A/N: Gah, sorry for the wait but the ideas for this chapter died inside my brain before I could record them. Thanks to all who voted in the poll, by the way!
By breakfast on the third day of Professor Dumbledore's teacher swap, the Golden Trio were feeling decidedly downcast. Not only had they decided to take it upon themselves to find out who had poisoned Snape (even though Ron had protested that whoever did it had done the school a favour), but they also had to face a series of excruciatingly dull detentions until somebody owned up to it.
"Who would do something that risky in front of the whole school?" Harry wondered as Ron chomped on a well-buttered piece of toast and Hermione looked on, disgusted.
"Like I said: Malfoy," Ron mumbled with his mouth full.
"Ronald! Don't talk while you are eating."
"Yes, Mum," Ron replied testily.
"I'm just not sure whether he would have the guts," Harry continued, ignoring his friends. "Plus, I am sure he would be gloating about it already if he had."
"Not now that everyone knows it went wrong, he wouldn't." When Ron and Harry both looked at her as if she had started speaking Russian, Hermione explained further. "Who wants to say that they messed up a simple joke?"
"I am not so sure that it was meant as a joke," Harry said morosely. The Trio moved their gaze up to the staff table.
The staff were all eating in silence. Filius was not telling his usual jokes, Rolanda was not giving her usual play-by-play account of the latest Quidditch matches, Aurora was not staring up at the enchanted ceiling. Severus was not there. In truth, none had predicted how profound an effect his absence would have upon them. Merlin, with the way he always brought down the conversation, they thought they would be happy to lose his interruptions.
But they were not.
All they could do was sit, pushing their food around their plates, all lost in their own thoughts. Minerva missed his sarcasm, though she would never admit it. Albus missed chuckling over their arguments. They all missed him.
Weird…
The all-consuming air of glum contemplation had spread down the length of the table and, so it seemed, was beginning to creep among the students. If Severus could see this, mused Albus.
"Are you alright?" he asked, turning towards Minerva. His voice rang out across the Great Hall and many students near the head table looked up from their breakfasts.
"Fine. Just dandy. Over the moon, in fact! What else could you expect? It's not like this stupid idea of yours has ruined EVERYTHING!" Minerva was breathing heavily by the end of her outburst and her cheeks were peppered with angry red blotches. Once she saw the startled faces of the entire student body (plus staff) staring up at her, Minerva pushed her seat from the table and swept out of the Great Hall, almost breaking into a jog as she neared the door.
The sound of her chair scraping on the flagstones resonated in their ears long after she had gone. Worried glances were cast between students and teachers, none of whom had expected such an uncharacteristic explosion from their Transfiguration Professor. Even the Slytherins looked disturbed.
Albus, being the first to regain at least some of his senses, leapt from the table and followed, muttering a quick "Excuse me" to Filius. Meanwhile, Harry, Ron and Hermione shared a meaningful glance.
"What do you think that was about?" a gawky second-year Ravenclaw was asking the group of students crowded around her outside the Great Hall.
"Can't deal with the hormones, I reckon," answered another young Ravenclaw – a male this time.
"I think she's gone mad," replied another.
"Well, considering that Professor McGonagall is having to help run a school, be Head of House and run all of her classes, while being harassed for her appearance, as well as the fact that someone ended up poisoning Professor Snape, might give her reason to be frustrated. I would think that, as Ravenclaws, you would understand that. You should have more respect!" The Ravenclaws were somewhat taken aback by Hermione's words and shuffled off promptly, heads bowed in a solemn silence.
Seeing his friend's clenched fists and the rising red in her face, all Ron could say was: "Bloody hell, Hermione. You're brilliant."
He was quite pleased when he noted that the red in her cheeks only worsened with his words. It was pretty on her. Hermione, finding herself unable to think up a suitable reply, led them out of the castle's front doors and towards the pen outside of Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures.
They spotted her from halfway across the courtyard.
Professor Trelawney was tentatively poking a finger through the fence around the pen, her countless shawls flapping in the breeze, her yards of beads clacking together noisily. The hippogriff inside the pen, who, until now, had been lounging quite happily in the corner, was not impressed. It lunged forward, only narrowly missing its goal of biting off the entire digit.
As the class advanced towards her, Trelawney withdrew her hand and scowled at the animal.
"My dears," she called out as the Gryffindors and Slytherins gathered around her, "I see that a necessary change of lesson plan is in order. My Inner Eye has advised me that it would be foolhardy to interact with these creatures today. There is too much negative energy around the castle."
The class eyed her sceptically, except for Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, that is. Hermione rolled her eyes. She had dropped Divination to get away from this ridiculous woman and yet here she was again.
This lesson was going to be excruciating.
Albus had not managed to catch up to Minerva as he sprinted from the Great Hall, but he knew exactly where she would be. As his feet led him past her office, he had to stop himself from instinctively going in. She's not there, he thought decidedly.
He had never seen her cry, not tears of anguish. Joy, yes, but not sadness. Not once in all their years of friendship. On those few occasions in which she had acquiesced to her emotions, she had always hidden it well, ducking into the nearest bathroom or rushing back to her office. However, this time, as she gazed absent-mindedly out onto the mist-laced grounds, she had nowhere to run.
Frankly, Minerva was tired of running. It was against her nature – against her proud family name – to run from trouble. So she had unconsciously allowed her feet to lead her body all the way up to the seventh floor. She had barely registered the password slipping from her lips as the Fat Lady requested it. She had barely noticed the sudden change in temperature as she stumbled through the portrait hole. She had barely acknowledged the flash of sharp pain that coursed through her veins as she sunk to her knees on the hearth rug.
Minerva would never be certain of why she chose to run to Gryffindor Tower. Perhaps it was because she knew that the students would not be there to trouble her. Or maybe it was the feeling of familiarity that flooded her every time she returned. It could have been the sense she got that she was close to her cubs even though they were not physically present.
The mere thought of her cubs started the breaking of the floodgates. What a weakling they must think me. How juvenile she thought her tears to be; tears will achieve nothing other than, perhaps, wetting her robes. Often she had berated students for weeping at their problems. They do not hold the solution, she had said of their tears. She would not be a hypocrite. Not again.
Of course, this thought had spurred her into action and it had not taken too long for Minerva's sense to return to her. She closed off the path for tears and mentally shook herself. She had survived – and would yet survive – much worse than an accident and a few failed pranks. But… there was something else, some previously ignored little notion growing in the back of her mind, trying to merge itself into coherency.
Now, standing by the small window that she had so often stared out of as a student, she could not help but think that even lionesses can fall.
Albus found Minerva standing by the window, arms wrapped around her chest in what appeared to be a vain attempt to hold herself together. It was a troubling sight to the Headmaster and yet, some vague corner of his mind logged the fact that the flush of red upon Minerva's porcelain skin was quite becoming. What worried him most was the fact that, even as her entire body stiffened at his approach, she did not make an effort to dispose of the drying tear tracks advancing towards her chin.
He had hoped that returning to the Gryffindor Common Room would help to give her strength. Perhaps, by being there, she held the hope that the essence of Gryffindor magnanimity would flow back into her. But she was already the bravest woman Albus knew.
"Do not berate me, Albus; I have a free lesson right now and I can spend it in whichever way I wish." Her choked voice caught him in his contemplations. It grated on his eardrums and sent shivers straight down his spine.
Albus did not bother to reply. She was right, of course, but he was not concerned with her words. Instead, he approached her slowly, tentatively, as if he were approaching a hippogriff, and reached a hand out to come into contact with her wrist.
Minerva felt her friend's hand close around her wrist and she was compelled to turn fully towards him for the first time. It was odd, she admitted, seeing him as a slightly gawky red-headed teenager. Then, she thought, he must be quite disorientated seeing her in such a state.
Her mind, it seemed, was devoid of all conscious thought when she leaned towards him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Everything she needed to say was poured out in a single embrace. Albus pulled her closer and stroked her hair gently, eliciting a further barrage of hot tears to burst from Minerva's eyes. Albus, knowing his friend all too well, did not comment on this. It was a long while before Albus whispered into her ear a seemingly random question.
"What class are you supposed to be taking next?"
"What?" She sniffled feebly.
"I believe you mean 'pardon', my dear." The vague giggle that escaped Minerva's mouth told him that he had succeeded in cheering her up, if only a fraction. "Tell me which class you are supposed to teach next."
"Why?"
"Because I will not let my best friend be seen in such a condition," he said in his best Headmaster voice, reserved for only the most special events (such as a failed Weasley prank). "Do not protest! You will return to your quarters, take an incredibly long bubble bath with a nice little novel and return to the Great Hall for break time."
"But –"
"That is an order, Professor."
Minerva could not help but smile.
History of Magic. Just brilliant. At least they would not have to listen to Professor Binns's coma-inducing rants. They would just have to suffer the coma-inducing rants of some other Professor.
The mood amongst the third year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws was generally low, as was to be expected with History of Magic as their next lesson. They filed into the classroom in silence, carefully peering around to catch the first glimpse of their teacher for the lesson. Knowing their luck it would be Professor Binns as usual; Harry doubted that any of the other Professors would willingly swap with him. Though, it did not look like they had entered into the Teacher Swap willingly at all.
"Good morning, good morning!" The cheerful tones of Professor Dumbledore's voice caught everybody by surprise. "How are we today? Don't be afraid, I promise not to bite you," he added when the class silently descended upon their desks.
"Now, who can tell me the names of the wizards who started the anti-Pureblood movement of 1749?"
Hermione's hand shot straight into the air.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"Anton, MacKay, Armstrong, Poel, Rolleston and Chykov."
"Very good. Take ten points for Gryffindor. Now, can you tell me how they started their revolution? Nobody? Well, then… let me show you."
The Headmaster plucked a small white bag out of the pocket of his magenta robes (which went magnificently with his hair, I might add) and placed it on the table. From it, he extracted several citrus yellow lozenges and lined them up neatly across the front desk.
"If you will all gather around the front, please, we will start the demonstration."
Somewhat astounded, the class crept to the front of the class to gather around the desk which Professor Dumbledore had just expanded to reach along the length of the classroom. With a wave of his wand, the lemon drops he had taken from his pocket were miniature figures that moved along the table freely.
"Now, the idea that blood did not determine somebody's prospects was one that, by the 1700s had been secretly circulating throughout the wizarding community." At his words, the figures began to mill around, whispering animatedly to each other. "Jeremiah MacKay was really the first to start the more public circulation of this notion." A small figurine did a cartwheel on the table before removing its hat and bowing exaggeratedly to the class, earning giggles from many of the girls. "He and his childhood friend, Anthony Poel, who himself was a Pureblood wizard, gathered together the small band of followers that Miss Granger told us about earlier…"
The lesson continued much in this manner, with Professor Dumbledore narrating the animated battles between anti-Purebloods and old blood status supporters. Harry thought that it may just have been the best History of Magic lesson in history. Scratch that, he knew that it was.
Therefore, the trip to the Great Hall for break time was carried out with a particularly pleasant spring to his steps.
The Great Hall was still somewhat tense, partly due to Professor Snape's continues absence and partly due to the fact that everybody was anxious to avoid another of Professor McGonagall's outbursts. Thankfully, the latter Professor was already consumed in conversation with the Headmaster, whose eyes had recovered their usual twinkle.
Hermione, somewhat relieved, turned to Ron.
"They look happy, don't they?" It was actually more of a statement than a question. Perhaps, she thought happily, everything will be normal again soon.
Then she remembered; this was Hogwarts.
The door to the Charms classroom swung open to reveal Madam Pomfrey sitting behind Professor Flitwick's desk. It was evident that she was less than happy to have left her Hospital Wing in the care of another; she was practically scowling at the piece of parchment before her.
Fantastic, double Charms with an aggravated Mediwitch.
It seemed that everybody was having the same thought.
"Just what we need," said Ron conspiratorially, "McGonagall the second." Harry secretly believed that he deserved the dead arm that Hermione gave him.
"Settle down, you lot, settle down," the matron called in her sternest tone, usually reserved for students suffering Quidditch-related injuries and Professors who were negligent of their own health (i.e. the majority of them). "Now, Professor Flitwick has suggested that we take a look at Cheering Charms today."
Oh, the irony!
Lunch was a hurried affair that afternoon. Ron was hastily munching on a bacon sandwich as Hermione was bombarding them with details of her newly-formed plans to find the culprits of the previous nights failed attack, each one more improbable than the last.
"… But we always have Harry's cloak. We could sneak into the Slytherin Common Room and listen in on their conversations. Or we could slip Malfoy some Veritaserum."
"So you admit that you think it was Malfoy?"
"No. I am merely saying that it would be prudent to question him as he seems to be the main staple of the Slytherin gossip mill."
"Where are we going to get Veritaserum from?"
"We'll have to steal some from Snape's supply cupboard. Oh, don't look at me like that, Harry! It's not like we haven't done stuff like this before."
At that moment, Hermione's voice dropped off. Her attention, it seemed, had been caught by Professor Lupin, who had entered the Great Hall with Professor Dumbledore and was now looking to him intently.
"I am afraid, what with Severus being… incapacitated, that the wolfsbane has not been prepared because he has missed the vital phases to pick ingredients and the like. But I am trying, as we speak, to think of a way to get some." This was the only snatch of Professor Dumbledore's lengthy reply to Professor Lupin's query that Hermione could catch.
"Now try telling me that we don't need to do anything," she said pointedly. Harry had to admit, he thought she was right.
As they made their way towards Muggle Studies, they were each silently formulating their own plans to get to the bottom of this. All thoughts of diabolical Slytherin torture methods were dissipated, however, when a booming voice rang out from inside the Muggle Studies classroom.
"Alrigh' 'arry? 'ermione? Ron?" Hagrid's large frame looked distinctly out of place as he ducked his jovial head under the door frame and beckoned the class to enter the room. More than one Hufflepuff student looked uncomfortable by Hagrid's looming figure.
"Wotcher, Hagrid," Ron replied chirpily.
"Hi, Hagrid," Harry and Hermione chorused.
"Righ', you lot, settle down," Hagrid murmured uncomfortably. The class descended slowly, reluctantly, into silence. Harry, Ron and Hermione had resigned to sending reassuring smiles to the Care of Magical Creatures Professor, who seemed to be less than comfortable in his new surroundings.
In fact, the entire lesson consisted of Hagrid trying – and failing to an extent where it was almost painful to watch – to explain the function of various items of Muggle kitchenalia, punctuated only by a few bravely asked questions that Hagrid was unable to answer. Oh, he had tried his best, but Hagrid often found in his lifetime that his best was rarely good enough.
The Golden Trio filed into the Potions classroom with a heavy sense of trepidation considering their last experience in the dungeons. Professor Sprout, for once not covered in dirt, was smiling her usual cheerful smile at the ever-so-slightly terrified students. How could she be beaming when they were all so intent upon avoiding another de-aging mishap?
"Oh, now don't you lot look sullen?" she asked in a tone that held a barely-concealed kindness that was distinctly Hufflepuff. "I know you are all worried about more brewing disasters, aren't you?" A few students ventured to nod at the Herbology Professor's inquiry and a solemn smile formed on her round face. "Well, you won't need to worry your heads about that this afternoon; we will be discussing the effect of certain plants when they are added to a steeping potion."
Neville's face lit up.
The rest of the class groaned inwardly.
After about ten minutes of attempting to hold a decent discussion, it seemed that only Neville was paying attention to Professor Sprout and she, in turn, had decided that the rest of the class were lost causes; the pair were currently locked in what Harry was sure was a riveting conversation about Venemous Tentacula venom in some obscure boil-raising potion.
He and Ron, however, were locked in a bout of what had now become known as Snape-bashing. And that is not what you people are thinking, you naughty saucepots! Basically, this consisted of sitting around and saying horrible things about the man until they were sure that they would die due to an overload of negative Karma.
"I was thinking of slipping a bit of shampoo into his treatment set. Pomfrey's face would be priceless," Ron chuckled.
"Not as good as Snape's if he ever found out," Harry added. "Although, I was tempted to sneak up there and turn his robes a lovely shade of pink."
"Greasy git could do with a bit of colour," Rod nodded in agreement. "And while we're on the subject of improving appearances, I wonder if we could do something about his nose? It's starting to block out the sunlight whenever he's around."
"I don't think that's his nose; he just has that effect on people. You know, like a Dementor. He just wipes away all of the colour in the vicinity."
"Maybe he needs a girlfriend."
"Maybe he needs a good –"
Hermione, while ignoring the disgusting speculations of her peers and failing to interject herself into the only studious conversation in the room, wondered whether Professor Dumbledore knew how much his idea of a morale-booster was affecting the education of his students.
Meanwhile, Minerva McGonagall had been forced to undertake an entire afternoon shift in the Hospital Wing since Poppy was teaching Charms and Severus was still incapacitated. Luckily, there was only one student in the vicinity. Oliver Wood had sustained a Bludger-related injury and had seemed to rather enjoy telling his Head of House all about it, apparently forgetting that she had witnessed the match and would be able to pick out the embellishments he added to the story.
" – So I went straight into a dive, right in front of Alicia Spinnet, to stop the Bludger from getting to her and took a solid blow to the back of the head." He finished his fervently-told tale with a grand gesture towards his scarred head.
"I know, Mr. Wood," Minerva smiled lightly. "And I have never been more proud of you." Remembering herself quickly, she rose from the chair at his bedside and began a basic examination of the Gryffindor Keeper, ignoring his slightly embarrassed smirk. "Are you still feeling the pain in your head?"
"Ah, it comes and goes," he said, dismissing it with a gesture. "Haven't had it in a while, though."
"Right, well, this should help in the meantime." She silently summoned a vial of clear liquid and thrust it into his palm. "You seem to have made an excellent recovery, Mr. Wood. In fact, I would say you were about ready to go back to your studies. Madam Pomfrey hasn't told you why she has kept you here, has she?"
Wood seemed a little reluctant to answer.
"Something about needing to rest, I think." He then added in almost a whisper, "I think she's probably overreacting, though."
Thanks to her feline hearing ability, Minerva caught the last and shot her student a knowing smile.
"Aye, well, I think that means that you should stay here for the time being. I certainly do not intend to incur the wrath of Madam Pomfrey any time soon."
Both teacher and student were noticeably surprised when a groggy voice sounded from the other end of the ward.
"Honestly, you call yourself a Gryffindor, woman?"
A/N: Well... this got a little angstier in the middle than I had anticipated. For that I apologize. While we are apologizing, I would also like to say sorry, on behalf of Messrs Potter and Weasley, to all Snape-lovers for the minor Snape-bashing near the end of this chapter. And this turned out a little more segmented than I had thought it would, but I did try to get at least a little of each of the day's lessons in. So... yes... I am sorry for this chapter...
Next chapter: A little sleuthing and the dreaded detentions!
