Chapter Three:


Harry slowly trudged a few paces behind Ron as he led the way up to Gryffindor Tower. He had hoped his last year at Hogwarts would be less frantic than any of the others, but it was obviously not to be.

It had all been going so well! No deranged attacks from a maniac and no absurd reasons for the whole school to hate him. Snape had even begun to lay off him a bit in Potions class, the old animosity only staged for those few students hell-bent on throwing their lives away by following said maniac. Now, however, it appeared that Snape once more utterly despised him, over a spoon of all things!

He looked up, surprised, as Ron spoke the password – 'Tricksy Truffles'. He had not realised they were at the Common Room already. Harry smirked as the Fat Lady swung open – it didn't take a genius to work out that Dumbledore had chosen the passwords this year. He had even heard that the one for the Hufflepuff Common Room was 'Mulberry Muffins'.

It was rather adorable how all the little ones took them seriously, though.

There were only the few people who hadn't gone to dinner dotted around the Common Room, making it appear more spacious than usual. Hermione was especially hard to miss, seated on the couch right beside the fire, looking as if someone had used a foot pump to inflate her with indignation. Beside him he heard Ron gulp. They were really in for it, well, Ron was at the least.

"Go up to the dorm," Harry hissed as he grabbed Ron's arm, preventing him from bolting.

Ron nodded miserably and plodded towards the spiral staircase while Harry slipped over to where an outraged Hermione was watching Ron's progress.

"Don't worry, he's not escaping you, it's just, the dorm would be much better for plotting, don't you think?"

Hermione gave him a suspicious look, and then deflated, nodding distractedly, and looking as if she was wondering why she hadn't thought of that herself. Harry grabbed her arm and tugged – the sooner this was sorted out, the better.

Soon all three of them safely ensconced on Harry's bed, curtains partially drawn and 'Muffliato' – a spell Harry had picked up from Professor Snape during sixth year – on the door.

"The best thing for us to do," Hermione stated, hogging all of Harry's pillows, "is to act completely nonchalant, while watching closely for the best opportunity to return the… object." Hermione paused and waited while Harry whispered 'nonchalant means casual' to Ron. "This means waiting until Professor Snape is obviously pre-occupied with something else–"

"But, Hermione," Ron cut in. "Snape's never pre-occupied! His eyes are everywhere, his attention is everywhere; Snape is everywhere! Besides, I'll bet the second the three of us set foot in his classroom, it'll be a silent Legilimens and then we'll really be in for it. Harry... Why are you smirking?"

"Because, Ron, Snapey-kins doesn't know that after… Sirius died... I started studying Occlumency on my own. By now I'm good enough to block my connection to Voldemort almost completely, and misdirect people who try to probe me. Snape tried it on an awful lot last year, and didn't even realise what my true thoughts were because I redirected him to memories about Quidditch and brewing while hiding my true thoughts in the elemental image I conjured up."

Hermione and Ron were gaping and Harry couldn't help but feel smug that the accomplishment, made through his own hard work, had made his friends temporarily speechless. After a long pause Hermione and Ron spoke almost simultaneously.

"Harry, that's amazing! Why didn't you tell us earlier?"

"Brilliant, mate! Serves Snape right! What were you really thinking all those times?"

"One, because I still wasn't sure of my skill and two, composing sonnets to the size of his nose and greasiness of his hair, actually."

Hermione tutted while Ron guffawed.

"But, mate," Ron continued a moment later when he'd collected himself. "What good does it do us if you know Occlumency and we don't? Snape will just assume we're to blame and cast Legilimens on us instead."

"Ron, you are to blame," Harry snickered. His green eyes blazed and seemed to glow with inner light. "As to the other; let me show you how."

***

Albus leaned forward. "Severus, my dear boy, how are you feeling?"

Severus scowled.

"Ah, wonderful, I'm so glad you're feeling better. You were quite upset during dinner, don't you know!" Albus' wand appeared in his hand and, as he gave three decisive flicks, a tray carrying a bowl of lamb stew and a glass of apple juice appeared on the coffee table between them.

Severus snorted derisively. "Apple juice, Albussh? What am I, ten?" Severus paused. Had he really just said Albussh? Maybe he was slightly more intoxicated than he first thought. It did not help that Minerva was snickering behind her hand at him.

"What?" he snarled at her, reaching for the juice, intending to get rid of the evidence before much else could be said.

Before he knew what was happening, he was falling, ever so ungracefully, out of his chair. Puzzlement adorned his features, before he muzzily lifted his head and squinted towards his brand new bottle of Firewhiskey.

Ah, half-empty – that's why. Gradually he became aware of near silent laughter, and he sneered in the general vicinity of Albus and Minerva. Best to not insult them – his tongue felt like it had a lead weight tied to the end of it.

Albus came around the coffee table, a delighted smile still firmly in place, and hooked his wiry arms underneath Severus' own to help him up.

"Perhaps some Sobrietus Potion first, Severus?" questioned Albus, as he pushed the swaying Potions Master back into his seat. He made his way over to the wall opposite the fireplace, and consequently, the cabinet where Severus kept all his medical potions.

"Ah, here we are!" He selected the bluish-silver potion from the top shelf and swept back over to Severus, whose eyes appeared to be vaguely crossed.

Indeed, this was made more apparent a second later when they had trouble focusing on the swirling potion shoved in front of his nose. Severus frowned faintly and looked up into Albus' face.

"Albussh?"

"Yes, Severus?" Albus adopted the customary patient expression used on drunks by their friends everywhere.

"Your robessh, are really, really horrible."

Albus stared down at his fuchsia robes covered in tiny gold swiggles. "Is that so?"

"Yessh, they're making the room sshpin."

"That's because you're drunk, Severus."

"Issh it really?" Severus looked surprised.

"Drink!" Albus pulled the stopper out and shoved the phial even further under Severus' nose. Eventually the younger man managed to secure a firm hold on it and toss it back.

Severus blinked as the room came back into focus, first looking up at Albus, and then over to Minerva, who was still wiping tears of mirth from her eyes and muttering, "Oh, we do love you, Severus. You make getting up in the morning so much more worthwhile!"

"Oh," he said.

"Not to worry, dear boy." Albus placed a hand on his shoulder before lifting the dinner tray and placing it on Severus' lap. "Eat and drink up, you need to keep your strength up as much as any of us. Now, enlighten me, precisely how long have you wanted to tell me what you think of these robes?"

Severus flushed and mumbled something into his stew.

"Probably since the moment you first wore them, Albus," Minerva exclaimed as she shuddered. "They truly are hideous!"

"Ah, wonderful. I shall endeavour to wear them to the next Board of Governors' meeting – they could always do with a bit of cheering up!" Albus settled back a little deeper into the couch before continuing. "Now, onto a more serious matter, Kingsley has informed me that the moles within the Auror office appear almost ready to make their move, so you should be prepared to be Called any day now."

Severus grimaced and nodded. He was grateful Albus always made an effort to avoid the Dark Lord's name in Severus' presence. The word 'Voldemort' was in fact a trigger word linked to the Dark Mark, causing a spasm of pain to go through the arm of any Death Eater within hearing range. It was, supposedly, a warning system so that 'loyal' followers could listen in on said conversations. However, Severus suspected it was more to do with the sadistic bastard's penchant for causing pain.

Honestly, Severus thought, if the Dark Lord's grand speeches regarding the death and subjugation of all Muggles weren't a hint that he was cracked, then this certainly was. I don't know what took me so long to work it out, young fool that I was.

Someone reached over and gripped his hand, bringing him back to the present. Minerva patted the back of it a couple of times before releasing it, her sympathy a counterpart to Albus' sombre expression. Though he sneered at them both, he knew that out of the whole of Hogwarts, he only willingly accepted the touch of these two people. Anyone else, unless it was Poppy Pomfrey, was likely to get a tongue lashing strong enough for their ears to want to shrivel up and die.

"Remember your Portkey, my boy. You're still useful to the cause even if you can no longer spy for us."

Severus nodded as he finished his stew. "I'm not deranged, Albus. It's not as if I'm going to think I'm only worth something if I die a martyr's death. Besides, I still need to find out which little cretin has made off with my soup spoon!"

"Glad to hear it, Severus, glad to hear it," Albus chuckled. "I'm sure whoever has done it will see the error of their ways very soon. Now off to bed with you, you've both got full days of classes tomorrow, whereas I can spend the whole day flicking thumb tacks at Phineas Nigellus with no one being any the wiser. I'll deal with any essays due back that you haven't marked already."

Severus groaned. "You're even nastier to the students in those essays than I am! Whatever would they think if they found out their kindly old Headmaster was calling them 'idiot savants who appeared to have mislaid their entire brain before coming to potions class,' hmm? I shudder to think what you were like as Transfiguration teacher!"

Albus twinkled. "Let us hope they never find out," he whispered conspiratorially. "Now, bed, both of you!"

"Calm down, Albus, we're going." Minerva helped herself to some of Severus' Floo Powder. "Goodnight, Severus," she called before disappearing in a flash of flame. Severus smirked as Albus settled behind his oak desk and started hacking through essays with sharpened quill. Maybe company wasn't so overrated after all.

"Albus?"

"Hmmm?" the old man murmured, not looking up.

"How did you get into my quarters?"

This time the Headmaster did look up. "Why, with magic, Severus!"

Severus ground his teeth as he slammed into his bedroom. Oh how he abhorred company!