8
The Snape Chronicles—Book 5 Part 1
Not that I object to Potter getting himself into well-deserved trouble, but since when do we convene the Wizengamot for underage magic, or magic in front of a muggle? His cousin, no less. According to the squib Arabella Figg, there were two dementors in the alley, and Potter was repelling them with a patronus charm. Now, while I enjoy happy, glowy fantasies of Potter's demise as much as the next person, I don't believe even he deserves to have his soul sucked by dementors. After witnessing it performed on Barty Crouch, Jr., I wouldn't even wish it on that bane of my existence, Sirius Black. I must admit I'm glad the brat was cleared of the charges; creeping round Privet Drive to guard him was hellishly worse than watching the twerp at Hogwarts.
The dark lord, when I informed him about it, declared he had not sent the dementors. In fact, he seemed surprised about the whole thing, and maybe a tiny bit upset. He wants the joy of murdering Potter himself. Can't fault him for that.
Must go, we have another meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. Yay.
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Severus apparated onto the stoop next to the door of Grimmauld Place and knocked loudly with the silver knocker in the shape of a twisted serpent. Although the old house elf ought to answer the door, he didn't hold his breath; the damned thing hated him almost as much as it hated Sirius, which took a powerful lot of doing. One might think Kreacher could sympathize with Snape, having a common enemy and all.
Sirius flung open the door, waiting a moment before acknowledging his guest. Snape took the opportunity to purr, "Cat got your tongue, dogboy?"
"Shut it, Snape." He moved aside to let the other man in, and closed the door just as the portrait of his mother began to rail about blood traitors and halfbreeds and mudbloods. He led the way down the stairs to the kitchen with Severus following. "And don't get so close to me!"
"Why? Are you afraid James may get jealous?" Snape retorted. Stomping down the steps, he drawled, "Speaking of close, I wouldn't suggest you treat Harry like you did his father. It's hardly appropriate."
Sirius wheeled round, nearly tripping on the last step, and fell with a clunk onto the floor. "What the f—k is that supposed to mean?"
Severus paid him no heed, pushing past into the kitchen, where a large fire at the end of the huge room gave scant illumination on the stone walls, making the room even more grim than Spinner's End, a massive accomplishment. Severus found it severely depressing to be in this dark, damp, moldy house, let alone this cave-like room, for any amount of time, and never stayed for meals afterward like the rest, though he doubted he was truly welcome anyway. He moved to the long, wooden table, around which sat several witches and wizards, and set down the scrolls clutched in his hand. He hadn't noticed how sweaty his palm felt till now.
"Hello, Arthur, Molly," he said tightly. He nodded to the rest, who either grunted or nodded in return. He expected no warm reception, nor received one.
"Severus," the Weasleys said in unison. Molly added, "Would you like something to drink?"
"No, thank you. I'd like to get started as soon as possible. I haven't much time." And that lunatic Black may slip something into it. His eye roamed to Moody, where the definition of lunatic took on whole new shades of meaning. Moody glared back at him, reminiscent of the way Barty/Moody had looked at him last term. A shiver ran up his spine.
Arthur stood up, at the same time gesturing toward Severus, who'd positioned himself in front of a chair, but hadn't seated himself. "Severus has told Dumbledore that he's got important information for us. Severus, whenever you're ready."
Snape gave another curt nod and unrolled the first parchment he'd brought. "I presume most of you know that Sybill Trelawney made a prophecy many years ago, before Harry Potter was born. It's the reason his parents were killed." Moody, Sirius, Lupin, and the three Weasleys muttered an assent; Mundungus Fletcher and Tonks stared blankly.
"The prophecy stated that: The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. This is as far as Voldemort knows, but the prophecy continues. The dark lord intends to acquire the orb in order to find out what else is included. We must prevent it."
"What does the rest of the prophecy say?" asked Tonks, as several other heads strained forward, nodding.
Snape's lip curled slightly. "I don't know. Dumbledore doesn't see fit to tell me."
"And that's surprising that he doesn't want a Death Eater to carry it back to Voldemort tied up in a red bow?" said Sirius in a mocking tone.
Molly shushed him, but not before the two men exchanged hostile scowls. "I reckon he doesn't want anyone to know, in case we were kidnapped or something," she said.
"That's true," Arthur interjected. "They can't force us to tell what we don't know."
Severus indicated the parchment he'd rolled out. "This is a layout of the Department of Mysteries, where thousands of prophecies are stored. Our task is to determine the best course of action in preventing anyone from entering to retrieve it."
"You mean we're to guard the place?" asked Lupin.
"Exactly how are we to do that?" asked Bill Weasley. "Unless we work for the Ministry, we'll stick out like a sore thumb being there."
"Where there's a will, there's a way," growled Moody from his chair in the deepest, darkest corner.
Severus seated himself while the other members talked among themselves over who they might appoint to guard the place, and other methods of insuring Death Eaters didn't gain access. He personally couldn't care less who did it, as he was in no position to do so. Being a teacher during the school year had that perk, at least.
When the meeting wound down, Snape didn't bother to say his farewells, and no one seemed to mind or notice. As he reached the stairs, he reached into the inner pocket of his robe and pulled out something which he tossed to Sirius; Black caught it with a bemused look.
"Good boy," said Severus, sneering.
Sirius looked at the object, which appeared to be a rubber bone that squeaked when he squeezed it. "What's this?"
"I thought I'd get you something to pass the time. It must get tiresome here, cleaning like a house elf while others risk their lives for the Order." Then he whirled and marched up the stairs with Sirius swearing at the top of his lungs, and Bill and Arthur holding him back from attacking the other wizard. When he'd let himself out, he paused on the doorstep to take out his To-Do List, and smirked while he very deliberately struck through the line 'Bring Black a chew toy.'
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The first Potions lesson of the year with Potter went dismally, as anyone could have predicted, even Trelawney. It was the Draught of Peace, a simple enough formula that you'd swear had been written in ancient Sumerian text the way these idiot children manage to blunder through. Potter, Goyle, and Longbottom scraped for the bottom of the barrel and came out smelling like swill. I cannot stress enough how relieved I will be next year not to have to deal with most of them ever again. Sadly, I will have a new crop of 'geniuses' to torment me.
Sturgis Podmore, who'd been set to guard the Department of Mysteries against Death Eater intrusion, has been arrested and sent to Azkaban for six months for trying to break in. I suspect he's been Imperiused…I hope Lucius isn't behind it. He's very good at that particular curse, and not shy of using it to suit his purposes. I'm afraid to ask because he might tell me, and I prefer not to know information that might send my best friend to prison.
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Snape tried to ignore her; he wasn't good at ignoring people, especially when they were grating and maddening, but he'd promised Dumbledore that he wouldn't avada kedavra her—as if he needed to make that promise. When had he actually ever used that curse? That's right, never. Although there was always a first time for everything.
He steadfastly kept his eyes on the vials of Strengthening Solution on his desk as he picked up each one in turn for their cursory inspection before the later testing to determine the grade. So far they looked pretty pitiful, though his blank countenance didn't let it show. It wouldn't do to let the toad-woman know how badly his pupils had performed, now would it?
At last he'd had enough of her hovering and snapped, "While I may find my classroom décor fascinating, I daresay you do not, so is there some reason you are still here, Miss Umbridge? You said you came to observe the lesson. The students have gone, the lesson is over. You do understand what 'over' means, do you not?"
Umbridge gasped as if struck, then replied in her sickening sweet, girlish tone that made Snape want to ram a fist in her mouth, "Why, Professor Snape, I'm not accustomed to such antagonism."
"Somehow I doubt that," he said dryly.
"I am simply doing my job, trying to protect our youth from the dangers all around."
He lifted his head and turned icy eyes on her, piercing her in place. "So a school devoid of any challenges or practice for the real world is somehow beneficial to our children? Interesting." He picked up a quill and began scribbling on a sheet of parchment.
"What are you writing?" She edged nearer for a look, and he deftly covered it with the length of his arm. His sleeve smeared the ink, but he merely smiled. "Professor Snape, I demand to see it."
"I think not."
She stamped her foot, which seemed too tiny for her body. "So, you not only cause your students to create potions not approved by the Ministry, you're being actively uncooperative." She lifted her clipboard and began writing furiously. "Perhaps that's why you didn't get the Defense Against the Dark Arts position you covet—you have a bad attitude."
"I fail to see the relevance of that." He wrote down a few more words before hiding them once more. "The attitude didn't keep me from this post, did it?"
"I understand your mother was an excellent Potions student herself," said Umbridge, her feigned sweetness returning although her eyes glared daggers at him.
Severus looked at her once more, unruffled on the outside, his ire rising inside. "Where might you have gotten any information whatsoever about my mother?"
"Here and there," said Umbridge chirpily. Although he refused to show it, she was certain she'd struck a nerve. Everyone was protective about their mothers. "I think I should tell you—for your own good, of course—that some pupils, who shall remain nameless, have suggested that you can be unfair in class…a few have gone so far as to call you petty and nasty."
"And would these 'nameless' individuals happen to be in Gryffindor House?" he asked spitefully. "In case you're wondering, Potter and his cohorts have always had it in for me, and sacking me would make them extremely happy. I've seen you with Potter, and I get the distinct impression you don't want to make him happy."
She faltered, not expecting him to guess so quickly what she was doing. "We're working towards the same goal, the best instruction for the children."
"Naturally."
"So for our mutual benefit, I must ask…is there anything in your background you'd like to tell me before I dig it up elsewhere? Anything that might later be used against you by people not on our side?"
He marginally suppressed a snort of derision. "If I had something to hide, it is unlikely I would confide it to you."
Time to change tactics. He refused to be cowed. Hell, he seemed to want to be sacked! "Professor, the Ministry only wishes to know if there is something…untoward…going on among the students…or perhaps among the teachers. Now is the time to rectify it before it gets out of hand. The Ministry is certainly willing to consider remuneration for any information you might stumble across."
Severus allowed a tiny smile, so used to deception that it came on without bidding. "Miss Umbridge, I haven't a clue what you're on about. However, if anything…untoward…comes to my attention, rest assured you will be the first person I come to."
"So I can count on you, Professor?" she said in that delicate, cheery tone.
"With an offer like that, how could I not accept?" He stood and made a tiny bow. "If you don't mind, I have work to do."
"Of course." She left the room, her step springy, her clipboard swinging from her hand.
When she'd gone, Severus sat down and let a string of profanity course from his lips. That bumbling, obnoxious ogress had the audacity to think he'd turn in his fellow teachers for money? If he were going to snitch on them for behaviour unauthorized by some nutter in the Ministry, which he most certainly was not, he'd do it as a public service! Every year the DADA teacher got worse…what was next year going to bring, a troll? No, what was he thinking? A troll would be an improvement, both mentally and aesthetically.
He removed his arm from the paper he'd been scrawling on and balled it up to throw in the rubbish. He'd only been scribbling to make her eager to know what it was, and it had worked. Well, now he had work to get to; potions didn't grade themselves.
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Our new DADA instructor, Dolores Umbridge, is a Ministry plant. I've known that all along, but now the toad-faced bitch has got herself appointed High Inquisitor! Excuse me, but when did this become Inquisition Part II? Lucius seems happy about the turn of events, only because he hates Dumbledore and believes this is what the dark lord wants, and he dare not speak otherwise. Besides, he doesn't have to live with her, or be critiqued in a most humiliating and infuriating manner by that pompous bitch. One more "hem hem" from her and I'll cram that black bow on top of her head right down her throat.
I freely admit I am one of the most paranoid people I've ever known, and I work for Voldemort, who is worse than I am. Despite that I'm left wondering how paranoid must a person be to think Dumbledore not only craves the office of Minister of Magic—which he could have in a heartbeat if he wanted it—but to think he's creating an army of students to fight for him? Seriously? I say good luck on that front, if he's depending on these students to win a coup and set him in office! I choked on my own saliva there, laughing so hard.
On the bright side—and never let it be said I don't search diligently in my pathetic life for a bright side—Potter has been banned from playing Quidditch forever. Maybe the brat will spend some time applying himself to his studies now. Ha. Ha.
I nearly got into a duel with Black. He can't bear it that I am more useful than he, and I can't resist rubbing his snout in it. I rather wish we could have had it out, it would feel good to cut loose and curse his arse.
Dumbledore suspects some sort of mind link going on between the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Make-My-Life-Hell and Voldemort. That presupposes a mind, but whatever. He's kindly informed me that I will be teaching the brat Occlumency. Potter seemed as overjoyed as myself when I notified him that we will be spending loads of time together in a very intimate, vulnerable setting. I can hardly wait. I hate my life.