The Pranking of Severus Snape
Chapter 4: The Faculty Lounge
Dumbledore was the first to arrive with McGonagall. Then Flitwick, Sprout, Sinistra and her pygmy puff, Boogie, Hagrid, and assorted others of the faculty who were not involved like Trelawney, Binns, Filch, and Mrs. Norris, because this was the time of day where mostly everyone broke for tea and perhaps coffee.
Peeves was relegated to another corridor and heeded Dumbledore's warning for once. The ghosts knew something was up because they had sixth sense or something or maybe not because they probably had no senses because they were dead. They gathered they would find out later on because they just had an, er, feeling that something was not quite normal at Hogwarts because some of the teachers were acting strangely. They detected guilt over something, but they could be wrong.
Dumbledore had been briefed by Minerva as tactfully as she could. What they had done and the rationale behind it. He has listened patiently and carefully and said nothing. But thought they believed as that Renaissance muggle writer did. Well, they hoped the ends justified the means.
He had been told about the effect their words had had on Severus, and he wished to observe himself.
He would promise them nothing. If it was to help him, well, sometimes lessons were learned in discomfort. But if he felt he had to intervene and tell Severus the truth he would, if he thought he should.
He had always surmised that Severus cared for her whether he recognized it himself or not. But he hadn't made up his mind whether or not he would go along with this ruse.
For now he would just observe.
As he had been since he appointed Severus her mentor when she first started working at Hogwarts. He had observed a lot.
Sprout waved her wand from where she sat strategically in a chair, perched on the edge of her seat due to nerves, as most of the others sat on couches, chairs, or stood around the room. Waiting, knowing he would come. And double-checking that Septima's mug was next to his.
It was a nice touch.
He taught today. Some had spotted him striding quickly to the dungeons for class in the morning. On time as usual and they knew he would be coming up as he always did during his free period at least once a day for coffee.
Severus really was a tea person, but on the nights when he left the castle to work for Dumbledore or meet with the Dark Lord, depending which night it was, he rarely slept. He could be out until 4 or 5 in the morning spying or Merlin knew what else, and he would be up and ready for Breakfast at 8 or the first class period at 9.
The coffee helped him after those late nights which were at least 2 or 3 nights a week.
They were not sure if he had work the previous night. Most likely he was just suffering from lack of sleep because he had been crying into his pillow all night and thinking of Septima. Who knew? Spattergroit was a nasty business after all.
The door swung open and Flitwick double-checked again to make sure the elaborately decorated, silver coffee urn was filled with enough coffee left for Severus.
Really, why put him over the edge if he had to wait for caffeine? They had done enough to the poor fellow and should at least make this allowance for him.
Snape entered slowly and paused eerily, they noted, at the doorway when he noticed he was not alone.
He saw that most of the entire staff of Hogwarts was there. Even Filch and that damned strange cat were looking at him with sympathy which he detested. He did not need their pity. He had dealt with sorrow his entire life; sorrow and very little joy.
They noted he still looked ravaged and distraught, and he had puffy eyes and dark rings around his eyes; most likely from lack of sleep. His pale face was still stricken and pained looking as well.
But they also surmised that he had been crying. There was a slight tinge of pink in his eyes. And they doubted very much that Snape, an expert dueler, especially with his superb timing, agility, skill, and knowledge of some downright nasty Dark Arts curses under his sleeve, that anyone had hit him with a Conjunctivitis spell, and he hadn't defended himself. Even though some were worried about how his level of "will to live" was doing at this point due to Septima.
It was touching. And in all honestly, they really meant touching as in moving. Not like Snape did, when anyone referred to something kind or sweet and he had this nasty habit of delicately raising one black eyebrow, a sneer dripping from the corner of his mouth, as he sarcastically and softly said, "Oh, how touching."
And they felt like the most evil bastards known to wizarding kind.
But they had to rally on because it was for his own good.
Septima was secure at the Sinistras. Tomorrow was break and she would be leaving for her two weeks holiday time from there instead of Hogwarts.
They would ask Sinistra later, what the hell she could have possibly told her to make Septima not come in today.
Or they could ask Dumbledore what she had told her headmaster as to an excuse for leaving a day early. She was not in trouble. Septima was never late and rarely took off unless she really wasn't feeling well. She did part-time consulting at Gringotts, her former employers from time to time, and still returned to teach Arithmancy without being late.
Unless Snape had intercepted her on her way to her classroom to badger her or, er, hound her. That has happened too.
Dumbledore, to their knowledge, had kept his temporary word and had gone along with what McGonagall had told him. He trusted her and respected her after knowing her and working closely with her after so many years.
Snape surveyed the room coolly and tried to arrange his face in more controlled and composed lines upon entering.
He would not display his grief again as he had at Black's house.
Apparently, he didn't realize he may have no control over that because he still carried an air of grief.
But he really didn't care anymore and did not feel himself after a night of tossing and turning, some stiff shots of firewhiskey, and fighting off tears that wouldn't cease.
So yes…he had performed legilimancy on Flitwick who was staring at him with his mouth agape, I guess you could say that I was crying into my pillow. As it were….under the circumstances…yes…you nosey old fool…
He stepped into the room, nodded grouchily, and walked slowly over to the coffee urns, but the usual vain and striding walk was lacking.
He is not himself. The imperious walk is, er, quite pathetic today, poor thing…thought Sprout.
Snape thought he heard a whisper about himself and guessing correctly turned quickly and looked about the room again suspiciously as he stopped upon reaching the urn.
Aurora Sinistra shook in her seat and hoped it wasn't noticeable. If he thought she had anything to do with this or suspected something regarding Septima, well, she was dead. He had never gotten over the Witch Weekly contest and her role in it and he…the sonofabitch was so proficient at legilimancy she would never be able to hide anything from him.
So she kept her eyes and face slightly downcast and hoped for the best. She stared at her nervous hands clasped in her lap. He passed her and for a split second gave a tender look which was surprising at the pet on her lap, Boogie, the pygmy puff. Then the sneer was once again firmly in place for defense. He never allowed his emotions to break through, but under so much strain and sadness, it seems they had for a brief moment. Boogie had been purchased for her by Septima for her birthday. He seemed to remember that as he moved on without threatening to evanesco Boogie for once or to give him to Filch the squib, to use as a dust rag for the Slytherin common room.
Yes, he frequently threatened to bring about the demise of other people's cute and defenseless pets, but she still felt sorry for him. And she realized that it just might be that as well, just empty threats.
And he would never touch, not one purple hair on Boogie's body. Septima would kill him. She was his godmother after all. And she had cheerfully jeered at Snape that he should be Boogie's godfather. Knowing the humor of being godparents to pets, but she indulged her best friend, Aurora, and it was quite a joke between them.
And that was another story. Hagrid had been with them and thinking it was sweet, told of his godparents and how they were a married couple. Snape had sneered and rolled his eyes, but looked piercingly at Septima waiting for her reaction or comment to this, hoping she put two and two together, about the reference to their own status. Septima had mimicked vomiting and choking her own neck when he turned his back after an uncomfortable silence when she said nothing and ignored his stare.
Snape reached for a ceramic cup and dropped it.
He reached for another and slopped coffee all over himself.
"Here, let me," Sprout rose, and she poured it for him as he snarled his thanks softly, sounding like a wounded animal in captivity.
He dropped it again and Sprout suggested he sit in his usual high-backed chair that no one else sat in, just in case he entered the lounge for coffee at the same time they did.
He trudged slowly over to the chair, his robes billowing out and falling softly and settling as he sat. He took the cup and nodded, offering a low, deep thank you and eyed the room like a cornered animal as he took a soft, cautious sip, not trusting himself.
After three sips he could bear it no more, the silence, and the eyes watching him carefully and with outward pity, and rose with the cup and left the room abruptly.
They heard the third cup crash outside the faculty lounge door where he had dropped it. They heard a "blasted thing" shouted from the door as he cursed the cup he had dropped. Flitwick covered his ears when he heard the next expletive clearly through the door as well.
They all looked at Dumbledore as they heard Snape's footsteps die away.
"I have seen everything I need too. My own suspicions were correct…perhaps even more than I originally had suspected. It is for his own good. He does care for her and she would never imagine how much this man loves her. Carry on. You have my blessing."
Dumbledore turned from them with a small, excited grin on his delighted face, the clear blue eyes twinkling.
He really was a softy and a romantic at heart.
Dumbledore reached the door and turned around with a swish of brightly colored robes.
"I will grant my permission to have the wedding at Hogwarts. I would so delight in a reception in the Great Hall. Charming blue skies for that day I rather think," as he referred to the charmed ceiling. "And Filius, I have seen how you decorate at Christmas, perhaps you know a charm or two for wedding decorations."
He exited the lounge.
He might be jumping ahead of himself but it was certainly promising.
And now that both Snape and Dumbledore had left the talking commenced.
12 Grimmauld Place
"Hagrid, please stop sobbing." He wiped his eyes with his polka dot handkerchief.
"How heartbreaking!"
"He can't follow her around now like the sick puppy he is."
"Sirius!"
"He would rather have his soul kissed by a dementor than this, I would like to see it, he once threatened to watch mine be taken by them, honestly…"
"Sirius!"
And now they planned for what to do next. Septima was safely away at her parents and the holiday break had begun.