Disclaimer: Not J.K. Rowling, not making money off this, etc., etc…

Author's Note: Hey, I managed to do another chapter within three years this time!

For a man not half Severus's height, Filius could be very intimidating when he wished, especially when he was uncharacteristically serious. Severus didn't dare refuse the offered drink this time, although he didn't really mind, given that the staff room now would be otherwise empty.

And Filius had excellent taste in whiskey.

Filius waited until they had each settled into armchairs with a glass before immediately getting to the point.

"Albus tells me we're to be securing the castle while he's away. He's also said no one else is to know, besides us and Minerva. It may not be my business—but do you mind telling me what's going on, lad?"

Severus shook his head. "I don't know."

"Would you tell me, if you did?"

"I—" Severus hesitated. "I also don't know. It would depend on—what Dumbledore had to say about it."

He felt it was a barely adequate answer—however truthful—but Filius suddenly smiled as though he'd passed a test. Perhaps he had; the thought was disturbing.

"I understand. Don't worry. I'm sure the three of us will be able to manage it well enough. I'll handle the extra enchantments, if you and Minerva will strengthen the usual wards?"

"Of course."

"Excellent."

Severus nodded vaguely and downed his drink, the burn partially soothing his unsettled nerves. He had no qualms about trusting Filius with the safety of the castle, but it felt too easy, somehow. There was no reason for anyone but the three of them to know anything was amiss, but he'd had too much experience with well-laid plans gone to hell not to be worried.

When he looked up again, Filius was watching him carefully, and held out the whiskey without comment. Severus took it and poured himself more than a few fingers' worth, this time, but Filius only nodded.

"Good thinking. There'll be time for it to settle before the meeting."

Severus suppressed a sniff with difficulty; it hadn't been intentional, but it was true that staff meetings were better experienced under the influence of a strong drink. Filius sipped at his own, apparently content to relax in the quiet, for which Severus was grateful.

He suddenly frowned. "Filius… what do you know of charms to disguise handwriting?"

"Ooh, that's complicated," Filius said, his eyes glittering in excitement. "There are plenty, of course—many different kinds. Strategic invisibility, changing the perceived text, altering shape—"

"What about something that would imitate another person's writing?"

Filius's smile vanished. "They exist. But there are strict regulations about that sort of thing."

"Assume, hypothetically, that legality is not a concern."

"This is hypothetical, is it?"

He sounded so sceptical that Severus snorted. "I have no interest in forgery, I promise."

"Hmm." Filius still looked doubtful, but let it go without further comment. "What is it you're wondering, then?"

Severus hesitated a moment, trying to phrase his questions carefully. The last thing he needed was for other staff to again start thinking he was up to no good—and Alastor, of course, would pounce on any word of that.

"You've confirmed it is possible," he said slowly. "And I'd imagine, given the obvious purpose, that it is possible without the knowledge of the person whose writing is being imitated. But to imitate flawlessly—there must be something else involved, a sample script, the use of another's magical signature—"

"There are several spells involving such things, yes, but I'll not be saying how they're done, if that's what you're asking." For all that Filius's voice squeaked, he could sound remarkably threatening; Severus was strongly reminded that his diminutive colleague was a world-class duelling champion.

"I'm not. I swear it." Severus took a breath and collected his thoughts; if Dumbledore's mystery letters were forged, then, it was someone with very close access to the Dark Lord. Which meant the Dark Lord likely knew of it, if he didn't sanction it. Shit.

"I'm more wondering whether such spells… well, whether they are difficult to detect."

"Of course they are. It would not be much of a forgery if detection spells could easily undo it."

"But it is not impossible? If—if I were to receive a letter and suspect something amiss, there are measures to discover these enchantments, besides the obvious?"

Filius's face cleared slightly. "Ah, I see. Well, then—yes, and no. Most of them at the calibre we're discussing cannot be undone, really. There would be no way to know who was doing the forging. Some of them would even—well, they might not even be identifiable as the enchantments they are. One might only be able to feel a trace of magic on the page, which may be indistinguishable from a trace left from vanishing a blot of ink. There is a reason most official documents cannot be considered valid if there are traces of magic preceding the time of signing."

"These spells definitely need to be cast before writing, then? There can be no way to do so afterward?"

"Not that I am aware. Not the ones that are completely untraceable, at any rate," said Filius firmly. "Altering the writing after the fact—even the best of enchantments might be detected, if one was thorough enough. As you are."

As Albus was, as well. Severus was stumped. It had been a bit of a whim, drawing on Filius's expertise, but even if he'd planned it, he would have expected a far more fruitful outcome. As it was… he'd learnt nothing that would help except for the increased likelihood that Albus was right, mad as the idea was.

Well, fuck.

Minerva made sure to be early to the meeting. She had yet to find a way to address Charity's book diplomatically—that woman had the worst timing imaginable—but even as she headed to the staff room, Minerva found herself drawing a blank. Surely Albus would have to say something, at least.

Or maybe not. There were already Death Eaters after most of them, anyway.

She set about making tea for herself as she reviewed her agenda, and smiled to Filius's cheerful greeting. He and Severus were relaxing in the cushy armchairs, halfway through a bottle of—good god, was that Ogden's Oldest and Finest? She'd have to watch them—but otherwise they seemed content to leave her in peace while she prepared.

She was glad for the slight chatter as the rest of the staff slowly filtered into the room; it gave her an excuse to point out the last item on the list to Albus without drawing attention. He frowned.

"I suppose I will start making arrangements for a safe house now."

Minerva shook her head, but forestalled her comment as Severus took the chair across from her and raised an eyebrow. She sighed. "Never mind."

"Never mind what?"

"I don't recall you being part of the conversation," she said, though without any real bite behind it, and Albus called for attention before Severus could respond.

"Good afternoon. I trust this week is going fairly smoothly for you all—are there any general concerns?"

Severus was glaring daggers at the headmaster, who was carefully surveying the rest of the room; Minerva nudged Severus's boot under the table and shook her head slightly. She wasn't sure just how much of the whiskey he'd had, but given Filius still seemed relatively sober, that didn't bode well. She knew Severus's tolerance was much higher, but he really didn't need the added difficulty in keeping his mouth shut.

Thankfully, Argus jumped in before someone decided to mention Slytherin House. "I've got somethin', Professors. The corridors in the Hufflepuff dungeons have been worse than usual for this time of year…"

That, of course, was the cue to begin the discussions about leniency and cleanliness and discipline, which Minerva was quite happy to stay out of for the moment. It was a frequent enough conversation that everyone was already well aware of her opinions, and she was far more amused watching Bathsheda abandon all pretence of paying attention and start doodling on her spare parchment. Severus looked equally bored and annoyed, although he at least appeared to have half an ear on the conversation—his mouth tightened in contempt every time Alastor spoke.

…And somehow they'd gotten to the topic of security without her noticing. She shook herself as Severus finally broke his silence.

"—be damned if I'm letting you search my office, pawing through every—"

Albus cleared his throat pointedly, cutting across the tirade and others' uncomfortable fidgeting. "I do not think searches will be necessary. There is not a single person in this room whom I believe poses a threat to Hogwarts."

"Yes, you've never said that and been wrong before," muttered Severus. Bathsheda's quill slipped from the parchment; Minerva resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. Damn Filius's whiskey.

Alastor snorted. "Maybe not intentionally," he said, "but accidents happen. Better safe than sorry." He looked pained to agree with Severus, but adamant.

"Unless the majority think it needed, I will not insist upon it," said Albus; Minerva knew him well enough to recognise the touch of exasperation. "Submit your thoughts by the end of the week; I shall address it then. Now… are there any further announcements?"

Minerva sighed and nodded at Charity, who beamed. "Aye, Headmaster. It… well… my book has at last gotten final approval." She seemed not to notice that not everyone joined in the applause and congratulations. "Thank you! I know not all of you have had a chance to read it, but if anyone would be interested in writing a short endorsement for the cover, I would greatly appreciate the support."

"Are you daft?"

"Severus," Minerva said in an undertone, but he wasn't paying her the least bit of attention; he looked furious. Charity's smile faltered.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's not enough you have to make yourself a target by attaching your name to your—sentiments—you ask everyone else to risk themselves? Have you any idea how difficult it is to keep your idiotic—"

"That is quite enough, Severus, thank you," said Dumbledore sharply.

"Well, he's not completely wrong," growled Alastor. "It is a risk. I haven't read it, but I'm assuming it's a pro-Muggle stance, Burbage?"

Charity nodded, her face reddening with anger. "There's nothing wrong with that! I'm quite within my rights—people should be made aware—"

"Oh, no, there's nothing wrong with it," Alastor agreed quickly. "But are you ready to put your name to it? In these times?" He smirked as he was greeted with silence. "Are any of you? Guilt by association… it's a dangerous thing…."

"I trust," Albus said firmly, "that everyone here is well aware of the risks associated with expressing certain opinions openly. That does not mean they should not be expressed, particularly when they are so well-articulated as Charity has written them."

Charity blinked, pleased with the compliment, but looking as unsure as any of them—save two. Alastor made a noise of clear disagreement, and Severus looked murderous.

"You are actually suggesting—"

"I am suggesting nothing," said Albus, and Minerva could feel the anger underneath his mild expression. "Charity has put no small amount of effort into her research—and into the views that I think our world would be better for learning. There is inherent danger in expressing them now, yes, but do not think I will not make every effort to protect those who wish to show their support."

Minerva frowned at that—were they not already taking precautions for family of staff?

"You'll stretch us further, Albus," Alastor said, so softly that she barely heard him, but Severus clearly did, as well.

"And don't think I will have any part in it," he hissed. Alastor glared over at him, but grumbled something that sounded like agreement. Minerva could have killed them both.

"I'll support it," Bathsheda said suddenly. "I'll write something for you, Charity. I don't care what the Ministry or—or anyone else thinks. I haven't got a family or anything outside here; they can't come after me for it." She stared defiantly along the table, glaring at Severus in particular. "Perhaps those of us in similar circumstances might consider that."

Albus raised his hands for quiet before anyone else could respond. "This is something you are each capable of deciding for yourselves. Congratulations again, Charity. If there is nothing else, I will let you all go about your own business."

Minerva turned to catch his eye, but Alastor engaged him almost at once; her eyes narrowed as Severus made a scathing noise and stalked from the room.

"Oh, no you don't," she muttered, ignoring the usual chatter in favour of going after him. He was halfway down the hall before she caught up. "Severus, a word. Now."

He sneered as she pointed him into an empty classroom. "What?"

She took a deep breath as she shut the door behind them—she was angrier than she'd realised, and it was an effort not to shout. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I would have thought that obvious."

"Unfortunately, yes!" she snapped. "Severus, I am sorry you are under a great deal of stress—truly, I am—but that was entirely inappropriate!"

He blinked, confusion warring with his irritation. "But you—you agree with me, Charity is—"

"I'm not speaking of Charity right now. I am speaking of you. You, who saw fit to get himself drunk before meeting—do not give me that look, Severus Snape, I saw the whiskey—and handled it exceptionally poorly. Challenging Albus at every turn, insulting your colleagues—"

"They deserved—"

"They may very well have, at times, yes!" Minerva cried, her composure slipping. "But more than that, they deserve a semblance of respect and professionalism when we are in that room, as you very well know! I can't believe you are forcing me to have this conversation with you again!"

Severus stared at her, though she credited the Ogden's more than his self-control for not immediately snapping back—one good thing to be said for it, at least. "I… if you think everyone was being so professional—" he started finally, but Minerva forestalled him with an upraised hand.

"No, I do not—and they will be made aware of it," she said firmly, but her temper had faded significantly; she had expected much more shouting from his end. "But again, we are not speaking of anyone else right now."

He scowled. "Do you not care that essentially all of my objections were because of what their actions will mean for me? For the Order?"

"Of course I care." She was careful to hold his gaze long enough that he might see it was true. "But that does not excuse your behaviour."

"Then—then report me. Dock my pay. Put me on probation, sack me, I don't care anymore," he said, leaning against a nearby desk. All his belligerence had gone, leaving him looking tired and sullen. Minerva let him brood a few moments before responding.

"We both know I won't," she said gently. "For more reasons than one. But if you don't start pulling yourself together, Severus, so help me…."

"I understand."

"Then we'll say no more about it." As long as you don't give me reason, she added silently; she watched him for a moment, then perched on the desk opposite. He fiddled with the cuffs of his robes, avoiding her eyes.

"Filius seemed glad of your company," she said finally, and he looked up, startled; she wasn't sure if he was more surprised by her words or that she was still speaking to him.

"I… he was just confirming he would help secure the castle. I also asked him about—well, it doesn't matter, really. It didn't help."

Minerva hid her curiosity. "I'm sorry to hear it. He still enjoyed himself, though, I think. He usually does, when he spends time with you."

She was careful not to smile—Severus eyed her, evidently searching for signs she was poking fun at his expense, and sighed when he found none. "If you say so."

"I do." She hesitated. "Last night, you mentioned—"

She broke off as he hissed in pain and clutched at his arm. Twice in as many days…

"So soon?" she murmured, and he shook his head.

"I suppose. It's not like anyone tells me anything anymore."

"Will you be all right, going...?" Minerva didn't finish the thought, as she had declared the subject closed, but he understood nonetheless and snorted.

"Yes. I've done as much before." He stood up and stretched, his face settling back into an expressionless mask. "I must go. I may or may not be back for dinner."

He slammed the door, and was gone.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Feedback welcomed / encouraged, as always.