Yeah, I'm back. With a short chapter, and not at all the one I'd planned.
See notes at end.
Idly paging through the latest issue of the International Journal of Clinical Psychopharmacology, Severus waited until the very last moment he reasonably could. And then, skimming an article describing an experimental treatment for chronic thaumatramatic mania, he stalled a few extra moments.
It wouldn't do to appear reasonable, after all.
When he'd waited long enough he would be just shy of indecently tardy, Severus set the journal aside — face-down, to save his page — and started on the long walk from his personal apartments in the dungeons to the staff room on the sixth fucking floor. Staff meetings were tedious enough. Forcing the majority of them who didn't live up in those bloody towers to walk twenty minutes just to get there was another sting of insult. Honestly, there was a staff room on the second floor, disused for centuries now, which would be reasonably equidistant from where they all spent the majority of their days, but no...
He would say Dumbledore just liked having people come to him, but he knew for a fact his predecessor had held staff meetings in the same room. Though, his predecessor had also been Phineas Black, who would likely have done it for much the same reason. Irrelevant.
The trip was long and boring enough, he just let his mind wander. Master Minze was taking an odd risk, recommending a tincture containing no small amount of moonstone for all cases of chronic mania. True, it would be helpful in some cases, or simply neutral in others — it would depend on the mania's exact pathogenesis. But, in cases caused by white magic trauma or toxicity, any contact at all with moonstone would only make it worse, and possibly induce secondary hypervalent shock. Granted, such reactions would be rare — black curse damage is far more common than white — but they were potentially lethal. Severus had thought Minze more cautious than that.
He'd have to be rather more politic in his review than he might ordinarily be. Minze was one of the more highly-respected authorities in the field of psychoactive potions, it wouldn't do to be too overly... He wasn't sure of the word. Academics could be ridiculously sensitive at times, and Minze had done plenty of brilliant work — not to mention had admirers and former students by the thousands. Severus could afford to leave some bridges unburned.
He spent the rest of the walk up, stairs after stairs after stairs, trying to remember how exactly one was supposed to draw attention to another's grievous error without in any way insulting their intelligence.
The long table in the staff room was all but full by the time he arrived — at a glance, he saw the only one missing was Trelawney, and he didn't expect her to pull herself from the bottle long enough to deign to show up. Honestly, how the hell did that ludicrous woman still have a job? He'd have thought rampant alcoholism would be cause for dismissal at a school for children, but clearly Dumbledore thought differently.
He hadn't fired Severus yet either. His criteria were clearly flawed.
It wasn't until after he'd registered all but two chairs were full that Severus realised that eye-searing spot of yellow and mauve somewhere in the middle had to be the new Professor of Defence. When he recognised the man a second later, — he'd taken to not inquiring beforehand, to spare himself a few weeks of fury — he jolted to a halt in the middle of the floor.
'Ah, Severus!' Dumbledore was in as fine a fettle as always, eyes twinkling and beard curling with a half-hidden grin. The old berk always seemed to enjoy staff meetings far too much, like he wanted nothing more than to spend hours and hours and interminable hours in banal conversation with people who wished anything but to be there stuck with him, it made Severus's teeth ache. 'Have a seat, would you, and we can get started.'
It did take Severus a second to get moving, and it wasn't Dumbledore's invitation that did it — he noticed Septima was staring at him, again. She was always bloody doing that, for years now, it was vaguely unnerving. The woman's face was uncharacteristically unreadable in these moments, and he'd tried legilimency to divine what was going on in there, but she apparently had dozens of arithmantic formulas and proofs simultaneously going on in the back of her head all but constantly. Gave him a fucking headache. He took the seat on the same side of the table she was on, so he wouldn't have to tolerate her constant staring.
Which, unfortunately, put him right between Minerva and Gilderoy fucking Lockhart. Because of course it did.
'Get started?' Lockhart leaned forward over the table a little, the motion bringing him closer to Severus. Severus leaned away on instinct — Myrddin, was that lavender? 'I'm hardly an arithmancer—' The sugary tone he said it in, his teasing smirk, was making Severus queasy. '—but by my count we're still short one.'
'Ah, well.' That was almost a rueful smile on Dumbledore's face, as though he were almost embarrassed at still having the lush on staff. Almost. 'I'm afraid Sybil — that's our Divinations Professor, Sybil Trelawney — attends these meetings but rarely. It may be some time before you meet her, she keeps to herself.'
Minerva muttered something that sounded very much like batty old fraud. Hopefully low enough Dumbledore wouldn't catch it — the scolding did get quite tiresome — Severus whispered, 'The only thing she'll be Seeing tonight is the bottom of a bottle.' She hung her cup of tea over her mouth far longer than needed to sip, probably covering a smirk.
She might be an intrusive, aggravating old shrew, but he couldn't say Minerva's sense of humour was lacking.
In the end, this August staff meeting was the same stupid shite as every previous. The same old notices on the state of the grounds and the castle, dull. The same old introduction to new staff, invariably including Defence, dull. The same old listing off of known at-risk students to keep an eye on, tedious. Various professors bringing up their own concerns and comments, agonising. On and on and on, for hours.
If the elves didn't accommodate him by having throat-burningly strong coffee within reach nearly every second of every bloody day, he might have passed about by now from sheer, soul-crushing boredom. He fucking hated these things. Maybe not this time, actually — imagining setting Lockhart's overdone hair on fire was a nice distraction, at least.
Although, the more he payed attention, the less he was sure what to think of this one. He hadn't read any of Lockhart's books, but he'd had the great misfortune to be in the same room with him once before — he'd later requested the proprietor owl him their schedule of book signings and similar events so he could avoid them in future — so he'd already had some familiarity with the man. Or at least how he acted in public. And there was some of that here, certainly, all impractically prettied up with his ridiculous pink-purple robes and too-curly blond hair and he had to be wearing makeup, and the lavender—
And all smiles, and sugary compliments, and melodramatic statements, and boyish chuckles, it was sickening. It was all there, the absurd fop Severus had thought him to be. But at the same time...
He didn't know. For one thing, when he'd introduced himself, he'd gone on a short monologue about the curriculum he had planned out. And, shockingly, it wasn't even bad. It was yet to be seen if he could give a proper lecture without getting distracted by some inane tangent involving some other celebrity he'd met or one of his plethora of heroic deeds or bloody hair care, but the brief glance had given every indication he might even know what he was talking about. And for all he looked like a silly charlatan, Severus noticed over the course of the meeting he was wearing wrist holsters — on both wrists. If those overindulgent tales of heroics were fictional, as he'd assumed, Severus wouldn't expect Lockhart to project an ounce of true competence, or be cautious enough to carry a backup wand.
Not to mention, Severus noticed the man's mind was shielded with occlumency solid as steel. No, he was getting the sneaking suspicion Lockhart might be more than he seemed.
That might just be wishful thinking, though. Severus was more comfortable believing people like what Gilderoy Lockhart superficially seemed to be didn't exist.
And then something especially annoying just had to happen. He could pretend to be surprised, but he wasn't, really. Ever since Hazel bloody Potter had entered his life, this was just his luck.
They were nearing the end of the scheduled topics, he'd be able to get the fuck out of there, when Minerva just had to mention the one thing he'd dearly wished she wouldn't. 'By the way, Severus, I noticed you didn't submit a class list for Miss Potter.' The disappointed tone on her voice — You really must pay attention, I expected better of you, young man — was both highly obvious and highly unwelcome. 'I sent out her letter anyway, but if she hadn't been a second year...'
Severus took a long sip of coffee, preparing himself. This was going to be...unpleasant. 'That was unnecessary. I did not give you her class list because Miss Potter will not be attending.' He'd already known Minerva had sent one to her, of course, had received a letter a couple days ago implying, with all the subtlety of a blasting curse to the face, he lacked the intelligence to properly manage her transfer — he hadn't been sure if Lily or Hazel had written it, as it wasn't signed and their handwriting was similar, but didn't think it wise to ask.
He couldn't pretend to be surprised at the asinine tangent that followed. The thoughtless imbeciles that seemed to comprise the majority of the British population were so fanatically obsessed with their Girl-Who-Lived, he'd expected nothing else. No matter how many questions they asked him, no matter how many times they repeated the same ones worded only slightly differently, Severus gave them the same answers. After conferring with her family, Miss Potter would be attending Beauxbatons for the remainder of her schooling. She had cause to leave, of course, she hadn't done it on a whim, but their conversations on the matter, like all such with his Slytherins, were privileged, he refused to share any details. He would say no more on the subject.
There was really no point in asking again, he wasn't changing his mind. It was done.
He kept up the facade of cold intransigence, covering any hint of wariness. Everyone else had put together an impressive chorus of bleating, but Dumbledore hadn't said a bloody word. Not one. He was just...staring at him. That smile gone, eyes now still and sharp, all too still in general, as though the man had been petrified. He was still physically, at least — the magic in the room shuttered in fitful starts, and while Severus could never see into Dumbledore's mind with any real detail, he could feel the movement there, the chaotic roiling of thoughts and feelings unnamed.
He was certain Dumbledore was going to hold him back to talk about it in private. He just knew it.
So, when the meeting was finally called to an end a few short minutes later, Severus didn't even bother taking to his feet. There was really no point, he'd just be called back.
The others stalled a little on their way out the door — mostly simple dithering, without much real need to be anywhere else immediately, distracted by chattering. Though he did notice Septima was watching again, not just the blank staring Severus was really getting irritated with, but a suspicious, narrow-eyed thing, flicking between him and Dumbledore. Everyone else might be too thick or self-centered to see anything past their noses, but Septima, at least, had noticed he and Dumbledore were hanging back with intent for a private meeting.
The unnerving woman was intelligent enough she could probably deduce what it was about, too. It was common knowledge — though considered inappropriate to speak of directly, especially in his presence — that Severus had served the Dark Lord. From there, it took very minimal leaps of logic to come to the conclusion that, back in the war, Severus had been Dumbledore's spy, he didn't think there was anyone on the staff who hadn't put that together. (They were less likely to realise the war wasn't truly over, that that arrangement couldn't yet be referred to in the past tense.) From there, it wasn't hard to guess Severus consciously hadn't told Dumbledore about Potter transferring, and he was now about to be scolded about it.
She even almost looked sympathetic. He wasn't sure what the hell to think about that.
Eventually, they were alone. Severus might otherwise use finally, but he couldn't say he ever enjoyed his private chats with Dumbledore. Pouring himself another cup of coffee — not that he expected to be here long enough to finish the whole thing, it was just something to do with his hands — Severus said, 'Get on with it, then.'
Before Dumbledore even twitched, the air broke with pulses of tingling magic, thick enough he could almost taste it. Severus counted five — charms to ensure their privacy, he was certain. Voice low, heavy with disapproval, Dumbledore muttered, 'You did not tell me she intends to transfer.'
Severus took a sip, slower than was truly necessary. He had to hide a smile when Dumbledore's brow twitched at the delay. 'She does not intend to transfer, she has transferred. Verbal conjugation can be so finicky, but as you are about to futilely try to convince me to somehow convince her to stay, I understand the confusion.'
That just made Dumbledore's brow dip further, almost legitimately appearing annoyed. Severus gave himself a point — Dumbledore virtually never let himself show even the slightest irritation, he'd been idly tallying his successes for years now. The old goat was silent for a moment, but he found his thoughts before too long. 'I was under the impression you felt invested in Hazel's safety.'
That was rich, Severus was the one being cavalier with her life. That was funny enough he couldn't even be too angry over...questioning his motivations or the attempted guilt trip, pick one, really. 'She'll be safer at Beauxbatons.'
'From hundreds of miles away, there will be no way to—'
'Her enemies will also be hundreds of miles away.' When Dumbledore just blinked at him, Severus couldn't restrain an exasperated sigh. 'Are you truly trying to tell me she's safer here? You do remember what happened this last year? If it isn't her classmates trying to curse her in the common room, it's bumbling into trolls in the bloody halls, or Dark Lords snatching her out of her bed.' He tried not to think about that, it was fucking terrifying. Though, remembering the condition Quirrel's corpse had been in by the end of the night was quite comforting whenever he did. 'And we already know Lucius is plotting something, something that will unfold here at Hogwarts over the course of this year. And you think she's safer here, than she would be away at Beauxbatons? Don't make me laugh.'
Of course, Severus would hardly expect her life to be in any serious jeopardy if she were to stay at Hogwarts. Ordinarily, in some other universe, he might have been, but with Lily in there with her? There were very few things that posed a legitimate danger to her, short of the Dark Lord himself, and he wasn't likely to infiltrate the school again quite so soon. The idea of another student harming her was laughable, whatever Lucius was cooking up would have to be fucking impressive to even stand a shot. She wasn't so untouchable as she'd been when she'd been herself, handicapped as she was by her daughter's prepubescent magical resistance, but she was still Lily.
Not that he would be explaining that — Dumbledore still had no idea "the voice" he'd said the girl had referred to was Lily herself, and it was better he never learn. But it was simply true Hogwarts would always be more of a risk for the Girl-Who-Lived, just for being the Girl-Who-Lived, that argument was easy enough to make.
Christ, he hated that hyphenated monstrosity...
Dumbledore looked rather uncomfortable, in the short silence after that ramble, as though he actually regretted the decisions he'd made that had led to the disaster that was the last academic year. Well, perhaps Severus should give him more credit than that — he was sure Dumbledore did regret it. He just thought it unlikely it would make any difference, he doubted Dumbledore would revise his methods at all, so his regret was bloody useless. 'Perhaps you are right. There are risks, in keeping Hazel here. But there are risks in having her so far away as well. If we can't keep an eye on her, there's no way to prevent—'
'Don't pretend this is about anything other than being displeased your little saviour has escaped your sphere of influence.' Severus was tempted to take another sip of coffee, but Dumbledore was opening his mouth to respond, couldn't have that. 'No way to prevent her learning magics you disapprove of. No way to prevent her associating with the "wrong" people. That's what you meant. You may not even believe it's what you meant, you may have deluded yourself just that well, but it is.'
Not that Dumbledore had been the slightest bit successful at that even with Hazel in Hogwarts, right here under his oversized nose. Severus knew for a fact Lily had continued her education — given he was almost certain the Restricted Section had been broken into, by the feel of it no small number of times, he'd wager Dumbledore would be mortified with the full breadth of whatever Hazel had picked up. During her time here she hadn't been the most social, nearly as much of a loner as Severus had been his first year, but the few friends she had managed to form were with people Dumbledore, he was sure, would rather she had never met. Davis, he might overlook Davis, but Greengrass? Zabini? No, Severus would wager her social contacts were a low-simmering concern of his. Not that he could imagine why Dumbledore should give a damn about the fickle relationships of prepubescent children, but he didn't have to understand it to know the judgmental old prick did.
Though, everything after the Sorting was simply worsening a suspicion that had already soured. Dumbledore's biases could be almost painfully obvious sometimes, and were no more aggravating than when it was over something so superficial. He pretended he thought no less of the Slytherins than his darling Gryffindors, well enough some were even convinced — they weren't bloody paying attention. It was subtle, he would grant that, but Severus had noticed anyone who had gone to Slytherin, or anyone from one of a few dozen of the Darker Noble Houses, they were immediately cast in a slight shade of suspicion from the outset. It could be overcome, of course, Dumbledore wasn't that irrational, but some people started at a handicap in his regard.
To Severus's face, he'd pretended it made no difference Hazel had been Sorted into Slytherin. Severus hadn't believed it for a second.
Irritating, to have his opinions influenced so strongly by a personality test given at age eleven. That bloody hat had told him, at one point, that the Founders would likely disapprove of this whole Sorting business, some rather more violently than others. (The story about the Founders themselves instituting the practice was, apparently, pure myth, the house system invented centuries after their deaths.) The Sorting Hat itself said the Sorting did more harm than good, and should be discontinued. It was one of the few things the bloody thing had ever said Severus actually agreed with.
When Severus glanced up to meet Dumbledore's eyes, he saw the old man looked rather diminished, shoulders drooping and face lax with...something. It could be hard to read expressions in features so wizened, not to mention the bloody beard getting in the way, but it was probably disappointment, or sadness, or something like that. 'So this is how things will be, from now on.'
Severus was almost pleased Dumbledore had the decency to not fake surprise. For a moment, he hesitated, trying to decide exactly how honest he should be. Not completely honest, of course, but... 'She was miserable here, Albus.' He dropped the given name consciously, not out of any real feeling, but because it imitated feeling, because Dumbledore would read into it shades of emotion, for Potter and Dumbledore both, that were useful at the moment. 'Surely you aren't so blind as to have not noticed. Did you expect me to force her to stay where she is unhappy without a very good reason? She wasn't happy here. It's better she's gone.'
Though, if he were being completely honest, he'd jumped at the opportunity to get them the fuck away from Dumbledore. He had a feeling Lily had made of Hazel a horcrux, anchoring herself to existence. Somehow, accidentally. Well, not a proper horcrux — the horcrux was black magic, not a shade of doubt about that, and the ritual Lily had performed that Hallowe'en she swore was white. It didn't quite function as a proper horcrux either. A proper horcrux, there would be a Lily in Hazel's head, but it would be a copy, the original soul a wandering shade somewhere out in the world. There was no such thing, he'd done a scrying to be sure. No matter the proper terminology for exactly what was going on, it was functionally similar to a horcrux.
As far as he was concerned, that simply meant he had more reason to ensure the girl survived than before. Should she die, Lily would be lost all over again.
She would not. Not if Severus could help it.
The point was, Dumbledore was, potentially, a very real threat. While he might not be intimately familiar with the subject, the supremely knowledgeable old sorcerer would certainly be aware of the existence of the horcrux. Severus couldn't predict how he would react, should he discover what Severus had come to understand, but it wouldn't be good. He wouldn't kill her, or at least not before the Dark Lord was dealt with, but beyond that...
No. No, Dumbledore couldn't know. The more distance kept between them, the better.
That expression on Dumbledore's face was...curious. Gone all slack, where it wasn't covered with beard, eyes widened enough to be noticeable. Was that...dumbfounded, that was the best word Severus could think of. Then his half-hidden mouth twitched into a smile, a touch of humour dropping into his voice. 'Why, Severus, I'm surprised.'
He knew he would regret asking. But there wasn't really anything else to do at this juncture, he would have to. 'You'll finish that thought eventually, I'm sure.' For a moment, he considered tacking on something about Dumbledore forgetting what he was saying halfway through a sentence, he was getting old, but decided it wasn't worth the effort.
Eyes almost twinkling again, Dumbledore said, 'Forgive me, my boy, but it seems somewhat out of character for you to concern yourself with a student's happiness.'
When Severus glared at him, that damn smile only got wider. 'Don't get excited. I won't be making a habit of it.'
'Still...' His eyes were doing that thing, whenever he was about to say something saccharine or hopelessly naive, going so bright Severus almost felt they were glowing, soft and warm. 'I had worried you hadn't had it in you. It warms my heart, to see you have learned to forgive, it—'
'I have not forgiven James Potter.' Lip curling in disgust, Severus forced the expression as sharp as it could be without looking silly, just to make the point. 'I haven't seen that he has done anything to earn it, and as he is now eleven years dead — a fact I find quite pleasant each and every time I'm reminded — I doubt I ever will. I was simply under the impression a child shouldn't be held accountable for the sins of her father. A personal notion of mine, unorthodox, I will admit.' Of course, given Hazel was apparently a lilin, Potter wasn't her father, not really — there was another fact that brought him no small satisfaction. But Dumbledore wasn't to know that for as long as possible, it would be rather counterproductive to gloat about it.
For that matter, he couldn't even say his treatment of students wasn't informed by what he knew of their parents. If Hazel were Potter's child, and her mother were anyone else, Severus was all but certain he would be his usual horrid self at every opportunity. But that wasn't really the point.
'Are we done here?' Severus had spoken just as Dumbledore had been opening his mouth to speak — probably something asinine, or infuriating, or both, he'd really rather this conversation was just over with already. 'As much as I know you enjoy torturing me, I do have things to do.'
His warm, kindly old smile shifted a little, slanting into a smirk. Mocking Severus in his head. He'd probably think it was a compliment, of course, but the smirk meant he knew Severus wouldn't, old berk entertained himself. 'Of course, Severus, I'm sure you are very busy. I won't squander any more of your precious time. See you tomorrow, then.'
Pushing himself to his feet, Severus held back a scoff. I won't waste any more of your time, at least not until tomorrow. I'll be annoying you then, though. Looking forward to it! The self-important, meddling old shite. Bare seconds, and Severus was snapping the door shut behind him — careful not to slam it, even if it would have been only carelessness. Severus walked away down the hall, glaring poison at the fearfully shuffling figures in the portraits along the way.
Only a couple weeks, before this circus started up again. Somehow, he knew this year was going to be even more tedious and frustrating than the last. And that had turned out to be a fucking disaster, hard to imagine how it could possibly get worse, but he knew it, he could just feel it. Lucius planning something sure to be ill-conceived and volatile, Dumbledore being a nosey bastard, Septima, just Septima, the news about Hazel sure to break any day, Gilderoy fucking Lockhart...
He needed a goddamn cigarette.
Psychopharmacology — Pieced together from Greek roots (ψῡχή, φάρμακον, λογίᾱ) to get a word for a Healing specialty more or less analogous to irl psychiatry. Any word ending in -pharmacology is going to involve healing potions, psycho- is specific to the mind.
thaumatramatic — More Greek roots (θαῦμα, τραῦμα) to get a technical term for curse damage.
[The story about the Founders themselves instituting the practice was, apparently, pure myth] — In headcanon, true. The Sorting Hat was created by Gryffindor, but not for that purpose. It was bound to the wards and compelled to officiate the Sorting by a Headmaster some time down the road. Which the Hat was less than pleased about — it may be housed in a bit of old headgear, but it is a sapient being, forced against its will into a form of magical slavery. Poor dear.
So, I know it's been a ridiculously long time. Life has been weird lately.
I did start on chapter ten immediately after finishing nine, but... I got it out to about 8800 words, which was...maybe 2/3rds? And then I didn't touch it at all for weeks. Part of it was just being tired from work, or being distracting — took a week and a half vacation back to Minnesota somewhere in there. I wrote a bit on other projects, and there was a time I was nearly convinced I'd never finish this fic. Actually, I was pretty sure I was gonna abandon HP fanfic entirely, work on something else.
Then, I decided it might be the chapter itself that was the problem. So, about two weeks ago now — that's nearly two months after chapter nine was posted — I restarted, with a completely different scene, chronologically a few weeks later. This new version of chapter ten got out to 6900 words...before that died too. Yeah.
Just a couple days ago, I started this, the third version of chapter ten. Felt very awkward writing it, but I did actually finish it, so...yay?
Hopefully, this will be me being back back, but I can't make any promises. I am going to have to rethink what I'm going to have be chapter eleven — version two, which would probably make the most sense, clearly just isn't working. Probably going to go in medias res with Hazel at Beauxbatons, just so I can bloody get through it.
That should mean less exposition, though, and I'm told I have a problem dumping on too much of that. So, I guess it's a mixed bag.
I am considering what I'm going to do when this fic is done. It probably won't be another pure HP fic, I'm seriously starting to burn out on HP, but there are a few crossovers that might work. I'll have more details and probably a poll up when it's getting closer to time.
Anyway. Sorry about the wait,
~Wings