Albus may be Supreme High Banana of the This-That, the Whatnot, and the Whoozit, but that doesn't mean he gets taken seriously. There is a reason for that. Filius will explain, using words of a length suitable for Gryffindors. Of course, intelligent does not mean immune to shameless manipulation...


Warnings: Long. Enough politics to choke a python, Red 40, empty calories, shameless manipulation. IE: it's an Albus chapter. ;)

Q&A/notes: Sorry about last week, work was stressing me out so much I couldn't even edit. Please send more questions that are utterly ridiculous, I'm enjoying these so much. ^.^

Am also in a bit of a staring-at-a-block at the moment. Questions for/about the Marauders & Lily & Order might help, the block is centered around them. Suggestions re questions are (probably obviously) just to get you rolling, though. Playyy withhh meeee...

However, am also considering treating these interviews like the prequels' illustrations and just providing links to them in my profile (pretty sure they'd be against ffnet's policies as a separate post, but not against AO3's). Because since they have been going well, they end up taking up a lot of space at the bottom of the page. I've been thinking that, while I enjoy them, they might be disruptive to the reading experience, especially for anyone not reading chapter-by-chapter as posted. I'd be interested to know whether you'd like to go on as it's been or just have them link-accessible.


The Owlery, Hogwarts, Just After

Be assured, the matter is never far from my mind, my dear, Albus wrote, but is more delicate than you suppose. If no discreet protection can be arranged in the next few days, I will arrange some less discreet. Until then, stand fast, be patient, and mention Madam Pomfrey to James now and then, as someone you trust and, if you can say so honestly, miss.

Without looking up as he attached the note to the school owl's leg, he requested, "Stop reading over my shoulder, will you?"

"Under," Filius corrected cheerfully, hopping up to sit on the table. "I thought it was your daily Howler to the Confederation."

"It would have come to you before long," Albus pointed out, not contesting the description. He hadn't been writing quite daily circulars to the International Confederation of Wizards since the attack on the Orkneys, and they had all certainly been entirely polite.

It was true, however, that the collective shrug of his fellow Chief Mugwumps had left him just a touch irked. Yes, there had only been one major incident so far, but ought not unanimously electing him Supreme (admittedly only a grand way of saying first among equals) to have indicated some trust in his judgment? He knew Tom.

"I thought I'd save the owl a piddling little trip to the Great Hall so short it might not have stretched her wings at all," Filius lied without even an effort at credibility, scratching the owl at the join of her beak. "We're to be spared one today, then?"

"It does begin to seem a trifle pointless," he admitted. "Although I can't think why. I realize they may not like to authorize two watch-hubs for terrorist organizations in the Empire, but Ireland has an entirely separate ministry, you know."

"I do know," Filius agreed, amused. A little too amused, possibly. Even quizzical. He looked rather as though Albus were missing something.

Albus eyed him, but went on, "And we're considerably less stretched now that things have settled down in South and Southeast Asia."

"Don't forget, though, more than half the witches and wizards who had anything to do with the Vietnam War or the Wizarding side of the India emergency and the Ugandan war have resigned," Filius cautioned. "And we were counting on the Colonies—er, the States, that is, for new blood."

"They were so enthusiastic," Albus agreed sadly.

"And the Middle East is, if I may say so—"

"Please don't say heating up," he begged hastily. His friend looked disappointed, so clearly Albus had gotten that in just in time.

Filius shrugged the loss of awful-pun opportunity away and went on gamely. "Well, the Kohenim, Bakarahimams, and Hakaiin—"

"Even most of them just say 'the Israeli, Arabic, and Egyptian wizards, you know," Albus mentioned, smiling at his Head of Ravenclaw.

"Some of them are witches," Filius said primly, "and they all have approximately no confidence in the Camp David accord lasting past the next holiday that gives anyone an excuse to wander drunk over the border, wizard or muggle…"

Albus brightened. "Ah, well, we've already had Passover this year, I believe."

"Yes, we have. I don't know why you keep ducking my Seders; there are lots of sticky sweet things, especially the wine, and I only let Binns preside one time..."

"Was it only once?" Albus asked in a hollow voice. "I thought it went on for years…"

Filius sighed up at him. "An error never repeated, I assure you. Besides, he's a ghost now; it would be tactless to invite him to dinner. Come next year, you'll see. You always have fun when Minerva gets tipsy, don't you?"

Albus had to allow that he did. There were so many things to bet on.

"Now, as I was saying, the Soviets—"

"Oh, that's just their Muggles," Albus said dismissively. "Tsarasputina Valentina assures me their wizards have more sense than to…" he coughed.

Filius managed to look sympathetic instead of sadistic, and probably very nearly meant it. "Get involved in a sand war in Asia? Dive headfirst into a quicksand quagmire as welcoming as Siberia in winter?" Which was a comparison he had the right to make.

"I was extremely young," Albus said with dignity, not mentioning how badly he had wanted a distraction from his shattered family and other matters, or how deeply unimpressed Aberforth had been by what a (really extremely) young Al had thought for sure would be seen as the noble penance he'd intended, "and it was excellent healer's training, and a far more straightforward matter than what Pavlovsky is letting his muggles in for. There was really no need for her to take such a personal tone. And besides," he added loftily, "we won."

Filius looked wry, and swung his boot-heels under the table. "Sometimes I manage to forget that the Supreme Mugwump was a Gryffindor," he noted. "And then you say something like that, and I have nightmares for months. I'm just about resigned to it in the head of the Wizengamot and even to the potential conflict of interest, since you've been handling it well enough so far. But the head of the Confederation—or even if you were just head of MI-20—has no business having been trained up in the school of guts and glory."

"Chin up," Albus advised, matching his wryness again. "No one's paying me the least mind."

"When it comes to your home-grown pet peeve, no. And you really don't know why?"

His friend was looking amused again, but Albus supposed he really couldn't avoid it. There was no actual harm in Filius one didn't throw at him first; quite the reverse. "I fear not," he admitted.

Filius tilted his greying head to look at Albus, shrewd eyes crinkling. "Well, Chief," he said (being punctilious about using the correct title for the conversation they were having both when the situation was a formal one and when he was pulling Albus's leg), "if anyone asks you, either you didn't hear this from me or you heard it at considerable length and in a reasonably admonishing tone. Hm. Long suffering? No, no… 'you've had this coming and now you've got it,' sort of thing. I'll leave the question of pointing and laughing to your discretion."

"Oh, dear," Albus said mildly, blinking, and started digging around in his sleeves. "Ought I to be glad we don't do performance reviews?" He offered one of his finds to Filius.

Who blinked, derailed. "…Er… are you threatening to break my legs? Because… this is too small by far even for me to walk with, and Poppy could fix them in about a second and a half even if I couldn't do it myself and frankly it's rather garish, Albus."

"No, no, you don't walk with it, you eat it," Albus explained, sticking the second one in his mouth. "Or hang it on a tree. I've had them banging around since Christmas."

"…It's July."

He waved a hand. "They're minty. I don't know about you, but I don't want mints in winter. This was beginning to sound like the sort of conversation whose taste one might want to wash away afterwards."

"Or during, I see."

"I have more," Albus assured him contentedly, sucking.

"We'll be putting how many candles on your cake in August, six?" Filius smiled.

"Ah, flattery! How wily of you, softening the blow. Shall I tell Horace you're spelling for his job?"

"Dear Merlin, no," Filius shuddered. "All that standing bent over a worktable chopping and peeling and getting his ankles toasted, as if grading wasn't bad enough. I suppose it's cooler down there, but still, I don't know how he stands it."

"By offering a great many opportunities to make up extra credit by practicing ingredient preparation, I believe," Albus said, "although I gather the program has suffered in recent years. And, of course, heat-dispelling stockings."

"Shocking," Filius drawled. Albus looked a question at him, but he just said, cynically, "It's not mine to comment on how Horace runs his House, I'm sure. And in any case, I won't tell you what I meant about the other thing if you don't like me to, but you won't distract me out of it. Wily indeed," he added, sliding Albus an amused look.

"No, no," Albus sighed, leaning up against the owlery's window and letting the breeze play with his hair. His beard, of course, was neatly tied in front of him, although a few stray strands did flutter a bit below the cord. He didn't miss being a redhead scarcely at all anymore. Now that his hair had settled into pure white it was at least as striking as it had been in his youth, and far more dignified, and didn't clash with everything. Still, he had been vain of it when he was very young; it was the salt-and-gingery in-between stage that had been dreary. "Hex on."

"Well," Filius said, rather more gently than he'd menaced he would, "you might get rather farther with the other national mugwumps-in-chief, you know, if you were to make some reference to the several decades it took you to pull your head out of," he hesitated, and delicately went on, "the sand the last time the Confederation was considering turning its attention to an alleged terrorist you'd met before he allegedly went Dark."

Albus looked at him, wounded (on several levels). "Filius," he chastened, "you're surely not suggesting that our colleagues would be so petty as to ignore a pressing threat simply because they're still annoyed with me for being reluctant to dive into what anyone could have seen was a conflict of interest over fifty years ago."

"I'm surely not," Filius agreed dryly, and then reconsidered. "Largely. I wouldn't answer for Dhang. Or Mbenga, or Jackson. But quite a few of them think you've been burned once and now you're twice shy and shying at shadows, and the majority think your instincts are farsighted."

"Oh, dear," Albus said, after a moment.

"Mm," Filius agreed, casting a charm to see what the candy cane was made of. "Albus, what on earth is this?" he asked in dismay, pointing to the image of a molecule superimposed over an ear of corn.

"It looks like some sort of grain-derived sugar to me," he said vaguely, because it was floating between the images of a menthol and a sucrose-over-sugarcane molecule and to his alchemy-trained eye it quite resembled the latter and he really didn't care. "I suppose I shall need hard evidence, then."

"It would help. So would an iota of diplomacy, of course. I really don't think you should eat that."

"Nonsense, it's extremely tasty. Now—"

"But what about that one?!" Filius asked in alarm as a much more complex image formed.

"Good heavens, Filius, I don't know," Albus sighed, rubbing the crooked places where his nose hadn't healed straight. "But it appears to be water-soluble. It's probably the dye. Now—"

"Paracelsus preserve us, they dye their food?! As if it were clothing? Albus, I wish you'd stick to Honeydukes…"

Albus gave up. He wasn't, on reflection, sure it would be altogether wise to discuss the matter further with Filius anyway.

He could take Filius's advice at once and send yet another message out, this one acknowledging the problem his colleague had just brought to his attention. To sound more reasonable on the subject without giving them a more solid reason to be convinced, though, brought the risk of being seen as the Wizard Who Cried Werewolf down on him. Brought it down harder even than one or fifty more warnings just like all the rest would. If he asked more strongly for their faith and couldn't justify it quickly, he'd find it weakened, just as quickly.

Diplomacy would help. What he needed most, though, was solid evidence that Tom had been behind that terrible Frost Giant attack. Or was behind these occasional disappearances nibbling at the borders where Muggle and Wizarding society uneasily brushed, or that he had more planned for his cult of self-satisfied deep pockets than the usual influence-trading, market-cornering, election-stealing, and manhandling of the press.

Evidence had been thin on the ground. Villagers on the island had noticed a smell of blood before the attack, and the Aurors had found the remains of a quite Dark and quite disgusting summoning—or, rather, beckoning—ritual clearly meant to tempt the Frost Giants across the water. And temptation would have been all that was needed; water was paltry enough barrier to feet that could freeze it, save that the poor hunting to be found over the ocean made the long crossing less a less than inviting prospect, under ordinary circumstances. Whoever had cast the beckoning had been careful, and left no means of identifying himself.

As for the disappearances, the closest he'd come to a break on that front had been that horrific experience of young Peter Pettigrew's. And that had not been particularly useful. Oh, perhaps if someone had called him to the scene… but since the whole dreadful affair had taken place at a public park, the DMLE's first concern had been to make sure that no trace was left and none of the muggles remembered anything.

He'd had to rely on Peter's memories. A good deal better than nothing, but hardly the same as a thorough forensic examination with an analysis for trace magical signatures. Or the same as running one of the poor body's parts through an analytical re-transfiguration with Minerva to see exactly what had been done to it, and to work out whether either of them could recall a student who thought and worked in that way, and sending out to colleagues at other schools if they didn't.

Even if it wouldn't be a terrible surrender to hope for more trouble, there was simply no reason to think that more trouble would gather up more information. Best to let Filius change the subject, then, because at this point Albus had only one really viable avenue to pursue by way of learning anything that might convince the Confederation before Tom did anything irrevocable on an national scale. Even, perhaps, an international one; the young Riddle had from the beginning had a strong sense of his own destiny, and had never been inclined to do things by halves.

And calling the line of inquiry a 'really viable' one was a laughable exaggeration. Rather than viable, one ought perhaps to say diaphanous, or skittish. High-strung and brittle, certainly; sensitive when not surly.

It wasn't that Filius was untrustworthy by any means, but he could be excitable and, as they'd used to say, loose lips sink ships. It wasn't an especially sturdy ship to begin with. The situation was even more unstable than the young man himself. Which was quite an accomplishment, though he wouldn't express the opinion to anyone but Fawkes.

It was that instability that was the clue, though. Eileen and Lily had, between them, shown him just the carrot he needed, the one no one would get anywhere with Severus without. He just needed to make sure he could give it to the boy, and show Severus he could without its getting back to Tom. Or at least, getting back to Tom in the wrong light.

That was going to be the hard part. He'd never be able to do it on his own. Fortunately, he oughtn't to have to. And he thought he might just be able to begin arranging for the necessary assistance right now, in a quite natural way. Or, to be precise, a very unnatural way, both technically and in Filius's increasingly strident opinion.

"I suppose," he slipped his voice into his friend's diatribe on the chemicals in Muggle food, mildly but with a very slight edge of oh dear Merlin, can we have a different subject now? "I might see if Horace would like to have his advanced students practice ingredient identification on melted candy canes, if it would give you any pleasure. Perhaps those extra-credit opportunities you mentioned."

"I also mentioned," Filius reminded him, with an expression indicating that Horace deserved what he was getting, "that very few students were taking him up on them any more."

"So you did," Albus agreed, pushing off the window and making his way to the Owlery door. Filius jumped off the table and followed him, levitating over the fallen feathers and mouse bones. Filch did his best up here, of course, but it was impossible to keep up and the elves and birds mutually unnerved each other. Albus suspected it was because their eyes were so similar. "Why is that, do you suppose?"

They emerged into the far more salubrious air of the cool stone stairwell, moving down towards the Great Hall and their tea. Stone was the only sort of large building to live in during the summer months. Albus couldn't imagine how muggles survived in their heat-soaking wooden houses, without cooling and air-circulating charms. Or, for that matter, without warmth-charmed tapestries, robes, and socks in winter.

"My students and Pomona's generally do their homework on time, of course," he said, "and can generally get the sort of marks their parents expect from them through their normal course-work. There's some sort of a stigma against being caught caring about schoolwork in Gryffindor these days—"

"There is?" Albus blinked, astonished. Whatever had happened to the love of glory, to the spirit of healthy competition?

"I gather it's still considered good to excel so long as one hasn't put any visible effort in," Filius explained, not impressed with this state of affairs.

One could hardly blame him, if it were true. It wasn't the sort of thing Albus had thought to keep an eye out for, particularly. Now he would, but whose eye? Academic dyspepsia didn't leave the sort of marks in the common room that house elves would notice. Sir Nicholas and Sir Cadogan were temperamentally unsuited and the Fat Lady was, while sufficiently maternal when it occurred to her to be, poorly positioned…

"I would have been inclined to blame it on a general zeitgeist, myself," Filius continued, "but Minerva says everyone still remembers how offhand Potter and Black Major were about spending all their time on Quidditch and girls and harassing other students. Not that I don't enjoy a good rant in brogue, but you really ought to speak to her before she tears her hair out."

"That would be a pity," he chuckled. Minerva's hair was most impressive on those rare occasions she let it down, sleek and dark and quite as long as his own. "And Slytherin? You also mentioned something about the way Horace runs his House, I recall."

"Well," Filius shrugged with that very nearly nasty look again, "if one will make it clear that one's patronage is the only reward that Really Matters, and also let everyone see that the best student one has in one's own subject can only get the most perfunctory of patronage no matter how hard he works or how well he does, one shouldn't be surprised if one's other students conclude that one doesn't feel that effort and success in said subject, and perhaps in academics generally, are particularly important. In a House that's ruled more by vague memories of which traditions were considered important last year than by rules, when some student doesn't step up to take the reins, one shouldn't be surprised if a certain ennui lingers."

They emerged onto level flagstones after a few more steps, and Albus asked carefully, "You and Horace aren't having any problems that I ought to be asking into, are you?" Their Houses generally had a touch of rivalry going, but it usually felt more friendly than this.

"No, no," Filius sighed, pulling out the candy cane and looking at it as if, in the absence of a stiff drink (which for him generally meant kirshwasser with a splash of amaretto or a shot or two of chocolate liqueur), he was very nearly tempted. "I just always hate to see a sound mind go untended. They can warp in the wrong hands, you know," he added with sad, meaningful emphasis, "or in none."

"Possibly," Albus said cautiously. He certainly did know, generally speaking. Even today he had to take a potion, some nights, to keep from lying awake wondering what had happened to make his old friend think it was right that he should snatch and reorder and command. To keep from snatching up a quill to ask him. From lying awake wondering if there was anything Albus's own parents might have done differently, or his old schoolmasters, to keep him from that same folly. Wondering whether it was only his example that had taught Aberforth differently, or if a more pedestrian intellect had guarded him, or if that was vanity speaking and Albus's abrasive, unambitious, grubby little brother had always been simply the better man. "Were you thinking of something in particular?"

"I was, in fact," Filius sighed. "The same student, as it happens. Some of them do make themselves felt more than others, and that was a year just bursting with personality. And talent. Odd how you get concentrations like that sometimes. Volatile."

"Some of my divining instruments will never be the same," Albus agreed, wincing. After that terrible scare Severus and young Remus Lupin had had in '76, in fact, some of the stones of the ceiling were still scorched. Severus had submitted to reason after the first burst of temper—but it had been a quite sustained burst, especially for a teenager. It was no wonder he'd seemed subdued and empty afterwards, when he'd submitted to the oath that would protect Remus (who'd deserved protection, having been entirely responsible about his transformation and as ignorant of his friend's folly as had everyone else) and Madam Pomfrey had fetched him back to the Hospital Wing.

"I don't suppose you know he was in my music club?" asked Filius.

Albus frowned. "Severus? I don't recall him performing."

"No, I couldn't get him on stage with a crowbar and a body bind," Filius agreed. "Which was too bad; he certainly had the voice for it in his later years. He wanted to learn to incant. And first he asked me if there was anything he could do for a little private instruction, but of course I wouldn't set that sort of a precedent even if I'd had the time."

"No," Albus nodded, as they walked through the echoing, empty hall to the staff table, largely out of habit but also because they both liked the ceiling. "I quite see that."

Filius had less homework to grade than any other teacher in the school, but this was by design born of necessity. Any of eighty to two-hundred stressed out Ravenclaws might pound on his door into his office seeking academic guidance at any given moment. With very little regard for the hour, because many of them only paid attention to clocks insofar as they blared alarms explaining when to show up for classes and meals. Filius tried to encourage regular sleep, but there was only so much one could do without bed checks and sleeping potions.

He also kept up on the professional journals in his field, of course, and had been known to contribute to them when he had the time, sometimes on his own and sometimes in conjunction with alumni. At the moment, in fact, he was supervising a few projects Lily Potter and Sirius Black and their friends were working on, and occasionally chortling gleefully over something involving doorknobs the Prewett twins were doing that was slow going but sounded absolutely terrifying.

On top of that, someone from the Confederation might, at any time, ask him to create a piece of custom equipment for some field mugwump. Of any nationality; field mugwumps had to be able to go unnoticed at need and so tended to work in their own countries, but it didn't matter who made one's equipment as long as it did what one needed it to. Filius, being imaginative, was somewhat popular, although not with the Russians.

Albus had even (although this was much less common these days, thank Merlin) occasionally come to the reluctant conclusion that there wasn't anyone better suited for a covert operation. There might be a stretch of several months on end when he had almost nothing to do, aside from the everyday academic and MI-20 paperwork, but there was no predicting whether any given week would be like that or see him publicly botching his homework-summoning charms from lack of sleep.

Additionally, someone with an unpleasant mind might have misunderstood.

"Then he auditioned but said I shouldn't accept him."

Albus blinked as they sat.

"That's what I said," agreed Filius. The platters around them filled up with sandwiches, sausages, scotch eggs, fruit, meat pies, and a tureen of potato soup. "Are we quite sure they're not trying to kill us?" he asked rhetorically, taking an orange, some soup, and what looked like a watercress sandwich.

"What do you mean?" Albus blinked around a bite of banana, loading his plate up with sausages, eggs, a doorstop cheese and pickle sandwich, and a thick wedge of pork pie.

Filius rolled his eyes. "Oh, nothing. You can brew up your own heartburn remedy, I'm sure."

"That sounds a most unpleasant complaint," Albus noted. "You were saying?"

"That I hate you and your thirty-foot metabolism sometimes," Filius grumbled good-naturedly. "That I asked him what he was talking about. And he said he was selfish and if I accepted him he'd come, because he badly wanted to learn enchanting and the arithmancy connection, and he'd offered me an out anyway so it wasn't his fault, but I shouldn't because if I did everyone else would drop out."

Albus stopped halfway through a bite of pie. He forced himself to go on chewing, and to swallow, and washed out his mouth with a sip of pumpkin juice. Its spices weren't particularly satisfying when it was so likely that one had failed to notice children being collectively and horribly unchildlike. "Didn't your group have a drop in enrollment around '74? You didn't mention it, but I do recall the choir being rather small that year."

"Around then, yes," Filius said, peeling his orange with grim amusement. "The '73-'74 year. And then he came to me next day after class and said if I wanted he could probably arrange for some of the older students to make a scene about forcing him to withdraw and then I'd probably get everyone back, only he really did want to learn enchanting, wasn't there anything we could do about it."

"How terribly Slytherin," Albus frowned, cutting into his pie again.

"Ye-es," Filius agreed judiciously, "but not the way you're thinking, which is what I thought at first, too."

"What did you do?"

"Well, first I accused him of racketeering, of course." But Filius looked a little ashamed of himself. "And then he started screaming his head off at me that there was nothing dishonest about it, he'd warned me and I had only myself to blame, it wasn't his fault I was too thick to believe a good-faith warning just because it came from someone shorter than myself—which he wasn't anymore, of course; I thought that was interesting—I of all people ought to know better, and ye elder gods the hysteria…"

"I'm familiar with it," Albus assured him, wincing.

"I daresay you are," Filius chuckled ruefully. "I got some tea into the boy before he made himself literally sick, although I had to repair a couple of cups afterwards."

"Quite familiar with it... What did you do?"

"Told him I'd rather have a handful of students who were there to learn than a stage-full who were in it for glamour and glory, so if he didn't show up to at least the first five meetings to be a good example he'd be getting detentions on top of the two weeks' worth he'd earned himself for the disrespect and the fit he'd just thrown."

"Oh, dear," Albus chuckled. "I imagine he didn't like that."

"You would imagine, wouldn't you," Filius said seriously, catching his eyes. "In fact he looked at me as if I'd drawn down the moon especially for his benefit. He didn't argue about the detentions at all, just went all big-eyed and white and ran out like he didn't know what to say, and turned up as ordered. And didn't say a word to me without being forced to for two weeks, but I'd swear he was throwing stinging hexes under the table when the other students weren't paying attention. I caught him outright kicking the Lockhart boy in choir for looking at a magazine inside his score-sheet. It was as if he just didn't know how to handle… well, I don't know how to put it. But I had the feeling he was getting lost down there. A waste."

"A not unfamiliar thought," admitted the Headmaster, carefully slicing a sausage. Almost against his will, because of the ill-feeling, he asked, "Did you mention it to Horace? Only, that is the sort of response to being asked to be a good example that, in other Houses, might have led to a Prefecture. After some polishing, of course."

Filius nodded, looking glum. "I did, actually. And he said he knew what I meant, but Snape was better off as the power behind the throne than on it."

"Oh, dear," Albus frowned. "I would have hoped, with how fond he was of Lily, that he would have taken the opportunity to advance a half-blood who could handle it."

"Credit where due," Filus told him, "he said he would have liked to, if it had been anyone else and if some of the students from more fanatical families wouldn't have had a less than pureblooded peer-authority outright murdered. And I asked didn't he have enough control of his house to make sure that didn't happen, and," he trailed off into a snort.

"Don't leave me in suspense!" Albus urged, daring to hope the story wasn't going to end somewhere ugly.

It didn't. With a grin, Filius said, "Well, Horace had a point, I thought. He said you can't have the snarling guard dog holding its own leash, there has to be an indulgent owner for the terrified masses to take their complaints to."

"And be told 'he's just an old soppy, really'?" Albus asked thoughtfully, smiling. "I'll tell Barty Crouch to try that the next time someone screams at him about Alastor."

"Complaining to Barty Crouch about Alastor Moody is like asking your fireplace for a bandage because you've burned your finger lighting a candle," Filius observed.

"He is, at least, invested in seeing things done in the right way…"

"Which one are you talking about? And please define 'right way.' And if you meant Crouch, don't you mean 'having it seen'?"

"So unkind, Filius." They were veering off track, so he told his friend, looking up with a twinkle, "I gave Severus your compliments when he interviewed for the DADA post, you know. He turned quite pink."

"Did he really?" Filius asked, delighted.

Albus wasn't disappointed to see that his delight was as innocent as Severus's confused flush had been. As devoutly as new gossip always was to be wished for, admiration between a teacher and student was only amusing if it went strictly in one direction. He wasn't surprised, either. Severus had been a rather unprepossessing student, and that was how Filius would remember him.

"I wonder you didn't support his candidacy," he wondered disingenuously, "given…" he waved a vague hand with half a sausage on his fork.

"Don't be silly, Albus, Robards was the right fit," Filius blinked owlishly. Or, perhaps more properly, eaglishly. After swallowing a mouthful of sandwich, he added, "Anyway, this isn't a young man's job. You need gravitas, you need to have gotten the itch out of your feet, you need to be able to look them in the eye and know that no matter what they throw at you, you've seen a hundred things a hundred times worse. You certainly need to have everyone you were at school with yourself out of the building."

"Oh, really, they aren't monsters," Albus protested.

Filius smiled, looking down at the empty Ravenclaw table. "Of course they're not. But they dive if they smell blood, you know. They get uneasy if the adults aren't in control, whether they realize it or not, and they do test one. It wouldn't matter so much if you'd had to replace Bathsheba, say, or even me, but dangerous classes like DADA and CoMC need a teacher who can take command instantly, whether or not they like the kids. You can't give it to a nervous chap who might get flustered in a crisis. Even if the lad could manage a class, I doubt Madam Pomfrey could keep him in ulcer cures."

"Well, I quite agree with you about Robards," Albus said, "and let us hope for a year of relative poltergeist-related peace. But I'm sure Severus would wish me to remind you," he added with a little smile, "that he can make his own ulcer cures."

Filius chuckled. Taking another bite of sandwich, he asked around it, "What is he doing these days?"

Albus told him. He made sure, though, to emphasize the lab's precarious financing, to underline Severus's status as an apprentice but not to mention his seniority. He also made sure to explain the stage of development the Wolfsbane potion was at.

People like Filius couldn't bear the interminable, fiddly, scientific stage towards the end of a complex potions or alchemy research project. Not that Filius was a shallow intellect, as some Charms specialists were. He could and did buckle down to assimilate a new spellcasting language as needed, or learn all about a new class of objects or materials to enchant.

That stage in R&D brewing, though, when the formula was so very nearly doing what one wanted and surely if one just adjusted the quantity of this ingredient, or chopped that one to a different coarseness, or adjusted the temperature at this stage, or tried a different stirring pattern here, or used an amethyst tool here instead of oak, or a copper knife instead of silver, or picked that ingredient at a different time of day or month or used a different subspecies…

It wasn't Albus's favorite part of the process by any means. He'd even seen his own mentor hurl a fireball into a cauldron once, and his old teacher had literally all the time in the world to spend on any project he cared to. As he'd hoped, Filius was looking appalled. "And Horace is just letting him rot there?"

"Oh, hardly rotting," Albus protested. With conviction, even, although not vehemently enough to be terribly convincing.

"Oh, come off it, this is Horace," Filius said cynically. "He could have the boy apprenticing to Nicholas Flamel for his mastery if he wanted."

"No, I don't think Nicholas is looking for an apprentice," Albus said thoughtfully. "And I'm afraid he doesn't take Horace terribly seriously in any case."

Filius stopped cold and gave him one of those oh… right… you're ALBUS DUMBLEDORE looks.

Albus took a bite of his own sandwich, and made sure to squirt the pickle into his beard. "Oh dear," he sighed dismally, and dabbed delicately at himself with his napkin before giving it up as a bad job and cleaning up with his wand. That had done the trick, though; Filius's expression had reverted to can't be let out without a minder. Infinitely preferable.

"Well, you know I prefer not to interfere with any of you," he said with the barest touch of apology as he put his wand away, "and, of course, he is graduated in any case."

"Oh, of course," Filius agreed hastily, failing to look innocent as only a shrewdly sweet-hearted man of goblin descent could. "Meddling with other people's alumni would be terrible manners."


Next: Severus can tell from about 500 miles away that Filius has terrible manners. Because p/a/r/a/n/o/i/d Slytherin.

Notes: Yes, the Russian Minister for Magic title-equivalent is partially named after Rasputin. Because it ought to be. :p


Q&A!

warning for gen-post readers: in order to post this reasonably on time this week, have not checked interviews for gen-verse appropriateness. May edit later, sorry.

Louise: What condiment are you? (Possibilities: HP Sauce, ketchup, Grey Poupon, mango chutney, tzatziki sauce, sriracha, soy sauce, organic basil olive oil, chipotle mayo, blah blah blah)

Author: Who you askin—
Gilderoy: I don't need condiments! Or cosmetics! I'm perfect as is, I only want to put out a line of hair care products to help other, SAD people, like poor Severus! WHY WOULD YOU ASK THAT?!
Everyone: ….
Lily: The lady doth protest—
Severus: Lily. No.
Lily: No? Yes he does.
Severus: Yes, but no. Everyone was thinking it already. So you don't say it. No. See, this is why I told you you needed to be in Slytherin: you're nearly as bad at this as I am.
James: Actually, no, because when she's lame it's adorable and when you are it's pathetic and creepy and weird.
Evan: I swear on Merlin's staff the entire readership disagrees with you.
Author: YOU WERE COLLECTIVELY ASKED A QUESTION… and while you've been squabbling, Lucius has given Gilderoy gangrene in his face fighting to get to Wikipedia first to claim the classiest sauce.
Everyone: Are we meant to care?

The Narcissists:
Lucius: (cleaning off poisoned nails with his wand) I've decided the feather boa can have hollandaise or even béarnaise if he really wants them. I—
Gilderoy: No, no, Lucius, they're all yours! It's only natural that I'd be relish! (roguish wink)
Lucius: (ignores) I would be beurre noir.
Narcissa: (blinks, shocked little giggle, smacks him on the arm)
Lucius: (smirks) And you, my dear?
Narcissa: Do you recall the clotted cream infused with honey-saffron brandy Severus gave us for our wedding breakfast?
Lucius: (winces in memory of hangovers past) I remember it had a kick like an Abraxan.
Narcissa: (ducks her head modestly with demure smile)

The Faculty:
Pomona: Minerva would be Scottish whiskey sauce, wouldn't you? (g)
Minerva: (rolls eyes) If I were limited to regional cuisine it would be Dundee marmalade, thank you, nothing so cloying. But I should think a nice tart raita, in fact, and I'm sure my students would agree. (smug) And you'd be salt.
Pomona: Mercy, no, that would kill all the plants. I fancy a nice port wine mushroom sauce. Brown, not tomato. Cherry preserves for you, Filius?
Filius: To eat, any day! But no, I think a garlic-and-chives sour cream sauce. Very refreshing. With some of those pixie stix sprinkled over the top, just for fun.
Everyone: ….
Filius: You're right, not the actual pixie stix, I'm sure we could have colored sour sugar magically without the terrifying muggle chemicals.
Everyone: …..
Albus: What a delightful idea!
Everyone: (sweatdrop) (sigh)
Albus: As for me, I think—
Everyone: Lemon curd.
Albus: Oh, my, no! I was going to say banana sauce.
Severus: …Because it's nothing like it ought to be and everyone in exposed to you goes… yes, of course.
Albus: (ignores) And I'm sure Horace wouldn't say anything to do with pineapples.
Horace: What? Certainly I would. I'm extremely fond of pineapple chutney. Goes with everything.
Everyone: No it doesn't.

The Marauders:
Sirius: Lessee, Sniv would be a completely plain salad dressing, just raw vinegar and virgin oil.
Lily: Get. Out. Of. It. Talk about your favorite subject of you; stop obsessing and leave him alone.
Severus: (very wide eyes) Can it be cider vinegar? Balsamic? Champa—
Lily: DO NOT FEED IN.
Severus: (exercises better part of valor for once in life)
Sirius: Whatever, Daffydowndilly. I am an excellent subject, it's true. Okay, I want to be phall curry.
James: You can't be phall, you can be vindaloo. I'm definitely hotter than you. (winks)
Sirius: Nah, you can be Habanero sauce.
James: Ah, I get you, mate. Two sides of a coin, works for me.
Remus: (rolls eyes) You two are ridiculous.
Sirius: You can be barbecue sauce, Moony, you're pretty smoky.
Remus: I'm sure you mean smoking, and thank you, but I think I'd like to be mayonnaise.
James: …Er?
Remus: (gloomy) Mayonnaise has no trouble finding work, people use it all the time.
Evan: (HALOS, does not whistle innocently)
Sirius: Well, if you're mayonnaise, Wormtail's got to be salad cream.
Peter: HEY!
James: Sirius, come on. How about it, Pete, what are you really?
Sirius: Swiss cheese!
Peter: (SIGH) I don't even like cheese, Padfoot. Nor do I have holes in my head, thank you. I do like kimchi, though.
James: …That fermented cabbage stuff?
Peter: Yeah. Or natto.
Sirius: …Pete, that stuff is vile. It smells like nothing on earth.
Peter: (shrugs) I like it. I can't help it if you lot have boring tastes. (g)
Sirius: OI! XD
James: Point to Petey! XD
Remus: (tolerant head-shake at them) What about you, Lils?
James: NO! MY wife! I have to guess! And I guess… honey mustard! Dijon honey mustard!
Sirius: A bold venture! With specificity even! The lad is a true Gryffindor, and must be kept out of Vegas at all costs! Prepare moral support, lads!
Lily: Sorry, Siri, even a stopped clock is right twice a day. (hugs James for knowing her)
James: (beams)
Louise & Very Small Prophet: Sirius should be ketchup. Common, crude, and ubiquitous among muggles, it's perfect for him, would give his mother a heart attack.
Valor: No, he's definitely spicy dijon!
James: ...Nah, either of those would be weird for me now. (points at Lily)
Sirius: (slightly regretful) Yeah, that's best-friend-coded out. No, WE ARE BROTHER CHILIS!
Lily: You two know it's mostly guys who think it's important to be able to eat the really hot food, right?
James: (HORROR AND DROOPAGE AND PITIFULNESS)
Remus: (high-fives Lily)

The Protagonists (who need a better band name)
Evan: You want to be horseradish, don't you.
Severus: It's considerably more versatile than people give it credit for.
Reg: Not garlic?
Severus: Too much potential for racial, oral-hygiene, and smelliness jokes. Pass. Besides, I like radishes. They're crisp and clean and have bite without lingering residue or papery detritus.
Reg: What about you, Evan?
Evan: I want to let Severus pick. ^_^
Reg: (discreet gag)
Severus: Eggs.
Evan: (g) Explain.
Severus: Essential protein. Classic. Smooth, unreadable shell. You can't tell you've applied too much heat until they explode in your face. And they're a binding agent. You can't bake without them. Things fall apart.
Reg: (less discreet gag)
Severus: Also, very blond.
Reg: (chokesnorfle)
Evan: (g) Not a condiment, though.
Severus: Yes, but if I say butterscotch Reggie might actually vomit on the rug.
Reg: It's a nice rug but very inflammable looking, it'd be such a pity if something happened to it.
Severus: (amused) All right, tamari sauce.
Reg: Because?
Severus: As a soy sauce it gives savor, but it has a richer and more complex flavor, and even people with tetchy digestions and gluten allergies can tolerate it.
Reg: I am going to vomit on the rug.
Evan: (airy) Nonsense, ask Kreacher to pick yours if you're jealous.
Reg: No, I know mine, I want to be chocolate sauce.
Evan: Okayyyyy?
Reg: (sulky) What. I'm not trying to be exotic, or controversial, or clever. And you can stop looking at me like I'm being dirty, Evan. Everyone likes chocolate sauce. I like chocolate sauce. I want to be chocolate sauce.
Severus: (squeezes his shoulders) You're definitely chocolate sauce, kitten.
Evan: (apropos of nothing) Wasabi goes with tamari.
Severus: Chocolate is better salted than people think, especially with caramel, and it's possible to use a soy sauce for that. And I mentioned about the versatility, horseradish and chocolate don't actually go at all badly—
Evan: STOP HELPING.
Severus: …Why are you being bizarre?
Evan: (sulky) You said I was butterscotch and you don't care about sweets. You think caramels that aren't burnt are bland and cloying.
Severus: True, when it comes to food I'm not terribly compelled by mellow or—
Reg: (FLEES)

Ebony: If you could be an insect, what would you be and who would you sting first?

Severus: Let's not be hasty. Potter and Black would both benefit from a steady diet of glumbumble honey, rather than being stung. An animagus transformation should have no impact on the melancholic effect; it would be good for their egos. However, Regulus would get a kick, as they say, out of enough billiwig stings to induce giddiness and hovering. Then again, that grub with the imperius-like qualities from that science fiction movie would fit very nicely in my father's ear, I think (although, ugh, but one must suffer for a better world), and then certain home improvements might come to pass. Or one could just turn into a wasp or gadfly and sting Pettigrew every time he tries to aim Black's boredom at other people...

Ebony: James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin naked together on a bed. What would you do first, hurt them, or obliviate yourself?

Severus: Neither. I would take my cue from Hephaestus, petrificus their arses while wound together, and suspend them at eye level over the House tables in the Great Hall. Since it's their belief that exposing one's peers is a harmless laugh and all, I'm sure they won't mind.
Ebony: I don't think they meant that to extend to themselves, you know...
Severus: (purrs) Didn't they?! (tsk) What a sad oversight; they really ought to have mentioned it if they wanted there to be limits on the application of their methods when they demonstrated them! No, no, I'm quite sure you're wrong, such GIFTED scholars as Potter and Black, beloved of so many professors and with such good marks, MUST be thoughtful and CLEVER chaps: of a surety such snart boys would have had baseline intelligence as of a drowned flobberworm enough to prevent the techniques of their own invention, such as having one's own ideas turned against one, being turned on them, if they didn't feel it was all fair play in the spirit of good fun! No no no and again no, you misunderstand their very sportingly Gryffindor natures and do them a TERRIBLE disservice, apologize at once!
Ebony: No. Since said toerags probably don't think anyone would ever dare use it on them...
Evan: (affably) People who attack the same person four on one year after year and don't notice that he never absents himself from the field of battle or sics stronger allies on him have no excuse for thinking there is absolutely anything said crazy person wouldn't dare. Unless these people have actually had lobotomies.
Severus: (makes a face at him)

Valor: "What Disney Princess are you?" Stupid buzzfeed quiz, but I'd be curious to see how Severus scores. Also, what could prompt him to take that quiz in the first place?

Author: At the age I'm writing him, he hasn't yet gone silent and forbidding and tends to respond to direct questions. If he doesn't like the questions, he's more likely to respond at more length and in more technical language than desired than to curl his lip, raise his eyebrow, and say nothing. That'll come later.
Valor: Soooo which was it?
Author: No, no, I will make him actually take the quiz. Only because I love you. Or possibly because it's exactly the kind of ludicrous question I was fishing for and I am an authorial sadist. :D

This is a multiple-choice quiz, but I will only transcribe the choices where I feel they help the answers make sense.

1: Favorite Disney movie? (presuming knowledge of them you may not have in-fic)

S: Robin Hood, despite the ridiculous anthropomorphized animals and the likelihood that if there was a real Robin Hood figure he was in Wales during the realm of... William of Orange or thereabouts, I think it was, maybe The Bloody? But the closest Wizarding community to my home town was the one in the Sherwood, and I consider it more my home than where my house is. They used one of my potions producing the Silver Arrow brooms, in fact, and they're certainly my Quidditch team (other than Slytherin, of course). Additionally, the Princes have Plantagenet ancestry so I have a personal interest, and the songs about John are rather catchy... although when one discounts the leonine propaganda one can rather sympathize with his position. Do you realize Richard barely considered himself English?

2: Secretly my enemies are jealous of my…

industriousness, looks, determination, dreams, wealth, bravery, demeanor, passions, I don't have enemies

S: Intelligence and creativity aren't on here.
Evan: Neither is insanity. (marks off bravery for him)
S: I think 'frustrated by my determination' would be more accurate. They don't understand why I don't lie down and die. Or transfer to another school.
E: Neither does anybody else. It's bravery, you're a crap Slytherin, get over it, we did.
S: XP

3. What are you most scared of?
saying goodbye to my friends, losing my job, pop quizzes, global warming, scissors, Wal-Mart, war, being alone, standing still

S: ...Saying goodbye to my friends and ending up alone on a fried planet, without an income, raiding echoing abandoned convenience stores to live, because I failed the test and stood still and did nothing while a war snipped off bits of their souls until they turned into monsters or died and destroyed our world in the process. Scissors? Really? Fine, fanaticism and Really Stupid Governance aren't on here, I suppose war is closest, at least it's the symptom.

4: What do you look for in a soulmate?

S: I don't believe in those, but anyone who means to spend ten minutes with me had better be sodding bedrock. (marks steadiness)

5: Choose a talking animal

S: No sphinxes on there. (marks 'animals can't talk) I'm quite pleased Fawkes can't talk, actually. Lord knows how addled the flaming chicken must be after all that time on Dumbledore's shoulder getting the fumes off the dye in his robes.

6: What do you do with your time off?

go camping, just get out of town, get together with my family, lie around, play videogames, LARP, burn the candle at both ends, go to the beach, I'M ALWAYS WORKING!

S: I am always working!

7: What is the secret to true love?

humor, understanding, faith, compassion, acceptance, communication, chemistry, equality, I'll know it when I find it!

S: I HATE EVERYBODY.
Evan: (pats) Pretend you're giving advice to a third year about to do something stupid.
S: (groan) (face twitching a lot) All those things. You're fucked if you don't have all those things.
E: (beams) You have to check one, though.
S: (twitches more) I suppose 'understanding' serves as a near-synonym for more of them than the others.

8: Where would you like to have a first date?

S: I'm going to say 'museum' because I do not wish to be killed in my sleep.
E: You're going to say museum because you'd rather argue over art vs natural history than be anywhere anyone might talk to you, bump into you, or blare music in your ear.
S: ...that too. .

9: Pick an artist

Miley Cyrus is on this list. 'Nuff said.

S: What. They're all muggles. Art is not my thing. I have no bloody clue who these people are. There is no metal on there, I'm almost sure. Or jazz, or folk, or NOT THAT I KNOW WHAT THOSE ARE (ahem). Er... maybe the Italian-looking name is a classical one and pre-Separation and then I'll get in less trouble with all the purebloods?

10: What is happily ever after?

'In a job I love' and "In a castle' are both on this list. We had to do a Heimlich to prevent DADA-Prof!Severus choking on the irony. 'The Adventure Continues!' is on this list. Albus was a very good sport about being locked in the small room with Harry and Severus and the Nerf bats.

S: "I'm not sure but it isn't what's happening now?" Ha, isn't that the truth.
E: I'm happy.
S: My job is worthwhile and enjoyable and that the word 'home' should have meaning is chronically disconcerting, but the world is going to hell.
E: You always say that.
S: I'll stop saying it when it ceases to be true. We're still on the downhill slope and rapidly accelerating.
E: I just don't know how I stand all the rainbows and daisies around here. (g)
S: (smirk) You sit within my shadow and giant bubblehead charm and thereby avoid both sunburn and pollen allergies.
E: XDDDD

You got: Mulan: Outgoing and vivacious, you are considered the sporty one in your group. However, athletics are not the sum total of who you are as you have a keen interest in the world around you.

S: ...
E: I wouldn't say vivacious. But you have to admit you're astoundingly energetic for Slytherin. And you know it's because you're a giant target that I wanted you to get off the Quidditch team, not because you were bad at it.
S: OUTGOING?!
E: Well, not in the making-friends way, but I've never seen you hesitate to go up to a stranger to tell them how wrong they are. And you've certainly got the most eclectic set of interests of anyone I know.
S: No, no, it's just the 'vivacious and outgoing' bit that's choking, otherwise I think I'm flattered. The lady may have been a front-lines soldier but she reputedly deceived her unit about her gender for quite a long time, and I doubt they had individual shower and toilet stalls, and she would have had to compensate for a lighter frame and muscles that built up more slowly than her peers' did. Also, not a princess, was willing to cheat when the test was important but the skill wasn't meaningful to her but not when she felt the skill mattered, intuitively used creative, outside the box, often physics-based tactics at the drop of a yuan, and did not in the least enjoy her makeover. Yes. This is acceptable to me. (smug)

Hwyla: For Lucius (in the time of the story) - just why DID you become a DE?
Lucius: (somewhat taken aback) Why wouldn't I?

Hwyla: A question for Narcissa and Lucius. It's a repeat of one I asked about Sev and Ev. What animagus form do you think your partner would take? What is their 'inner animal'? I'm also actually wondering whether Evan has ever seen that white peacock and Lucius in the same spot together or whether that might just have been Lucius who gave Evan such a scare?

Narcissa: Oh, darling, I know Lucius would like to think he's a great black panther of some sort—can one have an albino 'black panther,' or would it be called something else? Certainly black or white, completely; he wouldn't tolerate spots—but I'm afraid you're right on target about those peacocks.
Evan: There are a lot of peacocks, though. And he couldn't have been older than first-year at the time; in fact, I don't think he'd left for Hogwarts yet. I was quite young.
Severus: In any case, the likelihood of his having been a Child Animagus Prodigy is approximately nonexistent. Arithmancy I might believe, but transfiguration isn't really his strong suit.
Lucius: (sniff) The teacher was uninspiring. In any case, one rarely needs transfiguration, Severus, when one has both house elves and money.
Severus: (rolls eyes) Oh, of course.
Lucius: (suavely) As to my lovely wife, I tend more to think of her more as a graceful iris—
Evan: Ibis?
Severus: Isis!
Narcissa: (demurely) Thank you, Severus.
Lucius: —But she could easily put one in mind of a Siamese. Kneazle, of course, not some common housecat.
Severus: ...Except that animagus forms aren't magical.
Lucius: Tell Evan that, 'Quetzalcoatl.'
Severus: I did. —Ev? You're having an expression.
Evan: ...You're calling a pale blond witch a cream-colored cat.
Severus: (grinning at Narcisa): A shrieky cream-colored cat. (gets swatted)
Lucius: I don't see how you can object after what you said.
Evan: I said what I said because of the easily underestimated and the tendency to get in close and claw your face off and the deceptively cuddly.
Severus: TRAIT—I mean, LIAR!
Lucius: (ignores Severus) So?
Evan: (to Narcissa) Mine has more imagination than yours.
Narcissa: (sedately) Mine has precisely the qualities I want him to have, thank you.
Lucius: (looks smug)
Severus: (leaves room hastily so as to be out of Lucius's earshot before laughing hysterically)

Hwyla: Precisely which of Lucius' qualities is it that Narcissa values the most? I doubt it's actually the money. I think she would have found a rich man even if she had not chosen Lucius. And I do believe she knows him (and his faults) just as well as Evan knows Sev. I think she sees him as a bit 'nouveau riche' and possibly trying 'too hard'. He seems to be relatively intelligent - at least Sev doesn't round on him and call him a 'dunderhead' and not only can he discuss historical politics in correspondence with a 'nerd' like Sev, but appears to have highly enjoyed it. But none of these are necessarily what Narcissa values the most. So what about him 'caught' her?

N: (sighs) He does indeed have a full measure of the Malfoy nouveau-riche trying-too-hard difficulty. My Draco will always know that he's a Black, and that should get it out of the line. I consider it my gift to pureblood society.
[1990's!Severus: (pained, tight, headachy, vague-approximation-of-a-smile)]
N: Now, Lucius is certainly intelligent. He's a brilliant Slytherin in the Slughorn mold, and he's book-clever enough in the areas that interest him, like history and finance and finance. Which he'll tell you are all the same thing, of course. However, as long as you don't tell him I said so, I will admit that Severus wouldn't call Lucius names whatever his opinion. Lucius was our prefect when we first got into school, and while the manners that we—that is, mostly I, at that point—were able to drum into Severus were a bit... hit-and-miss, some of them did stick. As you can tell, because the clever lamb did manage to graduate breathing and with all his limbs attached.
S: (rubs shins, somewhere between resentful and nostalgic)
N: What my pet has that others don't—no, naturally it isn't the money; one does wish to do one's best towards one's children's inheritance, but my own portion would have sufficed if necessary. In part it's his priorities, of course. He was perceptive enough to value me as myself; he didn't court me only with tokens but with letters and by trying to think of ways to be of assistance to my friends and family. He understands family. He was telling me from the beginning that any family of mine would be able to rely on him, and it's always been true. That in itself isn't unique, any pureblood wizard should fight for his House, and by marrying allies himself to his wife's blood. But Lucius isn't clumsy.
Severus, Evan, Regulus: (shifty eyes)
N: (oblivious) How many wizards do you think could have given real help and comfort to Severus when he was having panic attacks all over the place without giving him fits over ideas like 'charity' and 'indebtedness' and 'invasion of privacy and personal life,' even with me and Evan trying to nudge them away from the worst fumbles? Evan may enjoy trailing about after a Fizzing Whizzbee sharp enough to cut himself, but a sound long-term plan for the family's future and tactical instincts to bring it about are more my preference. Intelligent conversation is a blessing, naturally, but really, everyone but Evvie finds unceasing exposure to an eccentric genius rather wearing.
S: ...You're very good at that; I almost don't feel insulted.
N: Now, really, darling, you wouldn't want to live with me, either, would you?
S: YOU STAY AWAY FROM MY WARDROBE, WOMAN!
N: (laughs) That's what I thought.

Daashi: A non-spoilery question. I suppose asking everyone (Snape and his peers) what they want to for a living or what they're retirement plans are, would kind of be a tad inappropriate.

James: I think Marauder's Moon is going pretty well, don't you lot? We're making enough joke shop sales to get our name known in the general pop, and the aurors and hit wizards are starting to take an interest in our more serious stuff. (slightly apologetic) I know it's more important for other people than for me and Lils, but (more confident) I really feel we're making a success of it. Don't see why we should have to do anything else, eh?

Lily: Oh, gosh… it's a bit hard to be asked that outright. I mean… my mum would never have dreamed of having a job. Tuney was so proud of her secretarial training, but then she was also incredibly proud to be able to give it up when she got married. And it seems as if a lot of witches and some of the wizards make a first career of having kids and what mum would have called Worthy Causes and that, and then go political or start up shops using domestic skills later. And with Jamie's family being rich I wouldn't have to hold down a job, not the way I expected to need to. And… part of me feels like I ought to just for my pride, but isn't it a complete waste if I do? I mean, I didn't marry James for his family, but when I did, it did come with visibility and his position and all. That makes me a very visible witch and, in particular, a visible muggleborn. And there are certainly things I care about. Since I don't need to earn a living, I don't think I could face myself in the mirror if I didn't do the same things I expected Sev to. Speaking up, that is. I don't know how yet, though, not how to get really heard and do any good. I have worked out by now Sev might have a point about shouting not being enough if all the ears have got cotton in.

Sirius: Technomancy, mate, it's the thing. The charmwork for the things we're selling is all right, although Evans can naaaaaaag, but once we can make magic work with machines, getting along in the muggle world'll be a hell of a lot easier. Dumbledore's got his machines he invents himself, and they're far out, credit where it's due, but once we work out how to work their stuff with magic instead of electricity we'll be able to blend in and keep up whatever they invent, have all the music, and improve their machines with spells, too, without it going all lightning-burst. Frinstance, I've got this motorbike I'm working on, and once I've got it running off the gas, why shouldn't it go at any speed I want, or have weather protection, or fly like a broom, or take a disillusionment charm? Or how about if we could make record players work in magical homes? Right now you've got to send someone out to a concert with a music ball if you want a recording, and if they don't get close to a stage all you get is shouting.

Peter: My job isn't bad, really. It's not the most glamorous corner of the Improper Use of Magic Office, but it's decent work, needs doing, I'm good at it. I'd like to get into the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes eventually, though. The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad someday, work my way up through the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee or the Invisibility Task Force. After seven years with Prongs and Padfoot, I'd be good at all that. I'm not sure where exactly I'd like to retire, but a nice comfortable house somewhere quiet and on the warmer side. Not out in the middle of nowhere, though, somewhere with good pubs and take-away close enough to walk to. I already have to watch my weight now, so I expect by the time I retire I'll have to be very firm with myself about no apparating to dinner.

Remus: (SIGH)

Remus: I'm very grateful to James for backing the company, of course. And they definitely need me, it's not as if it feels like charity or anything. I suppose Lily could keep the books in order if she had to, but she's brilliant with the charmswork, it's a much better use of resources to keep her on that. Same with Gideon; it'd be a crime to take him and Fab off development and advertising. And I am glad of any extra work I can pick up. It's not what I pictured, though. Before I knew I could go to Hogwarts, I thought I'd either go into… well, everyone thought 'a bookshop for Johnny,' but I thought working in a museum, maybe even the British, restoring the old history so people could look at it. Steady, too, and no crises, so it'd be all right to take the time off every month, much easier than in a shop. And then when I was getting through Hogwarts and doing so well in DADA and no one was Finding Out, I started to hope I could be a cursebreaker. I was good at that kind of thing. Cleaning up after those three after they've gone exploring mad bits of the castle and gone after Snape all the time, you get good at that. It's the same sort of thing, when you think about it: cleaning up old things, making them safe and right again. And I have a feel for it. Maybe it's something to do with The Thing or maybe I just have a talent, I don't know. But I couldn't get hired anywhere. Rosier was right; we really shouldn't have been surprised. It was good of him to suggest owl-order, anyway, even if the book he gave me was a bit rubbish.

Lucius: …Earning a living, good gracious, how vulgar. (laughs lightly)

Narcissa: (smiles kindly) Lucius and I are involved in a number of committees and charitable organizations. I do more of the latter and am more involved with St. Mungos than he is; he's most interested in assisting the smooth running of Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic. We both also have a number of protégées whose careers we take great pleasure in assisting. In whose number I would never dream of including Severus, of course.
Lucius: I would.
Narcissa: (gives him a mild Marital Smile, continues) It's an investment in the future of the wizarding world. There's really no question of retirement. In time, we may turn over some of these responsibilities to Draco, perhaps even some to Regulus, and spend more time with each other and our friends at home and in travel. What else would one do?

Evan: (cheerfully) Oh, a painter paints as long as he can hold a wand. And then he becomes an art critic. I mean a teacher of younger painters. Like Grandpère. It's not a matter of money; the firm and family have done very well over the centuries. We have a responsibility to do portraits more than other things because otherwise wizards' memories would die along with them. It gets a bit dull at times, but there it is. I suppose if I ever felt it was all right to 'retire' it would mean I'd do a lot more of other kinds of paintings, experiment with styles more or focus on the sorts of things you can't when the painting has to be about the person. You can still do animals and landscapes and interesting scenes for portraits, of course, but you can't make them the focal point or really tell a story. And you do have to be realistic. Well, I mean, without making the sitter unhappy. And the client, if that's not the same person. I like some of the impressionists and art nouveau, but that's right out for my sort of work. So I could play around with that more. And do more drawing. Draw little pictures to go with some of the things Spike says, that could be funny. I don't think I'd want to do a whole comic book, though, that'd be far too much work. Maybe a kid's book, though. Or illustrate a textbook, ooh! Show what all the charms do!

Reg: Is 'retiring' like when Dad and Granddad mostly stopped doing committees and working the elections and things and started hiding away from Mother in their studies with the bottles? Can I do something else? I would have liked to play Quidditch if it wouldn't have been a scandal for me even to try out. Mother would have just died, though, I knew better than to even bring it up, even before Siri left and I was going to have to be heir. But I would have liked that. Things are simple up there, especially when you're playing seeker instead of chaser.

1990s!Severus: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (continues laughing like a psychopath all the way down to his office, terrifying all the first-through-third years and Hufflepuffs. Closes door, stops cackling, pours tea, puts on TSO, grades papers.)

1980!Severus: (snorts) Well. First I wanted to open a tea-and-potions shop with Mam next to the sweets-and-wand shop in Nottingham. Quite specific, I do realize. Later I used to think owl-order potions so I could avoid customer interaction. Just at the moment, though, I'm afraid of what I'd be asked to do if it were known that I had unstructured time. I didn't really want the Defense job, but when I think about the kids graduating into this mess without being thought to look or think properly… If I only knew my job were secure now, or if I could get a grant to finish my thesis and get away to do it, I do like the research best, frustrating as it can be. And one could always supplement with owl-order, or by selling to one's community. As far as retirement goes, though, really. What real odds are there, in times like these, of ever seeing that.
Evan: (SERIOUS MENACE FACE)
Severus: (rolls eyes) Fine, everything will be rainbows and sunshine and toffee and I'll cure lycanthropy and vampirism and cancer and the common cold and get Narcissa to kick the government into a shape that both makes sense and functions, no matter how hard Luke cries. Then Lily and I will take over the Daily Prophet and show Wizarding Britain what actual, credible, hard-hitting journalism looks like and you can do all the cartoons, while Reggie runs the ice cream parlour and is overrun by young single mothers.
Evan: YAY!

Daashi: Now that I am done being a smart-arse, here is my question; what subject that isn't taught at Hogwarts do you think that should be? And what subject would you remove from the current curriculum?

James: Hogwarts is fine. I mean, Binns needs to move on, but Hogwarts is Hogwarts, you know?

Lily: Muggle Studies ought to be mandatory. And better. And it should go along with Wizard Studies. What use is it to sneer at people for not knowing when to bow and when to shake hands without telling us at least once? And History of the Goblin Wars should be replaced with History of the Magical World, if not just plain History. Honestly.

Sirius: Everybody else is already going to say History, so I'm going to say, well, not that we shouldn't have Herbology, but it shouldn't be mandatory anymore. It made sense before the industrial revolution, but, er, now we have groceries and that. And we ought to have (waves a hand) we ought to be able to take advanced tutorials or something. So I could of done an advanced engineering study in Muggle Studies, and we all could have studied animagery officially with the Tartan and not had so many accidents, and Snape could have taken Remedial Hygiene…

Peter: I don't see what we need astronomy for. What would be useful would be a class in home magic. Charms doesn't cover anything to do with cooking and potions really doesn't, either, except for how to chop and peel by hand, and it's not as if everyone coming to Hogwarts is going to leave and go home to servants and house elves these days. Most of us have to shift for ourselves in flats, at least till we get married, and the witches got exactly the same classes we did unless their mums taught them stuff.

Remus: I agree with James about not getting rid of any classes. And with everyone about History. What I'd like to see added is international studies. The Triwizard Tournament was a roving lunatic asylum with a mortality rate, but at least when they were having it there was some acknowledgement that there was a world outside the UK and other countries had wizards. I don't see why we need something that dramatic to do an exchange program or, or pen pals or something. Or, or read some stories in Care of Magical Creatures and correct them for accuracy as homework, for pity's sake. It'd be more fun than essays and it'd show we'd learned the material!
Sirius: Yeah! And in DADA, too! Like when they cover jinni! I heard a rumor the Arabian Nights has loads of dirty bits.
Remus: …Stay classy, Snuffles.
James: Is that one you started, then?
Sirius: Um… (tries to remember) I don't think so…
James: I move we hunt it down in the library and find out!
Sirius: Motion seconded! Carried! Gavel-bang! Library ho!

Lucius: The presence of Muggle Studies on the curriculum is a disgrace. As is the presence of muggleborns in the school. I can't help feeling that the school does its students rather a disservice not to teach finances, but it would be ungracious of me to insult gift hippogriffs, I suppose…

Narcissa: Really, darling, the content of the classes hardly matter, do they? It's what one does with one's time at school that matters. Anything that needs to be learned is so much more likely to be found out outside of classes or in books that no one bothers to assign. Some people would have benefited greatly from lessons in oh, deportment and related matters, I must admit.

Evan: (shrugs) I agree with Narcissa and Evans.
Narcissa: (looks upset in a way that doesn't give her lines) You can't agree with us both, darling.
Evan: (agreeably) If you say so. Anyway, I agree with Narcissa and Evans, but I would have liked to have more of an art program around than just Flitwick's music club and whatever the Muggle Studies class occasionally got up to. Speaking personally.

Regulus: Well, I don't think we should change History. Everyone does their homework done in History, or pulls all-nighters and then takes naps in class. I don't think we should get rid of any of the classes. You have to try things to find out what you're good at, and some jobs require weird combinations of NEWTs that you wouldn't expect. I had to go over about a thousand pamphlets with Gildy and Thor Rowle and the girls when it was Career Advice time; I remember. I don't know what other classes there could be, but I think there should have been more clubs and things. The Slug Club was really beneficial for us, but it hardly open even to everyone in Slytherin, and it wasn't exactly fun, either. I know a lot of girls would have liked if we'd had more dances, and we don't have the gobstones club anymore and the chess club's practically Ravenclaws-only, and Quidditch and Hogsmeade are about it for anything outdoor-ish.

1980!Severus: DADA should be replaced by just Self-Defense. Then it would lose the stigma and maybe the curse. Defense against dark arts could still be included, but one could also learn, perhaps, ducking? Divination is completely absurd; whatever use Narcissa is getting out of it could surely be achieved some other way. History should be fixed but if it can't be if would be better for its time slot to be replaced. Luke's suggestion about economics was a good one and, though it pains me to admit it, Pettigrew had a point about idiots like himself moving out of the dormitories and into flats and starving because they don't know how open tin cans. Not that I'd weep in his particular case, but there must be hundreds of harmless and worthy Hufflepuffs whose mothers have been put through a most harrowing and disappointing experience over the years.

1997!Severus: (to be posted as its own thing soon)