Author's note: So, I will confess that until recently, the second half of the story was not set in stone. I had some vague idea of what was going to happen, but I wasn't pleased with it. I've recently redone it, and am much happier with the direction, I think. I've updated the summary a bit to better reflect this, so that people know a little bit more about what they're getting into.

At the same time, I don't want to give too much away, because things are going to get pretty weird. I'm trying something I haven't read before, and so I think this fic will end up being fairly unique, but it is based on a lot of tropes that have been used a lot (and that I personally love). We'll see what happens, I suppose.

Also, I think this fic is going to end up being longer than I expected. At this point, this is starting to come close to being the longest thing I've ever written, and after two more chapters it actually will be. Which is very exciting. I'm also very committed to this, and will see it through to the best of my abilities.

Chapter 6 — Severus Learns to Lose at Wizard Poker

I woke up with a splitting headache. For a few brief, wonderful moments, that headache was all I was conscious of. My entire being was caught up in the throbbing pain, that vague sense of nausea, and the sour taste on my tongue.

Of course, it is a cruel world we live in, and in short time my memories of the night before came rushing to the forefront of my mind, and Potter's face was suddenly all I could see.

Then I threw up.

The reality of what I said to Potter finally started sinking in, and I could barely comprehend it. Where had that come from? Everything I'd said was true — in a sense — but what had compelled me to tell Potter the most painful variation of the truth I could have possibly come up with? I hadn't had anything to drink; I hadn't taken any strange potions yesterday. I'd been exhausted, yes, but exhaustion had never before led me to be so utterly foolish.

Except foolish wasn't the right word. I finally found my wand, stuffed under my pillow, and cleaned everything with a swish. The light pouring in through my window was taken care of with a sharp jab at the curtains, and my headache receded slightly. It certainly felt like a hangover, which made me wonder if perhaps Albus had been giving me more than just tea.

That was insane. Even if Albus were the type to give alcohol to people without their consent, surely I would have noticed the taste. All of the dishes at Hogwarts were charmed against poison, although I supposed it was possible that the headmaster would be able to override that. Could he have-

Unfortunately, conspiracy theories were a poor distraction from my shame and humiliation, because Potter's face returned, unbidden, to the front of my mind. I needed to calm down. I needed to stop and think, and sort out what I knew from what I suspected and feared.

Thankfully, a shower and clean clothes helped with the hysteria, and before long I was sat in front of the desk in my sitting room with a fresh roll of parchment and my favourite quill. (It was green.)

The first things I wrote down were the bare facts, everything that had happened since Potter tried to kill himself. Next, I wrote down my reactions, and underlined any that were out of the ordinary for me.

All of them were underlined. Some of them were undoubtedly the natural consequence of the changing nature of Potter's and my relationship, but others were simply far too strong. Curiosity was natural for me, but my obsession with figuring Potter out wasn't. Guilt was unsurprising, considering, but how much was natural?

The process of analyzing my own emotions for possibly the first time in my entire life was deeply uncomfortable and unsettling for me. If I were truly being affected by some sort of potion or spell, however, I would need all the data I could get.

Perhaps during my analysis of Potter's mysterious longevity, I would also examine myself for outward influences as well.

I stared at my notes for a second before crumpling them up and throwing them at the wall. I would think about this again later, when my head wasn't killing me and I didn't feel like never being in the same room as Potter ever again (which was unfortunately impossible).

I drank a headache reliever, and a cool sensation filled my head. The relief was instant, and I felt clearer and more stable as a result.

A glance at the clock on my mantle informed me that it was in fact still early enough for breakfast. I wasn't sure I was in the right frame of mind for large social activity, but given that it was Saturday morning, breakfast was likely to be fairly empty.

Saturday breakfast was served for longer, from seven until eleven, which meant that there was usually a smaller crowd. Since I wasn't on breakfast duty this week, I wasn't required to make an appearance, but it would look strange if I didn't.

A short time later, I opened my door to find Blaise Zabini skulking in the corridor outside my quarters.

"Mister Zabini," I said, as dryly as I could manage. "What a pleasant… surprise."

"Professor," Zabini said with a nod, as if it were perfectly normal for him to be standing here.

The headache potion only did so much. I was not in the mood for this. "What do you want?" I asked bluntly, and he gave an obnoxious little shrug, the kind teenagers everywhere seemed to master innately. Every time I saw it I wanted to strap a ruler to their backs to fix their posture.

"I have some information I thought you might be interested in," Zabini said, and I barely refrained from rolling my eyes. This conversation could have been over by now.

"Well?" I snapped, trying to reign in my temper, given the fact that Zabini was technically doing a favour for me.

"Draco and Pansy have been awfully chummy with Theo lately," Zabini said, with another idiotic careless shrug. Did teenagers think it looked cool? It didn't. (I steadfastly ignored the fact that I had once thought it the height of casual non-commitance.)

"Fascinating." I mean that sincerely. This was a development I certainly hadn't predicted. Surely that meant it couldn't be a lover's spat? Oh Merlin, who was I kidding. Of course it could be. There were numerous love triangle configurations that would explain this. "Are any of them romantically involved?" I asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

Fate was a cruel mistress, of course, because instead of saying anything, Mister Zabini merely shrugged again, and then walked away. I decided to ignore the fact that we were headed in the same direction, and gave him a thirty second head start. The boy had been fairly helpful, after all.

Since Minerva was in fact the poor soul on breakfast duty, she was there when I arrived. The only other professor there was Vector, who gave me a quick nod when she saw me, but was sitting at the other end of the table and made no attempt at conversation.

I ignored Potter's presence at the Gryffindor table, sitting down stiffly next to Minerva without even once glancing in his direction (I had long since mastered the art of watching someone out of the corner of my eye).

"Severus," Minerva greeted me. "How was last night?"

"What?" I asked too quickly, rattled by her comment. With Albus, of course. I had to get it together; this was embarrassing. "Albus was the same as usual," I continued quickly, not giving her a chance to comment on my jumpiness.

Minerva rolled her eyes. "That man is quite the character."

"That's certainly a nice way of putting it," I commented dryly. I took some oatmeal, and inspected the Slytherin table. Flora Carrow was the prefect assigned to breakfast today, and she was sitting in the middle of the table, working on homework. The students certainly looked to be in good order. Nothing was on fire, which was a good sign.

Malfoy and Parkinson were nowhere to be seen, but Nott was sitting by himself, reading a book. The book had blue and yellow stripes along the spine, and a large cauldron on the cover. It was certainly not a potions book I'd ever seen before, and that alone would have piqued my curiosity, even if Nott hadn't been involved in some clandestine affair/plot/disquieting love triangle.

"Miss Carrow does a good job," Minerva said, following my gaze. "She's much more responsible than her sister," she added with a sniff.

I rolled my eyes. Minerva had been complaining about Hestia Carrow for five years now. "Honestly, Minerva. There is no proof that she was the one who convinced the house-elves to deliver tuna to your room every day." Minerva had been traveling for a few days, and came back to a smell even the house-elves couldn't get rid of. If it had been Miss Carrow, she'd done good work. House-elves almost never got involved in student pranks.

"I know it was her, Severus," Minerva hissed. "I don't know how she avoided being recognized by the house-elves, but if Albus had just listened to me about using Muggle interrogation tactics, I have no doubt the truth would have come out."

Minerva and I rehashed this argument at least once a term. "And how do you know it wasn't the Weasley twins?" I asked her, for the sixteenth time.

"I gave the house-elves strict orders not to listen to the Weasley twins about anything. There is simply no way they could have gotten the house-elves' cooperation."

"They could have involved someone else," I pointed out.

"The house-elves would have seen through that in a heartbeat."

I already knew there was no winning this conversation. "There's still no proof it was Miss Carrow."

"She smirked at me in our next class. At me, Severus!"

I remained unconvinced, and Minerva gave up on me in disgust and returned to her tea.

I managed perhaps a minute of focussed breakfasting before I found my eyes drifting towards the Gryffindor table.

Potter was sitting with Longbottom, while Weasley sat farther down the table with Finnegan.

"It appears that Molly was right," Minerva said quietly, having gotten over our fight about as quickly as she usually did.

"You've mistaken me for someone who cares," I said absently, trying to see if I could lip-read what Potter and Longbottom were talking about. I did care, actually. I cared a disgusting amount. What had come over me? Potter and Weasley fighting had absolutely nothing to do with me. I could see perhaps caring from a perspective of wanting Potter to be generally happy, but in that case I shouldn't feel pleased that they were fighting. There was most certainly something wrong with my emotional reactions. I would have to test my system for potions later.

Minerva, meanwhile, pointedly rolled her eyes at me. "Of course, I'd forgotten about your cool, uninvolved exterior."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked, pretending to be wounded.

"Nothing," she replied innocently.

I desperately wanted to ask what she'd observed of Potter and Weasley's interactions this morning, but to ask now would simply be humiliating. Thankfully, Minerva loved talking about Potter.

"They came in separately, you know," she said, nodding towards the boys in question. "I haven't seem them interact at all, positively or negatively. They're completely ignoring each other."

"Fascinating," I said sarcastically, even though I meant it. Why would they be ignoring each other? I needed some way to get more information.

Well. I supposed I could give skulking around the library a try. I needed to ask Madam Pince about Nott's book, anyway. And the library had proven time and again to be an excellent source of information for me. It was how I'd found out about Cassius Warrington's scandalous affair with a Gryffindor, Percy Weasley's completely unremarkable but oddly secretive relationship with Penelope Clearwater, and Goldstein's surprisingly boring affair with Boot, just to name a few. Teenagers in this castle were disturbingly single-minded.

It occurred to me then that regardless of what else was happening with Draco and Parkinson, there was no doubt they were also romantically involved, and most likely with Nott as well. Frankly, I was hard-pressed to find any teenage relationship in this castle that didn't have some romantic or sexual component.

The thought was both depressing (because it meant I was going to lose the bet) and nauseating (because these children were the future of our society). It also, unfortunately, reminded me that even when I'd been a student here, the library had been the chosen spot for clandestine romantic liaisons. I'd been researching for my history essay when I'd stumbled upon seventh-year Penny Whethers and Professor Slughorn in flagrante in the stacks.

I couldn't decide which was worse: Slughorn abusing his authority as a professor by sleeping with a student, or Slughorn being stupid enough to conduct his affair where he would obviously get caught. Although I supposed he hadn't been caught at all, given that I'd been a first-year and hadn't realized I should report something of that nature.

That sickening memory had practically defined my first-year experience. It was hard to get over the sight of that much jiggling flesh on a professor you were supposed to respect. I'd been forced to study potions extra hard, since I was unable to learn anything from him in class, my mind constantly replaying the memory of the jiggle. All that extra study had made me realize I actually quite enjoyed potions, and had given me something to do since I only had one friend, and she'd been in a different house.

Catching those two in the library had been a defining moment for me in a lot of ways, actually. As an eleven-year-old too embarrassed to even say the word 'sex', I'd decided then and there that I never wanted to be a professor.

Alas.

"They've never fought before like this," Minerva fretted, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"They fight all the time," I replied in disbelief.

"They fight occasionally, and generally there is a very obvious cause. This seems to have come out of nowhere."

Dean Thomas was the prefect on duty at the Gryffindor table, and he was casting concerned looks at Weasley and Potter.

"Perhaps you should ask one of their classmates," I said, glancing pointedly at the end of the table where Thomas was sitting.

Minerva pursed her lips. "Now there's a thought," she said. "Mister Thomas has proven to be very observant."

"Indeed. He was a good choice for prefect."

"You know, I almost didn't choose him," admitted Minerva.

"Potter?" I asked in disgust.

"Ah, no, actually. Albus told me specifically that Mister Potter would have enough on his plate this year, although I wasn't seriously considering him regardless. I was in fact considering Mister Weasley." She looked deeply embarrassed. That was… quite possibly the most astonishing thing I'd ever heard from her.

"Yesterday I saw Weasley tell a first-year that all clothes are required to be worn inside-out on Fridays." The thought of Weasley as a prefect was almost sickening.

Minerva let out a large sigh. "I had hoped that the added responsibility would encourage him to grow up a little. And besides, with Miss Granger as the other prefect, I thought it wouldn't matter." I could understand her reasoning, although I wasn't sure Weasley was capable of such character development.

"What changed your mind?" I asked curiously.

"Do you remember that meeting we had at the end of last year? At the house?" She meant Grimmauld Place, of course.

I nodded in the affirmative.

"It was the day the students went home, and Arthur and Molly brought their children with them, since they'd just been to the station."

"I think I vaguely recall something of that nature." I hadn't lingered, but it was possible the children had been around somewhere.

"As I was leaving- well, it was quite astonishing. Mister Weasley was loudly ranting about something or other that Potter had said on the train, and I decided that whatever benefit Mister Weasley might get from being prefect would be far overshadowed by the damage his temper would do."

"Most certainly," I agreed.

Minerva looked back towards the Gryffindor table, but she had a faraway look in her eyes. "I saw them together later in the summer and assumed they'd worked it out, but I suppose their problems must run deeper."

"The problems of teenagers run deep indeed," I told her, pseudo-wisely. It earned me the grin I was hoping for, although it was still a little wry.

"That reminds me, Severus," she said mischievously, and leaned in slightly. "Wizard poker. Tonight. Eight o'clock."

"Who and where?"

"My quarters, and Rolanda, Poppy, and Septima."

Vector clearly heard her name being said from the other end of the table, because she turned to us and gave me a wink.

"Filius won't be joining us?"

Minerva smirked. "He's still too embarrassed after what happened last time." When Minerva had soundly thrashed him, much to his mortification.

Wizard poker was similar to Muggle poker, with the same basic rules and deck. However, there was one significant difference: cheating was not only allowed, but encouraged. The only rule was that no wands were allowed, and if you got caught you were out of the round.

Minerva, as a Master of Transfiguration, was extremely good at it, although Vector's sleight-of-hand skills were superb and she often gave Minerva a run for her money.

"Unsurprising."

Breakfast was finished uneventfully, although by the time I'd headed for the library I'd been practically staring at Potter. Minerva had been annoyingly amused. I'd learned enough to know that neither party was heading for the library, however, which meant my spying would have to be delayed.

And of course, Madam Pince was not at her desk. Nor was she anywhere on the first floor, it seemed. I finally found her on one of the balconies, carefully re-shelving some restless books.

"How can I help you, professor?" she said, her impatient tone belying her polite words.

"I wish to find a book but I don't know the title. The spine had blue and yellow stripes, with a cauldron in the center of the cover."

Madam Pince raised an eyebrow at me, reaffirming my belief that a single raised eyebrow was an appropriate response for nearly everything. It looked damned impressive.

"I'm surprised you don't know that book," she said blandly. "It's quite a popular potions book."

"Alas, I am but one man," I replied, although I agreed with her that it was strange.

"The book is titled Essential Potions for Pubescent Girls." Her visage was composed in its usual stern look, but I could see the mirth in her eyes. She was definitely laughing at me.

"Ah." I said awkwardly. "I saw one of my students reading it earlier in the dining hall. Is there another copy available?"

She ran over some mental catalogue in her head, and frankly I thought it was amazing that she was able to manage so much entirely by memory. "There isn't, but there is a copy of the previous edition."

"In that case, I shall check it out, and I would like to put the current edition on hold for whenever it is returned."

Madam Pince gave me a sharp nod, and returned to her shelving. I recognized a dismissal when I saw one, and sidled away back down to the first floor, where the card catalogue was. Then, armed with the call number, I headed over to the potions section and found the book handily.

I wasn't surprised I'd never seen the book before. The area the book was in was rather questionable. In a blank state of horrified curiosity, I pulled Persnickety Potions for Magical Marriages — A Guide to Giving Your Wife the Ultimate Pleasure from the shelf and started flipping through it. The recipes were surprisingly good, although the purpose of the potions seemed questionable at best. Oh Merlin, there was one for flavoured lubricant. Why wasn't this in the restricted section?

"Hem hem," I heard from right next to me, and realized with a sudden and complete despair that Dolores Umbridge was standing next to me, smirking at my choice of reading matter. "Good book, Severus?" she asked, with a leer.

"Just doing some research," I said, closing the book towards her and angling it so that she could only see the back cover. Dear Merlin, the back cover was worse than the front cover. I put it back on the shelf. It didn't matter anyway; she'd clearly seen enough.

"I'm sure you'll… put what you learned to good use," she said, leaning in towards me. Umbridge was turning out to be more aggressive than I'd anticipated. Damn Albus for forcing this on me. He was most certainly completely to blame for this.

"Perhaps," I said, hoping she would interpret my reply as returning her flirtations, but in a subtle way that would encourage her towards subtlety as well.

Instead, she leaned in closer to me, and was now only inches away from me, looking up at me with what I'm sure she thought was a sexy smile on her face.

I felt deeply embarrassed, both for her and because of her. "Dolores," I replied, and while I couldn't manage sweet I at least managed to hide the disgust in my voice. "We're in the library. Anyone could see."

"That's what makes it so naughty," Umbridge said, completely ruining that word for me forever.

Thankfully, the sound of the footsteps of my saviour and new love of my life came towards us, and Umbridge hastily stepped away.

"Until next time, Severus," she whispered at me, and disappeared around the shelf.

The footsteps belonged to Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was looking at me with unbidden curiosity.

"Ten points to Hufflepuff," I snapped at him, and stalked off towards the check-out desk, leaving him gaping behind me.

Unfortunately, my afternoon plans of learning about what potions were most useful for teenage girls were delayed by none other than Lucius Malfoy.

His owl — a completely unassuming tawny owl that he used for more covert communication — accosted me in the hallway as I was leaving the library.

The note pinned to it was short, and all the more alarming for it.

Come when convenient, it said, and I stopped by my quarters to drop off my book (god forbid Lucius saw me with it) and headed out of the castle.

Magical travel was quite possibly one of the best parts of being a wizard. Gone were the days of waiting at bus stops, of walking in the pouring rain, bumming rides from Lily's parents. In the blink of an eye, I could be almost anywhere. It felt like freedom in a way that Cokeworth never had — in a way it never could.

Malfoy Manor was, unsurprisingly, the complete opposite of Spinner's End. The peacocks alone were ostentatious enough for a dozen palaces.

The door creaked open after I knocked on it, no one there until I looked down and saw a house-elf looking up at me.

"Master has been expecting you," the house-elf said in a squeaky voice.

"Lucius is too impatient," I told the creature, and before the creature turned around I thought I could see a hint of a smile on her face.

"Right this way," she said, and led me to Lucius' receiving room. That meant whatever it was couldn't be too sensitive, or we would have met in his private office. Unless…

"Is he here?" I asked, as soon as I entered the room. Lucius looked up at me from his desk, frowning.

"No. He's doing business on the continent," he said, with a quick wave of his hand.

"I see," I responded neutrally. I sat across from Lucius, and watched as he dismissed the house-elf and poured us drinks. Firewhiskey. It was to be that kind of meeting.

Lucius' hands were trembling slightly as he held the bottle. The tremors were minute, but they hadn't been there last time I'd seen him. Was he already drunk?

"Lucius?" I asked, as the silence stretched on and Lucius stared into his glass. "Why am I here?"

Lucius' voice was soft when he spoke, almost a whisper. "Do you know how lucky you are, Severus? How truly, truly lucky?"

I stayed silent. That seemed like a rhetorical question.

"Our Lord is not pleased with me. I prospered greatly after his de- disappearance. Narcissa and I have built a life together, and we were happy. And now we are suffering for it."

Lucius took a great, shuddering breath, his eyes closed. "I am happy he's back, truly joyous — but I wonder if my punishment will not be too great a burden for my family to bear. He wants me to find something, in the Ministry, but he won't even tell me what it is. How am I supposed to find it? When I don't even know what it is I'm looking for?" Lucius' glass shattered in his hand, spilling alcohol all over the desk.

We sat there in silence, neither of us reacting as the firewhiskey creeped along the surface of the desk, seeking the edge. Lucius' eyes were still shut, and I took the opportunity to examine him.

His light blonde hair had become sprinkled with grey, barely noticeable with how similar the color was. The lines on his face were harsher, more pronounced than before. There was a tension around his eyes, a tightness in his lips that suggested that these past few months had been harder on him than I realized — harder than he'd let on.

"Do you know what he's looking for?" and Lucius opened his eyes, staring at me with a beseeching, desperate gaze.

"I can try to find out," I offered, and he shut his eyes again with a heavy sigh. I knew exactly what he was after, of course. Albus had made it clear that the only thing the Dark Lord could be looking for in the Ministry was the rest of the prophecy.

"Thank you, Severus," Lucius said. "I know you'll do your best."

The conviction in Lucius' voice threw me off guard. We were friends, of course, but I'd never realized how much Lucius actually believed in that friendship. It almost made me feel bad about the fact that it was all a lie.

Perhaps Lucius simply didn't have many friends.

"How is Narcissa?" I finally asked, after the silence became boring instead of merely contemplative.

"She is managing, as she always does. Our Lord is no worse a house guest than the cousins she routinely entertains, in many ways."

"She is a strong woman," I murmured, and Lucius nodded.

"She understands the importance of discretion."

I had no idea what Lucius meant by that. Narcissa had been less devoted to the cause than Bella had been, but you didn't grow up a Black without being loyal (barring one notable exception). Cissy was the prime example of everything the Dark Lord pretended to value — well bred, with impeccable manners and a deep contempt for those beneath her.

"He wants us to get rid of the peacocks," Lucius murmured, apropos of nothing.

Oh Merlin. Was that what all this was about?

"Those peacocks have been in our family for seven generations," he continued, his voice taking on an edge of hysteria.

"Have they," I said, trying to sound interested enough so that he wasn't insulted, but not interested enough that he continued.

It didn't matter. Lucius wasn't paying any attention to me anyway.

"They came over from India, originally. Tiny little things, hidden in an expanded trunk."

Trust Lucius to always have the stupidest problems. Once in school he'd thrown a fit because the house-elves had replaced his green sheets with slightly darker green sheets, which he said clashed with his pajamas. He'd been a seventh year.

"One of my ancestors was painted with them. How I used to laugh at them as a child. They were so tiny and helpless."

Good lord, Lucius was a sick bastard. Unsurprising, I supposed, given that he had grown up to be a death eater.

"Perhaps you can relocate them to another property," I suggested, already knowing what his response would be.

"Relocate? Relocate?" Lucius was looking at me like I'd suggested he cut his own arm off. "Those peacocks have been at Malfoy Manor for seven generations! If I were to relocate them-"

As a child, I'd slept in a tiny cramped room with a lumpy mattress. We'd eaten tinned beans for almost every meal for a while, so impoverished we'd been. My mother hadn't always been able to afford soap, and as her husband didn't allow her to use magic, I'd gone to school smelling and wearing dirty clothes more times than I could count.

"At least then they would survive," I informed him dryly, taking pleasure in the way his face twisted with despair. Honestly.

"But at what cost," Lucius whispered hoarsely, and I had to consciously restrain myself from rolling my eyes. "But at what cost."

No cost, Lucius, I wanted to tell him. Literally no cost. The idiot birds wouldn't even notice they'd been moved. Their brains were the size of pebbles.

I waited to see if Lucius had any more nonsense he wanted to spout, before I decided to change the topic to something I actually cared about. "Draco is up to something at school," I said.

Lucius looked up at me, eyebrows raised. "Is he? That hardly surprises me."

"He's a prefect now, Lucius. He's held to different standards of behaviour."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "I hardly care. Whether or not he was a prefect won't matter after we take over the Ministry. The boy will be able to have any job he wants."

Good, that made things easier. "At some point, it may become necessary for me to remove him from the position. Dumbledore will start to get suspicious if I ignore too much misbehaviour."

"Go ahead," he said, waving it off. "Maybe it'll teach the boy something about subtlety."

"Certainly a lesson that would be useful for him." My expression was carefully bland, but inside I felt the delicious glee of a plan that was falling into place. If Draco kept fighting with Parkinson, then I could strip him of his prefect status, give it to Zabini, and then use it as leverage to try to bribe him into telling me what he was doing. If he actually cared that he'd lost the position at all. While he enjoyed the power, undoubtedly he was finding the responsibility part of it tedious and annoying.

Of course, the main benefit was that Draco would no longer be a prefect. That in and of itself was reason to celebrate. Truly, the boy was almost as bad as Weasley would have been.

I checked my watch, noting that I'd been there for almost half an hour.

"Well, Lucius, this has certainly been educational, but I find I must return to the castle." I stood up, setting my glass down on the desk with a soft thunk, ignoring the spilt drink that was still slowly spreading.

Lucius looked up at me. "As you will, Severus," he murmured.

"Do let me know what happens with the peacocks, won't you?" I said, putting a concerned expression on my face. Maybe I would get lucky and the Dark Lord would burn them all to a crisp.

"Of course," he responded, his expression slipping into despair again, and I swept out of the room.

I knocked on Minerva's door at precisely eight o'clock. Any earlier and I would have had to help set up; any later and I risked being the last to the table.

The door opened, and Minerva quickly ushered me in. Technically, gambling wasn't forbidden amongst the staff, but it certainly wasn't encouraged. And if Umbridge found out we'd definitely be in trouble.

"Good, good, you're here. Now we're just waiting on Rolanda." Hah, the fool. I joined the others at the card table.

Vector was carefully stacking a pile of knuts in front of her, aligning each one perfectly so that the edges matched up.

Poppy was swirling the liquor in her glass around, creating a mini whirlpool.

Minerva was now examining the deck carefully. Wizard poker decks were charmed so that each card drawn was a random value, although the suits were fixed. Also there were eight suits.

It occurred to me that I hadn't actually played Muggle poker before, and therefore my comparison may not have been entirely apt.

There was a knock on the door. Minerva rushed over to it, opening it just a crack first so she could see who it was.

"Rolanda, excellent. You're the last one here."

Hooch let out a groan. "Wonderful, just what I need." She sat down heavily in her seat, and examined the glass Minerva placed in front of her. It was full. Tradition stated that the last person to arrive started with a handicap: inebriation. (Although it didn't stay a handicap for long. Poppy was already halfway through her glass.)

The rest of us watched in anticipation as she stared at her drink for a moment, before lifting it to her lips and chugging the whole thing down.

She thunked the empty glass down on the table and let out a large belch.

I gave her a sarcastically slow round of applause, while Poppy whistled and Vector howled in laughter. Minerva rolled her eyes at us, and shuffled the cards.

She slapped the deck down on the table, eyeing each one of us in turn. She dealt each one of us five cards, face down. I could feel the tingle of magic in the air that meant someone was already cheating. We hadn't even seen our cards yet! I had a sinking feeling that I'd already lost this round. Wandless magic was hellishly difficult, especially on cards that were already charmed, and sometimes it took a few tries to even get anything working. The fact that someone had already successfully cast meant that whoever it was was in top form today.

I examined my cards. I had three 3s: one diamond, and two crowns; a 6 of staves; and an 8 of hearts. Not… great. The three 3s were promising, but if anyone went for 6s or 9s, I'd be done for. Two identical 3s was very good, but difficult to play since it was so easily toppled. I placed two cards (the two non-3s) in the discard pile in front of Minerva, and she dealt me two new cards, face up. Another 3 (of cups), and a 4 of hearts.

Poppy had a 3 of coins in front of her, which was worrying. I didn't have any coins in my hand. Hooch had an 8 of crowns, which was a relief, since it meant she'd be easily toppled (probably), and Vector had a 7 of clubs and a 9 of hearts. I'd need to keep an eye on her.

Minerva didn't have any cards in front of her, and she gave me a wink when I looked over at her. She carefully placed two knuts in the center. I looked around the table again, before putting two knuts in as well.

I concentrated on changing my 3 of diamonds into a 3 of coins. That would help alleviate the risk from Poppy, although there was no telling if anyone else had a 3 of diamonds as well. Although… if I could change the 4 of hearts into a 4 of diamonds, then that would-

Poppy, Hooch, and Vector had all met the stakes, and Minerva had just revealed a three-card Merlin, which was three cards whose values totalled 21. One of the cards was a 3 of diamonds.

"Looking nervous there, Severus," Minerva said, and dropped another coin in the center. Shit.

I played my 3s of crowns. Better not risk diluting the strength with other suits, especially wit didn't have still on the table.

Poppy, glorious woman that she was, played a four-card Merlin containing one of the same cards as Minerva's, and Minerva was out of the round.

"Shite," Minerva swore. She clearly hadn't seen that coming.

Hooch played a three-card broken royal, which was a 6 of staves, a 7 of swords, and her 8 of crowns. Very nice, but especially vulnerable to swords. I would be surprised if she lasted through another round.

Vector played a double twist, which was four cards of two different suits and two different numbers (it was a double twist because there were two of each — a triple twist would have been three and one).

Minerva dealt us each two new cards.

I had an 8 of diamonds… which became a 3 of diamonds, thank you very much. That was easy to magic. I also had a 7 of swords, which would have been perfect to topple Hooch except that I couldn't use it without toppling myself as well. Unless… what were the requirements for a pig-in-the-middle? Could you do it with 7s?

I had to think fast. I slapped down all the rest of my 3s, even though it meant I would now be vulnerable to a couple of suits. I didn't bother with the 7 yet, deciding to save it in hand in case I remembered the fucking rules. I finally tried to concentrate on changing my 4, but the round was getting fast-paced, and since I was on my third casting, I was starting to lose focus.

Poppy strengthened her Merlin by adding an 8 of staves, possible since 8s counted as 0s this round (because an 8 had been used in a broken royal). Hooch tried to strengthen her hand, but got knocked out by Vector with a well-placed six of swords (especially good against Hooch's hand since the staves had been a 6).

Minerva dealt more cards, and play continued around. I got knocked out by Poppy, who then got knocked out by Vector who then proceeded to do a most undignified victory jig.

"Really, Septima," Poppy said. "There's no need for such poor showmanship."

"Oh please, don't even try that, Poppy. Last time you made poor Filius tango with you when you won!"

Poppy humphed, but I saw a smile on her face nonetheless.

"Drinks!" Hooch roared, collecting glasses and a bottle from Minerva's liquor cabinet. Anyone who got knocked out of a round had to drink.

"Really now?" Minerva asked disapprovingly. "Abby's Honeyed Mead?" Abby was, of course, Aberforth Dumbledore, who every summer brewed a batch of the thickest, sweetest honeyed mead around. It was absolutely awful, although Albus loved it.

"Oops, wrong bottle," Hooch said, and swapped it out for a bottle of Ogden's Winter Batch.

I stared at the bottle. Even here, surrounded by my colleagues on a Saturday evening when I was supposed to be relaxing, I couldn't escape Harry bloody Potter.

"Something wrong, Severus?" Poppy asked, noticing my stare. I looked up, and the four women were staring at me, waiting for an answer.

"I've had a hell of a week," I admitted with a shrug (I was spending far too much time around teenagers, as always), and Minerva bumped my shoulder congenially.

"I'll drink to that," Hooch said, raising her glass.

"Cheers," Poppy said, raising hers as well.

Vector finally sat back down at the table, and we all clinked our glasses together obligingly.

The rest of the game continued, a small smile stubbornly refusing to leave my face.

That night, I dreamt of the Dark Lord.

He was as he had been, before he died. He was standing in front of a window, his back to me, looking out at a heavy rainstorm. We were in his office, the one he'd always used to use. It was large, and would have been quite spacious were it not crammed with bookshelves overflowing with books.

"Severus," the Dark Lord said quietly, still facing away. I could just make out the reflection of his face in the window, but I couldn't see his expression.

"Yes, my lord?" I murmured, vaguely aware that I was dreaming but unable to control my actions. The dream was more vivid than usual, a fact I would realize once I woke up.

"What do you see, when you look out the window?"

"Rain?" I said, much too snarkily, but the Dark Lord laughed.

"Past the rain," he suggested, and I looked outside. We were in the middle of London, high up, apparently, because the city stretched out in front of us. I could see little lights, covering the streets.

"The city. People. Their cars, spreading toxins into the sky." Cokeworth had been especially polluted, and I'd had a cough almost my entire childhood. I had no idea what the Dark Lord wanted me to say.

"All true. Muggles do love their toxins.

"I grew up in this city, you know," he continued, after a moment of silence. His tone was conversational, but I still couldn't see his expression. His stance was relaxed, hands resting lightly on the window sill. His dark robes were loose, and likely open in the front although I couldn't see to verify. His dark hair was mussed slightly from the neat perfection he usually kept it in.

"My lord?" I prompted quietly, from my seat by his desk. A large armchair, upholstered in dark green.

"In an orphanage, right over there. That's why I chose this building, you see. Deep in the heart of Muggle London, yet here we are, perched overheard like vultures waiting for their prey to die."

I stayed silent, unsure of how to respond.

"I watch the orphanage sometimes. I enjoy seeing it from so far above. Of course, it hasn't been an orphanage for years. Good riddance, certainly."

The Dark Lord suddenly spun around, and leaned back against the window. He peered at me with a peculiar expression, one I couldn't quite identify. His robes were indeed open, revealing a starched white button down over black trousers. He wasn't wearing shoes, just speckled grey socks, and he wiggled his toes on the thick carpet.

"Did you know, Severus, that you are the first of my Death Eaters to see my private office?"

Doubtless no one else even knew it was in Muggle London. The Dark Lord always held meetings at someone's manor. It was considered a great honor.

"A great honor, my lord," I told him honestly.

He smirked at me, and I felt a flash of fear. I suddenly couldn't ignore that there was blood on the carpet, still fresh. But why? Whose blood was it? Was this a dream or a nightmare?

The Dark Lord stepped over to me, gracefully avoiding the pools of glistening red, and sat down on the arm of my seat.

I kept my gaze on the blood, even as I heard him settle in and felt the warmth of his body next to me.

"I would never invite any of the others here. They are charming, in their loyalty, but overall rather underwhelming."

The edge of the Dark Lord's robe had settled next to me, and was touching my thigh.

"Not like you, Severus. You burn bright, where the rest are mere embers."

Was this a memory? It felt like it, more real than a typical dream, but certainly this had never happened to me. There was a vague sense of awareness, of something important happening in my mind that I needed to pay attention to, but I was lost in the dream.

"Look at me, Severus," the Dark Lord said, and I turned to gaze up at him. He said my name like it was a sin, soft and sultry.

My stomach churned.

"As you wish, my lord," I whispered, and his eyes burned.

He leaned in close to me, and-

I shot up in bed, heart pounding and sweat drenching my brow.

"What the fuck."