Rated T for language and dark themes. This fic updates every Sunday.

Summary: Severus Snape splits his time between the war effort, a mysterious plot hatched by his students, the ever nefarious Dolores Umbridge, and the physical and mental well-being of Harry Potter. The last one turns out to be even more difficult than it sounds.

And then things get weird.

A/N: Things to look forward to in this fic: Dolores Umbridge's frankly deeply disturbing crush on Severus Snape, Minerva and Severus as best bros, Albus Dumbledore as a really bad prankster, Lucius Malfoy as a poncy git, Kreacher the house-elf, a Harry Potter who seems more and more different every day, a surprisingly pragmatic Hermione Granger, and a Severus Snape who for some reason can't stop dreaming about the Dark Lord.

Buckle up, kids. You're in for a wild ride.

The boy was dead. He may still have been breathing, he may have been idly chatting with his friends, pushing food around his plate, and generally making a nuisance of himself, but when our eyes met… I knew.

Harry Potter was dead. Perhaps not physically, but nonetheless.

"Minerva," I murmured to the woman in the chair next to mine. She looked up at me, eyebrows slightly raised. Perhaps I hadn't been the most chatty of dinner companions lately, it was true, but she had no need to look so shocked to hear my voice. How anyone could converse casually, with that loathsome toad sitting just a few seats down, frankly astounded me.

"Yes, Severus?" she prompted, perhaps noting my distraction. She was one of the more insightful of my colleagues.

"Have you noticed anything… off… about Potter lately?" I tried to keep my tone neutral, my voice hushed so that Umbridge would not overhear. She, of course, was loudly telling poor Pomona all about what sorts of plants she thought ought not to be taught at Hogwarts. As if she had any say in that.

"Whatever do you mean?" She followed my gaze down to the Gryffindor table, where Potter appeared to be happily chatting with his friends, albeit less enthusiastically than he would have been last year. Unsurprising, given the resurrection of the most feared dark lord of the past fifty years; one who personally wanted Potter dead.

"Look at him," I urged, keeping my voice low. Whether or not she would see what I saw, I had no idea. I knew I had to try. I felt the sickly feeling that the fate of the world depended on it, or some such rubbish. At the very least, she was looking now.

"He's quieter than last year," she noted softly. "I'm not surprised. That boy is dealing with a lot right now."

That was an understatement. I had seen the scar on the back of his hand in our last potions class. Hardly into the term and already Umbridge (for who else could it be) was using a blood quill on him. No, it was no surprise that he was quieter. But the look in his eyes… I had seen that look before. On the more long-term inmates in Azkaban. It wasn't the sort of look you forgot.

"Keep an eye on him," I told her distractedly. Potter had noticed we were looking at him, and he was looking back at us rather strangely. I sent him a glare. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Minerva sending him a small smile. Mixed signals, no doubt.

"Why Severus," Minerva teased lightly. "It almost sounds like you care."

Blasted woman. Did she not realize what was at stake? Of course I cared. I could hardly tell her such, of course. Or maybe I could. "Do you not realize what is at stake?" I asked her quietly.

She sent me a rather mean look, no worse than I expected. "That's a fifteen year old boy you're talking about," she protested quietly.

"Oh no," I said, my gaze once more drifting down to the boy in question. He met my gaze steadily, but the challenge set in his facial features failed to reach his eyes. "He's much more than that."

Minerva humphed and went back to her dinner. I could hear her exchange some light conversation with Filius, sitting to her left.

I stared into Potter's eyes, searching for what, I don't know. I sent him another glare, and forced myself to look away. I barely managed to suppress a shudder. Something was very wrong with that boy.

But you wouldn't think to look at him, as long as you avoided his eyes. His countenance was light, and he smiled at his friends, the smug, annoying smile he always wore.

I dragged my eyes away from him (finally), and turned them to the Slytherin table, where they rightly should be. And not a moment too soon, it appeared, because Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were currently in the middle of a fight. To anyone outside of Slytherin, of course, it would look merely like a passionate conversation, held in whispers. But I — who'd known them both for years — could see the lines of tension around their eyes, the way they were shifted slightly away from each other as if they didn't want to be too close. What the devil could they be fighting about now?

They had fought the first week of term as well. A vicious thing, right in the Slytherin common room. Shouting at each other, for the whole world to hear. Quite the spectacle they'd made of themselves. I'd given them weeks of detention, and they'd only just finished serving it. And now they were fighting again… Perhaps a stronger message was needed to make sure it really sunk in. At least they were keeping it quiet, this time. I idly wondered how long that would last.

Dinner ended with something of a whimper. The last stragglers exited the room, leaving only a couple of us still at the staff table.

"Severus," Minerva said, turning to me. She, Filius, and Albus had remained behind. Albus and Filius were discussing some esoteric piece of charms theory, and they looked rather engaged in it.

"Yes?" I responded curtly. I hoped she would not bring up our conversation from earlier. I sincerely doubted she was ready to listen yet.

"Is there something going on between Malfoy and Parkinson?" she asked bluntly, and I felt my eyebrows raise. Perhaps they were more obvious than I'd thought.

"What do you mean?" I said. I certainly wasn't about to give anything away unnecessarily.

"They've been fighting in class," she explained.

My face hardened. "Have they now," I said, placing my fork down carefully on the table. I was already planning how best to show them the full weight of my wrath.

"Oh Severus, not like that," Minerva said, although there was the ghost of a smile on her face. I think she was reassured by the fact that I wasn't just letting my Slytherins run rampant, no matter how it may appear to… some in the castle. "They haven't been disruptive. Cold glances, hushed whispers in the hallway. There's obviously something going on."

"I'm afraid I don't know any more than you do," I reluctantly admitted. "They got into a rather vocal argument the first week of classes. A couple weeks of detention seems to have cured them of that, but it certainly hasn't helped relations between them at all."

Minerva considered this. "Perhaps… A lover's quarrel, then? I can't think of what else would ignite such…" Her lips twitched. "Passion."

My lips twisted with distaste. "I rather prefer not to involve myself in such affairs," I informed her stiffly.

"You don't even know if they were dating?" Minerva said, with far too much glee for the situation.

"Like I said. I prefer not to involve myself in such matters."

"Well, what do you think? Lover's quarrel?" Minerva looked positively delighted at the thought. There was something seriously wrong with that woman.

"I think not. Surely if it were a simple lover's quarrel, it would have resolved itself by now." I had no idea though. I was being honest, I rarely involved myself in such matters, instead leaving it up to the older prefects to handle. They understood these things much better than I did, and were always able to adequately advise the students. I truly had no idea how long these sorts of things would last for. But Malfoy and Parkinson, even as prone to dramatics as they were, were hardly the type. Weren't they? And most importantly, I hadn't noticed anything romantic between the two. Not that I'd been paying attention, but in my experience, teenagers were rarely subtle.

"You don't think so, then?" Minerva asked. "Well, it seems we have reached something of a disagreement." Uh oh. "What do you think of a little wager?"

I glanced over to where Albus was sitting. He wasn't paying us any attention. "What sort of wager?"

"The loser takes the winner's patrolling duties for a week."

I could feel myself practically salivating at the thought. What a wonderful week that would be. And of course, there was no way I could lose. As if Minerva would ever know my own Slytherins better than I did! "What exactly are your terms, then?" I asked, but we both knew I would agree.

"If it turns out to have been a lover's quarrel, I win. If it wasn't, you do."

"Agreed." We shook hands on it. That, of course, left the matter of how we would find out. But as we shared a brief look, I knew we both had our ways, and we absolutely would not be divulging those to each other.

"How have your first couple weeks been?" Minerva asked me idly, as we prepared to leave. Did I have everything? Self: check. Excellent, that was everything. Boy did I love spending literally all of my time in the same god damn building.

"About as well as can be expected," I responded. No cauldrons had been melted yet, surprisingly. Although the first years wouldn't start brewing until later this week, so I suppose that didn't mean very much. "Yourself?" I asked politely.

"They seem to get more nervous every year." Minerva chuckled slightly, and grabbed her cloak from where it had been sitting on the back of her chair.

That actually could be very possible, I realized darkly. The world was a much scarier place than it had been even only a couple years ago. How much had that actually impacted eleven year olds? I would have to have a conversation with my first years, and soon, perhaps. Maybe they could still be spared the full brunt of the war. Or perhaps I should just start handing out calming draughts.

There was a staff meeting the following morning, bright and early, requested by Umbridge. Her reasoning sounded fine on paper, namely wanting to bring up some issues of student discipline that she was having trouble with as a new professor, but I had no doubt it would be just as useless as everything else she did.

It was with the utmost reluctance that I dragged myself out of bed. It should be a crime to have to deal with Dolores Umbridge at six thirty in the morning. Certainly the things I longed to do to her after only minutes in her company would get me arrested most quickly. I downed a cup of strong, black tea before I left my quarters, and then grabbed another cup as soon as I got to the staff room.

Vector was already there, so I sank into the seat next to her.

"Rough night?" she asked, like she was the funniest person in the world. She probably thought she was.

"Not as rough as this meeting is about to be," I muttered back, and her snort of amusement actually did cheer me up a little. Enough to give Minerva a nod as she took the seat across from me. The rest of the staff filed in, and you could see the annoyance on their faces at having to be up this early to help Umbridge with a problem she wouldn't have if she were a real teacher instead of just another Ministry lackey. Or maybe I was projecting.

Umbridge, the foul toad, was the last to arrive, a full ten minutes later than everyone else. Even Albus was looking impatient.

As a result, he got straight down to business the second Umbridge squeezed her rather ample bottom into one of the rickety wooden chairs. "We are here today, at the request of Dolores-" he gave her a nod, and she smiled sweetly at us as if we weren't all glaring at her. "To discuss the issue of discipline among the students. Have there been any major problems of note?"

I had a laundry list of complaints (as I did every year), but I was honestly too tired to bother. I braced myself for a rant from my most estmeed colleague, but thankfully Filius jumped in first.

"I've had no major problems, Albus, although I've noticed Luna Lovegood is still getting bullied. Most likely by the same girls from last year, as well. I've been keeping an eye out, but I haven't found any hard evidence, so I haven't been able to hand out any punishments yet. Luna, the poor dear, is rather reticent about the whole matter."

Albus nodded sagely. The girl was in her fourth year, and was still having trouble with her housemates. I tolerated no such behavior in my class, of course, so I hadn't realized it was still happening. Deep down, I was actually rather fond of the girl. She was truly brilliant at potions, with a creative flair that even the best students often lacked.

Umbridge scoffed, and you could feel the temperature drop in the room. I imagine most of my coworkers had a similar soft spot for the girl.

"I'm sure whatever bullying she's experiencing, she brought on herself," Umbridge said.

I glanced over at Vector, who looked positively murderous. Ms Lovegood was rather excellent at arithmancy, I had heard. I shifted eagerly in my seat.

"Be that as it may," Albus said, moving the topic along quickly. The bastard. "Have there been any other problems?"

"The fifth-year Gryffindors have quite the attitude," Umbridge said primly. There it was, the moment we'd all been waiting for. And only five minutes into the meeting, too. Maybe we'd actually get out of here in a reasonable amount of time.

"Oh really?" Minerva said coldly. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Harry Potter," Umbridge stated grandly, "is a pompous, arrogant, attention-seeking brat, who needs to be taught a lesson."

"Can't argue with that," I muttered, rather more loudly than I had intended, apparently, because Umbridge was now giving me a large, conspiratorial grin. I had a deep, sinking feeling in my gut. Unfortunately, Vector must have noticed the look of alarm that crossed my face, because she looked much too delighted with the situation.

"Then give him detention, Dolores," Minerva said, exasperated. They'd had this conversation countless times already.

Umbridge glowered. "I have, but the brat absolutely refuses to learn his lesson. He is a constant disruption in class."

Not that there was anything to be disrupted. I'd heard about her teaching methods from my Slytherins, at length. I'd been encouraging self-study, and making myself available to any who wanted tutoring. There were quite a few who'd taken me up on the offer, mostly my NEWT-level students.

Minerva looked conflicted. She made it a rule not to interfere with others' teaching methods. But by all accounts, Umbridge was provoking the boy. Frankly, from what I'd heard from my Slytherins, Potter was actually much more subdued than he'd been previous years. (Minerva thought he was growing up. I knew better.) Of course, she could hardly say as such. Dolores held an uncomfortable amount of power, and making an enemy out of her would only make things more difficult in the long run.

"Yes, well, perhaps you could try assigned seating," Minerva actually suggested. Assigned seating! Like they were children! Dolores loved it, of course. Minerva was absolutely brilliant.

"An excellent idea, Minerva! Separate the trouble-makers…" Dolores was wearing a rather vicious look of glee, especially considering how benign assigned seating was. I wondered what else she had planned. Merlin, she was a fucking nightmare.

The meeting continued on, discussing the various pros and cons of different disciplinary methods, something that every real teacher had heard a thousand times before. My eyes glazed over. I could feel my eyelids drooping. It took all of my willpower not to lay my head down and just go to sleep.

I must have actually fallen into a doze at some point, because I was woken up by a sharp kick to my leg. Umbridge was still droning on about something I didn't care about, and Vector was smirking at me. That witch.

She nodded slightly over at Minerva across from us, and I noticed with glee that her eyelids were drooping as well. I certainly wasn't going to let her forget this any time soon. (All the more because Minerva's state meant that she couldn't have noticed my own.)

Thankfully, perhaps sensing our distress, Albus brought the meeting to a close and we were all free to head down to breakfast. Not that that stopped Umbridge from ranting on to anyone within a meter radius.

There wasn't a single student in the great hall when we arrived, and I felt a pang of jealousy. Those brats. They were probably only just waking up, nestled in their warm beds… I had a feeling I was going to be extra hard on my students today. Who did I have first? Ah yes. The fifth year Slytherin/Gryffindor class. Brilliant.

Minerva looked marginally more awake as we sat down to breakfast, and Vector and I shared another smirk.

Potter entered the great hall obscenely early, only the fourth student to arrive. He looked surprisingly awake, as well. In the five years I'd been keeping a (reluctant) eye on him, I'd never noticed him to be a particularly early riser. Likely it was inconsequential, but it certainly made me wonder. He looked well rested, as well. Uncommon for any teenager.

I felt the sharp urge to use legilimency on him, but I supposed there really wasn't any reason to, other than my own curiosity. I wasn't about to break the law for so unsubstantial a reason, no matter how satisfying it would be. I had some morals, after all. I had to.

His friends arrived much later, and seemed surprised to see him there already. There was a sharp, angry exchange and then the three of them ate their breakfast in stony silence. Curious, indeed.

No one at the staff table was particularly talkative this morning, but Vector and I amused ourselves by slowly pushing all the coffee pots within reach over to Minerva, and seeing how long it would take her to notice. We managed to get four coffee pots circling her plate, before she gave us the stink-eye. And then poured herself a healthy cup.

Vector and I shared another smirk, which only served to make Minerva glare harder, but a sip of coffee calmed her down.

"As deputy headmistress, surely you must have some sway over the scheduling of meetings?" I asked, my tone lacking its usual venom. If anything, I probably sounded a bit desperate.

Minerva snorted. "I wish. I agree, this was poorly timed. But-" she looked around slightly and lowered her voice. Not that Umbridge was paying any attention anyway, still nattering on to anyone who would listen. "Dolores insisted the meeting be held as soon as possible, you see. Apparently she decided she needed more time than would fit in a regular staff meeting."

"How utterly loathsome," I said, wrinkling my nose, and Vector looked thrilled. I suppose she probably agreed with me. To say the least.

"Yes," Minerva agreed with me. "Well, her request was reasonable enough, I suppose. A meeting to discuss student discipline…"

"I think she already knows all about student discipline," I muttered under my breath. There'd been rumors that she was using a blood quill in detentions. Legally quite murky, although no doubt she'd been granted special dispensation for it. None of my Slytherins had been subjected to it. But then, they knew to keep their heads down.

Minerva sighed. Her face pinched, lips pursed. Gryffindors were not known for keeping their heads down. She looked more tired than I'd seen her in years. "At least she doesn't oversee many detentions personally," she tried, but lacked any real conviction.

I stayed silent. There was no comfort to be had in this.

And then it was class time. Half of the fifth years, the ones wearing green and red, filed into the room. Draco and Parkinson sat at different benches, pointedly not looking at each other. They had been fighting for weeks. Surely there was no way this was caused by a romantic entanglement? There was noo way Minerva could have caught something like this, when I missed it. Shit, I suddenly realized, I might actually lose this bet.

Potter sat in the back with Longbottom, studiously avoiding his friends' eyes. With no one talking to each other, perhaps I would finally be blessed with a quiet lesson.

I gave them a small lecture on the potion they would be brewing — a variant on the calming draught that was often used to treat post-traumatic stress disorder. I kept shooting longing glances at the cup of tea sitting on my desk, just begging to be downed. Strong, thick, and stolen from the great hall. The same way I always took (a-ha) my tea. Behind me, the board filled with notes, copied from some papers I had on my desk, and timed to certain voice commands. Annoying to set up, but once it was there, it worked exceedingly well. And it felt magical, to have the notes write themselves on the board.

When I first started teaching, my hands used to shake every time I stood in front of the class. No matter how well I knew the subject, or how young the students were, I would still be a bundle of nerves, every single time. Thankfully, that had faded quickly. It had been a disaster at first, teaching so soon after spying. Everyone was still riding the high from the end of the war, and all I could think about was who had been lost. I treated the students rather harshly, much to the displeasure of my colleagues, but once I had settled into teaching, I merely settled into being overly strict, rather than cruel. The students hated me, of course, but accidents were low and OWL and NEWT grades were generally quite good.

This class, though… I glanced at Potter's messy hair, next to Longbottom's light brown locks and round face that reminded me so much of Frank's. This class got on my fucking nerves like none other. And many of the Slytherins were reporting back to their parents. Four years of them carrying tales of my cruelty to the Boy-Who-Lived back to their parents had gone a long way to ensuring me a place in the Dark Lord's ranks. Certainly that's what I told Albus every time he complained that I was too harsh on the boy.

The students brewed studiously, for once. Perhaps the difficulty of the potion actually managed to take their mind off of house rivalries. Although rivalries had been at something of a low this year. United against a common enemy, and all that. If only the enemy weren't so deplorable, it might have been worth it.

As it was, Potter and Longbottom still managed to epically fuck up their potion. Why did I allow them to partner together? I suppose I could always take a page form Umbridge's book and treat them like five-year-olds, assign them seating and hold their hand the whole time. Certainly if they were going to act like five-year-olds, I should treat them as such.

I peered hesitantly into their cauldron. I could just make out lion fish scales sitting in the bottom of the light blue liquid. The idiots.

"Did you add lion fish scales instead of willow bark?" I snapped at them. I knew they had, of course, but did they? And did they realize what a colossal mistake they'd made?

Of course not. They just stared at me, Longbottom with an expression of abject horror and Potter with an expression of blank confusion. Really, this was just preposterous.

"Do you realize what you've made here?" I asked. It was impressive they'd managed to make anything. They also must have left out the newt juice earlier. How else would they have been able to brew such a strong-

"Poison?" Potter asked me.

"What?" I responded, stunned and slightly unnerved. If my occlumency weren't perfect, I might think the boy had just pulled the answer out of my head.

"It's a poison," Potter repeated, this time more confidently.

Was anyone else seeing this? Could I be imagining things? Or did Harry bloody Potter just actually identify a potion?

"Not just any poison," I said stiffly. It was probably just a lucky guess anyway. Everything Potter brewed was fucking poison. I tapped the lip of the cauldron thoughtfully. It hadn't been on the fire very long at all. Curious. "You've made a poison infused with the properties of a calming draught. One sip of this, and the drinker is literally calmed to death. They know they're dying, of course." I was murmuring softly, keeping my voice low. Potter and Longbottom were still staring at me, but no one else seemed to be paying attention to us. "But they simply don't care. Imagine, feeling your heart slowly stop beating, and you can't even bring yourself to call for help."

Longbottom looked like he was going to throw up. Potter… Potter still had that same blank expression on his face. Suddenly, I felt a shiver go down my spine. Something was wrong here. Potter's eyes were a little too bright, his gaze a little too steady. Once more, I resisted the urge to take a quick look into his mind. I would figure out what was going on with him without resorting to gross invasions of privacy.

Damn my morals.

"Either fix it or start over," I told them, and turned away. There was a passage in the book about accidentally turning calming draughts poisonous. It would give them a method for neutralizing the poison, if they bothered to read the book. It was curious, though, how they were able to make such a perfect batch of the calming death. The potions were very similar, of course, but there were a couple key differences. Quite the coincidence, to hit all those differences spot on.

As I reached my desk and turned around, I saw Potter slip a small vial into his robes, and I felt my heart freeze.

The bastard. Had he done this on purpose? I gripped the desk, leaning on it heavily and trying to look casual when in fact I felt like my legs were going to give out. My eyes drifted to Weasley and Granger, working together quietly. Did they know their friend was going to poison someone?

Possibly himself, a nasty voice whispered in my head. The wood was warming up under my fingers, and it was starting to feel slippery. My hands were sweating. I wondered if the rest of me was sweating as well? I didn't feel hot. On the contrary, I felt cold. Freezing, actually, even though it was September and the room was full of fire.

Don't be absurd, I told myself sternly. Perhaps Potter took it as a just-in-case, as a last resort safety measure. Maybe he was going to slip it into Umbridge's tea, not that it would work. All dishes in the wizarding world had poison detection charms on them. They would certainly detect a poison as common as this. But did the boy know that?

I would have to keep a close eye on him, then. But I could hardly follow him around forever. I couldn't even follow him to his next class, I had two more that afternoon.

Blast. I would have to think of something, and quick.

Wait a second…

I ducked into the storeroom for a second, and put up a quick silencing charm.

"Mipsy," I called softly, trying not to tap my foot impatiently. I hated leaving a class alone.

"Yous is calling, sir?" a small house elf asked earnestly. I felt my height rather keenly, looking down at her.

I knelt down to look her in the eye. "Mipsy, I have a task for you."

She nodded eagerly.

"I worry that one of my students is planning something bad," I told her. Her eyes widened appropriately. "Could you keep an eye on him and let me know if he slips a light blue liquid into anyone's food? Or if he takes it himself." I hesitated for a moment. "Or if he does anything else to cause serious harm to someone or- or to himself." The words felt cold on my lips.

She nodded vigorously. The house elves kept an eye on the students when they could anyway, so I doubted this task would be difficult. Not that they usually watched them so closely, but certainly an exception could be made in this case.

"The student is Harry Potter," I told her, after leaving the requisite pause for dramatic effect.

She stilled for a second. Even house eves knew his fucking name. But then she nodded again.

"Yes sir!" she told me. "I's be watching him!" And with a soft pop, she disappeared.

Well. I suppose that took care of that. With a sigh, I went back into the classroom, amazed to find that no one had managed to explode anything in the short time I'd been gone.

Dolores Umbridge cornered me right after my last class.

I was sitting at my desk, feeling utterly exhausted from my longest day of teaching (one double period and two regular classes — pure misery), when she trundled through the door of my classroom. The wretch even had the gall to close the door behind her.

"Severus," she simpered, smiling sickly at me. Dear god. Would this finally be the end of me? A dark lord, countless death eaters, and a manipulative old goat, and in the end it would be Dolores Umbridge, killing me with the most insulting smile I'd ever seen. I was almost impressed.

Oh shit, I had to reply. "Dolores," I responded politely. The name felt like poison on my tongue, but she looked pleased.

Calm down, Severus. Think of your job. Think of the students. Think of how unpleasant this woman could make things for you. Calm down, and play nice. For fuck's sake, play nice.

"How can I help you?" I asked politely. I once had tea with Bellatrix Lestrange. Surely I could handle a Ministry flunky. Dolores Umbridge couldn't possibly be worse than fucking Bellatrix Lestrange.

She stood in front of my desk, barely taller than me even though I was sitting down. Her ugly, stiff curls piled on top of her squat head, pink bow perched carefully on top. She clasped her hands in front of her and then she batted her fucking eyelashes at me.

Oh god, this was worse. This was so much worse. Why didn't I think to install an escape hatch under my chair? What a fool I'd been.

"I noticed in the staff meeting this morning that we share many of the same opinions on student discipline," she said, overplaying the sweet tone.

I thought for a second about what she said. "I suppose we do," I said, my voice betraying none of the growing nausea I felt. I shared the same opinions on student discipline as Dolores Umbridge. Minerva and Albus were right, all these years. I was a terrible professor. My stomach flipped unpleasantly. I would have to reevaluate my entire classroom demeanor. I would have to carefully examine every word I said, every point I took. Dear Merlin, she was saying something.

"-and I know we share many of the same opinions on one student in particular."

"Harry Potter," I said calmly. I was a monster.

"Precisely!" she said gleefully. I was responsible for the joy now on her face. I shouldn't be allowed near children.

Pull yourself together, Severus! I thought desperately. Really now, I was going to be stuck with her all year. I couldn't fall apart after our first real conversation.

"Something needs to be done about that awful boy!" she said. Well, I did agree with her on that, although I imagine not the way she meant it. Potter's eyes flashed through my mind again. "He cannot be allowed to continue spreading these lies!" she almost shouted. Her face was flushed, and her hands were clasped so tightly her fingers were turning white.

But she didn't look mad, she looked-

"Dolores, are you all right?" I asked, trying to sound like I genuinely cared.

Her expression softened. "Oh Severus," she said. I thought longingly of Potter's poison from earlier. I wouldn't even give it to her, I would drink it myself, and fall into the pure, sweet bliss of eternal sleep. "Thank you for asking."

"I've been dealing with Potter's lies for years," I said. "And I've never found them to be anything but the childish ramblings of an arrogant little boy. You mustn't let him get to you like this. I've no doubt it only encourages the brat." I tried to make my words as kind as I could bring myself to. Umbridge reigning in her temper would be excellent for everyone.

"Whatever lies he was telling before, this time it's different." Her squinty little eyes were narrowed, and her nostrils flaring every other word. "The stupid boy doesn't realize how serious this is! He has gone too far, claiming You-Know-Who is back. And Albus Dumbledore-" she said the name with a disgust that I'm sure Albus would be thrilled to hear, and punctuated it by stabbing the air with her stubby little finger. "-has clearly gone senile if he believes the blasted boy! Telling the press he's back? Trying to incite a panic? People may have tolerated Potter's juvenile antics before, but this is too much!" Her voice rang out, echoing against the stone walls of the dungeon. Her chest was heaving, and her eyes were far too wide, far too bright.

It suddenly occurred to me that Dolores Umbridge was more than old enough to have survived the first war. And as she stood in front of me, the only sound in the room the harsh panting of her breath, I wondered who she had lost. Even on a face such as hers, you could see the raw pain. Perhaps this was not a woman motivated by hate, like I'd assumed, but by simple fear. Fear of the terror that had infested the nation. And now, this fifteen-year-old boy was saying the more horrible wizard in recent memory was back. Perhaps… Perhaps Dolores Umbridge wasn't-

"And with an election year coming up, no less!" she screeched, and all of my sympathy instantly vanished. Probably for the best. If I was feeling sympathy for the puffed-up wart, then I would be forced to promptly throw myself off the Astronomy tower.

Oh shit, she was looking at me expectantly again.

"Of course, you're right," I murmured soothingly. Play the role, Severus. Years and years of fucking playing your role, how is this any different?

"Something must be done," Umbridge said stiffly. It appeared much of the fire had gone out of her.

"We shall both think on it," I told her. "And then we will discuss it again at a later date. This is the sort of problem that requires deep thought." I tried to add an air of confidentiality to my tone. She was well on track to thinking I was a strong ally in all this. Perhaps once she trusted me, I would be able to temper some of her worst behaviors.

Ugh. Minerva would never let me live this down.

The ghastly being standing in front of my desk attempted to flutter her eyelashes at me again. It rather looked like she had a nervous tic. "Of course, Severus. Thank you so much for your help." On a better woman, I might have considered her sudden attitude demure. This was just sad.

"Indeed."

Thankfully, she left with nothing more than a last long look over her shoulder.

I needed a shower. A long one.

Mipsy appeared in my office late that evening, as I was just finishing up some grading. The second I saw her, standing there wide-eyed and wringing her ears, the quill fell out of my hand and I lurched to my feet.

"Mipsy! Is it Potter?" Of course it was Potter, what was I thinking.

"Sir, I's is sorry sir, I is not knowing where Harry Potter is!" She looked on the verge of tears.

"What? How do you not know where he is?" My stomach rolled over and I felt sick. It hadn't even been a day, and I'd already failed.

"I's is sorry sir! Mister Potter sir has an invisibility cloak sir, that I is not being able to see through! He is not being in the tower, sir!"

Of course, Harry fucking Potter just had to have the only fucking invisibility cloak in the fucking world that house elves couldn't fucking see through.

Oh god. He was somewhere in the school. He had a poison that would kill painlessly, and possibly a death wish. Or maybe he was going to poison someone else. And I had no idea where he was, and no way of tracking him.

"How quickly will you be able to find him once he takes the cloak off?" He wouldn't die invisible, right? And if he was poisoning someone else, well, then that person should have taken a little more care to not get poisoned by a fucking school boy. Merlin, this whole situation was a complete nightmare.

"Less than a minute, sir, for sure! We is good at finding people, sir! Anywhere in the wards!" Mipsy seemed relieved that I wasn't angry. Or maybe relieved that she hadn't doomed Potter. The house elves all loved the brat.

"Come get me the second you find him!" I told her. She'd be able to find me, just like she'd be able to find Potter once he took the cloak off. Seriously, what was that thing? No wonder James Potter had managed to get into so much trouble.

I grabbed an antidote and headed out of my office, and up a few flights of stairs. I sincerely doubted Potter would be in the dungeon, and I was willing to take that risk. With luck, he would end up nearby, and I'd be able to reach him post haste.

While I could understand why the wards were set up so as not to allow house elves to transport passengers, it was a real pain in situations like this.

Mipsy appeared only a few minutes later. "Astronomy tower!" she said, and I was off running before she'd even finished the first word.

Of course the boy would pick the highest point in the castle. Six flights of stairs later, and I was not only extremely out of breath, but standing at the top of the tower, wind whipping furiously at my cloak. It was surprisingly bright, with a full moon that normally would have chilled me to my bones but now only provided a useful light by which to see Potter.

And boy, was he a sight. He was sitting on the edge of the tower, facing out into the darkness, but he turned to look over his shoulder when he heard me. His eyes were dark, and I suspected his pupils were dilated. That plus his strange pallor indicated he had taken the potion. At least it meant he wouldn't fight me. He was sitting up, although he was swaying slightly, so thankfully I still had some time. Soon he would be unable to support himself at all. And from his position, he would fall backwards when his muscles gave out, not forwards. Backwards off the tower.

"Potter," I said hesitantly. The boy stared blankly at me for a moment, then slowly, his eyes narrowed. He was wearing a white button-up over black pants, the standard school uniform, minus the robe. His untucked shirt was buttoned incorrectly, and his sleeves had been haphazardly rolled up. The wind whipped at his hair, messing it up even further.

"Pofess- pofesso'," he slurred. "What- what're you doin' here?"

"Potter, I've come to help you." I stepped forward slowly. He was probably too far gone already, but the last thing I wanted to do was startle him.

Potter frowned at me. It was a sharper expression than I'd expected to see on his face, considering.

"No thank you," he murmured, and turned away from me again.

What the devil. "Potter!" I said sharply, and he quickly turned his head toward me again. He was much too alert for someone who had taken the calming death. Perhaps he hadn't taken it at all? A moment ago I had been so sure.

"I don't feel calm," he told me. He didn't look calm, either. What the fuck was going on?

"Drink this, and we can talk about it," I said, trying for a soothing tone. I was no good at this, damn it. And certainly not with the son of the man I despised.

"Why would I want to talk to you?" He let out a harsh laugh. How was he so lucid?

Lucid enough to fucking stand up on the wall of the Astronomy tower.

"Potter!" I said, panic rising. I liked the calm one better.

"I'm sorry, professor," he said, shaking his head. "But don't you see? This is how it has to be."

"Don't be stupid," I said, much too harshly, for Potter shook his head wildly. The wind was picking up now, enough that I had to shout to be heard. Potter's gaze met mine, and although I couldn't see the color in just the moon light, I could see how bright his eyes were.

My mind flashed unwittingly to my discussion with Umbridge. Potter, seeking attention, making up lies. No regard for his personal safety. Standing on the edge of the Astronomy tower at midnight under a full moon, hair flying everywhere. Of course he would pick the moment of maximum drama.

Potter must have seen something change in my face, because he let out a wild laugh. "Of course it's you!" he shouted at me. "Of course it would be you here, of all people!"

I knew what he meant, but I still found myself taken aback by the anger in his voice. Seriously, what the hell had happened to that poison?

And in my moment of distraction, Potter took a step backwards, and disappeared from view.