Author's note: I hope that you enjoy this chapter; I really enjoyed writing it. Please review!

Warnings: Swearing

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. There is a line in this—"Has it ever crossed your brilliant mind that perhaps I don't want to do this anymore?"—that was in the films, and I used it here because I remember it breaking my heart. Sadly, I do not recall which movie it comes from. Nevertheless, I don't own it either. (I don't think it was in the books, although I apologize if I'm incorrect about that. If I am, let's pretend that it wasn't, just for continuity's sake.)

Confrontations

The start of the new term seemed to creep up on Severus, who felt nothing but dread in regards to the day. If he could have, he would have put the school's resumption on indefinite hold—or rather, until he was no longer Headmaster. But now students swarmed the castle again, their spirits slightly lifted after the time spent with their families. Even in this tension-fraught era, they had apparently found a way to enjoy the holidays, or at least draw comfort from the fact that they were still alive to see another Christmas.

If only Severus were so content. His only solace—which, in all honesty, actually left a very marginal dent in his stress levels—was knowing that Potter had finally obtained the Sword of Gryffindor. Dumbledore had been thrilled with the success of the mission. Severus, too, had initially been pleased to cross another nearly-impossible task from his list, but the feeling had soon been replaced by one of extensive burn-out.

It seemed that the events of the past months had caught up to him: After delivering the Sword to Potter, Severus had spent an inordinate amount of time in bed and lacking the self-discipline to get out of bed, which was quite unlike him. Unfortunately, the admittedly much-needed sleep did nothing to soothe his raw emotions.

He felt like crap.


While the first day of the winter term passed uneventfully, day number two saw the Headmaster back to examining classrooms. The activity was as heinous as ever, especially since he had decided to get the most difficult professors to deal with out of the way immediately; in theory, a good idea, but it seemed more strenuous than it was worth after interacting with Sybill and Minerva consecutively. As he took a breather before launching into the next examination, the final on his agenda for the time being, he promised himself that he would recuperate by not doing any more staff checks for a week.

The Charms lesson was already underway when he arrived. It was a class of Gryffindor and Slytherin fourth-years. They were learning the Summoning Charm, pointing their wands at the glass inkpots that lined the opposite wall and saying, "Accio" over and over again. Severus silently questioned the wisdom of using such a fragile item for first-time attempts. He didn't recall learning the spell that way.

With no preamble, he made his way over to a shadowy corner at the front of the room, where he stood with his arms crossed, looking like a vindictive bat just waiting for a reason to swoop in and claw someone to shreds. Despite the fact that he did no more than dispassionately observe the proceedings, his presence was pernicious; the number of inkpots that plummeted to the floor and shattered with a loud crack increased dramatically the longer he lurked. He stayed until Filius issued a dismissal, and the little rug-rats shuffled out to go eat lunch.

"Severus," the Charms professor called stonily, stopping the Headmaster as he made for the door.

The aforementioned wizard turned with a raised eyebrow. "What is it, Filius? I have better things to do than listen to you whine about how I run this place," he drawled. The only reason why Filius or Minerva typically initiated contact with him was to give him an earful, as if they could shame him into being a less despicable Headmaster. Of course, with the Dark Lord pulling the strings, their quest would always be futile. They didn't seem to realize that.

"I do not intend to 'whine about how you run this place,'" Filius said, indignant, apparently ruffled by Severus's phrasing, "although I certainly have words for you about that as well. No," he continued when he was on the receiving end of an impatient glare, "I would like to inquire about one of my young charges: Luna Lovegood."

Severus felt his stomach clench. He had brought up the matter of Lovegood's abduction with Dumbledore, but the portrait had agreed that there was nothing he could do without jeopardizing his position. While he suspected that the girl was either in Azkaban or at Malfoy Manor, he could truthfully say that he was not certain of her location. However, ultimately, he would rather not have this conversation—confrontation—at all.

"If Miss Lovegood is unwell, then you had best pester Madam Pomfrey," said Severus, feigning ignorance. He paused before adding, "How you can tell when something is amiss with her, given that she is such an anomaly in the first place, I cannot even begin guess." Another pause, slightly longer this time and accompanied by a sneer. "On the other hand, I suppose that is the definition of Ravenclaw House: A congregation of the slightly-mad whose existence in polite society is disgraceful."

Severus had hoped that the other man would be offended, abandoning the issue of Luna Lovegood in favour of defending his House, but the Head of Ravenclaw refused to be sidetracked by the vituperation.

"She did not return after the break." Filius spoke slowly and deliberately, as though explaining a rather simple concept to an incredibly dimwitted child. Severus had noticed that the teachers often adopted this particular pattern of speech when they were frustrated or angry with him and trying to maintain a cool front. "I thought that perhaps you might know something about it, Headmaster."

The bite with which the usually-jovial man managed to infuse the title made Severus think darkly, Don't worry, I will see that Minerva is Headmistress come September if it is the last thing I do.

"Be careful about what you insinuate," he warned with a simmering intensity.

Filius retorted, "You told her to watch her back. Seeing as the incident occurred in the Great Hall, I am sure that Miss Lovegood's Housemates can attest to that, if you have forgotten."

Damn. In truth, Severus actually had forgotten. Between dealing with manipulative, dead wizards, trying to keep casualties among the student body to a minimum, and risking his own life at Death Eater meetings, those few words to the odd, faerie-like girl had slipped his mind.

"I have not touched a hair on your precious Ravenclaw's head."

"Even if you yourself did not partake in the event of Miss Lovegood's disappearance, you tracked all the students over the Christmas holidays, so you surely have some useful information." There was a dangerous spark in the small wizard's eyes. He was no less protective of his ravens than Minerva was of her lions; no matter that Severus towered above him, he wanted answers and was not afraid to push for them. It probably helped that he was a dueling champion.

Severus stormed up to the desk, banging his hands against the surface and leaning forward to within spitting distance of the other professor. "Remember your place," he growled. "I am in charge here, and you have no right to question me." He whirled around again and began to make his way out of the classroom, stopping by the door to say, somewhat cryptically, "Dead captives have no worth."


"Your employees are incorrigibly stubborn, Albus," Severus said querulously. "They will not let go of things that would be in their best interest to forget. They try my patience."

"I daresay that everybody tries your patience, my boy." Dumbledore seemed highly amused, that stupid twinkle as bright as ever, which only infuriated Severus more.

He decided not to justify the comment with a response. "Filius is convinced that I am involved in Lovegood's disappearance. I wouldn't be surprised if he even thinks I orchestrated it."

"And what did you tell him?" Dumbledore asked, peering at Severus over his half-moon spectacles.

"I told him that dead captives have no worth," Severus said. "Let him interpret that as he will. If he has any sense, he will be able to link the kidnapping with Xenophilius's rabble-rousing Quibbler articles, and realize that Miss Lovegood is being held ransom. Alive," he added, though he thought that it was perhaps a dangerous assumption to make. He would not be surprised if the Dark Lord decided to killed the girl and then led her father to believe that she was fine, just for sport.

Dumbledore made a sound of acknowledgement before changing the subject abruptly: "Have you given thought to how you will pass to Harry the crucial information that we discussed?"

"No." He sent his predecessor a very nasty glower, not appreciating the new focus of discussion. "I have been a touch preoccupied with all the other things that you have tasked me with."

"It was only a question."

Severus's mood finally got the better of him. "Damn you and your machinations, Dumbledore!" he raged. "You ask too much, you overestimate people; you blindly put your faith in the abilities of those who do not deserve it, and you are seemingly apathetic as to the toll that your weighty expectations take on the individual. Potter, myself… If you want something important done, you should do it yourself.

"You concoct these grand plans and ask others to see them through- no, you command others to see them through, refusal not being an option. Tell me, how is that behaviour much different from the Dark Lord's? In fact, at this point, I would prefer to answer to the Dark Lord than answer to you, because at least he is alive, however unfortunate that fact may be; you, on the other hand, are dead, and yet still I must be subjected to your constant nagging and the schemes whose intent you refuse to detail!

"Has it ever crossed your brilliant mind that perhaps I don't want to do this anymore?"

The majority of the portraits had been roused from their slumber—or the pretense of slumber—by Severus's virulent outburst. While his diatribes were practically routine, it was less common for them to be directed at the well-respected former Headmaster, and so they were regarding him with wide eyes.

Contrarily, the object of Severus's ire was as unflappable as always, not displaying any signs of the anger that others might have reacted with. "I'm sorry you feel that way, my boy," came his underwhelming response.

"Save it," Severus snarled. So often he found that venting did not alleviate his temper, and this was one of those cases.

Instead of remaining in the office to be reprimanded or pitied or both, Severus withdrew, ignoring the mournful expression that adorned Dumbledore's face. He went back to his private quarters with the intention of shooting curses at the furniture, or drowning his frustrations in Firewhisky, or doing whatever else it took for the resentful, caged-animal feeling to diminish.