I neither own nor profit from the world of Harry Potter.
Severus Snape looked around the empty office, face impassive despite the lack of observers. It was a large room, but currently sparsely furnished. The desk faced the door to the classroom and a large chair sat behind it. Along two walls were bookshelves and filing cabinets containing planning materials and student information. A large window looked out toward the Forbidden Forest, and a second door led to the living quarters that he would most certainly not be making use of.
With a sigh he sat at the desk, pulling toward him the stack of Defence grades for each incoming year from second through seventh. He'd been surprised when Minerva had boasted the OWL defence grades earlier that summer. Severus hadn't really believed that Potter's little group had done little to help his friends - just look how poorly they'd managed against the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. If the Dark Lord hadn't wanted as little outright death as possible (the Ministry's refusal to accept his return had been a true boon) then all would likely have been killed outright. He should have known though that, with Granger at his side, Potter would have focussed on the OWL spells rather than true survival – hence the success of his peers.
Longbottom though. Who'd have thought it?
The exam results told him very little. Only the OWL cohort had sat an externally produced syllabus, and he'd banished the parchment of results left by Umbridge already. Minerva had, however, been right. His Slytherins rarely did badly at defence, but across the board aptitude tended to be patchy. The examiners' comments here were almost irritatingly complementary. Students showed an unusually high familiarity with and confidence using a range of defensive magic. Spells cast were usually accurate and thankfully lacking in the hesitation that we have so often seen. The written portion of the exam was overall less strong, but students were particularly strong in discussing dangerous creatures and the use of defensive magic. Students are encouraged to continue with this subject where at all possible.
He huffed. So the OWL students were patchy in knowledge but confident in casting the most obvious defensive spells. He supposed even less could be said of the lower years, who hadn't even had the advantage of Potter standing in front of them, asking to be jinxed.
With a flick of his wand the results were re-filed, leaving Severus' eyes free to peruse the room. It was a mistake.
Here, last year, Umbridge had tried to crucio Potter, and had attempted to use veritaserum on his students.
Here, Alastor had been imprisoned in a trunk for months by Barty Crouch Jr.
Here, though no scratches remained to remind him, a werewolf had curled each full moon – harmless until it wasn't.
Here, the Dark Lord, acting through Quirrel, had attempted to curse Potter's broom in his first flying lesson, accidentally hitting Longbottom.
Here the Dark Lord had survived for a full year, in these rooms. He had shared a classroom with the students under Severus' care and had taken the life of a boy that Severus had once taught.
Severus shuddered. He could almost taste the dark residue, thick under his tongue. He had already informed the headmaster that he would remain in the dungeons, close to his charges, and now he was even more glad of his decision.
With a twist of his lips he summoned a fresh stack of parchment and his textbooks from the shelf. The students would need to be prepared for the war: prepared to face arts of the darkest nature. It was his job to get them there.
It was midday by the time Severus stretched his arms out. He'd set a demanding syllabus, he felt, but not an unreasonable one provided the students were properly motivated to learn. He would use the class time largely for practical application of the spells that should be learned as far as possible as homework – a necessary decision given the lack of tuition in previous years. Beside the window sat a large wooden filing cabinet. The right hand side held details of the students' history with the subject, while the right was free for the current teacher's lesson plans.
Or at least it was supposed to be free.
When Severus pulled the drawer open he was surprised to see neatly organised parchment filling the space. Frowning, he thumbed the labels. Creevey, Finnagan, Potter… most of the students' names were those of Gryffindors and he smirked as he pulled out a sheaf at random. It was clearly detention lines.
Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood.
He scowled. Umbridge.
Another sheaf then.
I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies.
He glanced at the name. Potter. It was hard to know whether to feel angrier at Umbridge or at Potter. He told himself that they deserved each other – though a small part of his head told him that subjecting Lily's son to a woman who had made a student write out Mudblood as lines was grossly wrong.
Another stack of parchment.
I do not belong here. I do not belong here. I do not belong here.
With a frown, he pulled out the detention slip for that particular set of parchment. He recognised the name – a first year Hufflepuff. Half-blood. Appalling at potions. The detention slip read: Meghan repeatedly questioned the information provided in her textbooks. As somebody new to magic she should know that the wizarding world is no place for those who do not respect the education granted to them.
With a scowl Severus stuffed the note back into the filing cabinet. Odious, to be sure, but at least the woman had only made them write lines. Perhaps he should have a word with Sprout though, at least about Meghan.
"Wally." He snapped.
A small house elf appeared at his elbow, dressed neatly in a Hogwarts tea-towel.
"Master Snape sir." He squeaked.
"The contents of this filing cabinet should have been cleared in preparation for the new professor." Severus gestured to the parchment.
Wally bowed respectfully. "Master Snape sir." He said. "Hogwarts elves is not allowed to touch any items which has students' blood on sir. Not unless they is sheets or other normal –" he struggled with the vocabulary for a moment – "not unless they is benigns magics sir."
Severus was startled. "You cannot touch items imbued with blood magic?"
Wally shook his head, his great ears flapping. "It is in the Hogwartses Charter with the elves. We is not implicated and we does not do damage."
Severus nodded slowly. "So what does this have to do with this parchment?" He asked slowly, before realisation dawned. "Wally are these written in blood?"
Wally nodded, twisting his hands. "Yes master Snape sir."
Severus felt sick. He picked up the sheets that he had left on the top of the cabinet.
Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood.
He pulled out the detention slip. Elliot Jones. Muggleborn. Gryffindor. Second year. For allowing words to provoke his temper. Elliot should learn to be more accepting of other students' beliefs and opinions.
Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood.
With a faint crack Wally disapparated. Severus barely noticed.
Mudblood. Mudblood.
A twelve year old had been forced to write Mudblood in his own blood.
Mudblood.
Severus Snape sat back down.
The staff had already gathered for lunch by the time Severus stalked into the staff room. With only a fortnight of August remaining the heads of houses had returned to the castle – or remained there – and for once he was glad of it.
Minerva frowned at him good naturedly. "You are tardy, Severus."
He didn't scowl back, and she looked slightly alarmed.
He shook his head. "Don't worry Minerva. Nothing particularly urgent." He paused, unsure how much to say. Now that he was here, his outraged was tempered by a whisper that might be called strategy. The consequences of this revelation would be powerful, particularly if directed. "I came across Dolores' detention slips this morning."
Her lips thinned and she turned to the beans that had just appeared before her. Her voice was particularly tart as she replied. "I'd have thought you'd be gloating, given the amount of time she had Harry in there last year. She might have given him more detentions - for speaking the truth I might add - than you've ever managed!"
I must not tell lies.
"Potter deserves all the detentions he's received from me and more." He snapped. "In any case, 95% of the population believed him to be lying last year. What's one more?"
Minerva raised an eyebrow. "You have no sympathy for Potter's plight?"
He imagined the boy sat there, carving away at his hand and felt slightly sick. The feeling barely disappeared as the boy morphed into James Potter. James Potter, sat with that odious woman, scratching the words into the back of his hand, a pile of parchment beside him.
A pile of parchment.
Minerva was still watching him. "You need to imagine him to be any other child, Severus. He is a child. An orphaned teenage boy with no caring family, a government organised media campaign against him, and a terrorist organisation after his life."
Severus waved her words away and she looked incensed.
"How many detentions did Potter do with Umbridge?" He asked urgently.
She frowned. "More than anybody else at the school I imagine. Why?"
At least Minerva had not known, had not ignored the students. He had not really thought she might, but how had none of them realised?
I must not tell lies.
Severus forced his mouth into a smirk. He didn't want the whole staff table to know, not yet. Minerva scoffed and turned to Filius, leaving Severus alone.
I do not belong here.
He flinched.
Back in his office, Severus used his wand to sort the piles of parchment. There were two types: small piles for young or one time offenders like Meghan or Elliot, and larger piles for those repeat offenders like the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan.
And then there was Potter. Severus thought that Minerva might have been correct. Potter appeared to have served more detention than even his father had in fifth year, and that was really saying something.
His initial scan of the parchments had confirmed the assumption he had made when Wally had told him what the words were written in. They had been written using a blood quill. It had also thrown up another result - one that had made bile rise in his throat. There was a weak compulsion charm on the parchment. It activated on contact with the individual and at least explained the lack of knowledge of the torture among the staff. He couldn't imagine Potter telling him about this - but he had been appalled that nobody had known about the first years. First years!
The charm would likely to have been enough to ensure discretion on its own, but the magic would have interacted with the children's blood, strengthening the enforced silence, at least until the words had healed from their skin, and quite possibly long after.
I do not belong here
Mudblood
I will fail
Blood-Traitor
Slut
I must respect those who are better than me
I must not tell lies
Given the number of detentions Potter had performed, Severus imagined that the boy had a well defined scar.
It took Severus a moment to work out what was bothering him about Potter's detentions. Had he not invaded the boy's mind on multiple occasions last year? How had he not seen the abuse? Surely, thick skinned though he was, the quill had made some impression? He frowned. He had seen personal memories from the boy, it was true. The sixth year Ravenclaw, the dog chasing him up a tree... He wondered for the first time if those were truly Potter's most secret memories.
Filthy little Mudblood
He closed his eyes.
In any case, the potion that Severus had dosed himself with had washed away the compulsion charm's residual effects, and he was unwilling to leave the consequences until the hectic start of term. The detentions were summarised in a neat chart, sorted by house and year, and his urgent messages had been received. Even now he could hear the other heads of house laughing as they walked toward his classroom, Dumbledore's chuckle joining the cheerful voices.
It was nearly time.
The fire flared. Amelia Bones and Alastor Moody stepped out. Alastor's magical eye examined the room closely before settling on Severus, who could see the tension in the other man's shoulders. Severus nodded politely, internally wincing at the realisation that this room must be a difficult space for the auror too.
I don't belong here.
"Thank you for coming." Severus said, as his companions exchanged pleasantries and sat down. "I have an important report that you should all hear."
I must not tell lies.
"It concerns the detentions set by Dolores Umbridge. I believe she has harmed a number of students, primarily in houses other than my own. I am most concerned" - the word came out as an automatic sneer - "about Harry Potter."
Author's note
I'm considering taking this further, but am pretty busy with exams / work / life, and I've never written anything before. Feedback much appreciated.