Author's Notes: This was originally written for the "Snape After DH fest" with the prompt of Snape's first days of teaching. Thanks to MaraudersAffair for the beta assistance. Thanks for the constant confidence boosts should also go to her, Auberus and many others! Without them, I wouldn't be posting!
His lips quirked upwards ever so slightly – passersby wouldn't think of it as a smile, but it was. The sight of Hogwarts, no matter the time of day nor the time of year, filled him with happiness. It was his home, not that hovel he recently left nor his childhood home, Spinner's End. It was here that he grew up. It was here that his memories could be found. There were good memories and there were some not so good, but they were here and nowhere else. He sighed, happy to be returning to the place his mind knew as home.
Severus surveyed the classroom from his position standing at the doorway. The distinct smell of mold struck his nose. His ears picked up the sounds of scurrying animals across the floor as the dim torchlight cast shadows. The tables and chairs were just as filthy as ever. The stone walls were a dull shade of black, not the weathered grey of the rest of the castle. The teacher's desk at the head of the room tilted oddly, one leg apparently broken and missing its chair.
The supply cabinet in the room was bare, save for a few cobwebs covering the empty shelves. The one drawer it contained rattled when he attempted to open it. The sinks at the back of the room were covered with a blue-green layer of scum, the "drip-drip" of the faucets loud in the oppressive silence. Cauldrons were stacked haphazardly in the corner, threatening to fall over at the slightest movement. Various stirring rods, ladles and glass vials, some obviously unusable, were scattered around.
He crossed the room, ignoring the squelching noises made when his feet touched the floor. The office was in a slightly better state, he saw, although there was no chair in sight. The desk was standing upright, all of its legs intact, but the drawers hung open, some missing their hardware and some broken. Empty bottles of firewhisky and brandy could be seen on the floor. Layers of dust covered the books lining one wall. A stench of decay hit him when he opened the wardrobe. Something – a bat, he realised – flew out at him and began flying around the room.
Dread began filling him as he approached the door that would lead to his quarters from the office. If the office and classrooms look like this, what will the quarters look like? he wondered. The door, however, was locked. Alohamora didn't work, nor the generic password Dumbledore had given him. Sighing, he reached the conclusion that the previous professor must have used a personal password and that he would need to resort to other measures. However, now was not the time to fight with an inanimate object. He retraced his steps, spelling the doors to stay open as he located the hallway entrance to the quarters.
Dumbledore's password worked instantly, the painting transforming into a door that opened willingly. Torches automatically began lighting, the bright light making his eyes water momentarily. An indescribable smell struck his nose as his eyes adjusted. The air felt thick and damp, pressing against him as he fought to breathe. The entry was a decent size, with bookshelves and a fireplace. An archway showed the way to the bedroom and kitchen areas. Years of grime, it appeared, had coalesced into a sticky black sludge on the floor, the faint outlines of where furniture had been clearly visible, although the quarters were completely unfurnished at the moment.
"Beaker," he said, fighting to keep his voice even as he called for the house elf assigned to him.
The "pop" of the house elf's arrival echoed in the silence. "Y – Y – Yes, M – M – M – Master S – S – Snape?" the house elf sputtered and squeaked.
"Please explain," he began, his hands clenching into fists, "why the quarters and the classroom are this . . . disgusting? Were they not cleaned?"
The house elf began shaking visibly, its voice continuing to stutter as he spoke. "M – M – Master Slughorn d – d – did not w – w – want house elves i – i – in his quarters o – o – or dungeons. We n – n – not clean unless h – h – he calls a – a – and he t – t – tells us."
Severus glared at the house elf. "As you can clearly see," he said, "I am not Professor Slughorn and I have expectations that my rooms will be clean and presentable. Please see that this is corrected."
"Yes, sir!" the house elf said, perking up and showing enjoyment at the thought of working again. "Beaker is starting right away, sir! Beaker be back with stuff for cleaning." Another "pop" announced the elf's departure.
Severus sighed, returning to the classroom through the hallway. He stood at the front of the room, a sense of being overwhelmed trying to overtake him, but he fought against it. The echoes of approaching footsteps grew as he stood there. "Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said as Severus turned to face him.
Severus fixed his gaze on the wizard. "Yes, Headmaster?" he quietly said.
"After you left, I realized I had forgotten to inform you of your duties that exist outside of your teaching responsibilities." Severus simply nodded. "As Head of Slytherin House, of course, you will be responsible for overseeing the daily routines and needs of the Slytherins."
Severus nodded in understanding. "Yes, Headmaster," he calmly said.
"Also, you will be expected to supervise students during their study periods to ensure their focus is on their studies and make nightly patrols of the halls," Dumbledore finished. Severus nodded again. He had expected these duties – the newer staff always did the work the older, more experienced staff had no desire to do.
The smile on Dumbledore's face suddenly departed as he took in the sight of the classroom in its disheveled state. "Oh, my," he murmured as Severus turned and strode into the room.
Severus paid little attention to the mumblings of the old wizard as he summoned the house elf and requested several buckets, sponges, rags and other cleaning necessities. The house elf disappeared and the requested items appeared just as quickly. The Headmaster's footsteps echoed as he entered the room and went directly to the office. A smirk crossed Severus' face at the string of oaths he heard from Dumbledore. Although he wasn't sure of the reason for the foul language, he hoped it was because of the horrible state of the classroom and quarters.
"Severus," Dumbledore said, exiting the office to approach him. A slight blush of fury was seen on his face and his eyes held a look of determination. "I feel I must apologize for the state of things. I had foolishly assumed all would be taken care of by Professor Slughorn before his departure."
"It is understandable, professor," Severus said, attempting to keep his voice even. Part of him wanted to rage at the wizard, asking him what the hell he thought Slughorn was doing down here. "The house elves are seeing to the quarters, as I wish to handle the classroom and office."
Dumbledore nodded. "I shall expect to see you at dinner, then." Severus nodded, then turned back to filling the buckets with water as the headmaster made his exit.
Once Dumbledore had left, Severus sighed and filled the last bucket. His hands massaged his temples as he took another look around. For the first time, though he knew not the last, he wondered what he had agreed to when he accepted the old wizard's offer of teaching.
Two weeks of scrubbing with a sponge in his hands, countless shouts of "scourgefy," "reparo" and other variants, as well as a case of Mrs. Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover, the classroom finally met his approval of cleanliness. The boggart from the cabinet had been relocated to the staff room closet. The cobwebs and their resident spiders had found other homes outside of the dungeons. The floors and walls were a brilliant shade of grey that matched the rest of the stone in the castle. The tables and chairs, although still obviously worn and used, were scrubbed to a gleaming shade of wood. Broken equipment had been discarded and replacements were arriving before the start of classes. The sinks no longer had a lining of scum and the faucets no longer dripped.
The only thing he had yet to do was to get rid of the bat that had flown out of the closet on his first day. It had made a home in the beams on the ceiling of the classroom and appeared to move far too quickly for even his sharp reflexes to catch either by hand or by wand.
Even the house elves had done far more than Severus had expected. By the second night, Beaker had the quarters gleaming in the bright torchlight. Not a speck of dirt, dust, grime or cobweb could be found. The small pantry was lightly stocked with tea, biscuits and other foodstuffs and the icebox held a selection of refreshments. He declined the house elf's offer to unpack his trunk and unshrink his furniture, preferring to complete that task himself.
Piece by piece, the quarters, as well as the classroom and office, began to take on a bit of himself. The bookcases held his vast array of books, journals and writings. His prized cauldrons and utensils found their spaces in the private lab abutting the office and his quarters. Soft rugs in various shades of green carpeted the floor around the bed and in the entryway. There were no actual windows, since the classroom and the quarters were below grounds, but magical windows mirrored the sky outside when he bothered to open the shutters. The owls that delivered his mail and professional journals quickly learned to leave the items in the staffroom upstairs, lest they enjoy a battle with the bat from the rafters.
When not involved in the physical activity of cleaning something, the days were still busy. Potions needed to be brewed for Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary as well as for Professor Sprout to use in the greenhouses and Professor Kettleburn to have handy in case of accidents with the magical creatures. Lesson plans were developed following the guidelines Dumbledore had set forth in their first meeting. The stores of ingredients were being replenished, thanks to numerous owl orders and trips to Diagon Alley.
Through it all, there was daily contact with both Dumbledore and McGonagall, for reasons he wasn't sure of. The other professors made polite conversation with him at meals and acknowledged his presence when passing in the halls, but those two sought him out every day. After a few weeks, it was rather annoying.
Severus sighed, then winced at the pain that simple action produced. His robes were muddied and torn, well beyond saving. Blood seeped through the layers of clothing to soak the black cloth despite the healing charms he had casted an hour earlier. His face was deathly pale, his hands shook despite the tight hold on his wand and he winced with every movement he made. The sight of the entrance doors to the castle had never looked more inviting than they did at this moment. The meeting with Voldemort had taken the entire night. He vaguely recalled being summoned as the sun was setting. Now, he was returning with the sun slowly rising.
His thoughts were focused on simply returning to his quarters, healing his wounds and falling asleep. The few remaining potions that were brewing didn't require his attention for another day. The classroom was ready for the students' arrival in less than a week. He had received all of the owls he was expecting with replacement equipment and ingredients. His lesson plans had met the approval of Dumbledore. Beaker and the other house elves now regularly maintained his quarters.
Severus entered the castle quietly, gently closing the door and trying to walk quickly across the entrance hall despite the slight limp to his step and the slouch in his body. Halfway across, a loud shriek pierced the silence, hurting his ears as much as the startled movement of his body did. He didn't need to look into the Great Hall to know that Madam Pomfrey was the source of the shriek. He had heard it enough during his time as a student.
"Severus Snape!" She quickly shouted, running over to him. "What in the name of Merlin happened?"
"So much for getting to my quarters," Severus grumbled to himself, slowly turning to face the mediwitch. "I am f-" he started to say, but was interrupted.
"You are not fine!" the mediwitch declared, brandishing her wand with a flourish as Dumbledore and McGonagall approached. "You are obviously in pain and bleeding."
The gasp from McGonagall matched the astonished stare on Dumbledore's face. Despite all of the meetings the three had held regarding his spying work, they had never seen him in a state such as this.
"Oh, Severus," McGonagall said, her tone matching the concern seen in her face. "What . . .Where?"
"It was not an attack, professor," he quietly said, grimacing as Pomfrey poked her wand at a particularly sore spot on his head. He jerked away, but instantly regretted the action because of the nausea it produced.
He closed his eyes and felt Dumbledore's hands steadying him, the man's soft voice speaking quietly. "Were you summoned?"
Severus nodded, hearing sounds of disgust from the two witches. "And this is what happens?" McGonagall asked, the disbelief clearly apparent.
"In a manner of speaking," Severus said, hissing at the pain caused simply by shifting his weight. He opened his eyes to glance at the three assembled around him before averting his gaze to the stone wall over Pomfrey's shoulder. "Gatherings with the Dark Lord do not involve tea and biscuits," he muttered darkly. "My current state is the result of several successful duels with other members of the inner circle. It is the Dark Lord's choice of entertainment periodically."
McGonagall's gasp echoed in the empty hall despite her hand covering her mouth. "He . . . does what?
"Enough," Pomfrey said. "To the infirmary with you. Your injuries require immediate attention. A sprained ankle, a mild concussion and Merlin knows how many gashes are hiding under those rags contributing to severe blood loss."
Snape shook his head, gritting his teeth against the nausea that came. "My quarters are closer," he said. "I have a supply of potions and medical necessities in my quarters for events such as this and I am capable of handling myself."
"Be that as it may, Severus Snape," Pomfrey said, glaring fiercely at the wizard, "you are in this school and you are a patient of mine. You will not get rid of me so easily."
"I quite agree, Severus," McGonagall said. "Perhaps it would be best to be in the infirmary where Madam Pomfrey can-"
"No!" Severus stated, quietly but firmly. "I am capable of handling myself. Do you sincerely believe this is the first time I have found myself in this condition?" Looks of shock and disbelief quickly found their way to the witches' faces while Dumbledore's face remained impassive. Severus winced at the pain of shifting his weight again.
"Poppy," Dumbledore said, cutting off whatever the mediwitch had planned to say, "perhaps you could accompany Severus to his quarters? After all, he is a member of the staff now, not a student."
Pomfrey glared at Dumbledore momentarily. "I will go with you to your quarters, Severus, but if I do not find what's necessary to fix you up, you will be going to the infirmary with me, even if I need to bind and gag you!"
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," he said softly, knowing this would be the best compromise he would get. Only the mediwitch followed as he made his way to his personal quarters, muttering the entire way and making comments about "meddling fools" and "idiots with wands," which slightly amused Severus.
Severus led her into his private lab and to the shelves housing an array of potions and salves. He selected one, showing her the label that clearly marked it as a pain-relieving potion before downing it in two gulps. The effects were immediately felt and Severus straightened his posture, matching the scrutinizing gaze of the mediwitch. "Before you continue your assessment and treatment, may I be allowed a brief shower and a change of clothes?"
Pomfrey nodded, then shooed him away, occupied with browsing his shelves for the items she sought. Severus hid his smirk as he walked away. What did they think? That he hadn't found himself in this position – or worse – while being a Death Eater? He no longer looked at the bruises marring his body – only those wounds with blood or bumps gained his attention. The same potions and salves he brewed for the infirmary he had also brewed for himself.
Still, a part of him – a small part that was buried deep inside – was grateful for the care and concern. It was something that had been missing for the past five years of his life.