Warnings/Summary: Our Antiheroes* meet again, and Professor Snape Teaches Defense Against the Dark Hormones.
You heard me.
(But no one actually cries, kills herself, or has a vegetative stroke.)
(But Sibyll will be mincemeat.)
Despite this chapter, Albus will hire Severus to teach. To teach children. And teenagers. Within the decade. It's canon! Well, we already knew ol' Sherbetbe(e)ard couldn't carry a tune in a straightjacket...
* yes, I know that's not quite the right term, but I'm not sure there actually is one for Someone Who's In The Hero Position And Actually Heroic And Very Intelligent But Morally Very Grey. I guess 'picaresque rogue' could apply to Severus, but not to Albus, and Severus would sulk if he got slotted into a role so closely connoted with anything in the comedy category, even satire...
Notes: I just want to thank everyone for the response to the last chapter. As well as the reviewers, I want to thank the people who favorited and followed. Hopefully you did that for yourselves and not to make me feel good, but... bonus? It really did, was very encouraging, and I know this story's a slow builder... fyi, some of the tags Archive of Our Own's format has let me give it are, as of last post:
• Slytherins Being Slytherins
• Occlumency
• I know you are but what am I (no really: what?)
• Getting better all the time (and you're starting to scare me)
• Love and war (don't care what's fair)
• snakes and pitbulls
• corkscrews and battering rams
• mind tricks and spy games
• Tom is creeptastic
• this fic is not in a hurry (but catching up to the tags now!)
Yes, really. (g)
And speaking of AO3, I swear I'm not pimping this for the purpose of upping my hit count,* but there was some enormously fun conversation on this chapter over there in the comments. On the characters of the Houses, whether Severus's self-hacking is being done with magic code or an axe, and How Evan Turned Into Sybil Vimes/A Stealth Honey Badger. And, since AO3 doesn't have a PM system, anyone can play! Although only signed-in members get notified when replied to.
I'm on there mostly as potionpen, and if you've only read Valley and not the prequels and don't know... the prequels are illustrated there. Because there, you can do that. :D
Temporary notes, to Bilberry: I'm afraid any Evan, Albus, and Severus POV chapters are going to be pretty thinky; they all have about twelve times more going on in their heads than they do or say. Remus to a lesser extent. Evan probably the most, because despite also being cagy thinkers, Albus and Severus are poster boys for energetic and he's um not. n,n;;;
*although I do have plans for when it passes 1000 and/or we hit 100 reviews here; those things look like they might happen at around the same time, and at a most convenient point in the storyline, at that... Anyone who wants to hurry it along is beyond welcome to, of course. ;)
The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade
"Oh," Severus said, drawing back almost as soon as he'd come in. Albus, facing the door, was looking right at him, and was sure the boy would have just stolen away again without speaking if he hadn't been. "I'm sorry, Professors… am I early, Professor Slughorn?"
"No, no," Horace said, swiveling around (to the extent he could; he'd never been supple anywhere but in the opinion) and beaming. Filius and Pomona also looked up and waved, with every evidence of pleasure. Minerva only peered over the tops of her square spectacles, without affect. "I do apologize, Severus; our staff meeting is running late. Rosmerta, my dear! A butterbeer for—"
"That's all right, sir," Severus said hastily. Albus wasn't surprised; he would have offered the boy coffee or gin, himself. He did not take Severus for the type to enjoy the comforts of butterbeer. "I'll just go to the bookstore and be back in, what, ten minutes? Half an hour?"
"If ten minutes doesn't do it," Minerva told Albus, with one of those expressions where he couldn't quite tell whether she was half-joking or purely fantasizing out loud, "fifteen at the outside, I'll strangle you with your own beard."
"Forty-five it is," Severus said cynically, and popped out again. Silently enhancing his hearing with a wiggle of his wand, Albus heard him mutter, "—me to come early on purpose, not subtle, Pornstache… can't dodge it now," and sigh. Then there were only footsteps, so he cut the spell.
And tried very hard to forget he'd ever heard his old friend called anything worse than 'walrus-face.' Children were getting so hard-edged these days…
"Come to ask if he's hired?" Filius asked Horace, who shook his head.
Albus tactfully decided not to notice that his fellow mugwump's sympathy for Severus's overreach turned just slightly smirky when it bent on Horace. Or how the irritation under Horace's head-shake showed that this subtle shift was not lost on Albus's Deputy Head.
"Well," Albus said, with a smile for Minerva, "if it is to be twenty minutes—"
"Ten!"
"—we mustn't waste the time."
It was a mere five minutes later that they were ready for the last roadblock. Albus really had been expecting a full fifteen, as they had three strong final DADA candidates (none of whom had just left the pub). Pomona turned out, though, to be an unexpected and strong proponent of Gawain Robards.
Robards wanted to see whether he could stand working within an organized hierarchy before applying for Auror training. Albus was somewhat reluctant to allow his school to be used as an experiment. Pomona, though had a most convincing argument: Robards had been unusually effective with Peeves while at school.
She also thought if they could knock a little of the pomposity and impatience out of him before he put on the brown-and-gold it would be a service to wizardkind. Minerva snarked that the first and fifth years would probably get that done without trying, and didn't argue against him. Filius shuffled the papers, commented that no one else had anything so tempting as the ability to terrorize Peeves, and since Horace had suggested the man to Albus in the first place, that was that.
"Well, then," Albus beamed, eternally hopeful, "then that settles—"
"Not even to get out early," Minerva quashed him firmly. "Who is this Trelawney girl, anyway?"
"Haven't you had the time to get to know her, Minerva?" he asked.
"She isn't exactly sociable," Minerva said, exasperated.
"She's just nervous. Never been anywhere like Hogwarts, I gather, and you intimidate her, Minerva," said Pomona comfortably. "I've found her perfectly friendly, the poor dear."
"Anyway, who is she? I've never heard of her, but she doesn't sound like she went to school out of the country."
"Home educated, my dear," Albus said, and listened to die Fliedermaus inside his head until the groaning had trailed off. "She makes a good deal of her grandmother, Cassandra—"
"Ah," Filius noted, sipping his Black Forest with a reminiscent look that Albus in no way wanted to ask about.
"But she's… she's reasonably sound on most of the accessible methods of divination, and is eager to get at our library. Pomona, you took Divination yourself, I believe?"
"I haven't used anything but almanac work in years, though," she protested.
"Nevertheless, if she's taken to you, I'd like you to work with me in helping her to make her lesson plans."
"You're set on this," Minerva sighed.
"I believe the school will benefit her," Albus said benignly.
And it was a question of the school benefiting her more than the reverse. He would have preferred to leave the post vacant and give the subject's time-slot to alchemy, technomancy, or (if anyone capable could be coaxed) integrated theory.
Alas, while he was far from convinced that young Snape was unreachable, if the boy hadn't been pulled in by Tom's crowd Albus would eat his hat. Which would be almost pity enough to counter a surprise as happy as that, as today's hat was rather a snazzy one and its decorations didn't look easily digestible.
He had, therefore, moved the Welsh witch directly into the castle, for her own protection. Albus was optimistic, not happy-go-lucky. Tom hadn't risked attacking anyone magical since his return to Britain—at least, not in any way that Albus had been able to definitively trace back to him. If, however, he decided that an unknown nonentity like Miss Trelawney had been prophesizing about him…
"In any case," he added, "the other two applicants are a squib who's been working the traveling shows and an Austrian with a Mayan fixation who was rather cagey with me about what he was doing during the war."
Minerva put her forehead down on the table and wrapped her arms around her ears. Filius and Horace both patted her back paternally. "Buck up, Min," Pomona said, dimpling in both cheeks and her chin. "The girl won't say boo to you. You'll have loads of fun."
"Reasonably sound," Minerva parroted in a kind of stern and muffled wail. "No references. Flinchy. She'll be mincemeat."
"That's what Mona said," Filius grinned.
"I meant the hooligans."
"Do I still know how to get in touch with everyone, should something come up?" Albus asked, surfing gently over them. "No one's itinerary has changed?"
"I thought I'd hare off to Siberia," Pomona said placidly, and they all smiled. She was the only one, besides Albus, who stayed in residence year-round. She always said she couldn't bear to give up what she and the summer weather combined could do for the grounds, and took herself off to hot places for the winter hols when she could.
"But actually, Headmaster, I would appreciate it if you could arrange an international portkey to Hawaii for me. I have a friend who's moved there recently, and she says she may be able to help me get a good deal on coffee and some quite interesting seeds."
He nodded, speculating fondly that the friend was probably a former student. Pomona didn't network aggressively, as Horace did, but the effect wasn't dissimilar.
"Don't leave without the coffee!" Filius urged, seconded by Horace. Minerva asked why, and Filius and Pomona exploded all over her with excited twittering on their way out the door.
"What is it about the girl?" Horace asked curiously, meaning Trelawney, when the others were gone.
"Do you really want to know, old friend?" Albus asked.
"No," Horace said emphatically, thus warned, and checked his watch. "I suppose I had better track down young Severus and tell him we're done."
"No need, Horace," Albus twinkled at him. "I should quite like to stretch my legs."
"Be gentle, Albus," Horace said uneasily. "The boy's high-strung."
"I shall be," Albus assured him airily, "the soul of—"
"Oh, dear," said Horace, the soul of glum.
Albus strode off into the sunshine, at his leisure, and into Tomes and Scrolls. It took him only a moment to determine that the boy wasn't in there. He hoped Snape hadn't done a runner.
Reassured but confused when his locating spell pointed him straight at the sweetshop, he took off for it. He became just slightly less confused when the spell led him to the alley between Honeydukes and the gift-and-card shop. Reaching the mouth of the alley, he felt his eyebrows tug up.
Snape was sitting crosslegged on the grass, drawing lines with his wand in a cleared patch of earth, covered in young girls.
Only the youngest was actually on him, but they were all crowded around him intently. It took Albus a minute to identify them all, as they of course weren't wearing their school robes. Estelle Travers was wearing a hat that told him it was her birthday party. The others were also Slytherin and Ravenclaw girls going into their fourth and fifth years, apart from (presumably) someone's little sister. The little girl, who had the look of Miss Ollivander, was draped over Snape's back to see what he was doing. He was tolerating it with the uncomfortable resignation of someone who had given up on shaking or glowering her off ages ago.
"I do not believe for one moment," he was saying, annoyed, to the older girls, "that every one of you twitterpates is going to remember a diagram perfectly five minutes from now, let alone in September. Any one of you, frankly. Hasn't anyone got a notebook?"
"We're having a party, Naj," Travers said, aggrieved.
"And you interrupted it to pester me, so belt up your whinging. You two at least should know better," he said severely to the Ravenclaw girls, who grinned at him. "No, all of you should. Always assume you might be lucky or quick enough to learn something that shouldn't be forgotten." He turned to the little girl on his back, and asked, just as severely, "Understood?"
"Always bring a notebook!" she echoed cheerfully.
"Well," he said, sliding the older girls a perfect Minerva fish-eye, "at least one of you may grow up with some sense." They laughed, and he said, "All right, here." Digging his own notebook and a fountain pen out of a pocket, he ripped out a page and cast the geminus charm on it and the pen until there were six of each. "Copy it until it looks right, and then show me," he said.
Albus went on watching. He didn't make himself invisible, but he also didn't make any noise.
When all of the diagrams had been examined and corrected, Albus distinctly heard Miss Fawley console Miss Ollivander, "No, it's just Sodding Snape Commentary™, you're fine really, he's just awful like that."
"I am extremely awful in my insistence that you get it right," Snape said dryly. "Ollivander, yes, you were largely accurate, but if you put Fehu instead of Algiz and muck up that angle by the Tehwaz, you'll feel yourself no end an accomplished vamp while wearing it, instead of being protected from social diseases. Don't eyeball the angles on arrays. I don't care how much of a sorceress you are at gobstones; Digitalin shows you that protraction charm for a reason."
Albus's eyebrows shot up as he realized what the girls were being taught.
Snape went on, "You're all getting close enough to your OWLs that you need to develop a habit of accuracy. Which," he said sternly to the littlest girl, "you should start as soon as possible so it comes as less of a shock. Will and precision are everything, in magic. What makes up precision?"
"See it," she recited, screwing up her eyes, "know it, um…"
"Re…" Snape prompted her.
"Reproduce it!" she said triumphantly.
"Just so," he nodded sharply, looking pleased without smiling. "You can say 'copy,' I suppose, although that sounds less reputable... Eye, brain, hand, will. Accurate, and mean it hard. Trying this and that to see what happens is how we advance, quite right," this was to Miss Ollivander, "but we use in practice the results of experiments that have already been proven. Which we can rely on," he turned back to the little girl, "and be accurate about. Maths will help you there; make sure you get a good grounding in that even if you don't understand at first why it's not dull. And see you are playing as much gobstones as Exploding Snap; Snap's all right for the reflexes, but gobstones will give you good control of your wand hand, too, and a sense for angles and force. And for when to duck."
"Naj," asked Miss Greengrass, "do the scarves have to be special?"
"Ah," Snape said, in a good question tone. "Strictly speaking, no, but if you just use anything, the enchantment won't be as strong. You'll be best off weaving a grey silk scarf yourselves. Anything from silver to charcoal should do well. If it's too pale, you might run into trouble when you stop using it. Artemis does not support changing one's mind in these matters." The girls nodded, although the little one looked confused. "Happily, an embroidery of either snakes or owls is considered appropriate, so any of you should be able to pass it off as House spirit."
"Ravenclaw does eagles," Miss Ollivander pointed out, looking taken aback at his ignorance.
"Really?" Snape asked, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at her. "Seven years in those hallowed halls and I am only now enlightened. I really must complain to Miss Chang as was. With whom I work every day. Because I recommended her to my supervisor. Because I knew her at school and had numerous opportunities to see her in academic robes. With the crest on. Not to mention we already had mixed-House classes six thousand oh I do beg your pardon I mean TWO years ago. Were you just a second-year? A first-year? You were not. Are you a transfer? No. So you were there two years ago! And know this! What?"
Miss Montague whispered something in his ear with an ominous and meaningful look at Ollivander's crumbling expression, and then at Ollivander's little sister (presumably), tapping her pen on her hip with a pint-sized glower.
Snape sighed, and rubbed his eye. Rather more gently, he said, "That is, while, yes, the House is represented by an eagle, it shares symbolism with owls. They usually mean wisdom, when they don't mean night or mail. Not always by any means, but it's their most common meaning in Western magic. It's not a perfect match, no, but it's universal enough imagery that you can, as I said, pass it off."
"But—weave it ourselves?" Miss Travers groaned.
"A plain one, at least, shouldn't be difficult. You needn't do it like a muggle," Snape told her, seeming rather grateful for the change of subject. "I daresay most of your grandmothers would be delighted to teach you."
He seemed to be wrapping up, so Albus cleared his throat gently.
Snape jumped so hard the little girl squeaked and jumped herself, which was a problem for her: his free hand had darted to the top of her head, shoving her down behind him. His wand flashed straight to Albus's heart before he realized who he was looking at and lowered it. The girls, slower, looked between them in alarm, although the older Slytherins, less surprised at his jitters, exchanged a knowing look. Miss Ollivander looked though she wasn't sure she should be taking instruction from a mental case but was also considering forgiving him for being inexcusably snide at her.
"That's me," he said, putting his wand away with air of a cat who had just bounced nose-first off a window chasing a bird and wanted everyone to be quite sure it had meant to do that. "I have your words you'll make sure all the girls learn it, especially any of you that's chosen as a prefect? And any of the boys who start to seem…" He waved a hand vaguely. "Harried." All the Slytherins nodded, although the Ravenclaws looked sharply curious. "And get it right," he reiterated, scowling around at them.
"Sure, Naj," Miss Fawley said, giving him a fond you're such an over-reactor look that Albus knew she'd absorbed from her father. "But you don't really think anyone's going to need them."
"The thing is," Snape told her, "almost everyone believes they're a decent person. Really does believe it. And why not? Their reasons for doing things are their reasons, which they understand and which make sense to them. And because they do believe, most can convince others. They aren't lying, after all. And most people are just normally selfish. But the ones who aren't are usually the best at faking it, and anyone may forget himself sometimes. There doesn't even have to be magic or alcohol involved, I regret. A bad day or a self-centered mood is enough. So don't get careless just because you think someone's sincere: their sincerity may not promise what you think it does. Off, you," he added to the little girl with an unsmilingly friendly eye, and stood to join Albus without further ceremony.
"Athena's Girdle, Severus?" Albus asked, raising an eyebrow again.
"They told me who's been picked for prefect since I left," Severus replied. "I wouldn't trust any of them but Perry Blakeney to protect a manticore."
"You don't think Horace chose well?" Albus asked mildly.
Severus shrugged. "Can't agree with the how-well without agreeing with the what-for. Professor Slughorn gives power to the ones he thinks can make the most use of it. He's a kingmaker, Professor; he's never been particularly interested in the proles or the weak. If one of us doesn't take up that task, it doesn't get done."
"You didn't want to wait to find out if you might teach it to them in class?" he inquired.
Severus eyed him, cynical. "After panicking all over your brother just because your other applicant started bellowing impressively behind me? Not particularly. Although, in my defense, I have damned good reason to have a strong startle reflex, and I'd argue that having one is desirable when it comes to DADA. Given how vehemently he threw me downstairs, though, I thought, once I calmed down, that I must have come close to taking his eye out trying to get behind him. He is all right, I hope?"
"Oh, fine, fine," said Albus, who didn't come close to believing this implied ignorance. He doubted Severus would think Albus could obliviate away something that had happened weeks ago, but the boy wouldn't want to be asked questions, either. Happily for him (more or less), Albus was quite sure he could answer his own questions without asking. "Not hurt a bit."
"I hope you didn't hire that jackass, either," Severus grumbled, and finished scathingly, "Someone who resorts to a sonorous in an interview…"
"That won't be our new Defense teacher," Albus assured him. Was he misleading Severus, or merely not making difficulties for him as he struck a politely plausible-enough pose? Round and round we go… "But why were you still there, Severus? Aberforth said you looked quite ill."
Severus tilted his head forward, obscuring his face with his hair in embarrassment. "I didn't let myself be nervous before the interview, and while we were talking I was caught up in it, but," his shoulders squirmed a little, "I didn't get more than a couple of steps past the door before my knees gave."
Albus twinkled at him, and asked in a sorrowful voice, "Am I really so frightening as all that?"
"Er, yes," Severus said, sliding him are you as crazy as you look eyes.
"You wound me," he laughed. "But, although I'm afraid we won't be offering you the post this year, don't think it's because you made a poor showing, Severus. We had a very good crop of candidates, and our finalists were quite experienced."
"May I ask who you're going with?" he asked, interested, and Albus told him. His brows bounced up, and he said, still interested, "I've read Robard's articles on exorcisms. And his consumer-review of dark detectors."
"What did you think?"
"His assessments of their quality were credible, and if he was biased it wasn't obvious. But he has a bit of a bee in his bonnet about concealment. Everyone has secrets, and secrecy revealers don't make distinctions between going grey, covering a bruise, dishonesty over homework, having hurt someone, or planning to." He gave Albus a rather glinty smile, and added, "And I think Peeves is going to have an interesting year."
"I'm glad you're taking this well, Severus," Albus said. "I don't believe Robards is planning to stay with us long; you'll be most welcome to apply again."
"I think Belby's grant may be renewed after all," Snape told him. "We may have gotten one of the more strident nay-voices turned around. Other people reconsider out of sheer surprise, when that happens without bribery or extortion to explain it. As I told you, leaving the project was never my first choice."
"That's wonderful," Albus said, and meant it. "Is that what you wanted to speak to Horace about?"
Severus considered the question, and eventually said, "Only a little. I need to talk to an expert in Slytherin."
"How intriguing," Albus twinkled. "Of course, Severus, as an observer of the school and all its Houses, for many, many years, I should be delighted to—"
"That," Severus sighed, more or less to himself, pinching his eyes together dismally, "is what I was afraid of."