lot, despite his denial and his statement that he wanted to go to Azkaban. He had wanted his soul to be sucked out. Alas! Nothing happens the way he wants.

Then he resumed teaching. Minerva had become the headmistress. His classes were not the same as before. He had become quieter and more reserved. Unfortunately, later on, Minerva fell victim to an incurable flu in her cat form. Everyone mourned her. He had tried to save her. He had! But he failed. He shut himself in his room for days. He had lost another dear member. 

Afterward, he was offered the position of Headmaster since Flitwick and Pomona both didn't want it. He accepted it because being the headmaster meant having limited contact with students and others. He stayed at the castle all year long. He never went back to Spinner's End after the war. He didn't like it. He wasn't brave enough. It brought back bad memories.  

He had just survived, and now he had to survive himself. He sighed as he looked across the Black Lake, so quiet and calm, contrary to his inner turmoil. The guilt of his life weighed heavily on him. He looked down at the assortment of stones at the shore of the lake. A very sharp one caught his eye. He picked it up and examined it. It would definitely leave a deep cut.

He placed it at his neck at an angle he knew would be fatal if he slashed it. It was even simpler for him. If he would just make a small slice on the scar he already had from Nagini's attack, blood was sure to seep through, and he would die a painful death. Just what he deserved.

He brought it closer and placed the tip against the scar, piercing the skin. He winced and doubled over in pain. He felt warm liquid on his collar and felt lightheaded. The pain felt good. He felt he deserved it. He deserved it because he blamed others for his own selfishness.

He blamed his parents for their poverty. He blamed his mother for being a coward. He blamed his father for abusing him. He blamed James Potter and Sirius Black for bullying him, for pushing him to the dark side instead of taking responsibility for his own life. He went and got Lily killed. He treated Potter's brat horribly for the seven years of his life. He remembered abusing him during Occlumency lessons.

He remembered verbally abusing Minerva during his tenure as headmaster. He remembered leaving students at the mercy of the Carrow twins. Oh, how much evil he had done. Charity's face appeared before his eyes as he felt the stone piercing his skin deeper.

We're Friends Severus. Severus Please. She had pleaded. He did nothing, instead just stared at her as the Dark Lord killed her, and later vomited at the sight of her corpse being devoured by that wretched snake. He fell to the ground, and his body started shaking. His lungs tightened, and he gasped for air.

Severus Please!  Albus had requested him. His hand outstretched towards Severus as he fell off the astronomy tower.

Potter's anguished face, questioning him with venom. How dare you stand where he stood?

The look on Lily's face when he had called her a Mudblood. Fine,' she had coolly responded'I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.

Dumbledore's cutting words, You disgust me!

All these visions swarm before his eyes and Severus felt a content smile on his lips. He was finally going to die. Yes!

He felt warm huge hands envelope him and lift him from the ground. He felt like he was floating. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe the angels are lifting him. After a long time of floating, he felt himself being lowered onto a soft, flat surface.

He struggled to open his eyes, but when he did, he saw Poppy's face hovering over him. She was too close for his liking, prodding him in his neck. The feeling was numb. Her mouth was moving, and he strained to hear what she was saying. Something like, "Third time, Severus," "I won't let you die on me."

Please woman just let me die. Severus thought.

Gradually, drowsiness washed over him, making him sleepy. He could no longer keep his eyes open. Darkness consumed his vision, and Severus descended into nothingness.

"Severus"
Was it the fates calling him?

"Severus can you hear me son?"
Son? Could it be his deceased mother?

"Severus I want you to lift your finger if you can hear me?"

He made a slow attempt to raise his fingers and felt them move. "Okay. Good, good. Very good. Now, try to open your eyes slowly." Severus braced himself for his first glimpse of the afterlife, but the brightness overwhelmed him, causing him to shut his eyes tightly.

With another cautious effort, he tried opening them again, and this time he could make out the face of a woman hovering above him. He faintly recognized her.

"Can you see me, Severus?" he blinked in response. "Okay, I'll take that as a yes. You won't be able to speak for a few hours. I've sedated you and temporarily paralyzed your vocal cords." The woman sighed. Slowly, Severus realized it was Poppy Pomfrey.

Looking around, he discovered he was in Hogwarts' hospital wing. "Uh huh, don't move your neck. It will only worsen things." After a brief pause, she spoke again. "Yesterday, Hagrid found you near the lake, unconscious and drenched in blood." Her words were filled with frustration as she spoke.

"He found this bloody stone in your hand." She showed him the stone he had used to take his life. She threw it away in anger. His eyes blew wide. "This is the third time you have tried to die. I will not tolerate this behavior from you anymore. Beware that I will always be here to fucking save your life." By now she was almost yelling at him and he saw a single tear roll out of her eye.

Severus felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. He felt like a burden to everyone now. True, it was his third attempt. The first time, he had poisoned himself. The second time, he had foolishly tried to meet his end by provoking the Whomping Willow. Everyone had been worried, and he only grew more withdrawn. Lost in his thoughts, he was brought back when Poppy spoke with a tinge of disappointment. "You can leave tomorrow once you can speak clearly. For now, rest." She turned and disappeared from his field of vision.

Chapter Text

Chapter- 03

The sun shone bright across Samara's bedroom, coaxing her awake with a gentle caress. She woke up with a gentle smile. Turning to her right, she saw her cat, Azrael, comfortably sprawled out and basking in the sunlight. Samara chuckled, reminiscing about how she had named the cat after characters from The Smurfs.

Azrael, a beautiful British Long Hair, was just a year old, and she was the epitome of grace and charm. Samara showered her fur baby with affection, peppering her with gentle kisses, to which Azrael responded with a contented purr. They were inseparable, and Azrael had quickly become the most cherished member of Samara's life.

Ever since Samara had lost her previous cat to a heart-wrenching ailment, she had found solace in adopting Azrael. The little feline had brought joy and healing to her life when she needed it the most. As Samara showered Azrael with love, the cat eventually decided she needed some space and gracefully leaped off the bed, making her way to her food bowl.

"Alright, alright," Samara grumbled, amused by Azrael's nonchalant attitude. "But no fish for you today, my little princess."

In response, Azrael let out a disgruntled mewl, expressing her displeasure at the lack of fish in her meal. Samara laughed, "Oh, you're such a drama queen, Azrael."

"Meow, meow!" Azrael persisted, her big round eyes pleading for a change in the menu.

Samara smirked and raised an eyebrow, pretending to scold the cat. "No backtalk, Miss Azrael."

The cat stared her down. "Don't give me that look, Azrael," Samara playfully scolded. "You'll have something else just as tasty."

"Meow, meow, meeeeowww!" Azrael persisted, clearly making her point known.

Samara dramatically turned to face the cat, putting on a stern expression. "You're in big trouble now, Azrael Penelope Prichett!!"

The room fell silent as Samara held her gaze on the feline. Azrael, sensing her human's playful sternness, eventually surrendered with a flick of her tail, knowing she couldn't win this battle of wills.

Unable to keep up the act any longer, Samara smiled and said, "Okay, okay, I give in! Let's get you some yummy breakfast, my adorable little troublemaker."

With her cat's appetite satisfied, Samara proceeded to complete her morning routine. Finishing her ablutions, enjoying the refreshing cascade of water during her shower.

She chose a pretty off-shoulder dress that elegantly matched her corset. Brushing her lustrous ebony hair, she  braided it in an intricate style, ensuring no strands would stray onto her face during her workday.

Breakfast was a delightful affair as she prepared toast and eggs, accompanied by a glass of freshly crushed berry juice. Satisfied with her own nourishment, she filled Azrael's tray with cat treats so the cat could enjoy a treat or two while she was away at work. Ensuring everything in the house was securely locked, she stepped outside, ready to embrace the day.

Samara resided in Denvers, Massachusetts, an area historically known as Salem Village. Stepping into her garden, she spotted her Muggle neighbor, Samuel, tending to his plants with the help of his children.

Their friendly waves and greetings brightened her morning as she headed towards the more secluded woods, where the hidden wizarding world lay behind an ancient barrier protected by centuries-old enchantments.

As she approached the shimmering barrier, she whispered the incantations she knew so well, gracefully passing through its mystical boundary. On the other side, she was welcomed by a charming and bustling wizarding village.

Beyond this magical boundary, not even the most perceptive No-Maj eye could discern the existence of a hidden village thriving with extraordinary beings.

It was called the Bewitchery Haven, a safe haven, protected for centuries since the Trials of wizards and witches. As Samara ventured further, she encountered bustling streets and small houses occupied by wizards who preferred living in this magical village rather than among No-Majs. She greeted fellow magical folk.

Samara walked into the village's market place, a long stretch of road housing various shops, three cafes, a pet store, school supplies, and Gringotts, resembling the charm of Diagon Alley.

She came to a stop in front of an ancient-looking shop, vines elegantly covered its entire front. A wrought-iron sign swings gently in the breeze, bearing the shop's name in elegant, curling letters, "The Cauldron's Concoctions"

With a wave of her wand, she undid the enchantments, revealing the entrance. As she steped inside, the rich aroma of exotic herbs and magical essences filled the air.

The interior was a mesmerizing blend of gothic elegance and enchanting charm. The shelves, crafted from dark mahogany, held an exquisite display of bottles, vials, and flasks in various shapes and sizes, each adorned with delicate filigree and shimmering silver accents. Glistening crystals suspended from the ceiling refracting rays of light.

Every nook and cranny of the shop were filled with shelves of herbs, cauldrons and potion making instruments. Delicate scales, polished to a pristine shine, await to weigh the precise amounts of ingredients required for each concoction.

Behind a velvet curtain, a private backroom served as the lab. There, potions were freshly concocted with the utmost care, ensuring the highest quality, safety, and cleanliness.

For the past five years, Samara had been diligently working at The Cauldron's Concoctions, a charming apothecary owned by an old couple. When she decided to leave her teaching job at Illvermony for a more tranquil life, fate led her to this very shop, renowned throughout the village as the sole provider of magical potions and herbs.

As soon as the elderly couple learned of her expertise as an ex-potions mistress who had taught numerous students at The States, they saw in her the perfect successor to look after their cherished establishment. Trusting her skills and passion for the craft, they offered her the position, which she gladly accepted.

Since then, Samara had wholeheartedly taken on the responsibility of being the sole brewer and seller at The Cauldron's Concoctions. With precision and care, she crafted potions of all kinds.

From health tonics and healing elixirs to love potions and charms. Among them she brewed a select few dark potions, their presence indicated by Ministry-approved licenses, with cautionary notes advising only the most experienced of practitioners to approach them.

During summers, she welcomed ex-students  who sought supplies for their magical education. She would ocassionally listen to them gossip about their present potion's teacher.

The Cauldron's Concoctions was more than just a workplace; it had become a sanctuary where Samara's love for Potion Making and her desire to share its wonders intertwined beautifully.

Mrs. Mason, the owner of The Cauldron's Concoctions, was an endearing and wise old woman who had graced the world with her presence for nearly a century. With silvery hair that framed her kind face and twinkling eyes that held the secrets of ages, she exuded a warm charm that made everyone feel welcome in her presence.

Her husband, Mr. Atticus Mason, was her longtime companion, and together they had shared countless enchanting adventures. At the remarkable age of 123, he had a gentle demeanor that complemented his wife's grace, making them an inseparable pair in the magical village of Bewitchery Haven.

As Samara continued her daily routines, Mrs. Mason made her way downstairs from the cozy living quarters above the shop, where she resided with her husband. With a charming demeanor, she greeted Samara with genuine affection.

"Oh Samara dear! Good Morning. Right on time as always.Would you like to have breakfast with me and Atticus?"

"Thank you, Bella, but I just had breakfast before leaving. By the way, did we receive the package of Hippogriff claws that we ordered? I just used the last ones," Samara inquired.

"No, dear. It's been five days already. I say it's time we change our supplier."
Mrs. Mason replied, disappointed.

"I know, Bella. Our supplier can be lazy at times, but we do get the best ingredients from him. Let's give him a gentle reminder with another letter. He'll come through eventually."

The old woman nodded understandingly, trusting Samara's judgment. As Mrs. Mason made her way back upstairs, Samara returned to her work.

As darkness descended, Samara cleaned the lab, ensuring that every cauldron and potion ingredient found its proper place. She stored away the valuable ingredients, preserving their potency.

Gently, she counted and recorded the day's earnings, carefully noting down each transaction with precision. With a sense of duty, she submitted the account to Mr. Mason. She bid the couple goodbye and stepped into the darkness. She once again traversed the winding path through the ancient woods.

As Samara reached her home, she was met with Azrael, leaping into her arms, seeking her attention. With a fond smile she said, "I know, I know Azrael. I missed you too. Come let's have dinner."  But Azrael's unusual behavior caught her attention. The cat gazed intently at the window, drawing Samara's eyes in that direction.

To her surprise, a large eagle owl awaited her at the window, bearing a letter. Unsure of how long the owl had been there, she promptly let it in and watched as it swiftly dropped the letter on the nearest table before taking off.

Samara shrugged and looked at the letter. She gasped in surprise when she saw the letter had a Hogwarts seal. It had been decades since she last saw one, the last one carrying her NEWT scores. Now what would a hogwarts letter be doing at her house.

Opening the letter with care, she read its contents in awe. The current headmaster of Hogwarts had extended an offer for her to return to her homeland and her beloved school as a teacher.

Emotions swirled within Samara, as she had never expected to find herself teaching again. Working at The Cauldron's Concoctions had become her peaceful haven, a life she had come to cherish. However, the allure of Hogwarts, her sanctuary in her youth, tugged at her heartstrings.

Taking a deep breath, Samara recognized that this decision carried great weight. Returning to England, to Hogwarts, meant embracing a new chapter and leaving behind the life she had built in Bewitchery Haven. It was a choice she needed guidance for.

Determined to seek wisdom from Mrs. Mason, her trusted confidante, Samara decided to share the news and seek advice. She went to retire for the night after dinner, contemplating her decision about the Hogwarts offer.

Chapter Text

Chapter- 04

The next day Samara arrived at the shop earlier than usual, which surprised Mrs. Mason, nonetheless she invited her to have breakfast with them. To which Samara gladly accepted.

Mr. Mason, seated at the quaint dining table, greeted Samara with kindness. "Oh, hello Samara. How are you, dearie? I asked Gobsmack to come and collect this week's earnings. I trust you'll handle it, as you always do."

"Of course, Atticus." Samara smiled graciously as Mrs. Mason served up a delightful spread of pancakes and a bowl of fresh fruit along with a glass of pumpkin juice.

As the meal progressed, Samara decided to break the ice and she began with a hint of nervousness in her voice. "Um,  Bella... I had something I wanted to discuss."

"Yes, dear," Bella responded, her smile encouraging Samara to continue.

"Yesterday when i returned home, I..I had a surprise waiting for me. It was from the headmaster of Hogwarts. He is.." she exahaled and inhaled. And then spoke fast and in one breath. " He offered me the position of Deputy headmistress and potion professor.

Seeing that neither of them replied but simply stared, she quickly added, "Before you ask, I didn't apply for the job. It's as much a surprise to me as it is to both of you."

"Oh, my! That's wonderful, dear!" Bella replied, genuinely pleased for Samara. "The position of Deputy Headmistress and Potion Professor at Hogwarts is quite an honor. Congratulations! What do you think about the offer?" Bella stated with a smile.

Bella's enthusiastic response warmed Samara's heart. She couldn't believe the positive reception to her news.

"Wh...what? You re.. Really think I should take this?" Samara stammered, her surprise evident.

"Of course, sweetie. This is an honor. Teaching at Hogwarts! You must take this offer," Bella insisted, her encouragement unwavering.

Samara's gaze shifted toward Atticus, noticing the deep frown on his face, a reaction that added a layer of complexity to her decision.

"Atticus? What do you think about this?" Samara turned her attention towards him.

He sighed and met her gaze. "While I know this offer is good and your pay will also be great... But..." He paused, his hesitation clear.

"Oh, don't you worry about us and the shop, dear. I am sure we will find someone," Bella chimed in, her optimism shining through.

Atticus resumed, his concern evident. "Oh, I am not worried about the shop. I am worried about you going to Britain, Samara. A war has just ended. It's been only like a year or two."

Her thoughts were jolted by Atticus' mention of the recent war, a stark reminder of a dark chapter she had not truly considered. Memories of Voldemort's resurgence, Harry Potter as the Chosen One, and Dumbledore's tragic demise flooded her mind, casting a somber shadow. She had been reading the news these past years.

In the midst of her own contemplations, she felt a pang of guilt. She hadn't been there alongside her fellow classmates, lending her strength to the fight. Lily, though a friend for a brief period, had left an impression on her heart. And Dumbledore, a figure of admiration, had met an untimely end.

As the reality of her old classmate Severus Snape's involvement in the war unfolded, Samara's guilt deepened. She hadn't fully grasped the extent of the story until now. The realization that the person extending her an invitation to teach at Hogwarts was the same individual who had been linked to tragic events raised a complex dilemma.

Could she find it within herself to teach in a place where a perpetrator of such events once stood?

Her mind weighed the scales of justice against the nuances of Snape's trials, his actions under Dumbledore's command, and his unrequited love for Lily Evans.

Considering it all, she thought it was fine to work under Snape at Hogwarts. Despite his past, he had reasons and cared for Lily. So, teaching there seemed okay to her.

Atticus expressed concern, "Samara, we hear about ongoing Death Eater activities there every day. The current headmaster is a Death Eater himself, regardless of what he claims. I still feel he should be held accountable for Dumbledore's death."

"Dumbledore was a remarkable man, known to every magic-bearing soul," Bella countered with a gentle smile. "But, Atticus, you shouldn't blame Severus Snape. It's evident he acted under the old man's orders, and it was fueled by love."

"It's your decision, dear. We're fine if you decide to take the offer. Finding a replacement as excellent as you might be a challenge, but we'll manage,"
Atticus said, patting Samara's head, "So, when's the interview scheduled?"

"He has asked me to come by this week. Should I take up on the offer?" Samara asked, contemplating her decision.

Bella responded enthusiastically, "Then you must be off to the Transport office. The permission will take at least two days. Off you go, dear. It's decided that you'll take this up."

Atticus chuckled at his wife's excitement, their support making Samara's decision clearer.

So it is decided, Samara thought to herself. I'm ready for a change.

Severus lay in the hospital bed, gazing at the ceiling, feeling the dull ache in his neck. The familiar sound of heels clicking approached, and he knew who it was. A face appeared before him. "Madam Pomfrey says you're refusing to eat and take your potions."

Severus rolled his eyes. "I'm not a child."

"But you're making things harder for her, acting like one," the voice replied, frustration evident.

"Narcissa..." Severus warned.

"Enough, Severus. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" Narcissa's tone grew more serious as she helped him sit up.

"And why do all of you insist on saving me?" he retorted.

A glare from Narcissa silenced him. She moved a breakfast table in front of him, holding a spoon of warm soup to his lips. When he refused to eat, she took matters into her own hands; she gently but firmly pried his mouth open, causing him to wince in pain as her manicured nails dug into his cheeks.

With determination, she coaxed him into eating, and soon the bowl was emptied along with the potion vials.

"Severus?" Both of them turned their attention to a gruff voice, prompting Severus to emit a groan. Amused by his reaction, Narcissa raised an eyebrow.

Parting the curtain, Remus Lupin entered. "Mrs. Malfoy," he acknowledged her with a nod, and she reciprocated the greeting.

"Severus, have you started this nonsense again?" Lupin inquired.

"It's none of your concern, Lupin," Severus retorted with a sneer.

Narcissa scolded him gently. "Severus, behave." Just then, the curtain rustled once more, revealing Severus Snape's worst nightmare.

Harry bloody Potter. "Professor, I thought we discussed this already. Why would you attempt it again?"

"Has that woman informed everyone? POPPY!"

When no response was forthcoming, he yelled again, "Madam Pomfrey is not here," Potter informed them.

"Professor," he began, addressing Severus.

"Who else is aware?" Severus interrupted, his annoyance evident.

"Everyone on the staff and most of the Order," Remus confirmed.

Severus emitted a groan, making it clear that he was far from pleased with the extent of the knowledge.

"I don't want anyone to come see me. Please. I'm already embarrassed, and having everyone visit just makes it worse. Thank you for coming," he stated, closing his eyes.

"Lucius sends his regards. He couldn't come because of, well, you know what. Draco mentioned he'll visit later," Narcissa said, bidding him farewell.

"Narcissa, did you come alone?"
Upon her affirmation, he added, "We've warned you not to come alone. There are still covert activities underway. If they were to get hold of you, you know the consequences for your betrayal. Lupin, can you..."

"I'll ensure her safety. Take care," Remus reassured as he left with Narcissa.

"Professor, take care. I'll make sure to convey your wishes for no visitors." After a brief pause, Potter chimed in, "You do realize that Mrs. Weasley will be persistent about visiting, right? I wish you the best of luck with that." He concluded with a grin.

"Good day, Mr. Potter," Severus retorted with his characteristic sarcasm.

Alone once more, Severus found himself pondering his life choices yet again. Just as he sought a moment of distraction, an owl landed on his breakfast table.

Untying the letter from its leg, he read the contents that revealed Miss Prichett had accepted his offer and would be coming for an interview by Friday.

Well, Severus thought, I hope at least she proves to be competent.

Chapter Text

Chapter - 05

Samara navigated through the bustling crowd at the Magical Transportation Office in Salem, weaving her way amidst families enjoying their summer outings.

Samara finally arrived at her destination: Room 652. As she stepped inside, she was greeted by an official in distinctive blue robes, wearing the customary uniform, along with four other individuals.

"Welcome, Madam. We will be departing in precisely fifteen minutes. Upon arrival at the Transport Office in London, please adhere to the procedure. Complete your customs checks, register your wand, and proceed to your desired destination."

Following a brief set of instructions, all the passengers, including Samara, grasped onto a large, pristine boot. The familiar sensation of being drawn into a void enveloped Samara.

The next thing Samara was aware of, she found herself in a compact room, where an individual adorned in black robes awaited her for the purpose of registering her wand.

After a thorough inspection that took quite a while, Samara finally emerged from the Ministry and onto the bustling Muggle streets. From there, she made her way towards the familiar destination of the Leaky Cauldron, a place she held an affinity for.

London greeted her just as she remembered it, unchanged from the years that had passed since her last visit.

Taking a leisurely stroll down the winding streets, Samara couldn't resist the urge to make a quick detour to Diagon Alley. She meandered through the magical shops, soaking in the enchanting atmosphere and making mental notes of items she'd like to purchase after her upcoming interview.

However, mindful of her time, she resisted the temptation to indulge in a full shopping spree and promised herself a return trip once her commitments were fulfilled. With her plan set, Samara apparated just beyond the gates of Hogwarts, the towering castle looming in the distance, ready to embark on the next chapter of her journey.

As she stood there, admiring the castle that held countless memories, a massive figure gradually approached. It was Hagrid, a familiar presence that brought a rush of nostalgia and warmth to Samara's heart. She couldn't help but notice how well Hagrid had aged over the years.

"Is that Miss Pritchett?" Hagrid's booming voice reached her ears. "The headmaster informed me of your arrival, Madam. Been waitin' for a long time."

A radiant smile broke across Samara's face, overwhelmed by the unexpected reunion with Hagrid.

"Hello, Hagrid," she greeted with a heartfelt smile. "I hope you remember me. It's been so long."

Hagrid's warm demeanor remained unchanged as he undid the protective wards, allowing Samara to step inside the grounds she had once walked as a student.

"I'm 'fraid I don't," Hagrid chuckled. "Been a long time, innit?"

Samara returned the chuckle, realizing that indeed quite a few years had passed since their last encounter. As they walked, she observed the familiar grounds of Hogwarts, almost untouched by time, except for one noticeable change: Hagrid's hut.

Her curiosity piqued, Samara inquired, "What happened to the hut, Hagrid? I remember it being different."

Hagrid's expression turned somber, a hint of sadness clouding his features. "Destroyed during the war," he sighed, his voice heavy with emotion. "Burnt by Bellatrix. That was the day Dumbledore also died. And my Fang, poor boy, hurt. Now he is resting in my hut."

Samara heart sank. Of course the war.

"After the war, Professor McGonagall helped me build a new one," Hagrid continued. "She said I deserved a larger one where I can entertain more students and have an office space for marking essays."

Hagrid sniffled, "Now she's gone too." A sob escaped him, and Samara could feel the weight of his grief. She had read about Professor McGonagall's passing in the papers, and though not a student anymore, the news had still deeply affected her. She empathized with Hagrid's sorrow for losing another dear teacher.

Samara decided to steer the conversation toward something lighter. "You teach now, Hagrid? And you've got a wand," she said with a playful tone.

Hagrid's face lit up with joy, resembling a child who had just received a treat. "Yeah, I've been teaching for a couple of years. Care of Magical Creatures. Oh, and this wand is a gift from Headmaster Snape. He said he spoke to the Minister and all that, y'know."

Samara shared in his happiness with a gracious smile. "Care of Magical Creatures, an apt position. You've always had a fondness for animals."

As they walked into the castle, Hagrid's intention to escort her to the Headmaster's office was met with Samara's gentle refusal. "You don't need to escort me all the way, Hagrid. I remember the way crystal clear. You should rest. Your little Fang will be waiting. Also I know how much you don't like climbing all the way. You've told me a couple times."

Hagrid's response held a touch of humor, "You seem to know me a lot, Miss. Alas, my old brain isn't able to remember you. After the meeting, care for a cup of tea and..."

"And your rock cakes? Of course, I'll be there," Samara finished.

"Okay, the password is gillyweed."

Samara reached the gargoyle and whispered the password Hagrid had given her. She stepped onto the circular stairs and knocked on the door, waiting for permission to enter.

A deep yet hoarse voice responded, "Enter."

As she pushed open the door, her gaze was immediately drawn to the figure standing near a substantial shelf of books. Dressed entirely in black, his attire reached up to his neck. A white gauze bandage was wrapped around the left side of his neck, blending into his pale skin. His black hair framed his face, and his distinct nose triggered a vivid memory. Suddenly, she was locked in a gaze with deep obsidian eyes.

Chapter Text

Chapter - 06

The man standing in front of her was not the Snape she remembered. He was someone entirely different.

"Miss Pritchett?" he queried, and Samara nodded in affirmation. His scrutinizing gaze swept over her before he continued, "Please take a seat," gesturing toward the chair in front of his desk. He settled into his own seat behind the desk.

Samara's eyes gradually wandered to the portraits hanging on the wall behind him. A smile graced her lips as she acknowledged Professor Dumbledore's wave.

"I am sure you are aware of our requirements," Snape observed, his gaze lingering on her.

"Yes, sir. It was mentioned in the letter," Samara replied, maintaining a composed demeanor.

"May I have a look at your Curriculum Vitae?" Snape inquired, his expression composed.

Samara gracefully handed him a file made of glass, the magical equivalent of a dossier. The file contained her certificates. Snape carefully perused the contents, his keen eyes scanning the details of her magical journey.

His gaze remained fixed on the parchment, and he queried, "I understand you taught at Ilvermorny for a good amount of years, with commendable remarks. However, you haven't been working for... almost five years."

Samara nodded, her expression open. "Yes sir, that's correct. After a considerable period of teaching, I found myself stressed and unable to cope with the school environment. I believed I was done with the world of academia, so I resigned. Fortunately, a renowned potion shop in Bewitchery Haven offered me a position, and I've been working there all these years. Your letter was a surprise, sir, and it made me realize how much I missed my teaching days. It dawned on me that teaching is what I want to do forever."

Snape, though still reserved, seemed to absorb her explanation. Samara couldn't help but feel a tinge of vulnerability, hoping that her honesty about her past experiences would be viewed as a dedication to returning to the teaching profession.

"Have you previously been a Head of House at Ilvermorny?" Snape inquired with his usual passive demeanor.

"No, I haven't been a head of house at Ilvermorny," Samara replied with candor. "However, I did serve as the head of a distinguished club called 'Arcane Pursuits,' where students engaged in magical academic battles and Quidditch competitions with other institutions.Although it wasn't the same as overseeing a house, it provided me with valuable experience in maintaining discipline and mentoring a sizable group of children. Moreover, having been a student at Hogwarts, I'm intimately familiar with the unique dynamics and traditions of this esteemed institution."

"Hmmm, so you worked in a potion shop... What was your role, selling or making potions?" Snape inquired.

"Sir, it was more of an apothecary. I handled everything there—making potions, growing ingredients, selling, cleaning, and more. Occasionally, during the summer, some of my former students would be around to assist or take on summer jobs."

She continued, "Just two months ago, I apprenticed a young wizard. He's now working at St. Mungo's branch in China as the Chief Medicine Inspector." Samara's response impressed him, slightly.

"Are you up to date with the advances in the potion field, Miss?" Snape inquired.

"Of course, sir. I am a dedicated potion enthusiast," Samara replied with a confident smile. "I'm not sure if you remember, but we were competitors in class, not openly, but secretly. There's no way I would miss any advancement. In fact, I am currently working with the Mystical Alchemy Research Centre on their research on Wolfsbane. While I'm not directly involved, I stay up to date with their daily research and make myself available for suggestions and advice when needed."

"Mystical is working on Wolfsbane?" Snape asked, his surprise evident.

"Yes, sir," Samara responded. "It's been underway for about two years."

Snape's initial shock transformed into a simmering anger. He grunted and continued, "As my deputy, there would be a lot of work to be done. Are you okay with working at any time possible? I would also expect you to be here most times, even during holidays. It might be inconvenient for your family."

Samara met his gaze and replied, "Sir, I have no family. There will be no issues, and I am available at all times. I am fully committed to the responsibilities that come with the positions you are considering me for."

"Very well, Miss Pritchett, you may leave. I'll send you an owl with my decision by evening. Given your long journey, you're welcome to stay at Hogwarts or explore the grounds. I won't require you to return if, and I emphasize 'if,' you secure the position." Snape's tone held a blend of formality and a subtle challenge, leaving Samara with a clear understanding of the conditional nature of his statement.

Samara nodded, here's the Snape she knew – direct and to the point. "I'll be exploring Diagon Alley, sir. I'll be around if needed." She offered a polite acknowledgment before taking her leave.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Snape, Dumbledore, and McGonagall— who had been eavesdropping on the conversation while pretending to be asleep in her portrait—all spoke in unison, "She's the one!"

All three paused for a moment, and then Snape turned around in his chair, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he acknowledged their collective agreement.

She's truly exceptional, isn't she? Her professionalism, precise responses, no unnecessary flattery. Striking the right balance—neither too rigid nor overly lenient. Her honesty, it's impeccable," McGonagall praised. Severus couldn't help but wonder if she had always been this cheery; his memory portrayed her as stern and strict. Perhaps dying altered her,

Albus nodded sagely, "She's undeniably a perfect fit, Severus."

"I don't need hiring advice from you, Albus. You hired Lockhart, a werewolf, a mad Auror, and me, a Death Eater. So, no!" Snape abruptly stood, strolling to the window as he whistled quietly. Fawkes, responding to his call, landed on the windowsill. Snape gently stroked the phoenix's head. "Apart from everything else, I'm hiring her because she has inside information on Mystical. Alchemy. Research." he spat the name.

"What's the issue with them?" McGonagall inquired.

Snape exploded, "It's my bloody research!! And I am going to reclaim it." A solemn silence enveloped the room.

Chapter Text

Chapter - 07

Samara's visit to Diagon Alley after meeting Hagrid involved a short conversation over coffee and rock cakes. Although Hagrid didn't remember her yet, she was hopeful that he would recall soon, especially if she secured the job. 

After exploring a few shops, she made a quick visit to Slugs and Jiggers, where Master Jigger remembered her and inquired about her current whereabouts. She had interned there for a year after graduating.

Sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, Samara reminisced about her London days, her birthplace, which she had to leave and never returned to for years. The reason for her departure and the reason she avoided returning were heavy on her mind. 

When she left that morning, she hadn't anticipated the emotional impact of coming back. A cloud of sadness surrounded her, and flashbacks played in her eyes. Panicking, she shook her head and ordered another drink.

As her drink arrived, an elf popped in front of her, startling her and causing her to spill the beverage on the table. The elf quickly apologized and cleared the mess.

"Madam, the Headmaster is expecting your arrival. I can apparate you into his office if you need," the elf offered, bowing low.

"That won't be necessary. I'll apparate myself. Thank you."

"I insist, madam. Please accept it as an apology for startling you."

The elf spoke impeccable English, appearing much older, and Samara nodded. After paying for the drink, she took the elf's hand. In a swirl, she was pulled into the apparition.

Severus, in his office, was having his bandages removed and redressed by Poppy when Samara suddenly appeared. Years of spying had honed his senses, and he swiftly pointed his wand at the intruder. Poppy brandished her own wand, and both stood in defense. The portraits wore shocked expressions, except for Dumbledore.

Samara, equally startled by wands pointed at her, stood frozen, hoping to clarify the situation quickly. Snape recognised the intruder. "What the hell do you think your doing by popping out of nowhere into my office?" He asked a voice so low it sent chills on Samaras spine.

"I.. u h. I di.. dint mean.. t. To." Samara stuttered out. She saw Snape had his coat buttons open until his navel and the coat pushed to his shoulders like an off shoulder top. There were some kind of scars on his neck. She also recognised the matron Poppy Pomfrey. She gulped realising she had intruded on a private moment. 

"I'll be out sir . I'll explain myself later." She left the office.

Back in the office he threw the bottle of murtlap essense against the wall that broke and spilt the remaining liquid. 

"Severus Snape!! That was the last bottle I had!" Shrieked Poppy. 

"Poppy just shut up! "

"Okay I'll shut up you deal with ur pain." She started gathering all the medical things on the table. "First you chop urself and now you rage at the woman for no reason. "

"For no reason? She just barged into my office without announcing, interrupting on something private. " He seethed.

"Headmaster sir, it was my mistake. Thomas is responsible for tat. Madam did say she wanted to apparate. It was Thomas who forced her to apparate with me. Lady has nothing to do." The elf stated and apologized. 

"Why would you do something like that, pray tell Thomas." He gritted out of exasperation. 

"Sir had told to bring madam along or inform her to be here so Thomas thought to bring her along." Snape put his head down on the table. communicating with elfs was so frustrating.

By that time Poppy had wrapped her things and walked toward the door. "Where are you going poppy?" He deadpanned.

"To the infirmary" she didn't turn back.

"And am I to present myself with a slit neck to the woman"

"I don't care! You deserve it. Let her know the man who is going to be her employer is a psychopath. " Her hand was on the handle when she heard him mutter something. "What was that?"

"Immmsoy"

"What?" She smirked she knew just what he was trying to say. 

He lifted his head and sighed "Apologise me for not thinking before reacting. Now will you please bandage this so tat it won't be a disturbing, gut wrenching view. "

She walked back and did his banged and said before leaving." Go easy on yourself, okay?" She patted his head and left. Outside she smiled at the young woman.

"Hello Madam Pomfrey. How are you doing?"

"How do you know me dear?" Poppy was surprised.

"I studied here. I was in the same class as him." She pointed towards the now closed room

"Oh! I am afraid I don't remember you dear. But we'll get to know each other soon. Now get in before he starts off again. "

Samara nodded and waited for a few minutes before knocking. She waited patiently until she heard a acknowledgement type of from him. She stepped inside and he was seated in his chair completely poised and not in a manner she saw just moments ago.

He motioned towards the seat in front of the table. As soon as she sat down she began, "Sir it was not correct of me to barge in like that. I wasn't aware that we would be apparating right inside to ur office. If I was aware I would have refused the offer. I am extremely sorry. "

He looked at her for a few moments and then pushed a set of parchment before her. It was like upto 8-10 sheets. "These are the agreement and acceptance parchment. If you want the job read through everyone of these and sign it. Your performance in the interview was acceptable and I would like to offer you the role. I demand you go thru every line and sign them. You can take it with you and I will give you a week's rime to respond.

"There are a few more things I would like to add. If you decide to take the job, you will have to relocate next week. As it is your job to send letters to all students and paying a visit to muggle born first years. Take no light of this matter Miss Pritchett, it's a heavy load of work. These past two years after war Hogwarts has not seen many students, that has to change this year as the Ministry demands. 

"We have alot of work. I'll leave it up to Professor McGonagall to explain you the basic work. "

Samara looked at the portrait of her old Transfiguration teacher." Hello dear! Hope your doing well. I strongly hope you take the job since, me and Albus feel you will be perfect for the position. It's good to hear your doing well after all that happened."

Samara felt like she was put into spotlight. Well she didn't want to be reminded of what happened. Anyhow reminding needs to be done for things that have been forgotten, this has been engraved into her.

"I am honoured to be taking this role Professor."

"I'll just brief you out on your important duties dear and then if you decide to take the job, throughout I'll be here to guide you with anything you want."

And so began an almost 30 mins of explanation of her main tasks. There were a lot than Samara could ever imagine. Plus there were duties apart from these also. She would have to think multiple times before signing the agreement.

"Everything Minerva said is clear for a normal human brain. If you decide to take the job please send me a letter along with the agreement parchments. If you sign this you have to work for atleast three years. I'll send you a letter back informing what to do. That's all for now , you may leave if you have no other questions. "

Everything was crystal clear. She had a normal brain, she had to read and sign or not. She appreciated his subtle hint of insult. Samara bid a good evening and left the castle. She again took a portkey to her town and reached home.

She felt too tired for dinner and cuddled up with Azrael. She would think about other things tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

Samara sat at the Mason's dining table, poring over her contract papers as Atticus, peering through his glasses, meticulously scrutinized each line.

"Hmmm. This has some serious rules. A tight contract," he remarked.

Meanwhile, Samara indulged in a slice of pecan pie, sipping orange juice through a straw, awaiting Atticus' guidance. Suddenly, he rose and strolled deeper into the house.

Caught off guard, Samara exchanged a puzzled look with Bella. "Atticus! Tell me what to do. You can't just leave like that. You always said I'm the daughter you never had. Give advice to your daughter," she pleaded.

Atticus chuckled, "I think this is a good opportunity for you, my dear. It'll enhance your potential in potions. Here, you'll only repeat what you know; there, you can do more. After all, how long do you think Bella and I will be alive? How long can you be tied to us?"

Samara felt a surge of emotion, contemplating the prospect of growth and independence. 

Later in the evening she returned home and sought solace in writing down her swirling thoughts. She always did that when she felt strong emotions. 

With Azrael, her cat, by her side, she penned a series of questions about her life.

- Does this offer excite me?

- Was this expected?

- Is this something I have secretly been wanting?

- Did I realize?

- Do I want to leave behind the shop and the home I've built?

- Do I want to part from Atticus and Bella?

- Will this finally be a reason to return to my hometown?

- Am I taking the job?

Taking a reflective stance, she began to answer each question, unraveling the complexities of her emotions and the choices before her. 

1. Does this offer excite me?                     - Yes, the prospect of new opportunities excites me.

2. Was this expected?                                - No, it came as a surprise, adding to the confusion.

3. Is this something I have secretly been wanting?                                                    - Perhaps, deep down, there's a desire for change and growth.

4. Did I realize?                                          - The realization is sinking in gradually.

5. Do I want to leave back the shop and the home I've built? - It's a tough decision; leaving behind what I've built is challenging.

6. Do I want to part from Atticus and Bella?                                                         - The thought is heartbreaking, but it might be necessary for personal growth.

7. Will this finally be a reason to return to my hometown?                                          - Returning to my roots could offer a sense of belonging.

8. Am I taking the job?-                             - The answer remains uncertain, pending further reflection on these complex emotions and the potential for a new chapter in my life.

The next day, Samara woke up with a determined spirit. She decided to have an open conversation with Atticus and Bella. As she shared her inner conflict, memories of the past flooded the room. Atticus offered wisdom, recognizing the inevitability of her journey.

Feeling a mix of sadness and anticipation, Samara visited familiar spots in the town, cherishing the moments that shaped her. Bittersweet farewells were exchanged with friends, leaving imprints of gratitude.

Returning home, Samara packed her bags, carefully folding the remnants of her life into suitcases. Each item held a story, a connection. Azreal, sensing the change, curled beside her, offering silent companionship.

As she looked around her shop and the home she built, she felt a pang of nostalgia and gratitude. The decision was made, not without difficulty, but with the understanding that leaving was a step towards growth.

In the quiet of the evening, Samara took a last stroll through the town, absorbing its essence. The night carried a mix of emotions — a farewell to the familiar and an embrace of the unknown.

(A.N- Guys just imagine Azrael is grey🤗)

(Bella and Atticus guysss!!)

Chapter Text

Severus had received Miss Pritchett's letter confirming her acceptance of the job offer and her impending arrival in two days. Today marked her scheduled arrival. After some deliberation, he decided to allocate Minerva's quarters to her, given the limited population in the castle, comprising only himself, Filch, and Hagrid.

The quarters had remained untouched since Minerva's passing. Severus instructed Filch to clean the space, with Minerva's portrait overseeing the process. It was both amusing and nerve-wracking to observe Filch's jittery demeanor each time he mishandled one of Minerva's cherished belongings. She insisted on retaining many items within the room, and Severus had to negotiate with her, assuring her that Miss Pritchett would require space for her belongings.

During the process, Minerva's emotional attachment surfaced, especially when her cat's seat was about to be removed.

"My cat seat!" Minerva sobbed, her voice filled with sorrow.

"Let it be, Mr. Filch," Severus intervened, "Miss Pritchett has a pet of her own. Perhaps she'll appreciate it."

Filch and Minerva exchanged curious glances. "What kind of pet?" they inquired simultaneously.

"I trust it's a cat," Severus replied calmly.

Relieved, Minerva and Filch accepted his response. Two days had passed since then, and the quarters were now immaculate, awaiting Miss Pritchett's arrival. 

Samara had spent the last few days packing all her belongings for Hogwarts. The impending change weighed heavily on her mind, leaving her feeling anxious. 

Saying goodbye to Bella and Atticus was bittersweet; they were emotional, with tearful goodbyes. Atticus expressed his concern for Samara's well-being, while Bella couldn't contain her emotions, seeing Samara as the daughter they never had. Samara assured them she would write every week to keep them updated. 

Meanwhile, Samara fretted over her cat, Azreal, who disliked new environments and people. She worried about how Azreal would adjust to Hogwarts and the unfamiliar animals that roamed the castle grounds.

Today marked the day when Samara bid farewell to her home, preparing to embark on a journey to Britain. She exchanged heartfelt goodbyes with her Muggle neighbors, informing them of a new job opportunity in Britain, though she omitted the magical aspect, simply referring to it as a school where she would be working. 

Samara cast one last glance at her home, imprinting the memories in her mind, before turning away.

At the portkey office, her two-year visa for Britain awaited on the desk, all official matters sorted. Her belongings were already on their way to Hogwarts through the magical courier service, a journey that would take a day or two. 

Carrying Azreal in her carriage and a small bag with essentials, Samara hugged Atticus and bid Bella one final goodbye, ready to embark on her new adventure.

The tug of the portkey pulled Samara in, and with a familiar sensation in her gut, she landed in the port office at London. Opting to apparate from there, she emerged from the Ministry, taking one last look around before apparating directly in front of the imposing gates of Hogwarts. Hagrid awaited her arrival, standing right next to the door. She smiled and greeted him, and he replied, "Right on time, Miss Pritchett."

Hagrid's eyes lit up with curiosity as he noticed the small carriage in Samara's hand. "Oh, who do we have here?" he inquired with a friendly grin.

Samara replied with a fond smile, "It's my cat, Azreal."

As Hagrid guided Samara inside Hogwarts, they encountered Mr. Filch. Samara was surprised to see him still working there, despite his age. He clutched Mrs. Norris tightly in his hands. Azreal hissed at the sight of the other feline, and Mrs. Norris responded in kind.

Samara attempted to quiet her cat, but before she could, Mr. Filch interjected with a cutting remark. "Keep your cat away from my cat, lady. Mrs. Norris doesn't appreciate it."

Taken aback, Samara knew Mr. Filch was known for his grumpiness, but she didn't expect him to insult her cat. Azreal was just a baby, and anyone who insulted her beloved pet deserved a response. 

"Oh, please, Mr. Filch. Everyone knows how bothersome Mrs. Norris can be. If anything, I would kindly ask you to keep your cat under control. I wouldn't want her to harm my precious Azreal."

Hagrid, sensing the tension between both parties, intervened to calm the situation. "There, there, both of you," he said soothingly. "Mr. Filch, if you could kindly guide the new deputy headmistress to her chambers."

Flustered, Filch realized he had been speaking rudely to the new deputy headmistress. With a slightly embarrassed expression, he nodded and gestured for Samara to follow him.

As they walked, the weight of her new position began to settle on Samara. She wasn't just a teacher; she was the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, a position of great power and responsibility. It dawned on her that she now held a significant role in this esteemed institution, one that would require her utmost dedication and diligence.

As she was guided to her rooms, Hagrid informed her that the chambers she was going to reside in belonged to the late Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. Samara was taken aback by this revelation, wondering why such an esteemed space would be entrusted to her. Professor McGonagall had been a beloved and respected teacher who had recently passed away. She felt a mix of gratitude and reverence that they had bestowed such an honor upon her, allowing her to inhabit the same chambers as the esteemed former headmistress.

Upon reaching the door, adorned with intricate patterns reminiscent of Minerva's love for cats, Samara felt a surge of emotion. It was a fitting tribute to the legacy of the respected professor. 

As they stood before the door, they heard footsteps rounding a corner, revealing the new Headmaster, Professor Snape."You have arrived," he stated, his gaze unwavering. "Very well, I see you have been guided to the chambers. I'll take it from here, Mr. Filch."

Filch nodded and departed, leaving the trio alone. With a subtle flick of his hand, Snape opened the door. Wandlessly, she noticed, his movements graceful yet commanding. He gestured for her to enter, following closely behind. Hagrid, who had been carrying Azreal all along, entered behind them.

Once inside, Snape allowed Samara a moment to take in her surroundings. The chambers were enormous, dwarfing her own house in comparison.The sheer size of the living room alone was staggering.

Before Snape could speak, a sound caught their attention-sniffling coming from Hagrid. Turning towards him, they saw tears streaming down his face.

"I'm sorry," Hagrid choked out between sobs. "It's just... emotional not having her here. I'm just..." Another sniffle, followed by a sob.

Samara felt a pang of sympathy for Hagrid's grief. Unsure of what to do, she approached him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "There, there, Hagrid," she said softly, offering him comfort in his moment of sorrow.

Hagrid laid the carriage nearby and excused himself, saying, "I'll see you later, Miss Pritchett."

"It's Professor Pritchett, Hagrid," intervened Severus, emphasizing her title. Samara blushed at his correction. Hagrid nodded and apologized, "Oh yeah, yeah, Professor. Sorry."

Once he left, Samara found herself alone with the dark-haired man who studied her with intense scrutiny, deepening her blush. He scrutinized her from top to bottom. 

She glanced down at her off-shoulder dress, a style she adored despite some considering her too old for it. But Samara always loved this model; she enjoyed wearing corsets, and it wasn't her fault she didn't look her age thanks to her genes and maintenance.

"Well, Professor, I believe you've been informed that this was Professor McGonagall's chambers previously. Now it's yours. Feel free to make any changes you see fit, considering you'll be working here for the next three years," he emphasized, stressing the three.

She nodded. "Thank you for entrusting me with these esteemed chambers. I'm grateful for the opportunity to make adjustments. There are some major changes I have in mind, particularly regarding the blinding red paint, cushions, counters, couches, and I assume even the bathroom tiles and bedroom are red," Samara expressed, feeling overwhelmed by the abundance of red. Gryffindors and their obsession with their house colors, she thought to herself.

When she received no immediate response, she looked up at him. There was a subtle hint of amusement on his face. "Be my guest. I'll leave you to settle in for the night. We'll commence work tomorrow. There's much to be done."

With that, he turned, and his cloak swished as he departed. Samara couldn't help but admire his gracefulness. He didn't walk; he floated.

Chapter Text

Samara had taken a complete tour of her chambers and found it to be quite huge. Azreal was a little suspicious of the place but then found a very beautiful cat seat and succumbed to its heat.

Samara first needed to change the colour, it was a blinding red. She changed it to softer colours. She made the living room a combination of Beige and Emerald Green. The Kitchen stayed Black.

Well, she had found an interesting portrait in the kitchen. His name was Michael Anderson. He was a muggle born and he took pride in being the first muggle-born to attend Hogwarts.

Apparently he had slaughtered the head of a famous pure-blood who had killed his parents for being filthy muggles and was executed for that crime. But he did not care because he had taken revenge.

He was a big time flirt, concluded Samara. At the very moment he saw her, he commented, "Oh My Merlin! Who is this Damsel that hath had me go bonkers and lose my bonnet?" 

Despite his charming personality, she found his behavior a bit too much to handle. Samara couldn't stand the idea of live paintings in her living space. The thought of being constantly watched or listened to made her skin crawl.

Tomorrow, she would approach the headmaster and firmly request that the live painting be relocated to a different part of the castle.

After settling in and enjoying a coffee brought by an elf, she sank into the couch. Her mind drifted back to Hogwarts, a place that had once been her sanctuary from a troubled home life.

Was returning the right decision? Only time would tell, once she began her work. For now, she'd have to wait for her belongings to arrive before organizing them. Azreal, her car, hopped onto her lap, while Samara curled up and dozed on the couch.

A sudden pop woke her up from her slumber, it was Thomas the elf. "Would Madame like dinner?"

Samara sat upright and looked at the clock. She had slept for a good four hours. "Yes, yes I would like to have dinner. Thomas isn't it?" she confirmed, recalling the elf that made her apparate right into the headmaster's office when he was half naked.

"Yes ma'am, would you like to have steak and potatoes?"

"I would prefer something light. Perhaps some soup and a piece of cake." 

"Thomas will bring that right up ma'am."

Ten minutes later, the elf returned, setting the soup and cake on the table. Azreal stirred from her deep slumber and caught sight of the elf, prompting her to freak out. 

It was the cat's first encounter with such a magical creature, and she let out a loud mewl before darting away in alarm.

Samara was stunned, unsure of what to say or do. Azreal's sudden panic had caused a mess as she knocked things over while fleeing to find a hiding spot. 

If Samara was to continue living in the castle, she knew she'd have to acclimate Azreal to the presence of various magical creatures.

The next morning, having finished her breakfast and dressed in fresh clothes, Samara made her way to the headmaster's office.

Upon entering, she found the headmaster seated behind his desk, his demeanor imposing. "Professor Prichett," he greeted, gesturing for her to take a seat. "I trust you have settled down well?"

"Yes, thank you, Headmaster," Samara replied politely, taking a seat opposite him.

"Excellent. Now, let's get down to business," the headmaster said, his expression turning serious. "Your first task here at Hogwarts will be a crucial one. We need you to assist in drafting and sending out letters to all the students for the upcoming academic year."

Samara's heart skipped a beat at the responsibility entrusted to her. "Of course, Headmaster." 

Severus was about to reach for some parchment when he paused, a slight discomfort evident on his face. "There is no need to call me headmaster every time. You can address me as Professor Snape," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. He reached for the draft letters of previous years and handed them to her.

Samara noticed the unease in Professor Snape's demeanor and nodded in understanding. It seems there was more to his discomfort but that was for another time.

"Now, take a look at these drafts. Familiarize yourself with the format and content. We need to make similar copies for all the students attending. Special ones for the first years and extra special ones for new Muggle-borns, which need to be delivered in person by the staff," Professor Snape instructed, his tone firm yet supportive.

Samara nodded, "Understood, I'll ensure the letters are crafted with care and attention to detail," she affirmed, ready to begin her work. 

"Headma..... I..I mean Professor Snape, can I have the list of students attending, along with the number of students in each class and house, as well as the new first years and Muggle-borns?" Samara requested, catching herself before using the term "headmaster" again.

Professor Snape nodded, acknowledging her request. "Of course. I'll have the information compiled for you shortly," he replied, before turning to retrieve the necessary documents.

He returned with a few parchments and handed them to her. Among them was a list of pureblood and half-blood first years who had applied for the school.

Samara accepted the parchments gratefully, carefully reviewing the lists provided. Then he separately brought out a large book covered in a rich red velvet cloth. Samara's eyes widened in awe. It emanated a mystical aura, its appearance captivating her attention. 

Carefully, Severus placed it on a pedestal between them, and with a tap of his wand, the pages of the book began to turn rapidly until they settled on a single paper. The book seemed to glow with an ethereal light, and Samara's breath caught in her throat.

"Is that... is that what I think it is? Is it the..." she stammered, her voice filled with disbelief.

"Natus Librum. Yes, the Book of Births," Professor Snape confirmed, his tone solemn yet reverent. Samara's eyes widened in disbelief. The Natus Librum, a legendary time that contains records of every magical birth.

"But doesn't the Ministry take control of that book?" Samara asked.

"Yes, until last year when the Minister handed it over to Headmistress McGonagall," Dumbledore's portrait chimed in proudly.

"Oh, of course, Shacklebolt just willingly handed over the most coveted artifact in wizarding history. Clearly, he was just itching to part with it." Snape said under his breath, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Samara couldn't help but crack a smile at Snape's remark. It was clear of his disdain for certain bureaucratic procedures.

"I heard that, Severus," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye.

"It was meant to be heard. This is like extra work for me... for us," Snape sighed.

He began reading out the names of the Muggle-borns listed in the ancient tome, his voice steady yet tinged with a hint of weariness. Samara listened attentively and noted down the names with her magical quill, which could hear and transcribe conversations verbatim. 

As Snape read out the names of the Muggle-borns, the quill diligently recorded each one, ensuring accuracy. Samara reviewed the content of the letters.

While copying the letters for each class, Samara couldn't help but notice that the textbooks for most subjects seemed outdated, some of the books were even exactly the same as the ones she had used during her own school days.

This prompted her to inquire quietly, "Hea... Professor Snape, is the syllabus controlled by the board or the teachers?"

"It was controlled by the board, but yes, that also was transferred over last year," Snape replied.

"I noticed these books are seriously outdated. Look at them, aren't they the same as the ones we used to study? Can we change the syllabus, or at least for my subject, Potions? There are extra books suggested for reading, but the important ones are still the same as the ones we used. Do you know how many mistakes they have?" Samara spoke in a frenzy as she examined the list of textbooks.

When she received no response, she looked up to see Snape staring at Dumbledore's portrait in silence. 

"I'm afraid it's my mistake, dear," Dumbledore's portrait interjected solemnly. "Severus has always informed me of the books, and the number of times he has barged into my room when a potion accident happens because a student followed the wrong instructions in the book, even though he had written the correct one on the board, is uncountable."

"And yet, as predictable as ever, you remained steadfast in your commitment to silence, displaying your unparalleled talent for invisibility, both in action and in opinion." Severus commented.

Samara nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. It was clear that Snape had been diligent in his efforts to ensure the safety and accuracy of potion-making instructions, despite the limitations imposed by outdated textbooks.

"Might I suggest some books, Professor Snape? And change the curriculum for my subject?" Samara proposed.

"Yes, you may, Professor Prichett. I will write to other teachers asking them if they would like a change in their curriculum and books," Snape replied, acknowledging Samara's input.

Samara smiled. "That would be great. Then within maybe three to four days, we can be ready with the letters. I'll take this to my room and decide on my curriculum," she added, gathering the documents and books in her arms.

She turned back before leaving. "Ah, Professor Snape? I... may I request for the portrait in my kitchenette to be re.. removed and placed somewhere else in the castle?"

Snape looked at her with an arched brow, and Samara hastened to explain.

"Ah, it's just... It's just I don't fancy portraits looking at me while I walk, work, or live. I just have to say, it.. it  creeps me out, so please," she stammered.

Before Severus could reply, Dumbledore interjected, "Then how will Severus contact you if he needs you and you're in your room, dear?"

Samara cocked her head, puzzled by Dumbledore's question. It seemed unrelated to the matter of the portrait in her kitchenette. She turned to Snape, waiting for his response or clarification.

Severus gritted his teeth. "Unlike you, Albus, I don't have the need to spy on my staff."

"My dear boy, I wasn't spying on you or the others. That's how I contacted you," Dumbledore explained calmly.

Severus let out a breath, feeling frustrated. He disliked paintings as much as Professor Prichett seemed to do so. They always looked intently at what he did, and Dumbledore demanded that they remain in every staff person's room. 

Over the years, Severus could never budge Albus, so he sneakily moved it to his office, but he wouldn't impose that discomfort on his staff.

"Professor Prichett, rest assured that the painting will be removed," Snape stated firmly.

"Thank you, Professor Snape, for your understanding," Samara replied gratefully, relieved to know that her request would be honored. 

With a nod of acknowledgment, she left the office, feeling grateful for Snape's cooperation and her mind already buzzing with ideas for updating the Potions curriculum.

Chapter Text

The next afternoon, Samara walked into the headmaster's office with the letters, having made the necessary corrections to the book list. The headmaster had sent her the modified lists from the other subject teachers as well. It had been a hectic task to copy the information into hundreds of letters and split them by year, but she had managed to get it done.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape. Here are the letters for all the years, including the first years and the Muggle-borns," she said, placing the huge bundle she was levitating on the table in front of him.

"You finished all the letters? All signed?" he asked inquisitively.

"Yes, all done, sir," she confirmed.

"Remarkably swift," Snape acknowledged. "Thank you, Professor Prichett. I'll have Hagrid handle their delivery."

He went through one letter from each year, his gaze intent on something that made Samara feel a bit uneasy.

"Good suggestions for the Potion's textbooks. I find Mayers extremely informative," he remarked. Samara blushed at the praise.

Then Snape looked at the first-year letters and frowned. "Why haven't you allocated practical books for first years? There are only theory books, Potion Ingredients, Guide to Scaling and Weighing... There are no ingredients or cauldrons mentioned." He looked up at her, questioning.

"Ah, about that, Professor," Samara began, "I think first years need to be introduced to ingredients and weighing first. They need to understand how each ingredient will react or perform based on how it's cut, or how the potency can be increased or decreased by tiny mistakes in weighing or chopping. Only when one knows at least 75% of these concepts can they make good potions. By mastering the basics first, they will have a solid foundation for practical potion-making."

When he continued to stare at her without responding, Samara added, "I know we weren't taught this way and we turned out fine, but that's because you, I, and other successful students were genuinely interested in Potions and actively listened to our teachers. Others are there just for the grades. Even with this kind of approach, I have some students who fail to understand the concept. So while I can't guarantee 100% success, I can definitely guarantee you a 75% improvement."

His expression softened slightly as he considered her words. "Very well, your reasoning is sound. Let's see how this method fares with the first years."

"I'll ask Hagrid to take these letters to the postal services. Meanwhile be prepared to accompany Hagrid in delivering these letters to the Muggle-borns," Snape added, looking at Samara. 

"I hope you know what to do. You have to break the news that their children are magical and tell them about Hogwarts. Am I missing something, Minerva?" he asked, turning towards McGonagall's portrait.

The portrait of Professor McGonagall nodded. "That's correct, Severus. It's also important to reassure the parents and answer any questions they might have. The transition can be quite overwhelming for Muggle families."

"Deliver letters? With Hagrid?" Samara squeaked in surprise.

Severus looked at her with a raised brow. She quickly went to respond. "I mean, his stature alone is quite intimidating, and it will definitely alarm Muggle families." She was quite confused why they would send Hagrid.

"Hagrid's been doing this for ages and he's good at explaining things to Muggle families," Minerva responded, somewhat taken aback by Samara's apprehension.

"What alternative do you propose?" Severus inquired, his voice laced with reluctant curiosity. She was right, of course. Severus had never bothered to question why Minerva always took Hagrid along.

Samara met Severus's eyes, uncertainty flickering in her gaze as she replied, "Why don't... perhaps, me and another staff member, someone who isn't as, how do I say, imposing or distinct, someone who actually looks like school staff, could go instead? Maybe even you and I could go together; that would be fantastic-the Headmaster himself..."

She trailed off, noticing Severus go rigid. She had definitely said something wrong.

Severus stood there in shock. Him? Assuring Muggles? It was inconceivable. "Well, Professor, I believe your suggestion is a bit out of bounds. I won't be joining you," he stated through gritted teeth.

Dumbledore stepped in. "That's an excellent suggestion, Samara. Severus, she's right. You will accompany her," the headmaster insisted. 

"The headmaster and his deputy visiting Muggle-borns' parents will make a great story for the Daily Prophet and with that, more wizarding families may enroll.

"You see, Severus, ever since the war, the student population has dwindled. Wizarding parents are apprehensive about enrollment. Now that the conflict is behind us, it's time to restore Hogwarts to its former glory. It is, after all, a school-a place of learning and sanctuary. 

"As headmaster, you must consider what is best for this institution and how we can rebuild trust and hope," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with wisdom and resolve.

Severus turned towards Albus with evident displeasure, his voice barely above a whisper. "I refuse to partake in this absurd charade of yours. You expect me to visit Muggle-borns' parents and extend invitations? Do you truly believe I am the ideal candidate for such a task? Have you conveniently forgotten my well-documented aversion to social pleasantries?"

"That's actually fine, Professor Dumbledore. I'll take Hagrid along or any other staff member. I'm sure they would be happy to help," Samara interjected, trying to extricate Snape from his evident discomfort. She silently cursed herself for not keeping her mouth shut, aware of the strain her suggestion had caused.

"You are going, and that is final. I'm merely suggesting this for the betterment of the school, for the greater good, Severus. Your presence will make a difference." Dumbledore said.

"Shut up. Don't you dare utter 'greater good.' I've had enough of your sanctimonious drivel about the 'greater good' and that nonsense."

"Severus, I believe what Albus is trying to convey is that, now that everything is settled, it's time for you to live your life. You are the Headmaster, and this is your responsibility and primary duty." Minerva chimed in.

"Fine, fine. If you both promise to spare me your insufferable wisdom for the remainder of the year, I'll go. Anything to avoid your relentless nagging."

He turned towards Samara, a flicker of acknowledgment crossing his features as if he had just realized she was still standing there.

"Professor Prichett, I will join you. We can leave tomorrow."

"Very well, Professor Snape. I will be prepared," Samara responded.

"Don't forget to dress appropriately in Muggle attire," Minerva chimed in, her tone carrying a hint of admonishment. "Especially you, Severus." Her gaze swept over him disapprovingly from head to toe.

Severus groaned audibly and sank into his chair, a silent protest against the wardrobe change. Samara quickly left without wanting to create any more animosity.

Chapter Text

Samara waited patiently in the Great Hall, as she had been informed by an elf. She wore a simple, high-neck black dress that reached just above her ankles, foregoing her usual corset. Her rich brown hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders.

She heard faint footsteps and turned to see Snape approaching, dressed all in black like her. He had forgone his usual frock coat, instead opting for a long black coat. She couldn't see what he wore underneath, but she could make out that it was high-necked.

He looked different yet the same. He looked... hot? Samara wondered.

From afar, Severus observed her in a black dress that hugged her body, accentuating her curves. He had noticed her before in her corsets and dresses, but this outfit clung to every single contour. As she turned to look at him, her loose hair and smile made her look...pretty? Severus was not one to miss a beautiful woman when he saw one.

"Professor Snape," Samara greeted with a polite nod. "It seems like we are twinning—black on black, long coats, and high necks. Looks like we’re the cream of the society."

"Indeed, it seems so, Professor Prichett. Shall we?" Snape replied, his tone as dry as ever. After a nod from her, he led the way.

"Where's our first stop, Professor?" he asked as they exited the castle.

"Well, we have six children to visit. I've arranged them in order of their proximity," she said, showing him a list as they walked.

"Very well, we shall first Apparate to Northumberland County. It's the closest," Snape said.

"Apparate? I've never been there before," Samara admitted, her voice tinged with apprehension.

"Just think of a famous place there. From there, we can walk or ask for directions," Snape replied dismissively.

Samara looked at him sheepishly. Snape sighed and extended his hand. "Very well, take my hand. We shall Apparate together."

Samara slipped her hand into his warm one, feeling an unexpected rush of heat. Severus gritted his teeth at how good it felt. 

How long had it been since he had held someone's hand? Years, decades actually. He hadn't needed to, even for Apparition, except for the time he made the vow with Narcissa—but that didn't count.

They landed near a tall statue and used it as a reference point to ask for directions. Finding themselves at a small house where children were playing, Severus raised his hand to knock but hesitated before making contact.

For a moment, he entertained the thought of turning and walking away. This wasn't his forte—talking to strangers, especially Muggles. Before he could retreat, a hand rested on his shoulder, causing him to snap his head towards her, his eyes narrowing. Yet, despite himself, he couldn't deny the warmth that spread across his shoulders.

Idiot! This is what happens when anyone touches. She's not some heat machine, he silently berated himself.

"I'll do it," Samara said in the gentlest, most polite tone, her words like a soothing melody to his ears. 

Yes, she'll handle it. Why did he have to do it? He was her boss, after all.

She proceeded forward and knocked on the door. After a few moments, a woman opened it, eyeing them wide-eyed.

"Hello, we're from an elite boarding school in Scotland and would like to extend an invitation for your son Thomas to study there."

"Thomas? That boy? At an elite school? Nonsense! He can't tell apples from pears. Besides, we can't afford your 'elite' school. Look at you, dressed like aristocrats," the woman scoffed skeptically.

"Actually, it's not just a school; it's for special kids like him," Samara explained patiently, 

"It's not expensive—the stay and food are provided by the school. You only need to pay for books, uniforms, and other academic materials. We select only the special ones, and your boy has been chosen. Can we talk inside?"

Mrs. Barise cautiously considered Samara's explanation while Snape grew increasingly impatient.

"How am I to trust you? You might be here to talk one thing and take him away," Mrs. Barise voiced her skepticism.

Samara glanced at Snape, who sighed before interjecting sternly, "Listen, your child is a wizard. Unless you want your neighbors to discover he's different and ostracize your family, let us in. We're not here to deceive you."

The woman looked alarmed. "Professor Snape," Samara exclaimed, attempting to defuse the tension. "You're scaring her. That's not our intention."

"I told you I'm not the best person for this job," Snape glared at her.

"At least it's you! Imagine if it were Hagrid. She'd be chasing me with a pitchfork," they bickered, oblivious to Mrs. Barise's shocked expression. Snape wondered how Minerva managed Hagrid.

"Mrs. Barise, we're not here to harm you. I understand your concerns, but we're genuinely here for your son's future." Samara retrieved papers from her coat pocket, discreetly showing the Muggle a copy of the Daily Prophet with a moving picture of Hogwarts and its teachers, recently published for admissions.

Brilliant, thought Snape as Mrs. Barise stared in disbelief at the animated image. "How... how the hell is that moving? Jesus Christ," she gasped.

"If you would just let us in, we can explain everything," Samara urged.

After a tense moment of consideration, Mrs. Barise finally opened the door. They entered cautiously, but before they could sit, she reappeared with the largest pitchfork Severus had ever seen.

"If you try anything, this will go through your eyes," Mrs. Barise threatened, her grip firm.

Samara smiled awkwardly, and it took some time for them to reassure Mrs. Barise and explain everything to her and Thomas. Eventually, they managed to navigate the most challenging part of their visit.

"So my son is a wizard. Oh Lord forgive us. We have sinned. Demon spawn has landed in my house. Oh Lord," Samara and Severus exchanged uncertain glances as Mrs. Barise reacted with shock and dismay

"Look here, woman," Snape interjected firmly, annoyance evident in his tone. "This is not the work of some Demon. We are just ordinary people like you. Occasionally, a child born without magical lineage exhibits magical abilities. If such a child isn't trained, they may be in danger and pose a risk to others. It's perfectly normal. You should be glad that your child is magical and gifted."

"Mrs. Barise, it is of utmost importance that you enroll him in a magical institution. His abilities must be trained. If not us, another school will approach you eventually. Ultimately, you have to do it," Samara urged gently, trying to reassure the distressed woman.

"The only advantage you have here is that Hogwarts covers the cost of accommodation and meals for the seven years of study. If you agree, a staff member from our school will come with you next week to help you purchase necessary items."

Mrs. Barise listened attentively, her initial shock beginning to give way to a sense of cautious consideration. She glanced at Thomas, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes filled with a mixture of wonder and apprehension.

"Please, Mrs. Barise," Samara added softly, "this is an opportunity for Thomas to learn about his abilities and be among others like him. He will be safe and cared for."

After a moment of silence, Mrs. Barise nodded slowly. "I... I suppose we could give it a try. For Thomas's sake."

Samara smiled warmly. "Thank you, Mrs. Barise. You won't regret this decision."

Snape remained silent but nodded curtly, satisfied with the progress they had made. It was a small victory, but an important one.

While they discussed their next stop, Severus asked, "When did you prepare the clippings from the Daily Prophet?"

"Oh, last night. I was really nervous and played out scenarios in my head. I thought back to how my aunt reacted when she found out I was a witch and that magic existed. I just gathered whatever I could get," Samara explained.

Snape listened attentively, intrigued by her background. "Your aunt?" His curiosity piqued. 

"Yeah, my mother's sister. My mom was a Muggle, my dad a wizard," 

"Good job back there, Professor Prichett," Snape acknowledged, a rare compliment from him. 

The rest of the day unfolded similarly, with Samara and Severus addressing skeptical Muggles and successfully securing five out of the six students, as one had already been admitted elsewhere. He acknowledged internally that without her handling such situations, he couldn't have accomplished it.

Upon their return to Hogwarts that evening, Samara slowed her pace and spoke apologetically, "I'm sorry for pulling you into this. I realize this isn't exactly your area of expertise. Dumbledore making you go was entirely my fault. Next time I suggest something, I'll make sure to consider your strengths."

Severus remained silent, contemplating her words. He had held her responsible for the day's challenges but had maintained civility mostly due to Minerva's earlier warning. However, her apology altered his perspective. Uncertain of what to say, he simply nodded and walked away. His neck itched, signaling that a change of bandage was necessary.

In his office later, while Madam Pomfrey changed his bandage, Dumbledore inquired, "How did it go, my boy?"

"It went well. We have indeed found a promising candidate for the deputy," Snape replied tersely. Minerva and Albus exchanged smiles with Madam Pomfrey.

Chapter Text

It had been two days since the visit to the Muggles. Samara hadn't seen the Headmaster since then, and she was starting to wonder if there were any other tasks or responsibilities she should be attending to. She decided to take a look at the Potions Classroom, and made her way down to the dungeons. 

The familiar surroundings brought back memories of her time at Hogwarts, and she navigated the corridors with ease. As she walked, she noticed the various paintings on the walls, their subjects chattering away. She had never been fond of these portraits - it unnerved her how they seemed to be living on, long after their subjects had passed. They were supposed to be dead.

The constant gossip and chatter was especially unsettling, reminding her of the whispers and judgments she had endured during her unhappy marriage. The paintings' eyes seemed to follow her, their voices growing louder and more insistent

She reached the cold dungeon floor, the familiar chill seeping into her bones. She sighed, resigning herself to the fact that this chilly space would be her teaching home for the next few years. 

As she approached the wooden door, she noted its newness, likely a post-war replacement. She pushed it open to reveal rows of neatly arranged benches, a solitary table, and a side cupboard adorned with vials and flasks. 

A cupboard lined with potion ingredients stood at the other end, and surprisingly, washbasins lined a corner, a practical addition. This was a far cry from Slughorn's time, when the room was cluttered and chaotic.

Samara walked to the connected study, where she had often approached Slughorn during exams. She unlocked and pushed the door open, expecting dust and soot, but found an impeccably clean room with numerous cupboards and a bookshelf crammed with books.

An even greater surprise awaited her: a cauldron bubbled away on a wide table in the center of the room. As she drew closer, she observed an impressive array of ingredients, meticulously cut and diced, arranged with precision around the cauldron. Just as she was trying to identify the potion, Severus Snape emerged from behind a hidden wall, a large box in hand.

"Uh... I didn't mean to startle you," Samara stuttered. "I was thinking I'd take a look at the classroom and office, check if anything needs... um, changes."

Snape cleared his throat and placed the box gently on the table. "Yes, I intended to familiarize you with the classroom and office. I've been using this as my private lab all these years. The office is on the other side of the classroom; I had it changed when I started teaching."

Samara's eyes widened in realization. "I wasn't aware of that. I apologize."

Snape's expression was unreadable."I'll show you the office," he said, leading the way out of the study. Samara followed, feeling a bit like a lost kitten, though she tried to compose herself. 

"You also have a private study adjacent to your chambers," he added. "I'll arrange for the Hogwarts Curator to install doors connecting it to your study and the Hufflepuff common room." Samara nodded, grateful for the consideration.

As they entered the office, she was struck by its pleasant atmosphere. "Thank you, Headmaster," she said sincerely. "The classroom and office are exactly to my liking; I don't foresee any major changes."

Snape gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable. "Very well. I'll leave you to settle in. The other staff members will arrive on Monday."

As Samara departed after some time, her curiosity got the better of her, and she couldn't help but wonder if Snape was still brewing his potion. 

She was so close to deciphering its composition, and she detested leaving a puzzle unsolved. To her delight, she found him still engrossed in his work.

She knocked gently on the door to capture his attention. "Um... Can I assist?" she asked, her eyes fixed on the cauldron.

Snape raised an eyebrow, poised to retort that he required no aid and was more than capable of working independently. However, he hesitated, intrigued by the prospect of observing her practical skills. "You may watch." 

Samara entered, her eyes scanning the workbench as a pungent aroma wafted up, familiar and yet unsettling. She recognized the scent at once and glanced at the ingredients again - moonstone, aconite, occamy egg, hellbore syrup... Her eyes widened as she realized what he was brewing. "You're making Wolfsbane Potion!" she exclaimed, her surprise evident.

Severus Snape's gaze flickered, his expression momentarily curious before his usual mask of calm slid back into place. "Clearly," he drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. 

Her mind raced as she tried to understand why he was brewing this potion, typically reserved for seventh-year students in the May term. "Why are you making Wolfsbane?" she asked, her confusion evident. "What use does it have here at school?" Snape's passive face gave away nothing.

"It is evidently needed for consumption, Professor Prichett, if I am taking the trouble to brew it," Snape said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he carefully filtered the Hellbore syrup.

Consumption? She thought. For whom? A sudden, wild thought struck her. "You're not a werewolf, are you, Professor Snape?" she blurted out, her eyes wide with surprise.

Snape's face twisted in disgust, his expression a mask of revulsion. "Do not make assumptions, Professor Prichett," he spat, his voice icy. "I thought you wanted to assist, not indulge in baseless speculation. I am perfectly capable of completing this task on my own. If you have nothing useful to contribute, you may leave."

She felt a flush rise to her cheeks as she realized she had overstepped.She moved quietly to the table, her hands deftly cracking the Occamy Egg and separating the shimmering blue yolk from the sparkling white. 

She whisked the white with her wand, her movements precise. A silence fell between them, the only sound the soft clinking of ingredients and the gentle bubbling of the cauldron.

Severus observed her techniques, his eyes narrowing as he noted the similarities to his own methods. Her attention to detail impressed him, and he found himself relaxing slightly in her presence. Slightly is to be noted attentively 

"I didn't mean to pry, Professor Snape," Samara said, her voice soft and even. "I was merely surprised that this potion was required for consumption in a school. I apologize for making assumptions. However, if it's for one of the students, shouldn't I be informed?" She paused, her eyes meeting his. "And, of course, it could also be for a Vampire, so making assumptions was wrong. I acknowledge that."

Severus was taken aback by two things. Firstly, Samara's quiet and patient response to his rudeness, as well as her unnecessary apology, struck a chord. It was a subtle yet effective way to diffuse tension, and he found himself comparing it to the more usual reactions of defensiveness or anger from his students and colleagues.

Secondly, her comment about Vampires left him stunned. Did she just say Wolfsbane was used for Vampires? The notion was both intriguing and misinformed.

"Vampires? Wolfsbane for vampires?" Severus repeated, his tone laced with intrigue.

"Oh, yes!" Samara replied, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Haven't you heard? It's been proven that Wolfsbane helps reduce blood thirst in vampires, especially during the full moon when their cravings peak. Since werewolves and vampires share similar characteristics, Wolfsbane is incredibly effective."

Severus's expression turned thoughtful. "I'm surprised you didn't know." Samara said, her tone matter-of-fact, as she added the filtered Hellbore syrup to the boiling cauldron. "The article was published in Potions Quarterly."

Severus added the Occamy Egg yolk, his eyes fixed on the mixture. "I haven't kept up with it in a few years," he admitted quietly. This was why he wasn't aware that Mystical Alchemy was working on his Wolfsbane project. 

They worked in silence until the potion settled into a deep midnight blue sheen. "It's done!" Samara exclaimed, her face lighting up with a contented smile. "I love seeing that shiny, deep blue color."

Severus levitated the cauldron into a cupboard while Samara cleaned the table. "Professor Snape, I noticed you diced the aconite instead of slicing or crushing it. Any particular reason?"

"You're aware that chopping and dicing ingredients in different ways affects their potency, aren't you, Professor?" Snape said,"In fact, didn't you suggest we teach the first years about that very concept?"

Samara nodded, and Snape continued, "Well, dicing aconite, in particular, enhances its potency as a painkiller during transformations. Slicing or crushing it has a different effect, as you know."

Samara absorbed the information, her expression thoughtful. "It was mentioned in the Potion Journal, but the reason behind it was never explained."

Snape led her out of the study and the classroom, locking the door behind them. "Because it was my discovery, and I never shared the reason with them," he said, his voice low and enigmatic. "Have a good day, Professor Prichett." With that, he turned and left, leaving Samara standing there, looking confused.

Chapter Text

One afternoon, Samara was meticulously organizing the potions cupboard for student use, taking note of expired ingredients and those that needed replenishment, as instructed by the Headmaster. 

As she carefully reached for the bottle labelled beetle squash on the top shelf, the door suddenly slammed open, causing her to jump and tumble down the ladder. 

She landed on her backside and sprawled out on the ground, covered in beetle juice. The pungent smell made her feel queasy. "No, no, no, no," she muttered in distress. 

She knew she had to peel off her clothes as quickly as possible to prevent the stench from lingering on her skin. It became clear that the squash had gone bad, transforming into a corrosive liquid that was now seeping into her clothes and causing its acidic properties to break down the fabric.

That's how Severus found her - sprawled unceremoniously on the ground, reeking of the foul liquid. His eyes narrowed as he quickly realized the source of the stench: expired beetle squash. 

He swiftly cast the Aguamenti spell, conjuring a stream of water to douse her. "What have you done, Professor Pritchett?" he exclaimed, his voice laced with exasperation and urgency. "Can't you be more careful? You're a skilled potioneer, for goodness' sake! This level of recklessness is unbecoming."

"Me? It was you!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with incredulity. "You burst in, giving me a fright. Must you make an entrance like a tempest?" She complained, struggling to remove her dragon hide gloves, which were rapidly disintegrating in the acidic liquid. 

As she frantically worked to undo her corset, she realized with a jolt of panic, "I can feel it penetrating my skin, causing inflammation!"

"Make quick work of it!" Snape barked, his voice low and urgent. "It'll burn your skin to blisters if you don't remove it at once!" 

She knew that all too well, dammit! She frantically tried to pull off the strings, but they would just not come off. Just as she was about to rip them in frustration, Severus suddenly grabbed her and spun her around. His eyes narrowed as he swiftly analyzed the pattern of the strings, then he pulled one crucial thread, loosening the corset with a swift, precise motion.

As the corset came loose, Samara exhaled a sigh of relief, surprised by Severus's deftness. A fleeting thought crossed her mind: How often does he find himself in situations where he needs to remove corsets from women?

But the question was quickly forgotten as the inflammation erupted into a fiery blaze, making her cry out in agony. The pain brought her back to the present, and she clenched her teeth, trying to ride out the wave of discomfort.

Severus grasped her arm firmly and dragged her out of the cupboard, his long strides propelling her down the short hallway. He unlocked a door with a swift motion and pulled her through a vast, dimly lit room, ignoring the plush couch and heading straight for a room on the far side. He pushed her through the door, and she stumbled into a spacious bathroom. 

"I'll fetch the burn salve," Severus said brusquely, already turning to leave. Samara shut the door behind him and hastily shed her dress and undergarments, wincing as the fabric scraped against her inflamed skin. "Mother of Hufflepuff, it burns like fire!" she exclaimed. 

She turned on the shower, letting the cold water cascade down her body, washing away the remaining beetle juice and providing some fleeting relief from the agony.

As she stepped out of the shower, Samara looked around for something to cover herself with, and her eyes landed on a black robe hung neatly near the mirror. She slipped it on, wrapping the soft fabric around her still-damp body, and emerged from the bathroom feeling slightly more composed. 

Severus ceased his pacing and looked up to find Samara standing before him, enveloped in his own black bathrobe. His eyes widened in surprise, and he felt a sudden jolt of discomfort. He should have waited in the living room, he chastised himself. He should have anticipated that she wouldn't have anything to wear after the shower. 

But now, seeing her wrapped in HIS robe, her milky white skin a stark contrast to the dark fabric, something long dormant within him stirred. A spark, a flicker, a flame - he didn't dare to identify it. He didn't want to acknowledge the feeling that had been dead and buried for so long.

"Here's the burn salve. I'll leave you to it," Severus said abruptly, his voice low and husky. "I'll wait in the lab."

As Severus hastily retreated to the lab, Samara remained oblivious to the turmoil she had unleashed. She focused on treating her burns, gently applying the soothing salve to her inflamed skin. The cool, creamy texture brought instant relief, and she sighed gratefully.

Meanwhile, in the lab, Severus struggled to compose himself. He busied his hands with cleaning the squash spilled, but his mind wandered back to the image of Samara in his bathrobe. He couldn't shake off the feeling that he'd just been punched in the gut. The memory of her skin, so soft and inviting, lingered, making his fingers tremble as he picked the glass shards.

As the minutes passed, Severus's control began to fray. He found himself wondering what it would be like to touch her skin, to feel her warmth beneath his fingertips. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he knew he needed to distract himself. He threw himself into his work, determined to banish the unwanted desires that threatened to consume him.

But the image of her clouded his thoughts, visions of her in his bathrobe, her skin glowing in the dim light. Exhausted and frustrated, he slammed his fist on the workbench, making the equipment rattle. "Enough!" he growled. 

Severus's mind recoiled in self-loathing as he paced the lab.  He couldn't believe he'd let his guard down like that. What kind of monster lusted after his own employee?

"How could I be so vile?" he muttered to himself, slamming his fist onto a nearby counter again.

Just then, the lab door opened, and Samara entered, looking radiant despite her burns. She smiled at him, oblivious to the turmoil inside him. "Professor Snape, thank you for the salve, it is working wonders."

She walked in wearing a simple dress having it fetched from an elf. "Is this salve one of your own recipes? The scent is unique and pleasant – I might have to persuade you to share it with me."

As she approached, her gaze swept the lab, taking in the spotless surfaces. "You've already cleaned up; I was just finishing the last bottle. I need to discard these ingredients" – she gestured to a crate – "and order the ones on this list." She handed him a parchment filled with scribbled notes.

"I'll escort you to the supplier's shop in Diagon Alley," Severus said, his tone crisp and professional. "I'll introduce you to the vendor, and you can familiarize yourself with their products and procedures."

He paused, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for an escape. "We'll depart for Diagon Alley shortly. I'll inform you of the exact date and time." She nodded and with that, Severus turned and swiftly exited the room. 

Chapter Text

Samara stood before the large mirror in her chambers, adjusting her outfit-a pristine white blouse paired with a midnight blue, two-layered skirt. She accessorized with gold jewelry, the elegance of her ensemble matching the importance of the occasion: the first staff meeting of the academic year. She hadn't met any of the other staff members yet, though she'd visited the staff room earlier that day, located around the corner on the third floor.

Azrael, her cat, rubbed against her legs, insisting on following. "Azrael, you can't come with me. You'll get lost," she said, filling his plate with food and giving him a final pet before leaving.

As she arrived at the staff room, she exhaled, attempting to push away her nerves. She had secured the position of deputy headmistress at a young age and worried whether the other staff would accept her.

"I suppose you are the new deputy headmistress?" a soft male voice said behind her. She turned to see a man with brown hair and robes, holding the hand of a small boy with electric blue hair.

"Uh... yes, I am," she replied.

"I'm Remus Lupin, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and head of Gryffindor House." He extended his hand.

Her eyes widened in recognition. "Remus? Remus Lupin? Oh my!" She clasped his hand tightly. "It's me, Samara-Samara Pritchett."

Remus's eyes lit up with recognition. "Merlin, it really is you! It's been so long."

She smiled warmly and hugged him. Back in school, they had been close friends and book buddies. After graduation, though, she had lost touch with everyone, including him.

"It's hard to believe," he said, still in shock. "You just disappeared."

"Yeah, a lot happened. By the way, who is this?" Samara asked, crouching down to meet the little boy.

"This is my son, Teddy."

"Your son? Oh, how lovely! Hello, young man. I'm Samara, but you can call me Sam. I love your hair."

Teddy smiled shyly, and his hair suddenly changed to match the clasp on her blouse. Samara blinked in surprise. Remus chuckled. "He's a metamorphmagus. Teddy, what did I tell you about changing in front of new people?"

"But she's beautiful, Daddy," Teddy said, leaning in to kiss Samara's cheek.

Samara's heart melted. "Aww, I already adore you." She ruffled his hair, feeling a pang as she thought of the children she longed for but couldn't have. She quickly pushed the thought aside, focusing on the present.

"It's really nice to have you here, Samara. We can catch up," Remus said, his tone warm and welcoming.

"Likewise, Remus." She smiled and touched his arm.

Just then, Severus Snape appeared around the corner, halting at the sight of Samara and Remus. His eyes narrowed as he watched their friendly interaction.

Hearing his footsteps, they turned and smiled at him. Remus's usual warm grin, which always irritated Snape, contrasted with Samara's softer, familiar smile that somehow calmed him. She looked... good. She always did, he admitted to himself.

His attention then shifted to Teddy, whose hair had turned a shiny gold. Over the past two years post-war, Snape had grown accustomed to more human interaction, and Remus's son was among those who seemed undeterred by his cold demeanor. The child treated him like any other adult, despite Snape's reputation.

"Sev! How are you?" Teddy ran up, shaking Snape's hand enthusiastically.

"I'm well. And you?" Snape replied, sighing.

"I'm wonderful! Do you like my hair? It matches that pretty lady's button." Teddy pointed to Samara's blouse. She and Snape exchanged a brief glance before he nodded.

"I see you've already become acquainted," Snape remarked.

"Well, Severus, you never mentioned it was Samara who got the post," Remus said cheerfully. "She studied with us, remember? She was excellent in Potions. We often shared classes, though you were mostly with Ravenclaws that year."

Snape merely stared at Remus throughout his explanation. "Very well. Shall we proceed with the meeting?"

Remus, understanding Snape's brevity, smiled and went inside. Samara felt slightly taken aback by Snape's indifference but followed him.

Inside the staff room, she was greeted by a mix of familiar and new faces. Tentatively, she followed Snape as Remus found a seat. Snape took the head chair, gesturing for Samara to sit next to him.

"Everyone, this is Samara Pritchett," he announced. "The new deputy headmistress, head of Hufflepuff House, and Potions Mistress."

She smiled as the staff greeted her warmly. "Pritchett? Were you the one who oversaw the Goodwin Competition?" Professor Flitwick asked kindly.

"Yes, that was me, Professor," she replied, grateful he remembered her.

"Aha! I never forget a student who leaves an impression. An excellent choice, Severus. She's perfect for the role," Flitwick said.

Samara blushed at the praise. Snape gestured for her to take a seat, and the meeting began. As the discussion unfolded, she observed attentively, taking notes in a small, enchanted notebook bound with circe tree bark. It was designed to be endless and to recall specific pages when needed.

After about an hour, the meeting concluded, and the staff dispersed. Remus approached her. "Fancy a cup of tea in my office? Let's rekindle our friendship."

"I would love to-"

"Not so fast, Lupin," Snape interrupted. "I need to discuss some matters with Professor Pritchett. Will you follow me to my office, Professor?"

"Certainly. Remus, perhaps another time." She hugged him before following Snape.

"Professor Pritchett," Snape began as they reached his office, "now that you're familiar with the general operations, let's discuss the Potions curriculum. You have complete autonomy over your classes."

"However, there are a few responsibilities you should be aware of," Snape began, his tone precise and authoritative. "You will be responsible for maintaining the supply of potions and remedies for the hospital wing, ensuring that all necessary brews, antidotes, and salves are replenished promptly. Additionally, you will oversee the inventory and restocking of ingredients needed for everyday class use. As I mentioned, I’ll accompany you to the vendor we use. Will today be acceptable?"

"Of course, Headmaster."

"Good," he continued. "As the deputy headmistress, you are also expected to collaborate with the other staff members to create and maintain the class schedules. You will manage the student lists for Hogsmeade trips and coordinate the planning of these outings, ensuring all necessary precautions are taken. Furthermore, any issues involving the teaching staff will be reported to you first. Only if you are unable to resolve them will they be brought to my attention. You must be vigilant and thorough in your duties."

"And as the head of Hufflepuff House, your responsibilities extend to overseeing the academic and behavioral progress of your students, providing mentorship and support when needed. You will organize house meetings, manage disciplinary matters, and maintain the safety and harmony of the Hufflepuff common room. House points fall under your authority, as does coordination with the other heads of houses during school events. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, Headmaster." Of course not. Samara was slightly panicking inside, hastily scribbling down notes on everything he said. Professor McGonagall had mentioned these responsibilities during her interview, so she had been prepared—at least in theory. But now, faced with the reality of carrying them out, it felt overwhelming.

"Professor..." Snape began, a note of hesitation in his voice. "I must also request that you oversee some legal matters involving the funding from the Ministry. Lupin will assist you, as you two appear to be well acquainted. This will include managing salaries, budgeting, and reporting to the council."

He continued, his expression growing graver. "Hogwarts has seen a decline in student enrollment over the past two years due to the war. There may be some scrutiny from the council, and it’s imperative we present evidence of improvement. We need to show them that the school is thriving and meeting its standards."

His voice dropped to a deep, almost ominous tone that sent a shiver down her spine. "Additionally, there may be students from families that still harbor loyalty to the Dark side. We must remain vigilant. Ensure any potential disruptions are dealt with discreetly. Avoid any unnecessary drama."

He straightened, his tone brisk once more. "We shall depart for Diagon Alley in thirty minutes."

Samara marveled at how swiftly he could change subjects, his demeanor shifting seamlessly. She made a mental note to catch up with Remus later; they had much to discuss.

"Also, will you stop calling me Headmaster," he added, his posture stiffening. "Professor Snape will suffice."

She nodded quietly, the hint of a smile barely reaching her lips, before turning to leave.

Chapter Text

Severus and Samara walked through Diagon Alley. Samara had changed into comfortable clothing for the shopping trip. Since it was summer, the streets were crowded with families and students getting ready for the new school year.

Severus navigated the crowd with swift, effortless strides, while Samara struggled to keep up, frequently getting caught in the throng as he moved ahead as smoothly as a vampire slipping through the night.

"Professor Snape, can we slow down, please? I'm out of breath," she called, panting as she tried to catch up. "It's been a long time since I walked through crowds like this."

If it had been anyone else, Severus would have responded with an acidic remark. But when he glanced back at her, genuinely out of breath, her chest rising and falling gracefully, he found himself momentarily speechless. He snapped his gaze away and waited for her to catch up before they resumed their walk.

He led her away from the crowded streets and toward Gringotts.

"Let's get you registered for the school's account." The procedure was long, and the goblin handling the transaction kept casting curious glances at Samara. 

There were numerous questions about her dual citizenship, and he seemed particularly interested in why she had left England. He justified his inquiry by claiming it was to ensure that she doesn't run off with the money.

Samara hesitated. "Uh, it was because of... personal reasons."

"We need details of said personal reasons," the goblin pressed. Samara clenched her fists, feeling the urge to punch the goblin in the face.

Severus, exasperated, noticed her discomfort. He could see her hesitancy and how uneasy she became when questioned. Something about the situation piqued his curiosity-he wanted to know what had happened. But one look at her face, blank yet filled with conflicting emotions, made him decide against pursuing it further.

"Listen here, she's a trusted member. If you could just add her to the registry, we'll be on our way. We have a lot of work to do." He snapped at the goblin.

The goblin begrudgingly finished the process and sent them on their way. "Thank you," Samara whispered softly, almost inaudibly but Severus heard it.

Their next stop was the potions shop. Severus led her down an abandoned cobblestone street. Samara paused, eyes widening. "Are we going to Knockturn Alley?" she asked, her voice tinged with panic.

"Yes."

"Why are we going there? It's not exactly safe."

"We're adults with wands, Professor Pritchett. There's no danger for us there. Our vendor operates his shop here, and therefore, we must go."

"Uhm... do you not have any other vendors, Professor? I don't fancy taking a walk here." She looked genuinely fearful, and Severus found it somewhat amusing.

"Professor Pritchett, please don't tell me you're afraid. You're an adult who knows how to wield her wand against any threat."

"Being an adult doesn't mean feeling safe in Knockturn Alley. The mere need for defense in a shopping area is, in itself, unnecessary." She shot back, unwilling to relive the memories she had from years ago.

"We can't proceed if you refuse to come. I need to introduce you to him so you can get the ingredients at the same price."

"Professor Snape, you don't understand. If I come this time, I'll have to come alone later whenever we need supplies. I can't do that. Please." She seemed desperate. "I can find a different vendor with good-quality supplies."

He sighed, sensing her genuine fear. "Fine, but I need to settle the tabs with him."

"I am not coming."

He stepped closer, towering over her. She had to crane her neck to look up at him, and she caught a faint, warm scent-coffee. "Professor Pritchett, don't act like a ten-year-old. We will walk into the shop, close the tabs, and then return to Hogwarts. Afterward, you can arrange your own suppliers." His breath brushed her face, and she felt a shiver. She bit her lip, shaking her head. "I'm still not coming."

He groaned, stepping back. "Fine, suit yourself. I'm going. I'll be back shortly."

"Wait, don't leave me here." She glanced around nervously as a few shady individuals passed by, eyeing her. But Severus kept walking, disappearing from sight. Panic set in, and she hurried to catch up, weaving through the crowd.

When she finally reached him, she grabbed his forearm, halting him in his tracks. He stared down at her hand as if it were an offense. "What. Are. You. Doing?"

"You left me all alone there. I told you I don't like this place. Take me along."

He detached her hand from his arm and continued walking. Samara stayed close, her eyes darting nervously around. Truth be told, Severus was also wary. Not everyone in Knockturn Alley was pleased about the Dark Lord's defeat, and some wouldn't be too thrilled to see him either.

He kept vigilant, scanning all the blind spots until they reached an old, weathered shop. Samara squinted to read the faded name: Corny's.

Inside, the shop was unexpectedly clean and organized. Severus engaged in conversation with the hunched man behind the counter, who couldn't seem to stop staring at Samara. 

She pulled her coat tighter around herself, trying to ignore his gaze. Just as Severus was about to close the tabs, she tugged at his sleeve again. He looked down at her, clearly irritated.

"I'm sorry, but... before you close the tabs... I don't think my vendor would be able to provide all the ingredients in such a short time. I think we should order from here, and maybe next time, we can get it from mine," she whispered.

Severus had to lean in to catch her words, and he caught the faint scent of her perfume-vanilla, pleasant and enticing. Her hand still gripped his sleeve. He gave her a look that clearly said, I told you so.

She bit her lip, looking up at him apologetically. His eyes flicked to her lips, an urge building within him to pull them away from the torment of her teeth. For a moment, he felt the pull, but then he snapped back to reality, locking his gaze onto her eyes.

"Sorry, I know I made such a fuss about coming here, but you can't blame me. This place..." She glanced outside and exhaled, then looked back at the vendor, whose eyes were now fixed on her chest. "Let's just get this over with and get out of here, please."

Sensing her discomfort, Severus quickly wrapped up their business and ensured the vendor was familiar with her as well. Samara stayed close to him the entire time, her body radiating warmth that he couldn't help but notice.

When they stepped out, Severus sensed something was off. Familiar faces lurked in the shadows-faces he hadn't seen when they first arrived. Someone must have alerted them to his presence. His grip tightened around his wand inside his robes, ready for any attack. He pulled Samara closer when he noticed the stares growing more intense. 

The sudden tug startled her, and she stumbled against him. "Just stay close," he muttered, their hands now entwined. Severus hadn't held anyone's hand in years. He cursed himself internally-he shouldn't have brought her.

"Oi, Snape! Is that your new whore?" a voice called out from the crowd.

"Just keep walking, Professor Pritchett," he instructed, feeling her grip tighten around his hand.

"How's life treating you, mate, after you killed our lord?" another sneered. Severus recognized that voice-Douglas. He'd be more than willing to inform Shacklebolt about his whereabouts.

"Can't you see, he's doing well!" a different voice added. "Headmaster now, and he's got himself a pretty thing too. Too beautiful for you, hook-nose. Care to share her with us?"

Severus clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to lash out. He didn't want to start a duel, not with Samara there. Suddenly, a curse shot through the air, and he deflected it just in time. Quickly, he sent a Patronus to the Ministry.

"Hah! Look at him, sending animals flying. That's not going to help you, traitor!"

"You betrayed the Dark Lord!" Douglas yelled. Severus knew the Aurors would arrive any second. As Douglas raised his wand to fire another curse, a group of Aurors finally apparated, led by Tonks.

"Leave now, Severus. We'll handle it," she instructed.

But just as they were about to Disapparate, a stray curse from Douglas hit them.

They landed in Hogsmeade, Severus landing gracefully while Samara fell to the ground. He immediately dropped to his knees, checking her for injuries. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

She stood up slowly, brushing herself off. "Does that always happen when you step out?" she asked gently.

He met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "Most of the time. Let's take the Floo from Hog's Head."

She nodded as they began to walk. After a moment, she hesitated before speaking again. "Are you okay, Professor Snape?"

Her voice held genuine concern, catching him off guard. Why would she worry about him? He was the one who had put her in danger.

It had been years since anyone had genuinely asked if he was okay; most interactions with him were orders, criticisms, or empty words of concern after the war, spoken more out of guilt than true care. 

But hearing it now from her, so soft and earnest, stirred something unfamiliar within him-a warmth he wasn't prepared for. "I'm fine, Professor Pritchett. It's nothing new," he replied curtly, his tone masking the flicker of emotion beneath. He tried to brush it off, but her concern lingered in his mind longer than he expected.

They walked in silence for a few moments, the only sounds being their footsteps on the cobblestone and the distant chatter of Hogsmeade villagers. Samara glanced at him. "You say it's nothing new, but no one should have to live like that. You shouldn't have to live like that."

Severus raised an eyebrow, his usual defensive walls going up. "And what do you propose, Professor Pritchett? That I hide away like a frightened child?" His tone was sharper than he intended.

She stopped walking, her eyes flashing. "No, that's not what I meant. I just-" She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I just think you deserve a chance to move on from everything that happened. You fought, you survived, and you saved countless lives. Why should you be punished for that?"

He stared at her, emotions he rarely allowed himself to feel flickering through his eyes-surprise, gratitude, and a hint of something else he couldn't quite name. "It's not that simple," he said, his voice lower now, almost vulnerable. "People remember what they want to remember. And for most, I will always be the man who served both sides."

Samara's gaze softened. "It doesn't have to stay that way, though. You have allies, people who know the truth."

"I appreciate your... concern," he said, his tone harsh. "But this is not your worry. "

She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, they reached the entrance to the Hog's Head. Severus pushed the door open, guiding her inside the dimly lit pub. Aberforth Dumbledore nodded to them as they entered, recognizing Severus immediately.

"Ah, Snape. Back again, I see," Aberforth greeted, his eyes drifting curiously to Samara. "And who's this?"

"This is Professor Pritchett, our new deputy headmistress," Severus replied as they made their way to the fireplace.

Aberforth raised an eyebrow. "Pleased to meet you, Professor Pritchett. Seems Hogwarts is getting a fresh start."

Samara offered a polite smile. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you too."

Severus retrieved a pouch of Floo powder, tossing it into the fireplace. The flames roared green, and he gestured for her to go first. "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office," he instructed.

She hesitated for a moment, giving him a look,"See you on the other side, Professor Snape."

As she disappeared into the flames, Severus watched the spot where she had stood. Something about her was different-something that unsettled and intrigued him. Taking a breath, he followed her into the Floo, emerging in his office.

Samara was dusting off the soot when he arrived, her movements graceful as the sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating her brown hair and turning it into a cascade of gold. 

For a moment, Severus found himself captivated, his eyes tracing the way the light danced on her skin and the natural warmth of her smile. 

It was a softness he rarely saw, and it drew him in, making him forget himself. But the moment was brief-he quickly turned away, his expression tightening as he forced his gaze elsewhere, reminding himself of their duties. 

"I'll leave you to your preparations. We have much work ahead, Professor Pritchett," he said, his tone carefully neutral as he attempted to mask the effect her presence had on him.

She nodded, "I understand Professor Snape. "

When she left, Severus banged his hand down hard on the table, the impact shattering the glass coating. Sharp pain shot through his palm as blood trickled down his fingers, but he barely noticed, lost in the turmoil of his thoughts. "Dammit, what am I doing?" he hissed, feeling the anger and frustration coil within him. 

"It's just because she's new-because I haven't seen anyone my age who's so... pretty." He shook his head, trying to shake off the image of her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke. "I've had nothing to focus on since the war, and now this." He glanced down at his bleeding hand, gritting his teeth. "I need to get my head out of this... shit."

Chapter Text

Chapter - 17

Samara walked down to Remus' quarters, accepting his invitation for a cup of tea and some catching up. When she knocked, the door opened to reveal a young woman with short pink pixie hair. 

"Oh, please come in, Deputy Headmistress," she greeted warmly.

"Hi, please call me Samara," she replied as she stepped inside.

"Then you must call me Tonks, Remus' wife," the woman said with a grin.

"Oh, nice to meet you!" Samara responded, taken aback by her youthful appearance. She hadn’t expected Remus’ wife to be so young. She wondered why Remus had married someone so much younger than himself—though she wasn’t one to judge. She pushed the thought aside, deciding it wasn’t her place.

Just then, Remus stepped into the room with a welcoming smile. "Ah, Samara, it’s so good to have you here. I see you’ve met my wife, Nymphadora."

"Remus! You didn’t have to—" Tonks gave Remus a playful glare.

"I'm sorry, my wife doesn’t like being called by her first name," Remus chuckled.

"Yeah, well, who names their kid Nymphadora, anyway?" Tonks grumbled, but her eyes sparkled with humor, and the three of them shared a laugh.

From the bedroom, a small voice called out, "Daddy, has the pretty lady come? You said she’d come soon, right?"

"Well, Teddy, if you’re done picking out your clothes, you can come say hello—Samara’s already here.”

A few moments later, the boy shyly peeked out from the doorway. "Hi, ma'am," he greeted softly.

Samara’s face lit up. “Hi, Teddy! I brought you something.” She handed him a bag of chocolates, and his eyes sparkled with excitement. “Will you play with me, ma’am?”

“Of course, darling. And you can call me Sam, okay?” Overcome with how adorable he was, she pulled him into a gentle hug.

Tonks smirked. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves another babysitter, Remus.”

“Dora, I don’t think—" Remus began, but Samara quickly chimed in.

“Oh, I’d love to look after him anytime you need. I babysit my neighbors’ kids all the time. Don’t worry about it, Tonks,” 

“Samara, you don’t have to. He can be quite the handful at times, and I don’t want to burden you,” Remus said, though his voice was filled with warmth.

“Remus, we’re here to rekindle our friendship, right? I think that includes helping with your family too,” Samara said, smiling. “Besides, I can’t believe you, of all people, have such a well-behaved child when I remember all the mischief you got up to.”

A new voice echoed from another room. "Oh, it’s the opposite, dear. My daughter is the naughty one—Remus is the disciplined one." A woman emerged carrying a tray of baked goods.

"Nana!" Teddy squealed with joy, running to hug her. Samara noticed that the woman didn’t look very old; if anything, she seemed only a few years older than herself.

"Mom, we weren’t expecting you. Thanks for dropping by." Tonks smiled warmly. "Samara, this is my Mother and Mom this Samara the new deputy headmistress."

"I just thought I’d bring over some biscuits and cauldron cakes I baked. Hello, dear—I'm Andromeda, Dora's mother."

Samara smiled as she watched Andromeda play with Teddy. She leaned over to Remus and whispered, "Andromeda as in Andromeda Black?”

Remus nodded. "Yes, although now she goes by Andromeda Tonks."

"Tonks? I don’t recall any wizarding family with that name."

"Dora'd father is a Muggle-born," Remus explained.

Samara’s gasp was so loud that everyone in the room turned to look at her. She immediately flushed red with embarrassment as Remus chuckled.

"Sorry, ladies," Remus said, "Samara and I have an old habit of gossiping about wizarding families, and she was just... surprised—shocked, really—that Andromeda married a Muggle-born."

"Remus! No, I didn’t mean to— I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any offense. I’m not a blood supremacist; I’m a half-blood myself—my mum’s a Muggle. I was just surprised—”

The room erupted in laughter. Andromeda patted Samara’s arm gently. “Relax, dear. The entire wizarding world was just as shocked when I eloped with Ted. And I’m glad I did.” Her voice grew wistful, her eyes distant for a moment. “I only wish my sisters had chosen differently too. But, let’s not dwell on that. Now, where are those cookies?”

Samara, still recovering from her initial embarrassment, leaned back into Remus. “I think you have a lot to fill me in on.”

Remus grinned, mischief in his eyes. “Oh, darling, I have plenty of tea to spill.”

As the tea kettle whistled, they all settled into the cozy sitting area of Remus' quarters. The room was filled with the warm scent of freshly baked cauldron cakes and cookies that Andromeda had brought. 

Teddy immediately tugged at Samara's hand, pulling her down to the floor where a collection of toy broomsticks and enchanted figurines lay scattered. "Sam, can you fly the dragon for me?" he asked, holding up a tiny, wriggling dragon figure that let out puffs of harmless smoke.

"Of course, Teddy," she replied, grinning. She flicked her wand and the miniature dragon soared into the air, much to Teddy’s delight. He laughed as it swooped and dived, and she watched him with fondness, enchanted by his joy. Every now and then, she cast playful charms to make the figurines duel or transform into different animals, keeping Teddy engaged and laughing.

Every so often, Teddy would change his hair color, matching Samara’s or trying to mimic his father's. Samara couldn't help but laugh, her genuine joy filling the room.

Meanwhile, Remus and Tonks sat across from her, Andromeda sipping tea nearby. Remus began filling Samara in on the history she had missed. “You remember Frank and Alice Longbottom, don’t you? Brilliant Aurors. They were close friends of ours during the first war.” His voice softened. “They put up such a fight against the Death Eaters but… well, they were tortured into insanity. Their son, Neville, is around Harry’s age.

"Most of our classmates have passed away, many missing."Samara nodded, feeling the weight of their stories.

Remus's voice softened as he continued, "And then, of course, there were James and Lily." He spoke of their courage and their ultimate sacrifice for Harry. "James was always so reckless, and Lily... she had a kind heart. Their deaths were such a heavy blow. And... well, Peter’s betrayal." His voice darkened, and Samara felt a pang of discomfort. She had never liked James or Lily, finding their personalities difficult to align with her own.

“They were always so... idealized,” she said carefully. “I know they were good people, but we never really saw eye to eye.

Remus noticed her discomfort but continued gently, “They were well-loved, especially by those who fought alongside them. It’s hard to lose friends like that.”

Samara nodded but shifted in her seat, clearly not wanting to dwell on the Potters.

Remus seemed to sense her unease and steered the conversation away from Sirius, a name they both knew would bring unwanted memories.

Tonks, looking curious, interjected, “It’s so strange, Remus, you’ve never mentioned Samara before.”

Remus smiled warmly. “Samara and I were more like book buddies. She was always the one to help me with potions when I struggled, which was often. And, she was the only one outside of my old group who knew about my condition—about me being a werewolf.” He shot Samara a grateful look. “She never treated me differently.”

Samara offered a small smile. “Well, it was the least I could do. We all have our own struggles, right?”

The conversation shifted back to old times, and Remus continued, “Slughorn decided to step down after the first wat. He’d had enough excitement for a lifetime,” Remus explained.

“So, Professor Snape became the Potions Master?” Samara asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. “That must have been a huge responsibility at such a young age.”

Tonks laughed. “Oh, he was the nastiest professor we ever had. But honestly, I kind of liked it. His snarky comments pushed everyone to perform better. We were all too scared to mess up!”

Samara and Remus chuckled, and Andromeda joined in. “Oh, I remember one afternoon when I received a furious letter from Professor Snape,” she said, smiling fondly. “Apparently, Nymphadora had morphed into his likeness and paraded around the classroom, mimicking him. He was livid.”

Tonks grinned. “Mum got so many letters from him. I was a troublemaker, but he made it fun. Even his scoldings had a kind of charm.”

Samara laughed, picturing a younger Tonks causing chaos. The conversation then shifted as Remus filled her in about the Order of the Phoenix and the two wars. “We formed the Order during the First War, with people like Frank and Alice Longbottom, James, Lily, and—” he paused, skipping over the name he knew she’d prefer not to hear. “—others. We did our best to fight Voldemort.”

“The Second War was even tougher, especially for Harry. But he had help from his friends, Ron and Hermione. They’ve been through so much together—they really are like family now.”

“But it’s all worked out,” Remus said, “Harry’s grown into a fine young man, and with Ron and Hermione, they’ve built something special—a family of their own. And then there are the Weasleys.”

Tonks nodded enthusiastically. “You’ll love the Weasleys, Samara. They’re warm, welcoming, and honestly, they’re a bit of a mad lot, but in the best way.”

Remus laughed. “Arthur and Molly Weasley have seven kids—Ron is one of them. And trust me, you’ll love Molly’s cooking. She’s the heart of their family.”

As they spoke, Samara glanced back at Teddy, who was now climbing onto her lap, grinning. She tickled him, and he squealed with laughter. 

As the afternoon wore on, the lively chatter between Remus and Samara filled the room. They were deep in conversation, sharing stories from their school days and recalling events that only the two of them seemed to remember. The way they animatedly discussed the old days made it seem as if no time had passed between them.

Tonks, observing the scene, leaned into her mother. “Do you think they’ll ever run out of stories?” she whispered, amusement evident in her voice.

Andromeda chuckled softly. “I think they were very close back then, and Remus is the only connection she has to those memories now. She probably cherishes that. Don’t worry, she’s not a threat to you, Nymphadora.”

Tonks rolled her eyes at the use of her full name but smiled. “Oh, that’s not it, Mum. Samara seems really sweet. Just look at Teddy—he’s smitten with her already.”

Andromeda watched as Teddy tugged at Samara’s sleeve, asking her to read him a story from one of his favorite books. Samara obliged immediately, settling him into her lap and reading with such enthusiasm that Teddy’s eyes sparkled.

“Hmmm,” Andromeda mused, “she has a natural motherly instinct, doesn’t she? She’s wonderful with Teddy.”

Tonks smiled softly. “Yeah, she is. It’s nice to see her bond with Teddy. I think she’s a good influence, and Remus seems happy to have her around again.”

Andromeda nodded. “It’s good for him to have an old friend. He’s had a rough time, and reconnecting with someone who knew him before the wars... it’s probably healing for him.”

They both watched as Samara continued to play with Teddy, her laughter filling the room as she made funny voices for the characters in the story. Remus watched them fondly. 

By the time the sun began to set, Teddy had fallen asleep with his head on Samara’s lap, exhausted from all the playing. Andromeda began to collect her things to leave.

Samara gently cradled Teddy as she handed him over to Tonks, who whispered a soft “Thank you” to her.

“It’s my pleasure. Any time you need a hand, I’m just a floo call away,” Samara replied warmly.

As Samara prepared to leave, Remus escorted her to the door. “You know, it felt just like old times today. Thank you, Sam.

She smiled. “It was wonderful. And it’s good to see you so happy, Remus. You’ve got a lovely family.”

"What about you Samara, you just disappeared out of our lives." 

Samara smiled sadly, "That's a story for another day Remus." She hugged him tight before leaving.

As she made her way back to her chambers, Samara’s eyes began to fill with tears. She paused in the hallway, her heart heavy with reflection. If only she could turn back time and change what had happened, she thought. If she had chosen to stay with these lovely people instead of retreating into the shadows, perhaps her life would have been different. 

Perhaps all the pain she had endured could have been avoided, and she might have found a place among them—a life filled with love, laughter, and warmth.

Chapter Text

Samara had coordinated with all the teachers and arranged the new schedule. All preparations for the upcoming term were complete, except for a few missing potion ingredients. She had received all the parcels from Corny's and was meticulously organizing them according to each class’s needs.

Noticing the missing items, she sighed, dreading another trip to that dreadful place. She decided to consult the headmaster instead. Climbing up to his office, she knocked on the door and waited.

After a few moments, the door opened, revealing Severus Snape standing by his desk, his expression impassive.

“Good afternoon, Headma—ah, Professor Snape,” she corrected herself, catching his pointed stare. “We received the package from Corny’s for the potion ingredients, but some items are missing. I really don’t fancy another trip there, and I... well, I’d rather you didn’t go either.” His eyebrow arched slightly at her last comment.

She hesitated, her voice softening. “I don’t want you to walk into any unnecessary danger…” She paused, then added tentatively, “Perhaps we could place an owl order instead?”

“You doubt my ability to defend myself against a few stray spells, Professor Pritchett?” he questioned, his tone cold.

“Of course not, Professor. I know you’re more than capable—an exceptional duelist, in fact. I was truly impressed the other day when you deflected that hex that awful man threw at us. I didn’t even see it coming, but you just flicked it away like it was nothing.” Her face lit up with genuine admiration.

Severus frowned, perplexed by her excitement. She’s acting as if she had witnessed magic for the first time.

“Well, anyway, about the missing items...” She handed him a list of supplies she knew he’d recognize. He noted her attention to detail; she was just as organized as he was, perhaps even more so—a quality he appreciated, especially after dealing with Slughorn’s chaotic approach.

“These ingredients are usually collected from the Forbidden Forest.”

“Oh! Will Hagrid collect them for us?” she asked.

He folded the list and handed it back. “We’ll need to collect them ourselves. I’ll accompany you on the first few trips to show you the spots. After that, you can manage on your own.”

Samara stared at him, holding back a groan. Why does he have to make everything so difficult? She crossed her arms, thinking, Next year, I’ll order from my own vendor.

“Oh, all right. Are we going now?” Samara asked, glancing at the list in her hand.

“If you wish.” Severus responded coolly, his eyes not meeting hers as he continued tidying his desk, methodically separating stacks of parchment.

“Well, I’ve finished all my tasks for the day.”

“Very well,” he said, his tone still clipped. “Fetch your dragon-hide gloves and meet me at the entrance of the Great Hall in ten minutes.”

Samara nodded, but she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of dread. The idea of venturing into the Forbidden Forest was far from appealing, even with his company. Still, she didn’t want to appear hesitant. “Understood, Professor.”

He finally looked up, eyes narrowing. “And, Professor Pritchett—do try not to dawdle. The forest is unforgiving, and I’ve no interest in rescuing you from any... unfortunate encounters.” His voice carried that familiar mixture of disdain and warning.

Samara swallowed, giving a curt nod before leaving his office. As she walked back to her quarters to collect her gloves, she muttered under her breath, “Honestly, why does he have to make things sound like a life-or-death situation?”

A few minutes later, she was waiting at the entrance of the Great Hall, pulling on her gloves and adjusting her cloak. Severus approached, his robes billowing as he walked, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Ready?” he asked, his eyes scanning her attire with a critical glance. “I hope you’ve prepared adequately. This isn’t a stroll through the greenhouse.”

Samara looked at her dress robes. “I’m ready, Professor.”

“Good. Keep close, and if you hear or see anything suspicious, refrain from playing the hero. I have no patience for theatrics.” With that, he turned sharply, leading the way out of the castle and into the grounds.

They walked in silence for a while, the looming trees of the Forbidden Forest coming into view. Samara shivered slightly, her nerves tingling as they approached the canopy. “Do you come here often, Professor?” she asked, trying to mask her anxiety with casual conversation.

“More often than I’d like, Professor Pritchett,” he replied curtly, his eyes fixed ahead. “This forest holds a variety of useful ingredients, though most prefer not to deal with its inhabitants. Fortunately, I am not most.”

She bit her lip, wanting to ask what he meant, but decided against it. As they crossed the threshold into the forest, the shadows deepened, and the air grew colder. Samara kept her pace steady beside him, resisting the urge to reach for her wand. She knew Snape would likely scoff if she showed any hint of fear.

“Stay alert,” he murmured, his eyes scanning the forest floor. “The aconite grows in clusters near the base of that ridge. Gather only the flowers—leaves are useless at this stage.”

She crouched down, mimicking his movements as she carefully picked the delicate blooms, their faint purple hue standing out against the dark earth. She noticed how effortlessly he moved, his focus unwavering.

“Like this?” she asked, holding up her collection.

He gave a slight nod of approval. “Adequate. Now, for the devil’s snare—mind your footing. It’s particularly aggressive this time of year.”

She resisted the urge to tell him that she knew how to harvest most of these, but shut her mouth instead. Despite his cold demeanor, she appreciated his expertise.

As they ventured deeper into the forest, the castle's view faded, the glow of sunlight filtering through the dense canopy above. The air felt colder, and every rustle of leaves seemed amplified in the silence. Samara tried to focus on her task, but the ominous atmosphere made her uneasy.

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the undergrowth to their right. Samara froze, her heart leaping to her throat. “Professor... did you hear that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

His eyes narrowed as he held up a hand for silence, his entire body tense and alert. “Stay behind me,” he instructed in a low, commanding tone, his wand already in his hand.

The noise grew louder, and Samara, unable to help herself, gripped his arm tightly. He stiffened at the contact, his gaze darting briefly to her hand. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of shaking her off, but when he looked at her face, pale and wide-eyed with fear, he hesitated. Her grip was firm but trembling. She was genuinely frightened.

He allowed her to hold onto him, turning his focus back to the source of the sound. “Stay close. No sudden movements,” he instructed, his voice softer, though still edged with caution.

As they moved forward, the shadows seemed to shift around them. Samara held her breath, clinging to him as they advanced. The noise stopped, and a few tense seconds passed before a creature stepped out from behind a cluster of ferns.

Samara gasped, her eyes widening. A unicorn foal, its coat shimmering silver in the moonlight, emerged, blinking curiously at them. It tilted its head, its soft eyes locking onto Samara’s.

Severus lowered his wand, exhaling sharply. “It’s harmless,” he muttered, but Samara had already released his arm, her fear melting into wonder.

“It’s beautiful!” she whispered, her face lighting up as she knelt down slowly, reaching out a hand toward the foal. The creature watched her cautiously, then stepped forward, nuzzling her palm with its delicate nose.

Severus watched, his expression unreadable. He had seen unicorns before, but the way Samara’s eyes sparkled, her entire demeanor shifting from terror to joy in an instant, was oddly fascinating. It was as if the sight of the creature had transported her into another world, one where fear and danger no longer existed.

She turned to him, her face radiant. “Professor, look at it! It’s so gentle!” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “I’ve read about unicorn foals, but I’ve never seen one up close.”

His gaze lingered on her longer than he intended, a flicker of something he couldn’t quite place crossing his mind. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and for a brief moment, he almost forgot the forest surrounding them.

“Quite fortunate for you, then,” he replied, his voice softer than usual, though he quickly straightened, clearing his throat. “But remember, this is still the Forbidden Forest. Unicorn or not, danger remains.”

Samara nodded, still beaming as she watched the foal trot back into the shadows. “I know, Professor. But thank you... for staying with me. And for not pulling away.” She offered a small smile, the fear she felt moments ago now completely gone.

“Let’s not make a habit of clinging to me, Professor Pritchett. Now, if you’re quite done, we have more ingredients to collect.”

She bit back a smile as she stood. “Of course, Professor. Lead the way.”

Samara couldn’t help but feel a little more at ease. For all his coldness, perhaps he wasn’t as unreachable as she thought.

Throughout the walk, Samara observed how efficient and precise Severus was in his movements and the way he collected ingredients. She found herself impressed by his expertise; the respect she had for him was steadily growing. She appreciated the way he ensured her safety, keeping a vigilant eye on their surroundings.

As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, they reached a small clearing. Samara’s breath caught as she saw what lay before them. “Are these…?”

Snape turned, catching the look of wonder on her face. Her eyes were wide, and her expression was filled with pure joy and amazement. He glanced back at the expanse of glowing, orange blossoms spread across the ground, their petals shimmering like embers. “Yes, they are Ignis Flos. A rare and endangered species.”

“I’ve only read about them,” Samara whispered, crouching down to examine the flowers more closely. “They’re almost extinct... their properties are extraordinary.”

The orange glow from the flowers bathed her face in a warm light, highlighting her fascination. He watched as she delicately reached out, her fingers hovering just above the petals, careful not to touch them. “The centaurs guard this patch,” he informed her. “It’s one of the few remaining places they still grow freely. We will need their permission to collect any samples.”

Samara looked up at him, excitement still lighting her eyes. “We can really ask them for permission? And if they agree, we’ll be able to use these for our potions?”

Snape gave a slight nod. “Indeed. Though the centaurs are not known for their generosity, they have an understanding with the school. If we are respectful of their territory, they may allow it.” He paused, watching her enthusiasm. “However, do not expect them to be swayed by mere curiosity.”

She stood, brushing her hands against her robes. “I understand, Professor.” Then, with a bright smile, she added, “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He inclined his head, but there was a trace of a smirk on his lips. “I doubt this expedition was meant to be a sightseeing tour, Professor Pritchett.”

“I know,” she replied, her smile widening. “But it’s still incredible to see something like this. Thank you.”

Snape watched her for a moment, his eyes lingering on the way the orange glow danced across her features. There was something about her unguarded enthusiasm that stirred an odd feeling in him—one he quickly dismissed. “If you’re done marveling, we should move on. We still have several more ingredients to gather before nightfall.”

As they walked, Severus couldn't help but glance back at her, a faint curiosity lingering in his eyes. Her admiration for the plants—and for him—was evident. Perhaps, for the first time, he found himself not entirely indifferent to someone’s company.

They reached a small pond hidden within the depths of the forest, its surface shimmering under the evening light. The water was so clear that Samara could see the stones and plants beneath. “I didn’t know there was a pond in the forest. I’ve never been this deep into it,” Samara remarked, her eyes scanning the tranquil scene.

“We are at the heart of the forest, its very center,” he explained. “This is a shallow pond—only deep enough to reach your knees. Here, we harvest Aqua Serpentina, the water plant used in calming draughts, and Glacies Minnow, a small, magical fish that possesses frost-resistant scales useful in preserving potions.”

Samara watched as he stepped into the pond and waded through the water. She followed, feeling the cool water seep into her robes. As she moved deeper, she realized it was much higher than expected. “You said only knees, Professor Snape. I’m soaked up to my upper thighs.”

Snape glanced over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “Well, it’s hardly my fault that you’re short, Professor Pritchett.”

Samara huffed, pouting slightly. “I’m not short.” Her pout deepened as she wrung out her robes. She didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered for a moment, an unspoken envy in his eyes. Her ability to express herself so openly, without reservation, was something he could never afford.

“Let’s make this quick,” he instructed. “The Aqua Serpentina grows in clusters near the rocks. Be mindful of the minnows—they’re fast and can be elusive.”

They waded through the water, collecting the delicate green strands of Aqua Serpentina, its leaves curling around their fingers as they gently pulled it from the pond bed.

Samara noticed his deft movements, his hands working with practiced ease. She did her best to mimic his technique, though her robes made it difficult.

Catching the Glacies Minnow, however, proved more challenging. The small fish darted through the water, slipping through their fingers each time they attempted to grasp it. After several attempts, Samara finally managed to trap one, its silvery scales glinting in the light. She held it up triumphantly. “Got one!”

Severus gave a brief nod of approval. “Well done, Professor. Now, let’s return before the sun sets completely. The forest can become far less welcoming after dark.”

They made their way back through the trees, their path lit by the last rays of sunlight filtering through the canopy. Samara felt a sense of accomplishment, despite her soaked robes and tired legs. “I’ve learned so much today,” she admitted as they walked. “I didn’t know we had such rare ingredients so close by.”

Severus glanced at her, his expression softened just slightly. “The forest holds many secrets, Professor Pritchett. Most are content to remain ignorant of them.”

Samara smiled, “Well, I’m glad I had you as my guide, Professor.”

At one point, the weight of her wet robes made it difficult for Samara to keep pace. She stumbled, cursing herself for forgetting she could have dried them with a simple spell. How foolish of her. But before she could act on that thought, a sharp, pricking pain shot through her calf. “Ah!”

Severus turned sharply, his expression serious. “What is it?”

“I don’t know—there’s this sharp pain, and it’s getting worse. Ah!” She cried out, clutching her leg.

His eyes narrowed, and he quickly guided her to sit on a nearby log. His expression turned grim, his suspicions taking shape. Without hesitation, he lifted the hem of her robes to inspect her calf.

Sure enough, clinging to her skin was a small, grotesque creature with translucent, veined wings and sharp pincers burrowed into her flesh. “It’s a Sanguis Nymph, a bloodsucking creature that attaches itself to hosts and feeds slowly.”

“Stay still,” Snape instructed, his tone calm and authoritative. “This will only take a moment.” He reached into his robes, producing a small, silver knife. “I need to cut through the attachment it’s formed with your skin. You won’t feel anything beyond a slight sting.”

Samara nodded, biting her lip as she watched. His hand was steady as he carefully sliced through the thin, membranous connection between the creature and her skin. Once severed, he pulled the creature away, dropping it into a small glass jar he had conjured.

“What are you going to do with it?” she asked, watching as he sealed the jar. The pain in her calf had already started to subside, but a red patch remained, small pores visible where the nymph had latched on.

“I’ve been trying to capture one of these for some time. They’re usually quite elusive, living in the shallows of the pond among the fish. They only attack when they sense a distracted host.” He held up the jar, examining the squirming creature inside before tucking it safely into his robes.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a bottle of dittany and carefully applied a few drops to the wound. The skin hissed slightly as the potion worked its magic, healing the tiny punctures and leaving only a faint mark.

“It’s never happened to me before,” he continued, looking up at her. “It might be because you were wearing a dress. These creatures are drawn to exposed skin.”

As he said this, both of them seemed to realize at the same moment that her dress had ridden up, exposing her creamy white legs well above her knees.

Severus’s eyes flickered downward, taking in the sight for a brief, lingering moment before he caught himself. He quickly looked away, clearing his throat and rising to his feet.

Samara’s cheeks flushed as she adjusted her robes, feeling the heat of embarrassment. She stood up, trying to brush off the moment. “I’ll make sure to wear trousers next time,” she muttered.

He gave a curt nod. “A wise decision.” He stood, offering her a hand. “Can you walk?”

"Yes, thank you, Professor. I appreciate your help.”

Severus felt a sudden warmth rise in his chest and forced himself to focus on the forest path ahead. It was just like the other day in his chambers when he had seen her wearing his black robes. He had felt that same rush, and now he pushed down all those feelings again, burying them beneath his usual cold demeanor.

“Let’s keep moving. We should return to the castle before anything else decides to take interest in us.” he said, his voice steady but with an edge of tension. “We have everything we need.”

Samara nodded, grateful for the shift back to practical matters, even as her heart pounded a little faster. “Of course, Professor.”

Samara felt the heat rising in her cheeks, her skin tingling from both the embarrassment and the lingering memory of his gaze. He had definitely looked at her legs longer than necessary, and she couldn’t deny the flutter it sent through her.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t find him attractive. There was something captivating about his demeanor—the sharpness of his tongue, his precise movements, and the way he carried himself. Despite his cold exterior, he was always a gentleman, even if his words sometimes stung.

Over the past few days, she had noticed these small gestures and had grown to appreciate his mannerisms and the way he handled tasks with such skill and efficiency. She respected his expertise and found herself wanting to learn more from him.

The trip, despite its moments of awkwardness and discomfort, had proven valuable. It made her realize she wanted more than just passing conversations; she wanted to engage with him on a deeper, academic level. She wasn't one to shy away from an opportunity.

“Professor Snape, wait,” she said, stopping in her tracks. He turned, raising a brow as he regarded her.

She hesitated for a moment before gathering her courage. “I’d like to have more discussions like this—knowledgeable ones. You’ve been incredibly helpful, and I’d appreciate the chance to learn more from you.”

His expression remained guarded, though his eyes flickered with a hint of interest. “I will think about it, Professor Pritchett,” he replied, his tone as measured as ever. “But don’t expect me to tolerate idle chatter.”

A small smile tugged at Samara’s lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied, feeling a spark of determination. This was a start—one she intended to make the most of.

Chapter Text

Samara was informed that her former Head of House, Professor Sprout, had returned to Hogwarts, and she was brimming with excitement to see her old mentor again. Samara had always adored Professor Sprout, an energetic, nurturing teacher who cared deeply for her Hufflepuffs and was known for her unwavering support and guidance. 

She dressed with care, donning a flowing green skirt paired with an off-shoulder white blouse that rested just below her bosom. Over it, she wore a brown leather corset with intricate lace openings that revealed a teasing glimpse of her skin. The outfit was bold, but she thought it suitable for meeting a trusted female colleague. 

Pausing for a moment, Samara’s fingers brushed over the scar on her hip. It felt out of place against the smoothness of her surrounding skin, and she frowned at the thought.

Shaking her head, she forced herself to focus on the present. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror and adjusted her corset. She knew she looked pretty, even if the ensemble was more revealing than her usual attire. 

She carried a basket filled with thoughtfully chosen gifts for Professor Sprout: freshly baked cookies from that morning, rare herbs she had cultivated in Salem, and a delicate brooch she had purchased especially for her mentor. 

The greenhouse smelled of fresh earth and blooming flowers, a scent that instantly put Samara at ease. Her old Head of House was standing by a desk cluttered with parchment and plant cuttings, arranging the sheets with care.

"Professor Sprout?" Samara called softly, stepping into the greenhouse.

Pomona Sprout turned with a warm smile, her cheeks rosy as they had always been, though her hair now held streaks of silver. "Samara Pritchett!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "Oh, my dear girl, look at you!"

Samara couldn't help but beam. "Professor, it's so good to see you. You haven’t changed a bit!"

Pomona chuckled, brushing a bit of dirt off her hands. "And you, my dear, look positively radiant. Come here and let me have a good look at you."

Samara approached, feeling both proud and bashful under her former professor’s admiring gaze. Pomona's sharp eyes took in her outfit, the fitted corset emphasizing her figure, the skirt flowing gracefully, and the confident sway in her steps.

"My word, Samara," Pomona said with a teasing grin, "you’ve blossomed into quite the beauty. That outfit—goodness me! Perfect hips, full breasts—any man would be tripping over his own feet to get to you."

Samara blushed furiously, her hands instinctively clutching the basket she carried. "Professor!" she exclaimed, half-laughing, half-horrified. "You can't just say things like that!"

Pomona laughed, the sound rich and infectious. "Oh, come now, Samara. You’re not in school anymore. You can’t tell me you don’t know how stunning you are."

Samara shook her head, her cheeks burning. "I don’t really think about it like that," she admitted. "But... thank you. Coming from you, it means a lot."

"Well, it’s true," Pomona said matter-of-factly, leading her to a small table surrounded by potted plants. "Sit down, sit down. And let’s have a proper chat."

Samara set the basket down on the table, revealing its contents. "I brought you something. Some cookies I baked this morning, rare herbs from Salem, and this brooch I thought you might like."

Pomona's eyes sparkled as she looked through the gifts. "Oh, Samara, you’ve outdone yourself! These herbs—my goodness, they’ll be perfect for some of the hybrids I’m working on. And this brooch—how lovely! You’ve always had an eye for beautiful things."

“I hope you like the cookies too,” Samara added shyly. “They’re my grandmother’s recipe.”

They sat down together, nibbling on the cookies as they talked about everything and nothing. They spent the next half hour chatting about life, Hogwarts, and fond memories of Samara’s time as a student.

"You know," Pomona said after a moment, her eyes twinkling mischievously, "you really ought to give those admirers of yours a chance. With a figure like yours and that charming face, I imagine you’ve got more than a few suitors."

Samara laughed, shaking her head. "It’s not as simple as that, Professor. Life is busy, and love... well, it’s complicated."

Pomona reached over and patted her hand. "Complicated or not, you deserve someone who sees how wonderful you are. Any man would be lucky to have you, my dear. Especially after all that you have been through. That bastard is rotting in jail."

Samara looked down and closed her eyes. She stood up and leaned against the desk, her voice light yet curious. "So, Professor, I heard you're retiring soon…" 

Pomona let out a soft sigh and nodded. "Ah yes, the war has taken quite the toll on me, Samara. I can’t keep up with the Head of House duties anymore. I’ll be stepping down from my teaching position in two years."

She smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Though much to Severus’s dismay, I’ve already found a formidable replacement. He’ll be perfectly ready in two years, after completing his apprenticeship under me." 

Samara tilted her head, intrigued. "What about him?" 

Pomona’s grin widened. "Oh, the student is Neville Longbottom. Severus hates him, and I’m going to have a good laugh watching him squirm." 

Samara blinked, surprised. "Longbottom? As in Alice and Frank’s child?" 

"Yes," Pomona confirmed with a warm chuckle. "I just spoke to Severus this morning to inform him that the boy would be working here. Naturally, he was less than pleased. Oh, and since you’re Deputy Headmistress now," she added, her tone shifting to practical matters, "you’ll need to arrange a small pay and quarters for the boy." 

Samara smiled softly. "Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it." 

Their conversation was interrupted as the greenhouse door swung open, and Severus Snape strode in, his robes billowing behind him with his usual dramatic flair. His face carried a stormy irritation as he addressed Pomona. 

"Pomona," he began tersely, "I’ve thought about what you said. Fine, I’ll allow that dunderhead here, though Merlin help me, it’s against my better judgment." 

Pomona burst into laughter, thoroughly enjoying herself. "Ah, I see. Let me guess—Minerva gave you an earful, didn’t she? She won’t let you turn away one of her cubs, Severus." 

Severus’s lips curled in annoyance, but his retort died on his tongue as his eyes finally landed on Samara. 

It hit him like a Rogue Bludger. His dark eyes widened momentarily before narrowing, sweeping over her from head to toe. The green skirt flowed gracefully around her figure, but it was the off-shoulder blouse and corset that arrested his attention.

His gaze lingered, unbidden, on the teasing glimpse of skin revealed by the laced front of her corset, then drifted upward to her full, perfectly shaped breasts. 

He swallowed hard, his usual scowl faltering. For the first time in years, words escaped him. She looked utterly ravishing, and the casual way she stood there, so unaware of the effect she had on him, only added to his frustration. 

Pomona, ever perceptive, caught the look and smirked knowingly. "Severus," she drawled, her voice tinged with humor, "don’t you think Samara looks absolutely stunning today? I was just telling her that, wasn’t I?" 

Samara flushed instantly, her cheeks turning a deep shade of pink as she glanced at Severus nervously. 

Severus’s eyes darted back to Pomona, and he straightened, his usual mask of disdain slipping back into place. "I… hadn’t noticed," he lied stiffly, though the faintest twitch of his lips betrayed his discomfort. 

Pomona chuckled, shaking her head. "Of course, you didn’t, Severus. You’re far too busy to notice a beautiful woman standing right in front of you." She winked at Samara, whose embarrassment only deepened. 

"I’ll take my leave." Severus muttered, his voice tight as he turned sharply on his heel and exited the greenhouse in a whirl of black robes. 

As the door closed behind him, Pomona laughed again, turning to Samara with a conspiratorial grin. "Oh, my dear, I think you’ve just managed to render the unflappable Severus Snape completely flustered. That’s no small feat!" 

Samara shook her head, still blushing furiously. "Professor Sprout, you’re impossible." 

"And you, my dear, are utterly enchanting," Pomona said, patting her hand. "Now, let’s get back to planning Neville’s arrival, shall we?" 

When it was time to leave, Samara hugged her old mentor once more. “I’ve missed you so much, Professor. It’s good to be back.” 

“And it’s good to see you thriving, Samara,” Pomona replied. “Don’t be a stranger. Come by anytime.” 

Chapter Text

All the teachers were seated at the head table, awaiting the first years' arrival. Samara and Remus stood near the entrance of the Great Hall, the murmur of students filling the space beyond.

"Samara, you go ahead," Remus offered with a warm smile. "I've done this for the past two years; it's no trouble for me."

"Thank you, Remus. I appreciate the help," she replied, giving him a grateful look before making her way around the entrance towards the back.

As she approached the side entrance leading into the hall, she spotted the headmaster standing by the closed doors, his posture rigid and unmoving. His eyes were distant, fixed on some point only he could see.

Samara smiled as she reached him. "So, Headmaster," she began lightly, "are you excited for a fresh start?"

Her voice pulled Severus from his thoughts, and he turned to see her smiling at him. Though he felt a flicker of annoyance at her use of "Headmaster," he couldn't detect any mockery in her expression-just genuine warmth.

Samara's face softened as she continued, "I'm nervous, honestly. I've taught at Ilvermorny, but you know how our Hogwarts is. Dumbledore was always lenient with discipline. I just hope I can handle the chaos." Her smile softened, and she shifted closer.

"You need to establish authority from the start," he advised, his voice low. His eyes flicked over her robes, taking in the modest but well-fitted black fabric that accentuated her figure without being ostentatious.

Samara chuckled softly. "That's easier said than done for me." She glanced at him, her eyes twinkling. "You look quite chic, Professor Snape. Not everyone could pull off those robes with such style."

Severus blinked, momentarily taken aback. No one had ever complimented him like that before-not Albus, not Minerva. It was strange hearing it from someone else. "I suppose they suffice for the start-of-term feast," he muttered.

Samara's eyes held a trace of uncertainty as she asked, "Do I look presentable enough? The other female teachers have all these vibrant colors and styles, and I feel... plain. I've only really spoken to Remus and Hagrid so far, so I don't exactly have a circle of friends for advice."

He wondered why she'd seek his opinion, of all people. His gaze lingered on her. "You are dressed appropriately, Professor Pritchett."

She nodded, taking a breath. "Well then, shall we?" she gestured to the door. "I know we're both apprehensive, but let's get through this together." She gave him a smile.

That smile-it was starting to affect him in ways he couldn't understand.
Severus hesitated for a moment before stepping forward to open the door for her. She looked momentarily surprised, but her expression quickly softened. "Thank you," she said quietly, appreciating the gesture.

As Samara entered the Great Hall, she felt hundreds of eyes turning to her, curious about the new teacher. She found three empty seats at the head table-the head chair and two others to its left. She took the one furthest from the head chair, leaving space between her and the seat of honor.

Severus followed and paused, staring at the chair reserved for the Headmaster. A wave of discomfort swept over him. It felt wrong. It wasn't his place-he didn't deserve it. He sat next to Samara, avoiding the head chair.

Several teachers exchanged surprised glances. Professor Flitwick, seated on the other side, leaned in and whispered, "Severus, you're supposed to sit in the head chair."

But Severus remained still, his gaze fixed on the tablecloth. It was as if the chair at the center of the table were a throne he felt unworthy of. His hands clenched into fists on his lap.

"Professor Snape, perhaps you might reconsider your seat," Samara said softly, trying not to draw attention. "You are the Headmaster."

He remained silent, his breathing growing shallow. Samara's eyes widened as she noticed his hand trembling uncontrollably. He was having an anxiety attack. She knew the signs well, having experienced them herself.

Without drawing attention, she reached under the table and placed her hand over his shaking one. "Professor Snape, it's alright. You're in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Look at me."

But he didn't respond, his body rigid. Professor Flitwick and some of the other teachers exchanged worried glances, but Samara knew they needed to avoid alarming the students. She quickly pulled a vial of calming draught from her pocket-something she carried for herself-and poured it into a goblet in front of him, mixing it with water.

"Professor Snape, take this drink. It will calm you down," she whispered, pressing the cup into his hand. She wished she could guide it to his lips, but she didn't want the students to see him like this.

Just then, Remus opened the entrance doors, drawing the students' attention to the first years. Samara used the distraction, reaching for Snape's chin and gently turning his face towards her. His eyes were dark and wide, his expression almost panicked.

"Look at me. Drink. You're safe-you're at Hogwarts." She held his gaze, her voice firm yet soothing. As their eyes locked, he took a shaky breath. She brought the goblet to his lips, and he drank slowly.

Madam Pomfrey, noticing the situation, hurried over while Professor Flitwick distracted the students with a chorus of singing frogs. She wiped the sweat from Severus's brow as Samara continued to guide him through the attack.

"Thank you, Professor Pritchett," Pomfrey whispered, but Samara remained focused on Severus. She kept her grip on his hand, feeling his breaths even out.

"Focus on my breathing," she instructed, her voice steady. Slowly, Severus's eyes began to clear, and he seemed to regain awareness. He looked away, taking deep breaths as he focused on the choir in front of him.

"Severus, you need to speak now," Madam Pomfrey urged. "You belong here; you've earned this. Don't let your doubts control you." She gave him a stern look before patting his shoulder and returning to her seat.

Severus's gaze remained forward, his hand still in Samara's. "Professor Snape," she said gently, "the head chair is yours. From what I've seen, you've led us well so far. You'll make an excellent Headmaster."

Her words seemed to reach him. He glanced down, realizing their hands were still clasped, and quickly pulled his away. Samara let go, giving him space.

Severus, after taking a few moments to steady himself, stood at the head of the table. His expression was carefully composed, though Samara could still sense the lingering tension in his posture. He cleared his throat, and the hall gradually quieted, all eyes turning to him.

"Welcome," he began, his voice as cool and controlled as ever. "To new and returning students alike, I extend my greetings. As always, I expect nothing less than excellence and discipline during your time here." His gaze swept over the hall, and for a moment, it almost seemed like his usual, imposing self was back.

"First years will be sorted shortly, and I trust that all houses will ensure our new members feel welcomed. Enjoy the feast," he concluded curtly. "That is all."

Without another word, Severus turned and quietly excused himself, slipping through the side entrance of the hall.

Samara watched as he disappeared from view, her expression thoughtful. As the students began to whisper amongst themselves, she focused on the ceremony ahead, her eyes occasionally glancing at the door he'd left through.

Professor Flitwick rose from his seat with a wide smile, tapping his goblet to command attention. The hall quieted, and his high-pitched voice rang out, "Attention, everyone! As you can see, we have a new face among us. It is my honor to introduce Professor Samara Pritchett, your new Deputy Headmistress, Head of Hufflepuff House, and Potions Mistress."

A wave of murmurs rippled through the Great Hall as students clapped politely. Samara stood and offered a respectful bow.

"I hope you will welcome dear Professor Pritchett with open arms," Flitwick continued, beaming. "We are absolutely delighted to have her with us. Professor Sprout, of course, will continue teaching Herbology."

The applause grew louder as students glanced curiously at Samara. Flitwick quickly moved on to discuss the usual reminders about forbidden areas and school rules.

After the feast, Samara made her way to the Hufflepuff common room to meet her students. The cozy space, adorned with earthy tones and soft lighting, greeted her with its signature calmness. The chatter of students died down as all eyes turned to their new Head of House.

Samara smiled, clasping her hands together. "Good evening, everyone. I hope you all had a wonderful summer and are ready for another great year at Hogwarts. As your new Head of House, I wanted to take a moment to introduce myself and go over some guidelines to help us all thrive together."

Her voice, though gentle, carried a natural authority that held their attention.

"First, I'd like to meet our prefects for this year. Who are they?"

Two students stepped forward confidently.

"Devon Svensky, Professor," the tall boy said with a grin.
"Maria Thompson, Professor," added the girl beside him, her voice steady.

"Excellent," Samara nodded. "Mr. Svensky and Ms. Thompson, you'll be the go-to for our first years and anyone needing assistance. To the rest of you, if you have questions or concerns, don't hesitate to approach them-or me. We're here to help."

She paused to make eye contact with the younger students, her tone softening. "To my first years: Welcome to Hogwarts and welcome to Hufflepuff, the kindest and most supportive house in this castle. You're in good hands."

A few of the older students clapped and cheered, and Samara's smile widened.

"Now, some ground rules," she continued. "As Hufflepuffs, we pride ourselves on being kind, fair, and hardworking. We do not hurt others, whether with words or actions. That is non-negotiable."

Several older students murmured their agreement, while the younger ones nodded solemnly.

"We are a family here, and that means supporting each other. If you see someone upset or struggling, lend a hand or a kind word. However-and I cannot stress this enough-do not get into fights with other houses. If there's a conflict, walk away, console your friends, and let me or your prefects handle it. Fighting only causes more harm and reflects poorly on all of us."

Her tone turned firm, and the students listened intently.

"Another rule: Do not leave the common room after curfew," she said, her gaze sweeping the room. "Yes, I know the kitchens are nearby. No, that does not mean you can sneak out for a midnight snack. If you're caught, it's detention and a loss of house points-so don't test me."

That earned a ripple of laughter from the older students.

"I've also had a special door installed," she said, gesturing to a sturdy oak door along one wall. "This leads directly to my office, so if you ever have an emergency and can't make it all the way to the fifth floor, you can reach me here."

Her expression softened again as she added, "And remember, my door is always open. Whether you need help with something, have a question, or just need someone to talk to, you're welcome anytime."

The students murmured their thanks, their initial nervousness replaced by a growing sense of ease.

"One last thing," Samara said. "We may not always win the House Cup, and that's okay. What matters most is that we always try our best and work together. Earn points when you can, but don't let the pressure weigh you down. We're Hufflepuffs-we support each other, no matter what."

She glanced around the room, her smile warm and genuine. "That's all for tonight. Rest well, everyone, and have a wonderful first day tomorrow."

As the students began dispersing, their chatter light and cheerful, Samara felt a sense of quiet pride.

"Professor, may we ask a question?"

"Of course," Samara replied warmly, folding her hands in front of her.

"Did you study at Hogwarts too?" the student asked curiously.

Samara smiled. "Yes, I did."

Another student, a boy with a mischievous grin, leaned forward. "Oh, which year did you graduate, Professor?"

Before Samara could answer, his friend smacked him lightly on the back of the head. "You just want to figure out her age, McCarthy."

The room erupted in soft laughter, and Samara chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, let's just say I'm far too old for you, Mr. McCarthy."

McCarthy grinned cheekily. "Oh, come on, Professor. You can't be that old-you look amazing."

The students giggled, and Samara's cheeks flushed lightly. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. McCarthy," she said with a playful smirk. "But I'll humor you. I was in the same year as Headmaster Snape and Professor Lupin."

The students gasped in unison, a mix of surprise and amusement lighting their faces.

"What?! But they're ancient!" McCarthy exclaimed, earning more laughter from the group.

Samara raised an eyebrow, her tone mock-serious. "Exactly, McCarthy. Ancient, just like me."

"But, Professor, you don't look ancient at all!" a younger girl chimed in earnestly, her wide eyes filled with sincerity.

"Well, thank you," Samara replied with a laugh. "It's all about the good Hufflepuff kindness keeping me young."

McCarthy wasn't done yet. "So... were you friends with Headmaster Snape?"

Samara hesitated for a fraction of a second, her smile not faltering. "Let's just say the Headmaster and I had... very different interests during our time here."

"Did he look as scary back then?" another student piped up, and the room erupted into laughter.

Another first-year raised their hand shyly. "What about Professor Lupin? Was he scary, too?"

Samara laughed, her tone warm. "Oh, no. Professor Lupin was one of the kindest people you could meet. He always had a smile and a helping hand, even when the rest of us were stressed about exams."

McCarthy, undeterred, pressed further. "So, Professor, if you were friends with them, you must've had some fun stories, right?"

Samara raised a brow, her tone light but firm. "That, Mr. McCarthy, is classified information. And if you want to know my age, you'll have to file an official request with the Headmaster."

More laughter filled the room, and McCarthy threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine, Professor. You win."

"Alright, alright," Samara said, clapping her hands gently to regain order. "It's late, and you've had your fun. Get some rest-you'll need it for tomorrow. And remember, no sneaking out. I'll know." She wagged a finger at them, her tone playful but firm.

The students groaned good-naturedly, and McCarthy called out as she turned to leave. "Goodnight, Professor Pritchett!"

Samara shook her head, chuckling as she exited the room. "Goodnight, Mr. McCarthy-and ten points from Hufflepuff for making me laugh."

All groaned and she could hear the students cursing him behind her back. The cheerful buzz of the common room followed her as she made her way to her quarters, feeling more connected to her house than ever.

Chapter Text

Samara smiled softly as the sixth-year students filed into her classroom. It had been six years since she had last taught, and the familiar anticipation of a teaching warmed her. Once the last student settled into their seat, she straightened her posture and addressed the room.

"Good morning, everyone," she began, her voice calm yet firm. "I know we didn't have much time for introductions during the feast last night, so let me formally introduce myself. My name is Samara Pritchett, and I am your Potions professor for this year.

"Before we begin, I want to set a few expectations for this class. Potions, as you know, is not just a subject; it's an art and a science. It requires discipline, attention to detail, and respect for the craft. I expect you to follow my instructions carefully, as even a small mistake can have... explosive consequences."

At that, a few students chuckled nervously, and Samara let her lips curve into a small smile. "Speaking of which, let's try to keep explosions to a minimum this year, shall we?"

The class laughed more openly this time, and she took the opportunity to pass around a stack of parchment.

"To help me understand your current capabilities, I'm handing out a short test. Don't worry," she added quickly, noting the collective groans. "It's not marked. It's simply a way for me to gauge where you stand as NEWT students and how I can help you improve. Think of it as a diagnostic, not a punishment."

As the papers circulated the room, she moved to the front of the class and leaned slightly against her desk, her tone light. "And before anyone starts plotting revenge for making you do this on the first day, let me just say-I'm not sorry."

The students chuckled again, and one Gryffindor raised their hand. "Professor, what kind of questions are on the test?"

"Nothing too daunting," Samara reassured them. "Just basic concepts-identifying potion ingredients, understanding brewing techniques, and a few application questions. It's meant to jog your memory, not stress you out."

As the students began working, Samara walked slowly through the aisles, observing their concentration. Some scribbled furiously, while others tapped their quills thoughtfully. She noted their varying levels of confidence, already mentally grouping students who might need extra help.

After giving them adequate time, she spoke again. "Alright, time's up. Please pass your papers forward." As the parchments stacked on her desk, she addressed the class once more.

"Now that we've gotten the formalities out of the way, let me remind you of a few key rules for this classroom. Firstly, safety is paramount. Follow my instructions precisely, and if you're unsure about anything, ask. No reckless behavior, no experimenting without permission, and absolutely no spiking your classmates' potions."

She arched a brow as a few students exchanged guilty glances, "Secondly, I encourage questions and curiosity, but I also value respect and focus. This is a collaborative environment, and we'll achieve far more together if we work as a team. Agreed?"

The students murmured their agreement, and Samara clapped her hands lightly. "Good. Now, let's dive into some practical stuff."

She waved her wand, and the instructions for a simple Wit-Sharpening Potion appeared on the blackboard. "Gather your ingredients, and let's see what you can do." As the students busied themselves, Samara felt a quiet satisfaction. Her first class was off to a promising start.

Samara's second class of the day was a group of wide-eyed, energetic second-years, and she found herself smiling as they filed into the classroom. Their curious chatter filled the room, and she waited patiently until they quieted down.

"Good morning, everyone," she greeted warmly, her tone soft but engaging. "I'm Professor Pritchett, and I'll be your Potions teacher this year. Before we dive in, let me make one thing clear-this classroom is a place for discovery, learning, and yes, even a bit of fun. But," she added with a mock-serious look, "we need to keep the cauldrons upright, the ingredients unspilled, and most importantly, ourselves unscathed. Deal?"

The students giggled and nodded enthusiastically.

"Good! Now, let's start with a little verbal quiz, just to see what you already know." She clasped her hands together and began pacing slowly. "First question: who can tell me what aconite is also known as?"

A few hands shot up, and Samara pointed to a Hufflepuff girl in the front row. "Monkshood, Professor," the girl answered confidently.

"Excellent!" Samara beamed. "And can you tell me another name for it?"

The girl hesitated, but a Ravenclaw boy sitting beside her whispered, "Wolfsbane."

"I heard that," Samara said with a playful grin, making the boy blush. "But yes, it's also called wolfsbane."

She moved to another part of the classroom. "Alright, next question: what's the purpose of a stirring rod?"

This time, a Slytherin boy in the back raised his hand. "To stir potions without contaminating them, Professor."

"Exactly," Samara replied. "And why is that important?"The boy frowned, thinking hard.

"It's because some potions react to the oils or dirt on our hands," she explained gently, "so we use stirring rods to avoid that. Well done for trying."

As the questions continued, she noticed about half the class was doing well, while the other half seemed hesitant or gave incorrect answers. She decided to step in before anyone got too discouraged.

"Alright, my curious little cauldron-stirrers, it seems we have a bit of catching up to do," Samara said with a warm smile. "For the first three months, we'll focus on the basics-ingredients, equipment, and safety techniques. Once you've mastered those, we'll move on to the more exciting potions."

The students nodded, relieved. "To start," she continued, "let's go over some of the tools and liquid ingredients you'll need for brewing. We'll begin with A through D today. Raise your hand if you've used an alembic before."

A few hands went up, and Samara retrieved a shiny, curvy alembic from her desk.

"This," she said, holding it up, "is used for distillation. It's great for separating magical essences. It's also quite fragile, so if you hear me shout,
'Put that down, Haywood!'"-the class erupted into laughter-"you'll know why!"

She moved on to the next item, a bubbling jar of Armadillo Bile. "Now, can anyone tell me what this is used for?"

A Gryffindor boy wrinkled his nose. "It smells awful, Professor."

"It does indeed." Samara said, laughing. "But it's essential for thickening potions, particularly Wit-Sharpening Potions. Think of it as the magical equivalent of adding flour to gravy-disgusting, but necessary."

Next, she pulled out a vial of bright blue Billywig Sting Slime. "This one's a favorite of mine. Who can guess what it's used for?" The students exchanged glances, unsure.

"Well," Samara said, leaning closer like she was sharing a secret, "it's often used in levitation potions. But be careful-it can make you float if you're not careful with the measurements. Imagine accidentally hovering to the ceiling during class!"

The room filled with giggles, and she moved on to Dittany Essence. "This one," she said, her tone softening, "is a little more serious. Dittany is a powerful healing agent. If you or someone else gets hurt, even from a potion mishap, a drop of this can work wonders. It's like having a first-aid kit in a bottle."

She placed the bottle back on her desk and looked around at the attentive faces. "See?" she said, spreading her arms. "This isn't so scary, is it?" The students shook their heads, clearly engaged.

"Good. Now, I want you to take out your notes and jot down what we've covered so far. Don't worry about neatness-I'm not grading your handwriting, only your enthusiasm for learning. And remember, my door is always open if you have questions or need help."

As the students got to work, Samara felt a deep satisfaction. She'd managed to create a friendly, encouraging atmosphere, and she couldn't wait to see how they'd progress in the weeks to come.

Samara's third class was with a lively group of fourth years, their chatter bubbling over as she walked in, a warm smile on her face. She set her lesson materials on the desk, folding her hands in front of her.

"Good afternoon, everyone," she began cheerfully, her voice cutting through the noise without losing its warmth. "I can see you're all in great spirits today, but let's channel that energy into something fun and productive, shall we?"

A few students quieted down immediately, though others continued their whispers. Instead of scolding, Samara tilted her head, placing her hands on her hips in mock sternness.

"I promise I don't bite," she said with a soft chuckle. "Though, if you keep chatting, I might just make you brew a Babbling Beverage so you can talk all class without stopping."

The students laughed, and the last whispers faded.

"Much better! Now," she continued, pacing gently in front of the class, "today we'll be discussing the Shrinking Solution- the first one in your curriculum. This potion can reduce objects-and even living creatures-to a fraction of their size. Sounds impressive, doesn't it?"

She flicked her wand, and a vibrant, interactive chart appeared on the board. The ingredients floated in a neat column, each with a small illustration beside it. "We'll go over each ingredient today-what it does, how it works, and why precision is key in using it. But before we dive in, let's imagine something: you've brewed this potion and spilled just a single drop on your wand. What might happen?"

A Ravenclaw girl raised her hand. "Would the wand shrink?" 

"Exactly! And what happens when your wand is suddenly the size of a toothpick?"

"It's useless!" a Gryffindor boy chimed in without raising his hand.

Samara's eyes twinkled, and she shook her head lightly. "True." 

The class quickly settled into the lesson. Instead of lecturing, Samara made the ingredients come alive. With a flick of her wand, a shrivelfig popped onto the desk, its leathery surface gleaming.

"Can anyone tell me why we need to peel the shrivelfig carefully?" she asked, holding it up.

A Slytherin boy raised his hand. "So the juice doesn't spill out too soon?"

"Perfect! Five points to Slytherin," she said brightly. "Now, let me show you the easiest way to peel it." She placed the fig on the desk and used a small knife with slow, deliberate strokes. "See how I'm angling the blade? This way, you won't lose a drop. Try it yourselves when we brew this potion in the next class."

She moved on to daisy roots, letting the students pass around a jar of fresh ones to inspect. "These need to be finely sliced, not chopped. Why? Let's think about it."

The students debated among themselves before a Hufflepuff girl raised her hand. "Because chopping releases too much sap?"

"Exactly! Sap controls the potion's intensity, and too much could cause unpredictable results." The class burst into giggles.

By the time the lesson ended, Samara had quizzed them verbally on the day's material. Though a few students struggled to focus, she kept her tone light and encouraging.

As the bell rang, Samara clapped her hands gently. "Well done, everyone! Remember, potions require focus and precision, but there's no harm in enjoying the process. I'll see you next time-rested and ready."

The students filed out, some chatting animatedly about the lesson. Samara lingered by her desk, a content smile on her face. Fourth years might be rowdy, but with the right mix of patience and kindness, she knew they'd rise to the occasion.

--------------
The first month of classes at Hogwarts was a whirlwind for Samara. She juggled her lessons, administrative responsibilities, and the demands of being a head of house. Her days often began before dawn, preparing lesson plans, and they stretched late into the night as she handled various tasks around the castle.

Several first-year students, especially those from Muggle families, found adjusting to life at Hogwarts challenging. Samara's office saw a steady stream of homesick children. One evening, one of her Puffs, a small, teary-eyed boy named Oliver knocked on her door.

"Professor Pritchett?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Samara's expression softened. "Oliver, come in." She guided him to a comfortable armchair by the fireplace. "What's the matter?"

"I miss my mum," he admitted, wiping his eyes. "It's so different here... and loud. And I don't have any friends yet."

She smiled gently, handing him a handkerchief. "It's completely normal to feel this way. I remember my first year-I felt just like you do. But I promise, it gets better. Soon, Hogwarts will feel like a second home."

"But what if I never make any friends?" he sniffed.

Samara leaned closer. "Oh, you will. It takes time. Everyone is nervous at first, even if they don't show it. Sometimes, it just takes a bit of courage to talk to someone. And if you ever feel lonely, you can always come here." She offered him a comforting smile. "We can share some hot cocoa and talk."

Oliver's eyes brightened slightly, and he nodded. "Thank you, Professor."

As he left, Samara sighed. Moments like these reminded her of why she loved teaching, despite how overwhelming the responsibilities could become.

On top of her teaching and head-of-house duties, Samara also managed the stock for the hospital wing. She often visited Madam Pomfrey to check on supplies, ensuring that they had enough potions and ingredients for various ailments. One afternoon, she found herself restocking shelves with potion ingredients, her sleeves rolled up as she organized the vials.

"I don't know how you manage all this, Professor Pritchett," Madam Pomfrey said, watching as Samara carefully labeled and sorted each vial. "Between teaching, mentoring, and keeping this wing well-supplied, you're doing the work of three people."

Samara offered a tired smile. "It's been hectic, but I want to make sure everything runs smoothly. The students need all the support they can get."

Despite the constant busyness, one thing weighed on Samara's mind-Severus had disappeared after the feast. Since the evening, he seemed to have vanished. She rarely saw him in the halls, and if she did, he was always moving quickly, his face hidden behind his dark robes. It was as if he were actively avoiding her.

At first, she wondered if he was simply busy with his duties as Headmaster, but as time went on, his absence became more pronounced. She couldn't help but worry, especially after seeing him struggle so intensely that night.

She found herself missing their brief interactions. For reasons she couldn't fully understand, she wanted to reassure him, to tell him that it was alright. But with him disappearing into the shadows at every opportunity, she feared she would never get the chance.

Chapter Text

One afternoon, Remus knocked on Samara's office door. She looked up, fatigue written across her face as she tried to manage several potions brewing simultaneously.

"Remus, come in," she greeted, wiping her brow. The room was filled with the faint scent of herbs and bubbling cauldrons, and papers lay scattered across her desk.

Remus took in the scene, his eyes softening. "I came to talk about one of your Hufflepuff students, but... you seem preoccupied."

She looked up at him as added something from her mortar, "Can we talk this matter in ten minutes? I have a class of Slytherin and Gryffindor first years in ten minutes, if I leave them alone for a few minutes they get all ruddy."

Remus smiled, "Ah I see you're catching up with being a teacher at Hogwarts, we can discuss later. Are you brewing for the Hospital Wing?"

At her nod of confirmation a worried look passed on his face, "Samara, this is too much for you. You're balancing classes, head of house duties, and this-it's a toll."

She sighed, her usual confidence dimmed. "I know, but I have got it all under control. Don't worry." She gave him a tired smile before glancing at her watch. "Helga! I've got to run to the grounds for my class. The potions need to simmer for another hour."

Remus watched as she wiped her hands, grabbed her teaching materials, and hurried outside to the grounds, leaving the cauldrons simmering. He followed her, noticing her set up under an umbrella with the students scattered around, taking notes on the plants.

Shaking his head, Remus decided it was time to speak to Severus.

He knocked on the door of Severus's office and entered when he heard a gruff acknowledgment. Severus was seated at his desk, quill in hand, scribbling away.

"Severus," Remus began, his tone serious, "I think you must take the responsibility of brewing potions for the hospital wing. Samara is struggling to do it. It's taking a toll on her. I was just down there, and she had so many cauldrons boiling while she had to run out to teach her first-year class."

Severus looked up, a frown forming. "Why is she taking her classes outside?" He stood and moved to the window, peering out. Indeed, there she was, with an umbrella shading her from the sun while her students were spread out, examining plants.

"I managed it when I was Potions Master; she can do the same. She accepted the role, after all," Severus replied coldly.

Remus sighed, folding his arms. "Well, have you ever considered that she's also the deputy headmistress, an extra role on top of everything? When you were Potions Master, you had two duties-she has three. And I know for a fact you would often hand over your homesick first-years to your prefects. But she's handling it all on her own."

Severus's expression remained impassive, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes as he glanced back at the window.

Remus set a stack of parchment on Severus's desk. "You must consider taking it up. By the way, these are reports Harry sent for you to look over, information about Douglas. He ran away after that attack in Knockturn Alley."

Without waiting for a response, Remus turned and left the office, leaving Severus standing alone, staring down at the reports in silence.

After Remus left, Severus remained by the window, his expression thoughtful. He flicked his wand, casting a sound-amplifying charm to catch the conversation below.

Samara's voice floated up, clear and instructive. "Well, I want you to look at how the leaves look and note their characteristics. Draw them neatly and explain your observations. Then, remember to take a few samples and visit the library to figure out what these are. This is how you'll learn to distinguish between different leaves in your potion ingredients."

Severus listened intently, noting the calm and engaging way she spoke to her students. She didn't just tell them what to do; she encouraged them to explore and discover on their own. He was impressed with her approach-methodical yet practical. 

Perhaps she had a natural talent for teaching, but it was evident she was stretched thin. As much as he wanted to remain distant, he felt a sense of responsibility tugging at him. Maybe, he mused, it was time he offered to take on the brewing responsibilities for the hospital wing. 

With a quiet sigh, he turned away from the window, his decision made.
_______________________________

Samara had been working since morning, preparing batches for the hospital wing. She had removed her outer robes, now clad in a sleeveless, semi-sheer petticoat, and her hair was pulled up in a bun. Perspiration dotted her forehead as she leaned over a cauldron, inspecting the sheen along its sides.

The door creaked open, and Severus stepped inside. He paused as he caught sight of her, his eyes briefly lingering on her form. Her position gave him a view of her ample cleavage, and for a moment, he felt his heartbeat quicken. Quickly, he averted his gaze, his expression carefully composed. Clearing his throat, he made his presence known.

Samara jumped slightly, glancing up with a startled look. "Oh, Professor Snape, you nearly gave me a fright," she said, offering him a small smile, though she remained bent over her work, seemingly unaware of her appearance.

Severus, ever the professional, kept his eyes firmly on her face. "I need a few ingredients for a potion," he stated, his tone clipped.

"Of course," she replied, nodding as she straightened up, wiping her brow. "Help yourself. Everything should be organized on the shelves."

Severus moved to the shelves, his eyes scanning the neatly labeled jars. "You've kept everything in order," he noted, his voice almost appreciative.

Samara smiled. "It's a habit, I suppose. Can't work efficiently otherwise." She turned her attention back to her cauldron, stirring it with careful precision. "Is there anything specific you're brewing, Professor?"

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Just a replenishing potion for Madam Pomfrey's stock." 

Samara turned toward the cupboards, her full attention on him now. Her bare arms glistened in the dim light, and the fabric of her petticoat clung to her, leaving little to the imagination. Severus's gaze flickered, betraying a brief moment of distraction. He could clearly make out her figure, voluptuous bosoms and wide child bearing hips.

"Oh, did Madam Pomfrey mention it?" she asked, brushing her hair back from her face, she worried her lip between her teeth, "I was going to start on the replenishing potion as soon as I finished the flu remedies and calming draughts." 

She looked down, mentally calculating the order of her brews.

A pause lingered between them before he added, "It seems you've been at this since morning."

She shrugged, a tired but determined look on her face. "I want to make sure everything is prepared. The hospital wing's demands have been increasing lately."

"If you need assistance, you should ask."

She gave a light laugh. "And disrupt the Headmaster from his duties? I wouldn't dare."

His eyes flicked to hers, and for a brief moment, he felt the weight of her words. Severus set the jars he had gathered on the table beside Samara's cauldron, a faint frown creasing his brow. 

"Actually, I've reconsidered my earlier stance. I know I delegated this work to you, but it's clearly too much. I'll help you finish these batches today, and from the next stock onward, I'll take on the responsibility of brewing for the hospital wing."

Samara looked up, surprise flickering across her features. "You... you really don't have to do that, Professor. I can manage."

He met her gaze, his expression firm. "I insist." He said nonchalantly.

Her cheeks flushed slightly, "If you insist, then, I would appreciate the help."

They moved in tandem, Severus taking a position beside her as they worked. The air in the room grew thick with the aromas of various potion ingredients, and the rhythmic sounds of their tasks filled the space. 

As they poured and mixed the ingredients, their shoulders brushed occasionally, sending a jolt through Samara. The rough fabric of his coat brushing her naked arms. She tried to focus on her work, but the closeness was disarming. "You have a steady hand," she remarked, attempting to break the tension as he expertly measured out a precise amount of powdered dragon's liver.

He glanced sideways at her, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "Years of practice. You should strive for precision in your own work." 

Though even as he said it, he knew it was a futile remark-She was nothing if not precise in everything she did. Her attention to detail was, in fact, impressive, a trait he privately admired. But he couldn't bring himself to treat her as he would one of his students, like Granger, nitpicking the finest imperfections to drive her to excel. 

The thought unsettled him slightly, and he shifted his focus back to the bubbling cauldron in front of them, careful to keep his tone neutral.

"I do," she shot back playfully, the banter easing some of the underlying tension. "But I can hardly be expected to keep up with the famed Potion Master." 

He raised an eyebrow, "Flattery will get you nowhere, Professor Pritchett."

"Well I tried." 

The atmosphere shifted subtly. Samara leaned closer to inspect a cauldron, and Severus caught a whiff of her scent-a mix of fresh herbs and something distinctly her own.

"Is the consistency right?" she asked, glancing up at him, her brow furrowed in concentration. 

Severus leaned in closer, his fingers brushing against hers as he reached for a stirring rod. "Just a bit more time," he murmured.

But then, a nearby cauldron bubbled suddenly, and they both instinctively reached to lower the heat, moving so quickly they collided. In the rush, Samara lost her footing, and with an unsteady step, she pulled him down with her. They tumbled, Severus's weight landing against her as she gasped, the breath knocked out of her.

"Uff," she managed, still trying to regain her breath. Severus let out a low curse, his hands coming up instinctively to brace on either side of her face. For a moment, everything was still-too still-and he became acutely aware of the heat radiating from her, her damp skin and the way her loose petticoat clung to her.

Samara blinked up at him, dazed. She seemed oblivious to the full extent of their tangled position, though her flushed cheeks betrayed some awareness. She finally broke the silence with a soft, unruffled laugh. "That was... inevitable." she said lightly, completely unaware of the effect she was having on him.

Severus quickly pulled himself together, the sudden intimacy making him painfully aware of himself. He scrambled to his feet, dusting off his robes, his face taut as he tried to shake off the unnerving moment. Without a word, he extended his hand to help her up, and she took it gratefully, her touch lingering just slightly longer than necessary.

"Thank you," she said, straightening up. There was a hint of humor in her eyes, but Severus looked away, his jaw tense.

They worked silently for a few moments, but the tension lingered in the air, unspoken and electric. Samara felt her pulse quicken each time their skin brushed, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate.

With the last potion completed, they shared a moment of relief. Samara turned to clean up the workspace, and Severus couldn't help but watch her, something deep stirring within him.

"Going forth, I'll take up the brewing for the hospital wing," Severus stated as he returned the ingredients to their respective places.

Samara paused, her eyes on his hands as they moved with practiced ease. A hesitant thought crossed her mind, and before she could reconsider, she spoke up. "Can I help? I... I like brewing and having my hands full," she added, her voice soft, unsure. She half-expected him to dismiss her, perhaps assuming she was trying to ingratiate herself.

He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she thought he might decline, but instead, he gave her a measured nod. "If you insist."

Relieved, she offered him a tentative smile and moved closer to the workbench. "Thank you," she murmured.

As they parted ways that evening, he felt a shift in their dynamic-a connection. It was a subtle tension, one that lingered in the air long after they had finished brewing, leaving him both unsettled and intrigued 

Before he left, Samara called after him. "Professor Snape, one moment."

He paused mid-step, turning back to face her with a guarded expression. 

She opened her mouth, faltering slightly. "Uh... that night, during the feast..."

His shoulders stiffened, a shadow of discomfort crossing his face. She noticed it, but pressed on, determined to get her words out before he shut down. "It's... fine. You don't have to be ashamed of panic attacks. Most people experience them. And with your history...." she paused, choosing her words carefully, "it would almost be unnatural not to."

For a brief moment, his gaze met hers, dark and unreadable. She could tell he was processing her words, though his face revealed nothing. 

But instead of replying, he simply gave her one last, inscrutable look, then turned sharply on his heel and strode out, his robes billowing behind him as he disappeared into the corridor.

Left alone in the dim light, Samara exhaled, wondering if she had said too much-or perhaps just enough.

Chapter Text

It was nearly Halloween, and Samara Pritchett had no idea she was supposed to arrange a staff party.

She had simply walked into the staff room that morning to grab a much-needed cup of coffee before her next class. But as she took her first sip, she heard a sharp voice call out, "Deputy Headmistress Pritchett."

Samara nearly choked.

She turned, startled, to see Professor Sinistra looking directly at her. The two had barely spoken since the start of term—mostly because Aurora had made it clear she wasn't particularly interested in conversation. Cold glances, polite nods, and not much else.

"Yes, Professor Sinistra?" Samara asked cautiously.

"What's the theme for this year's party?" Aurora asked, her tone dry. "I need to place the costume orders."

Samara blinked. "I'm sorry—what party?"

Aurora arched a brow, then glanced around the room dramatically. "The Halloween party," she said, as though speaking to a particularly slow student. "What else would I be talking about?"

Samara lowered her cup. "I wasn't aware there was a party..."

Professor Flitwick, ever helpful, chimed in from behind his teacup. "The Halloween staff party, my dear. We've had it every year. Minerva used to organise it before." He gave her a kind smile. "It's usually the Deputy Headmistress's responsibility."

Samara looked around, stunned. "I—I'm really sorry. No one mentioned anything to me. I haven't planned anything... I didn't know."

Aurora gave an exaggerated sigh and crossed her arms. "Oh, brilliant. Halloween is in three days, and there's no party. Excellent work." Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she looked around the room for support. "First time as Deputy and already falling behind tradition. That's comforting."

Before Samara could gather a proper response, Remus, who had been quietly grading essays near the window, looked up with calm disapproval.

"There's no need for that, Aurora," he said firmly. "Samara is new to Hogwarts. It's only fair she's told how things work here before being expected to magically know them. Don't be so quick to judge."

Aurora sniffed. "I'm not judging. I'm pointing out facts."

"You're being rude," Remus replied simply, returning to his parchment.

Samara gave him a small, grateful smile and set down her coffee. Her stomach was already churning with anxiety, and Aurora's words hadn't helped. But at least now, she knew. And that meant she could do something about it.

Samara stormed down the corridor, robes swishing with every hurried step. She wasn't the type to barge into people's offices — especially not his — but right now, she felt completely blindsided and she needed answers. She knocked once before pushing the door open.

Severus didn't look up. He was seated behind his desk, immersed in a thick sheaf of parchment. "You've come to complain about something," he said flatly, not even glancing at her.

Samara stood there, winded. "I... I hate to interrupt, but—" She stopped mid-sentence, closing the door softly behind her, her shoulders sagging as if bracing herself for the worst. "Why didn't you tell me I'm expected to plan a staff party for the start of term?"

That made him look up.

Severus blinked slowly. "I didn't think it was important."

"You—what?" She stared at him. "I was just humiliated in the staff room! Everyone assumed I knew, Aurora practically tore me apart, and it turns out it's the Deputy Headmistress who's meant to plan it every year."

"Sinistra was likely trying to be helpful, albeit in her blunt way. It's a frivolous tradition," Severus said coolly, turning back to his paper. "A complete waste of time and school funds. There's no reason for such a gathering."

"Professor Sinistra seems to think otherwise," Samara replied dryly. "And apparently, so does everyone else."

Just then, Minerva McGonagall's portrait on the wall behind Severus gave a sharp tut. "Really, Severus," she said sternly. "You could've at least informed her. These events may not be your taste, but they bring the staff together."

Severus leaned back in his chair with a scoff. "Together? It's just a room full of overgrown children getting drunk on spiced mead and making fools of themselves."

"Oh, don't be so bitter," Minerva snapped. "You've been given a second chance, Severus — a life, a post at this school again. You could try not to live like a dungeon-dwelling Grinch all year round."

"I'm not bitter," he growled. "I just have better things to do with my evening than stand around while Sprout tries to teach everyone the Werewolf Waltz."

Samara bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to smile. "I get it," she said gently. "I don't particularly like parties either. I'd rather read a book and be in bed by ten. But some people do enjoy them. And it's okay for us not to."

She turned to Minerva's portrait, her voice still calm. "Professor, I appreciate the tradition, truly, but I'll handle it in my own way. If you could kindly let me know the budget or where the funds come from... I'll make sure it's taken care of."

Minerva gave her an approving nod, though she shot another look at Severus. "Very well, dear. The staff events fund is managed through the Headmaster's ledger. You'll find it in my old drawer, right there— though someone never opened it once while he is the Headmaster."

"I'm still standing right here," Severus drawled.

"Thank you." Samara smiled politely. "That helps a lot."

"She's already more competent than you ever were with social matters, Severus," Minerva said tartly, adjusting her spectacles before sweeping out of the portrait with a huff.

Severus muttered something unprintable under his breath. Samara, facing the cabinet, let out a soft laugh. "I think she likes me."

"She doesn't like anyone," Severus said. "That was her being kind."

Samara retrieved the ledger and turned back toward him. "For what it's worth... I promise not to make you attend. But I will save you a slice of cake."

"I don't eat cake."

"Fine," she said with a smile, already walking to the door. "Then I'll save you a chair to not sit in." She slipped out before he could retort, leaving behind the faintest trace of lavender perfume—and a thoroughly annoyed Headmaster pretending not to smirk.

Samara had somehow arranged everything within a single day. After a quick conversation with Remus, she learned that the staff Halloween party was typically held at the Three Broomsticks. Unfortunately, the venue was already booked — Halloween season rush — which left her scrambling for alternatives.

In the end, she settled on the Hog's Head. It wasn't fancy, but Aberforth had agreed to give her a private section, and he promised it would be quiet and clean. That was good enough.

No theme. Just a classic Halloween gathering — orange, black, floating candles, and pumpkin spice everything. That was the best she could do with the time given, and she hoped no one would mind.

To make it more special, she took the effort to send personalized invitations. Not just one standard parchment —Samara, ever the people-pleaser, had spent the night hunched over parchment and enchanted inkpots, preparing individual invitations for every staff member and their immediate family. She didn't want it to feel forced or formal. So, instead of a generic letter, each envelope was different — carefully color-coded and written to suit the recipient's personality.

Aurora Sinistra's was midnight purple, inked in bright starlight-gold, almost ostentatious but dazzling — she had a flair, after all.

Remus Lupin's was warm brown, inked in muted bronze, simple and kind, with a note that gently told him he could bring Teddy if he wanted.

And then there was Severus Snape's.

His envelope was matte black, the seal a sleek gold crest without any embellishment. The ink inside shimmered precisely, cold and clean — gold letters against black parchment.

And one night, as Severus Snape sat in his office with a tumbler of Firewhisky in hand, a sleek black envelope slid itself neatly across his desk — delivered by no owl, but by quiet, magical means. The golden wax shimmered in the candlelight. He raised an eyebrow, breaking the seal, he found a thick card inside. The ink shimmered gold against deep black parchment, precise and elegant.

Professor Snape,

You are hereby invited to the annual Hogwarts Halloween Staff Gathering.

Date: 31st October
Time: 9:00 PM
Venue: The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade

This is a staff tradition — one I only just learned about, so please adjust your expectations accordingly.
There is no dress code. No costumes. No forced games.
Attendance is optional. So is enthusiasm.

That said, if you do attend:

1. You will not be expected to dance.                     

2. You will not be pressured into small talk.

3. You may sit in complete silence with a glass of something strong while judging everyone's life choices.

I will not take offense.

If this offer still sounds unbearable, consider it a chance to observe faculty members in their natural habitat: mildly intoxicated and trying not to hex each other.

Sincerely,
Samara Pritchett
Deputy Headmistress

P.S. If you do attend, I promise not to make you interact with anyone unless it's absolutely necessary. Like if someone starts setting things on fire.

Severus stared at the letter for a long moment. A faint twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth — barely a smile, but something close.

From the portrait frame behind him, a warm chuckle stirred the still air.

"Something has made you smile, Severus," Albus Dumbledore remarked, his twinkling eyes peeking over his half-moon glasses. "Now that is a rare and curious sight."

"I did not smile," Severus replied flatly, folding the letter with quiet care and tucking it into a book beside him.

"Of course not," Albus said lightly. "Still, it's good to see someone reached past the walls a little."

Severus didn't answer, but his eyes lingered on the flickering candlelight as if turning something over in his mind. 

"Well," said the portrait with a twinkle in his painted eyes, "she seems to know you rather well already."

"I wouldn't go that far," Severus muttered, reaching for his whisky.

"But you're considering it," Albus teased, leaning forward slightly.

"I'm considering... finishing my drink in peace," Severus bit out, though there was no real venom in it.

Chapter Text

Samara had arranged the party with understated elegance. The Hogshead, usually a shadowy haunt, was transformed with floating jack-o'-lanterns, charmed candles, and discreet bursts of autumn leaves drifting lazily through the air. The atmosphere was warm, the lighting low and flattering, and the food and drinks were already lined up along the far table, charmingly arranged.

She was dressed in a black gown — the kind of dramatic, pointedly "witchy" style that Muggles might imagine in their stories. The fabric clung to her figure, the neckline tasteful but striking, and her hair had been curled into soft, springy coils that framed her face in wild, controlled chaos.

Tonks was the first to enter. "Damn, Pritchett," she declared with wide eyes and a smirk, "you look so fine, I could absolutely f—"
"Tonks," Remus murmured, both amused and exasperated.

Samara turned crimson. She opened her mouth, but only a flustered laugh came out. Remus quickly followed with a much gentler, "You look wonderful, Samara," and others chimed in — Flitwick called her radiant, Hooch gave her a firm nod of approval, and Pomona hugged her.

They found their seats and began to talk and drink, the atmosphere buzzing with familiar camaraderie. Even young Mr. Longbottom — still technically an intern under Professor Sprout — stepped in nervously and greeted everyone, shyly taking a seat at the edge of the group. He looked both intimidated and delighted to be included among his old professors.

Samara, though, was quiet. She was never particularly fond of parties. She sat between Flitwick and Remus, joining conversations here and there but mostly sipping her butterbeer and watching the room. Aurora Sinistra, predictably, was still giving her the cold shoulder.

But her eyes kept flicking to the door. He still hadn't arrived. Just as she was beginning to doubt he would, a bell chimed as the door creaked open. Everyone turned.

There he was — clad in his ever-present black, hair tied neatly back, his expression unreadable as always. The chill in his demeanor was almost a comfort to Samara now. She smiled at him, warmly but wordlessly. He gave her a small nod in return, acknowledging her presence like one might acknowledge a passing cloud — distant, but not unpleasant.

As Severus made his way to an empty chair, the teasing began. 

"Oh look who's graced us with his presence," said Hooch with a raised brow.

"The Headmaster himself," Flitwick chuckled.

Tonks leaned over dramatically and whispered, "Oh Merlin, it's the ghost of Halloween itself."

Hooch smirked. "Careful — if you say his name three times, he might vanish again."

Flitwick chuckled. "Let the man sit down before we start poking him like a Cornish pixie in a bottle."

Remus raised his glass. "Welcome, Severus. We were beginning to take bets."

Severus cast them all a long-suffering look. "Charming",  he replied dryly, and sipped his firewhisky with all the enthusiasm of a man watching cauldrons boil.

Samara smiled into her drink.

He had come.

Severus sat stiffly at the far end of the table, his glass of firewhisky untouched for the most part, eyes scanning the room with clear disdain. His colleagues, now comfortably tipsy, were slowly devolving into what could only be described as a small-scale circus.

Flitwick had begun to dance, bouncing and twirling with surprising agility for a man his age. Sprout clapped along merrily and joined him, while Hooch threw back a drink and leapt in with all the enthusiasm of a Quidditch player mid-match.

Tonks was cackling at the sight, half-mocking, half-joining in. "Oh Merlin, this is priceless!"

Samara, seated between Remus and Neville, shrunk slightly in her seat. "I've made a terrible mistake," she muttered under her breath.

Neville, who had awkwardly shuffled closer to her to escape the madness, whispered, "I didn't know my teachers were like this, Professor."

She turned to him and whispered back dryly, "Believe me, Longbottom... neither did I. They were my teachers too."

They exchanged a quiet laugh, both sipping their drinks like shell-shocked survivors at a reunion gone wrong.

Leaning toward Remus, Samara asked with mild disbelief, "Were Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall like this too?"

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh no. Dumbledore encouraged this sort of chaos. He loved it. Minerva would sit beside Severus and judge everyone silently... a bit like he's doing now, actually."

They all glanced at Severus, who looked as though he'd rather be in a cauldron of bubotuber pus.

Neville leaned in, whispering to both of them, "Professor Snape doesn't actually like... fun, does he?"

Remus smirked. "He has exceptional control over his liquor."

Samara added with a nod, "Obviously. You remember the Slughorn Christmas party? You lot spiked his drink hoping to loosen him up. He was barely sixteen and still didn't flinch."

Neville's eyes widened. "Really? The only time I ever saw him as anything other than what he is, was when I changed my Boggart into him... in my grandmother's clothes."

Samara turned to him, intrigued. "He was your Boggart?"

Neville nodded, clearly still a bit embarrassed. "Yeah. Professor Lupin helped me twist it into something funny."

Samara immediately slapped Remus's hand. "That's so rude! Why would you do that to him?"

Remus laughed, trying not to spill his drink. "It was just a bit of fun! You should've seen the class — everyone loved it."

"Remus," she scolded, shaking her head. "You never did stop with your shenanigans, did you? He held a certain respect — fear, sure, but also respect — and you sabotaged it."

Neville rubbed the back of his neck, and Remus looked sheepish. "Well... to be fair, he shouldn't have been a Boggart in the first place."

Samara crossed her arms. "Still. That was way out of line."

Before Remus could defend himself again, a cold voice cut through the buzz of laughter and music.

"You must know," Severus said from his seat, his voice smooth and deadly calm, "that I am right here. And I can hear every word you're saying."

The trio froze.

Samara blinked. Neville turned pink. Remus covered his mouth and choked on a laugh.

There was a long pause — and then Severus raised his glass and took a measured sip, eyes locked on Remus.

Samara opened her mouth, then closed it again. "...Right. That was—loud, wasn't it?"

Severus didn't respond immediately. He took a slow sip of his whisky, gaze level, lips pressed in a faint line that wasn't quite a smirk — but wasn't disapproval either.

There was something unreadable in his eyes as they flicked to her, just briefly, before returning to his glass. Something... considering.

Most people had laughed about that incident — even Dumbledore had found it amusing at the time. But she hadn't. She had chastised Lupin, not playfully, but seriously. Genuinely.

How curious.

Remus was definitely drunk now — not stumbling, but flushed and far too sentimental for his usual composed self.

Samara snatched the glass from his hand. "That's enough. You're going home."

"Nooo, Sam, please," he whined, clinging to her arm like a puppy.

"No. No, no, no." She hauled him up, one hand gripping his robes, the other guiding him toward the fireplace. "You've reached your limit."

He clung tighter. "Sammy... I didn't realize how much I missed you until tonight. Just like old times, yeah? You haven't had a single drink — come on, let's have one together."

Samara sighed, pried his hands off her, and held his face gently. "Remus, you're drunk. Go home."

From across the room, anyone watching might have mistaken the scene for something far more intimate. And indeed, that's exactly how it looked to Severus as he observed in silence — eyes narrowed, glass halfway to his lips, silently trying to decipher the nature of their relationship.

Aurora nudged Tonks and inclined her head toward the pair. "Looks like someone's here to break your marriage," she said dryly.

Tonks looked over, saw Remus clinging to Samara while she fussed over him with a mixture of irritation and concern, and chuckled. "They're just friends, Aurora."

"Could've fooled me," Aurora said.

Tonks shrugged and sauntered over. "Sam, let the man drink."

Samara shot her a glare. "Home. Now. Both of you."

And without another word, she shoved a protesting Remus and a laughing Tonks into the Floo.

The green flames flared up, then vanished — leaving only the lingering whispers of amusement behind.

And Severus still watching, his expression unreadable.

Samara sauntered over to the table and dropped into the chair with a dramatic sigh. "When will this be over? I want to go."

Severus didn't even glance at her as he replied, "They're going to stay here until morning."

She groaned softly and lowered her head to the table, burying her face in her arms. "Merlin."

"You could leave, you know," Severus said after a pause, voice low and disinterested.

"Really?" she mumbled, lifting her head slightly.

"You're not expected to stay. Minerva leaves the moment she's had too much wine. And clearly, you're not one for drinking or... revelry."

Samara stared down at her hands, absentmindedly twisting the ring on her finger. "I don't like alcohol."

He hummed in vague acknowledgment, then rose from his chair and buttoned his coat. "I'll be leaving, Professor Pritchett."

"Wait—Professor Snape, I'll join you. If... if you don't mind. I mean, I assume you're going by foot. May I?"

He paused, studying her for a breath too long. "If you insist."

She stood, her chair scraping lightly against the floor as she reached for her coat. But in that brief second before she wrapped herself in it, Severus looked.

Really looked.

The black dress clung to her like liquid ink, catching the low amber light and tracing every curve with an infuriating elegance. Her curls bounced as she moved, wild and uncontained — completely at odds with the quiet, structured woman he thought he knew.

His breath hitched.

The liquor in his system didn't help. It dulled his walls, fogged his mind just enough to let the wrong thoughts in.

He imagined — absurdly, involuntarily — what that fabric would feel like beneath his fingertips. Silk, maybe. Or something softer. He imagined how it might glide under his palm, how it clung in places he shouldn't be noticing, how it would shift if—

He snapped his gaze away, scowling inwardly.

Control yourself.

She slipped her coat on, oblivious, and turned to him with a polite little smile. "Shall we?"

They stepped out into the night, the cool air slicing through the lingering heat in his thoughts.

He didn't look at her again.

Not properly.

He couldn't afford to.

The castle lights casting long shadows behind them. The distant sound of laughter and clinking glasses still drifted from the staff party, but out here, it was quiet.

Samara tugged her coat tighter, the chill slipping through the fabric. Beside her, Severus adjusted his cloak, walking with his hands in his pockets.

"That was... something," she said at last, giving a soft huff of amusement.

"A yearly ordeal," Severus replied dryly. "The faculty forgets their positions after two drinks. Three, and they forget basic dignity."

Samara chuckled. "Professor Flitwick was surprisingly nimble for someone his age."

"Terrifyingly so," he muttered.

"You should have worn something warmer," Severus said, glancing at her sideways as she hugged her coat tighter around her shoulders.

Samara offered a small, sheepish smile. "Didn't expect to be walking out into the cold with the Headmaster tonight."

He gave a soft, unreadable sound—something between a scoff and a hum—but he didn't press further. They walked on.

"I wonder what the students are up to at this hour," she said, her eyes flicking toward a distant tower lit faintly by candlelight. "Hopefully not sneaking out to throw their own little parties."

"They are all misbehaving cretins," Severus muttered without hesitation. "They'll always disobey. It's their nature."

Samara let out a quiet laugh. "Even during our student days, they'd sneak out, sneak firewhisky into our dorms... throw pillow fights at three in the morning."

He sneered. "Asinine traditions passed down like heirlooms. I never saw the appeal."

"But tonight's staff party... that was something else."

He raised an eyebrow. "Uncivilized. Hooch nearly broke a table leg. I'm still unsure what Tonks was attempting to do on the windowsill."

"It was fun, though," she admitted, smiling up at him. "Seeing them like that. It reminded me that even professors—especially professors—need a night to just be... ridiculous."

"Thank you for coming, Professor Snape," Samara said softly, her breath visible in the cold air.

"I only came to make sure they didn't destroy anything and bill it to Hogwarts," Severus replied dryly.

Samara laughed—truly laughed—and the sound echoed off the stone walls. It made him glance at her, and though his expression barely changed, the corner of his mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile, quickly hidden.

"You really don't like parties," she said, amused.

"Neither do you, Pritchett," he returned smoothly.

She smiled again, more to herself this time. "I'm not the party girl type."

"No," he said quietly, "you're not."

They didn't say more after that. But the silence that followed was comfortable—wrapped in shared understanding, and perhaps something else they hadn't yet named.

Chapter Text

The staffroom that morning buzzed with a certain sharp energy — as it often did when Quidditch was on the schedule — and among the louder voices ringing through the room was none other than Aurora Sinistra. She stood by the tall windows, arms folded, a triumphant gleam in her dark eyes as she launched into yet another spirited speech about the superior form of her Slytherin team.

"I must say," she declared, tilting her chin with relish, "with the way we've trained this term, I doubt the poor badgers will last beyond the first half. One good blow to their morale, and it will all come apart."

A ripple of amusement passed through the staff — the kind that came from long familiarity with Sinistra's competitive streak. Few ever bothered engaging her anymore.

At the edge of the room, Samara sat with a delicate cup of tea clasped between both hands, her gaze lowered, her expression serene. She had learned long ago that responding to such boasts only invited more of them. It was not in her nature to argue, least of all over something as trivial as house pride.

When her cup was empty, she rose with her usual soft murmur of farewell and slipped out into the corridor, her steps unhurried, her composure untouched. There, she found Professors Flitwick and Lupin conversing near the stairwell.

"Don't let Aurora trouble you, dear," Flitwick said kindly as she approached.

Samara smiled, faint but warm. "Oh, I do not mind at all, Professor. I have told my Puffs quite firmly that their safety is the only thing that matters today. I care little for winning or losing when there's a risk of injury on those brooms."

"A very sound attitude," Remus said, his voice carrying that familiar warmth of approval.

The three began their walk to the stadium, the rising chatter of students echoing through the stone halls. Neville Longbottom soon joined them, looking bright-eyed and eager, and Samara couldn't help but notice how often the young man seemed to seek her company these days, his earnest questions and easy smiles both endearing and unassuming. It was a comfortable companionship, and she was quietly fond of it.

By the time they reached the stands, the air was alive with colour and sound. Students poured in from every direction, faces painted, scarves fluttering, banners waving in the cold morning wind. Samara folded her cloak neatly over her lap, settling beside Neville, while Remus took the seat behind them.

Then came the unmistakable sound of brisk, purposeful footsteps  and with them, a swirl of black robes. Severus Snape ascended the stands with the air of a man enduring rather than attending, his expression thunderous, his dark eyes narrowed at the spectacle before him. Instinctively, the other professors made room, each quietly deciding not to sit too close.

Samara, unaware of this unspoken avoidance and guided by her unfailing kindness, turned with gentle brightness in her eyes.

"Professor Snape," she called softly, "there's room here, if you'd like to sit."

He paused, briefly taken aback, his gaze flicking to the empty space beside her. With a resigned sigh that seemed to say there was no escaping this, he lowered himself into the seat, his robes billowing around him.

"You look as though you've had quite a stormy morning," Samara remarked, her tone light but touched with genuine sympathy.

He responded only with a low grunt, eyes fixed on the field.

From behind them, Remus leaned forward, amusement in his tone. "Minerva coerced you into coming, I suspect?"

Another grunt, though this one might have held the faintest hint of confirmation.

Samara's lips curved in a small smile. "It's quite all right, Professor. Not all of us are fond of Quidditch. Professor Lupin, Neville, and I feel rather the same."

"I like Quidditch," Remus said, chuckling. "I simply prefer watching it. Easier on the bones."

Before the conversation could stretch further, Sinistra's sharp voice carried up from a lower row.

"I hope the Healer is ready!" she called, smirking. "I doubt Hufflepuff will leave without a few bruises today."

Remus began to turn, words of protest rising, but Samara reached out and touched his arm lightly.

"Leave it be, Professor," she said softly. "She's trying to start a quarrel with the wrong person. I do not care for these games of pride, nor for any trophies. I care only that my Puffs return to the common room whole."

Her voice, though quiet, held a calm authority that drew even Severus's attention. He glanced sidelong at her  a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes.

While the crowd around them roared and cheered, Samara sat poised and steady, unmoved by the fever of competition, her priorities unshaken. And in that quiet moment, though no words passed between them, Severus regarded her with a rare, unspoken respect; the kind he reserved only for those who valued sense and substance over spectacle.

And so, the game began with cheers and whistles echoing through.

The air had grown colder as the game wore on, sharp winds whipping through the stands, yet the cheers from the students remained strong as the match unfolded with all the usual intensity that came whenever Slytherin played.

Samara sat quietly, her eyes following the fast-moving players with polite attention, though her heart was hardly in the contest. Each time a student sped too recklessly after the Quaffle or ducked narrowly beneath a bludger, her breath caught just a little, and her fingers tightened lightly on the edge of her cloak.

Suddenly, there was a loud gasp from the stands as a rogue bludger veered sharply off course and struck one of the Slytherin Chasers hard across the shoulder, the force knocking the poor boy clean from his broom. He plummeted through the air, twisting helplessly until he was caught by a quick spell cast from Madam Hooch below, who slowed his fall just enough to prevent a more serious injury.

A soft, involuntary hiss escaped Samara as she rose swiftly to her feet, leaning anxiously over the balcony railing to see if the boy was being properly attended to. Her brow furrowed with genuine concern, her gaze flicking between the mediwizards who had now rushed onto the field.

Severus, who had remained still through most of the game, found his gaze drawn toward her without quite meaning to. He noted the open worry in her expression, so unlike the sharp irritation now clouding Sinistra's face below, who looked more furious that her player had fallen than truly concerned for his well-being.

In truth, Severus could not entirely fault her, he himself had often felt the same, annoyed first at the carelessness that led to such a fall, then only later allowing himself to show the worry beneath. Yet there was something disarming in the simple earnestness of Samara's reaction, in the way her only thought seemed to be for the student's safety, no matter the house colours.

After several minutes, once the boy was safely stretchered away, Samara sank back into her seat, her hands twisting in the fabric of her robes, she remained restless, her hands fidgeting softly in her lap, her eyes glancing often back toward the sidelines.

"You need not worry quite so much," Severus said at last, his tone quieter than usual, though still carrying that familiar dry edge. "Your team is performing well enough."

Samara shook her head faintly. "I could care less about the match, Professor," she replied softly. "I only wish I could check on the student who was injured."

"He is in competent hands, Professor Pritchett," Severus said, his voice a low, deep baritone that barely carried over the noise. "Pomfrey will have him patched up with minimal lasting damage."

Samara shook her head, her gaze still fixed on the sidelines. "I know. It's just... I'll never understand this sport. It was the one part of Ilvermorny I disliked, too. All that talent and effort, channeled into something so brutally chaotic."

"It is a test of nerve, not intellect," Severus replied, a sentiment he had long held. "A quality this institution, at times, seems to value above all else."

She finally looked at him, a wry smile touching her lips. "My Hufflepuffs would argue it's about teamwork. But even I think there are better ways to build camaraderie than risking concussions."

"A sentiment that would see you branded a heretic by most of the staff," he noted, though there was no criticism in his tone. It was a simple statement of fact.

"Let them," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I spent years at Ilvermorny watching students push themselves to breaking point for the glory of a win. I see the same look here. It's the same madness, just with different accents."

Severus considered this. She was not weak; she was weary of a specific, recurring foolishness he himself despised. "The madness is a constant," he agreed, his eyes returning to the game where the Slytherin Seeker was now diving recklessly. "As is the subsequent paperwork for the staff. I trust you completed the injury report for the third-year who melted his cauldron yesterday?"

 "It's on your desk. Some lessons need to be learned before the explosion."

A faint, almost invisible nod of approval was his only response. They lapsed into silence once more, but the air between them had changed. They were two pragmatic individuals, burdened with the same administrative headaches and the same tiresome duty of presiding over the chaotic, dangerous passions of children.

The conversation lapsed, their shared cynicism a small, quiet shield against the roaring crowd. The game had reached a fever pitch, the Bludgers a blur of violent motion as the Beaters fought for control.It happened in a heartbeat.

One of the iron balls, mis-hit by a Slytherin Beater with excessive force, rocketed not towards a player, but straight towards the staff section. It was a rogue's rogue, screaming through the air on a direct collision course with their seats.

Instinct took over. Professors Flitwick and Vector ducked with practiced speed. But Samara, her mind still tangled in thoughts of injury reports and warded cabinets, froze. Her eyes widened, fixed on the sphere of enchanted iron rushing to meet her. She had no time to raise a wand, no time to even gasp.

In one fluid, powerful motion, Severus Snape was out of his seat, his body twisting in front of hers. One arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other hand—empty of his wand—came up as if to ward off the blow physically. He yanked her backwards and down, pulling her flush against him as he fell back into his own seat, using the momentum to get them both out of the direct line of fire.

The Bludger whistled past, so close the wind of it whipped through their hair, smashing into the stone wall behind them with a sickening crunch. For a moment, there was only stunned silence in their immediate vicinity, the world having narrowed to the two of them.Samara found herself sprawled across his lap, her face buried in the black wool of his robes, which smelled faintly of old parchment, oakmoss, and a sharp, herbal undertone she recognized as ingredients from the Potions dungeon. 

His arm was a firm, unyielding band across her back, holding her securely in place. Her heart was a wild, frantic drum against her ribs, and she could feel the solid, steady thud of his own beneath her ear.

She pushed back just enough to look up at him. His face was mere inches from hers, his black eyes blazing with an intensity that was not quite anger. His jaw was clenched, his breathing slightly elevated. The usual mask of cool indifference was gone, replaced by something raw and fiercely alert.

"Are you intact?" His voice was a low, rough gravel, meant only for her.

She could only manage a shaky nod, her own breath catching. Her hands, she realized, were fisted in the front of his robes, holding on as if he were the only solid thing in a spinning world. The heat of him seeped through the layers of their clothing, a startling, unexpected warmth.

Around them, the world rushed back in. Outraged shouts, Madam Hooch's furious whistle, the concerned murmurs of other staff. But for a long, suspended second, neither of them moved. The near-disaster had stripped away all pretense, all professional distance. He had acted on pure, unthinking instinct to protect her, and she was clinging to him, equally instinctive in her need for the safety he provided.

He did not release her. The noise of the match, the crowd, the staff it all faded into a dull hum. In that charged silence, tangled together in the aftermath of violence, something fundamental had shifted.  It was something far more dangerous, and far more alive.

"Professor Snape." she whispered, her voice unsteady. "Thank you."

His gaze flickered from her eyes down to her lips, then back up, and the intensity in them deepened. The arm around her back tightened almost imperceptibly. before he drew a sharp breath and seemed to remember himself.

"Try," he said quietly, his tone roughened but steady, "not to make a habit of standing in the path of rogue Bludgers."

Despite the tremor still running through her, a small, laugh escaped her. "I'll do my best," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

He finally eased his hold, the moment was gone, but its echo stayed: the warmth of his arm, the scent of his robes, the sound of his heartbeat still in her ears. Neither of them spoke again, though when Severus finally sat back, his hand flexed once in his lap as if the memory of holding her refused to fade.

And Samara, for the rest of the match, found she could no longer keep her mind on the game.

When at last the game reached its conclusion, the Hufflepuff Seeker managing to snatch the Snitch after a long chase, though the overall victory still fell to Slytherin thanks to their earlier lead in goals the staff's immediate duty turned to the injured.

Severus, Samara, and an incensed Sinistra made their way down to the hospital wing. The air in the sterile room was thick with the scent of antiseptic and Dittany, a stark contrast to the chill of the stands.

The boy, a fifth-year named Elias Flint, lay pale against the white pillows, his shoulder heavily bandaged. Before Madam Pomfrey could even finish her assessment, Sinistra descended.

"A completely avoidable error, Flint!" she snapped, her voice cutting through the quiet. "Your positioning was sloppy! If you had maintained the Hawkwind formation as drilled, that Bludger would have been nowhere near you! You cost us a clean sweep!"

The boy flinched, his face tightening not just with pain, but with shame. He stared fixedly at the far wall, jaw clenched.

While Sinistra continued her tirade, Samara moved differently. She quietly fetched a glass of water and a small vial of Pain-Relief Potion from Pomfrey's tray. Instead of standing over the boy, she sat on the edge of his bed, her movements calm and deliberate.

"Are you okay, sweetie?"

The boy, startled by the kindness, turned his head to look at her. The term of endearment, so natural and maternal, hung in the air. Elias Flint, a Slytherin known for his own budding arrogance, seemed to crumple at the edges. The bravado melted away, leaving just a scared, hurt boy. He gave a small, jerky nod.

"You're going to be just fine. Madam Pomfrey has mended Quidditch injuries far worse than this. Here, Elias," she said softly, her voice a gentle murmur that offered a shield against Sinistra's sharpness. "This will help. Small sips."

His eyes flickered between her face and the potion. He drank obediently.

Sinistra had stopped her lecture mid-sentence, turning to stare at Samara with a look of pure, uncomprehending shock. This was not how one handled failure. This was coddling.

Severus, who had been standing silently by the door, observing the entire scene, felt a strange, tight sensation in his chest. He watched Samara, not as the Deputy Headmistress, but as a woman whose first and only instinct was to comfort. There was no calculation, no strategic posturing for house points. It was simply... care.

"I'll inform your parents, alright?" Samara continued, completely ignoring the stunned silence from her colleague. "They can floo-call this evening, and I'll make sure they have permission to visit you tomorrow. Okay?"

"O-okay," Elias whispered, his voice hoarse. "Thank you, Professor Pritchett.

And somewhere in Severus's mind, a thought crept in uninvited — that if she had been his Head of House all those years ago, things might have been... different. But he didn't say it. He simply turned and left with a swish of his robes, pausing only to glance back once.

Chapter Text

The stone corridors of Hogwarts held a particular chill in mid-November, a damp cold that seeped into the bones and made the warmth of a common room fire all the more precious. For Samara Pritchett, the cold was a secondary concern to the weight of the scrolls tucked under her arm and the steaming mug of strong, black tea in her hand. As Deputy Headmistress, her afternoon was a meticulously planned sequence of administrative tasks, a welcome reprieve from the usual chaos.

It was the sound of muffled laughter that first gave her pause. This stretch of corridor was usually quiet, but this was a cruel, mocking sound. She turned the corner.

The scene that greeted her sent a jolt of cold fury through her veins, sharper than any draft. Three students. Fifth-years. Standing in a half-circle under the floating form of a first-year boy-small, clearly younger, and unmistakably frightened.

He was hanging in mid-air, upside down, arms flailing. His robes had bunched around his neck and bag had been upturned, its contents-a snapped wand-holder, a copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration with its cover torn nearly in half, and a folded letter now crumpled and trampled-lay scattered around him like battlefield casualties. His shoulders shook with silent, ragged sobs he was clearly trying to suppress.

No one saw her at first. One of the fifth-years-Wilkes, she recognized-prodded the air with his wand. The Levitation Charm wavered, making the child jolt mid-air and gasp. The other two, Parkinson and Nott, were laughing under their breath.

"Come on, Dunstan, flap your arms! Maybe you'll float back to your sad little house!"

"What's the matter, little Huffle-bore?" Wilkes jeered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Is the castle too big and scary without Mummy here to tuck you in?"

"I heard his mother's a Squib," Nott added, her smile venomous. "Probably wrote to him to say she's proud he even made it into the loser house."

"Maybe we should send a letter back for him. Tell her her little boy is a crybaby who can't even handle a bit of fun."

Samara did not shout. She did not gasp. The only sign of her rage was the slight tightening of her knuckles around her mug. Her voice, when it came, was low, calm, and cut through the air like a honed blade.

"Put him down. Now."

The three students froze as if petrified. Nott's smug grin vanished. Wilkes, whose wand was maintaining the charm, jerked it so abruptly the boy dropped several inches before being clumsily lowered the rest of the way, stumbling as he hit the floor.

"Miss Nott. Mr. Wilkes." Samara took a single, deliberate step forward, placing her mug on the windowsill with a soft, definitive click. The sound echoed in the sudden, absolute silence.

"I recall your Head of House emphasizing the importance of your O.W.L. preparations. Am I to understand you find harassing a child half your size and a third of your weight a more productive use of your time?"

None of them could muster a reply. They stared, stunned by her sudden presence and the icy authority in her tone.She turned her back on them, a deliberate dismissal of their existence. Kneeling, she ignored the trio and focused on the boy.

Her voice, when she spoke to him, was a different instrument altogether-soft, warm, and woven with reassurance. "Timothy," she said, using his name to give him back his identity. She gently gathered his broken belongings, her hands careful as she tucked the torn letter into his pocket. "Look at me, sweetheart. "He lifted a tear-streaked, terrified face to hers.

"You have done nothing wrong," she said, her gaze holding his, making sure he believed it. "Go straight to Professor Sprout in the greenhouses. Tell her I sent you and that you need a cup of tea and a quiet moment. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded, a shaky, jerky movement, his breath hitching. He scrambled to his feet, clutching the repaired book to his chest as if it were a shield, and fled down the corridor without a backward glance.

Only when the sound of his footsteps had faded did Samara rise and turn back to the three fifth-years. The warmth was gone from her face, replaced by an expression of cold, unforgiving judgment.

"One hundred and fifty points," she said, her voice flat and final. "Fifty from each of you. For the systematic cruelty, for the cowardice of three against one and for conduct so despicable it stains the very stones of this castle." A collective, strangled gasp came from the trio. It was a devastating blow, one that would erase Slytherin's hard-won lead in the House Cup in an instant.

"You will report to Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing at six o'clock precisely," she continued, her eyes boring into each of them in turn. "You will assist her with the manual sanitation of all bedpans, soiled linens, and medical instruments. You will use no magic. You will learn the true meaning of service by touching that which you believe is beneath you. This detention will continue for two weeks."

Wilkes looked furious, Parkinson stunned, and Nott nauseous.

"If you are late," Samara concluded, retrieving her tea as if concluding a mundane business meeting, "by so much as a single minute, you will repeat the entire fortnight. I suggest you spend the intervening time contemplating the difference between strength and bullying. Now, get out of my sight." They scattered.

By dinner, the entire castle had heard about it. The Great Hall that evening hummed with the news. The Slytherin table was a pocket of glum silence, while the Hufflepuffs sat a little taller.

Samara Pritchett-kind, soft-spoken, always smiling-had handed out one of the roughest detentions of the year. And not to a student from her own house, which might have made sense. But to Slytherins. And not a whisper of apology in sight.

Some students were stunned. A few were scared. The seventh-years at the end of the Gryffindor table were discussing it in hushed tones.

"She's changed," one muttered.

"Snape must've rubbed off on her," another said.

When Samara took her seat at the High Table, the weight of the day was a visible mantle on her shoulders. The usual gentle warmth in her eyes was banked, replaced by a weary resolve.

Severus Snape, seated beside her, observed her over the top of his journal held in one hand. He noted the faint, dark circles beneath her eyes, the grim set of her mouth.

"The Hogwarts rumour mill is a more efficient medium than the Daily Prophet," he remarked, his voice a low, dry murmur meant only for her. "It appears you have declared a one-woman war on my house's point total and sentenced my fifth-years to a fate worse than detention with Filch."

Samara sank into her chair, the adrenaline of the afternoon having faded, leaving behind a profound exhaustion. "The punishment fit the crime. They had him hanging mid air. They broke his things. They insulted his mother for not having magical abilities.

She looked toward the Hufflepuff table, where Timothy was now eating a large slice of cake, surrounded by his friends. "He's eleven years old. He just wanted to read a letter from home."

There was a long pause, filled only by the crackle of the enchanted ceiling and the distant murmur of the students. "They crossed a line," she said, her voice low but unwavering. "A line that shouldn't need to be drawn for fifteen-year-olds."

He didn't offer a smile or a word of comfort. But when his dark eyes met hers, they held no mockery, no criticism for undermining his house. Instead, there was a glint of something rare: stark, unvarnished respect."There's always been a line," he said. "Some treat it like a suggestion. You made it clear it isn't."

Samara blinked, surprised by the comment.

"Good," he added, and reopened his journal.

Samara turned her gaze to the towering windows, watching the first snowflakes of the season begin to dust the glass. "It's not a precedent I wish to set. I'd rather they were just... kind."

"Perhaps not," Severus replied, not looking up. "But they will think twice now. That is a more potent deterrent than any curfew or point deduction. It is a lesson in consequence."

A small, warm treacle tart appeared on the plate before her. Samara looked down at it, and a slow, genuine smile touched her lips. It was a smile of quiet satisfaction, not in the punishment, but in the protection she had afforded a child.

Severus, glancing up, caught that smile. The relentless sternness in his own expression eased.

"You are smiling," he observed, his tone not accusatory, but curiously soft.

Samara looked up, her smile turning a touch wistful. "It's treacle tart. It was my favourite when I was a student here. It's... comforting."

She picked up her fork but hesitated, her gaze drifting back toward the Hufflepuff table. "Do you ever wonder if it's enough? The consequences, the lessons. Does it truly change anything in the end?"

Severus was quiet for a moment, his own dark past a heavy shadow in his eyes. "We cannot change their nature. Only their calculus. We make the cost of cruelty too high to be worth the fleeting pleasure. That is the only change we can reliably enforce. And for a boy like Timothy Dunstan, that change is everything."

He watched as she took a small bite of the tart. "Enjoy your dessert, Deputy Headmistress," he said, the title sounding less formal and more like a title of respect. "You have, for today, made the castle a fraction safer. That is a victory. Savor it."

Samara held his gaze, her smile deepening into something warmer, more personal.

The next morning, the staff room was a haven of quiet chatter and the gentle clinking of china. Samara was pouring herself a cup of tea, hoping for a moment of peace, when the door swung open with enough force to hit the wall. Aurora Sinistra stood there, her face a mask of cold fury. The room fell silent.

"Pritchett," she bit out, the name a curse. She strode across the room, ignoring the other professors. "What in Merlin's name did you think you were doing?"

Samara set the teapot down carefully. "Aurora, if this is about the detention-"

"Of course it's about the detention!" Sinistra snapped, her voice echoing in the hushed room. Flitwick flinched in his armchair. "You humiliated my students! You stripped Slytherin of a hundred and fifty points-points they earned fairly on the Quidditch pitch, I might add-and you sentenced them to scrub bedpans for two weeks! By hand! What right do you, the Hufflepuff Head, have to punish my students so severely?"

The public shaming was palpable. Sprout's lips were pressed into a thin line, her disapproval unclear, but her gaze was fixed on Samara. Flitwick looked deeply uncomfortable.

Samara did not raise her voice. She met Sinistra's glare with a calm that seemed to infuriate the Astronomy professor further."I have the right of any professor to stop bullying when they see it," Samara replied, her tone polite but firm.

"And the right, as Deputy Headmistress, to assign detentions for severe infractions of school rules. Using a Levitation Charm to terrorize a first-year and mocking his mother for not having magical abilities, qualifies as severe in my book."

"It was a bit of harmless fun!" Sinistra retorted, though her argument sounded weak even to her. "You've coddled that boy and undermined my authority!"

"My concern was for the student being harmed, not the authority of those who allowed the harm to happen," Samara said, her voice still quiet, but every word was clear and precise. "The detention stands, Aurora. If you have a further issue, I suggest you take it to the Headmaster."

With a final, polite nod to the stunned room, Samara turned and walked out, leaving a ringing silence in her wake. She held her head high, but the heat of their collective stare felt like a brand on her back.

Back in the sanctuary of her office, the composure finally cracked. She sank into her chair, the untouched cup of tea cooling on her desk. The confrontation replayed in her mind. Had she been too harsh? Had she overstepped?

The doubt was a heavy weight. A soft knock at the door broke her reverie."Come in," she called, quickly smoothing her features.The door creaked open, and Timothy, the first-year, peeked in.

His eyes were wide, but they held no trace of the previous day's terror."Professor Pritchett?"

"Timothy? Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice instinctively softening.He shuffled fully into the room, clutching a small, clumsily wrapped box. "I... I heard what Professor Sinistra said to you. In the staff room. My friend's prefect told him."

Samara's heart ached. "You shouldn't worry about that, sweetheart."

"But I do," he said, his voice small but earnest. He stepped forward and placed the box on her desk. "I wanted to thank you. For yesterday. No one's... no one's ever stood up for me like that before."

Tears pricked at the corners of Samara's eyes. All the doubt and shame from the staff room melted away, rendered meaningless by this simple gratitude. She stood and came around the desk, opening her arms. "Oh, Timothy."

The boy didn't hesitate. He stepped into her embrace, burying his face in her robes. She held him tightly, a solid, reassuring presence. "You listen to me," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"You are brave, and you are kind, and you belong here. I will always be here whenever you need me."

When he pulled back, he was smiling shyly. He nudged the box toward her. "These are for you. My mum sent them. She... she owled me after Professor Sprout told her what happened. She said to give these to the professor who helped me. They're chocolate chip cookies."

Samara took the box, her hands trembling just slightly. It was more than a box of cookies; it was vindication, it was grace, it was the reason she did this difficult job."Thank you, Timothy," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"This is the best gift I have ever received." As the boy left her office, beaming, Samara looked down at the simple package. The harsh words of the staff room no longer mattered. All that mattered was that a child felt safe. She had drawn her line, and she would stand by it, no matter who challenged her.