Very late that night, after the students had returned from their first astronomy class and were settled in, Blaise and Neville sat in the Headmistress's office, across an imposing black oak desk from Minerva McGonagall. All three were silent, with varying degrees of obvious impatience.
"Headmistress Mole," McGonagall finally barked, startling both of the younger men.
"It's Eupraxia, dear, you know that," the portrait responded. "Even with these young bucks in the room."
Blaise could not stop a small groan from escaping his lips, while Neville's eyes just twinkled.
"Yes, thank you Eupraxia. Could you see if you can find Professor Upton in any of the corridors or in the Hufflepuff common room, please?"
"Of course, dear," the portrait said warmly, winking at the the two professors.
"Severus," McGonagall continued.
"What, no Headmaster Snape for me, I suppose? Not a real headmaster in your estimation, hmmm?" Neville could have sworn the portrait's eyes glinted.
"Eupraxia died in the 19th century, well before my time, whereas I literally wiped your nose for you once, Severus, as you may well recall."
The painted face of the late spy actually turned a lovely shade of crimson.
"Besides," the elderly witch's voice softened, "I always considered you a friend, my dear. Surely I am entitled to the use of your given name."
The portrait's complexion bloomed briefly redder before returning to its normal green-tinged sallow, and Snape inclined his head in agreement.
"Could you please see if Professor Upton is perhaps brewing and has forgotten my request to meet?"
Snape bowed his head again and stepped out of the frame in a swirl of black robes.
"I'll never get used to still having him around," Blaise muttered, "and just as miserable as he was in real life."
"He gives me quite good advice, actually," the Headmistress corrected him sharply, "something you would do well to remember, Professor. Zabini."
"He is on his way."
Blaise clenched his eyes shut. He could tell from the low, silky tone of his former professor's voice that Snape had heard him. He mentally did a check of every picture frame Snape might be able to invade and concluded he'd only have to avoid his study if he didn't want to put up with the portrait's ire.
"He's just here, Minerva," Eupaxia Mole announced, fumbling back into position and sounding slightly out of breath.
Professor Upton, his salt-and-pepper hair askew, charged into the room.
"Headmistress," he all but bellowed. "I apologize profoundly for being late. Just had a couple of students to round up, unfortunately. We like our Hufflepuffs friendly, of course, but not that friendly, at least not after curfew." The man stopped abruptly when he realized he was not the only one in the room.
"Oh, er, I beg your pardon, professors," he blinked at Neville and Blaise.
"That sort of friendliness is hardly unique to Hufflepuff," Blaise said with a straight face, causing Neville to bite his lip and press his hands together to keep from laughing. He could have sworn at least one of the portraits snickered.
"Oh, well, yes," the other professor agreed, scratching his chin. "I guess you do have a point there."
"Please sit down, Professor Upton," the Headmistress interrupted, conjuring another chair. "We have a serious matter to discuss. Go ahead, Professor Zabini."
"It has to do with your potions class, Blythe," Blaise started, focusing on the older man, whose eyebrows shot up at the news. "I found one of my students, Rose Bulstrode, sobbing in the girls' loo this afternoon. Something about your requiring her to drink a potion and then show her dreams to the class? I gather the dream was personally humiliating for her - something about having a pig nose. One of my other students was missing all afternoon - some of his classmates finally found him hiding in the thestral paddock in the Forbidden Forest because he was so embarrassed by what you made him show."
"Oh?" Upton said, leaning forward. "Which one was that?"
Blaise frowned. "Does it matter?" He answered pointedly.
"Yes," Neville jumped in. "I had several students quite upset, as well, and Sunny...er Professor Waxworth...said there were some long faces in Ravenclaw, too."
"Well, Professor Upton? Care to explain yourself?"
He peered around at them, looking bewildered.
"But there's nothing to explain," he protested. "It all went perfectly well. They learned exactly what I wished them to."
"And what would that be precisely?" McGonagall inquired politely.
"Well, every time a first year class arrives, someone ends up in the infirmary in the first few weeks - a cauldron blows up or melts, someone accidentally creates some kind of poisonous gas, there are burns, welts, abrasions..." he paused and glanced at his audience. "So few of them come with any potions experience, you see, and it is hard to convince them with words alone that something that seems so innocuous, rather like playing in mummy's kitchen, can be a dangerous business and powerful magic..."
"Here, here," the portrait of Vindictus Viridan huffed loudly from a far corner of the room.
"Your point, please, Professor? It is getting rather late," the Headmistress prodded the talkative teacher.
"Right, well, I had them brew Tears of Morpheus and then drink it, and we viewed the results as a class."
Minerva McGonagall froze utterly still. "You had new students brew on their very first day and actually consume the results?"
"Tears of Morpheus?" Blaise added in disbelief. "For a bunch of homesick 11 year olds? Merlin's balls," McGonagall shot him a glare, "we're lucky the entire class wasn't in the loo crying."
"Wait, wait," Neville said, waving his hands around. "That's not even the point - he made them stand in front of the class while their worst fears and best hopes were exposed for all to see. That's...that's just..." He threw up his hands in frustration.
"Well?" McGonagall said, one eyebrow arched.
"I assure you, it was perfectly safe. There is no combination of those ingredients that could possibly cause any real harm," the Professor insisted, wringing his hands slightly. "But I wanted to show them, not tell them, how important is to follow the directions exactly, pay attention to what they were doing, and to listen to what I tell them. I wanted them to really learn that, without anyone getting hurt. And, well, frankly, a few of them could do with a lesson in empathy," he nodded pointedly at Neville, "and I thought they would get that, too. Quite a bit harder to judge someone once you know his joys and fears and he knows yours."
"Well," the Headmistress said, pursing her lips and watching the man, as he fidgeted nervously with the sleeve of his robe, "I suppose it was an unorthodox methodology. But I can see how it might be effective."
Neville started to object, and she held up a hand to forestall him.
"Next time, however, I believe allowing them to view their own dreams and then write about it might be a preferable approach, along with close supervision from you to ensure there are no serious brewing errors - we don't want to force our new first years into night terrors, if we can help it. Indeed, I gather I already have a complaint from the parents of a Mr. Cram?"
Neville sighed audibly and Blaise narrowed his eyes.
"Thank you, Headmistress," the potions professor said anxiously. "I apologize if anyone was upset - I assure you, I was only trying to do what was best for the students."
"I know you were, Blythe," she said more warmly. "Now, if that's all, I suggest we retire. I had forgotten how taxing the first week of school can be."
The three professors left the room, Blythe Upton first, who awkwardly shook hands with the other two before hurrying down the hall.
"Fancy a drink?" Neville asked, and Blaise nodded.
He was back in his rooms later, thinking over what had happened and his conversation with Neville, when a voice startled him out of his reverie.
"And did getting inebriated help much?" The low mocking tones were unmistakable. Blaise swore to himself quietly. He'd forgotten he needed to avoid the study.
"I'm not inebriated, thank you very much."
Snape sniffed. "And did that brainless Gryffindor have anything worthwhile to say?"
"He's not brainless, as you well know."
"So you keep telling me."
"He doesn't trust that guy. Never has, apparently."
Snape's eyes glittered and he leaned forward in his frame. "Perhaps not brainless after all."
Blaise raised an eyebrow at the former potions master. "Do tell?"
Snape shrugged elegantly and sat back in the chair. "That was not an acceptable lesson for first years, no matter what the Headmistress said. I do not even like children, and I would have never considered such a thing. She is a formidable woman, but not without blind spots, just like her predecessor."
"Were you not her most immediate predecessor?" Blaise asked pointedly.
Snape actually curved one corner of his lip into a smile. "Indeed."
Blaise regarded the picture thoughtfully. "Have you seen something else that makes you question his fitness as a teacher?"
Snape shrugged. "Nothing specific. There is just something off about him."
"You didn't know him?"
Snape shook his head. "He was here after I was a student and before I was a professor. None of the other portraits remembers him, either. It appears he was unremarkable in every way."
Blaise nodded slowly. "You'll keep an eye on him?"
"Of course."
