He stumbled across the room towards the door. Someone was knocking. At this hour, it could only be Dumbledore. He scowled. He didn't fancy meeting with the headmaster in this sorry state, but the man would find a way in rather he wanted him here or not. The castle simply responded to him, letting him go wherever he wished to go. It was just easier for all concerned if he accepted the inevitable and opened the door.
"Headmaster," he said, still scowling.
Dumbledore smiled, and his eyes only twinkled brighter. "How many times have I told you to call me Albus, my dear boy?"
"Not enough for me to do it," he said.
Dumbledore's eyes fell to the firewhisky bottle in his hand. Severus didn't even try to hide it—it would be obvious to anyone who bothered to look that he was drunk. He was well on his way to becoming an alcoholic to rival his damnable father. His perpetual scowl deepened at the thought—he didn't want to be anything like that man. The thought almost convinced him to set the bottle down, but it was too late for that. He took another swig instead.
"I do believe you will quite regret this in the morning."
"I regret a lot of things. Not the least of which obliviating the girl."
"You obliviated Miss Potter?" Dumbledore said, a bit sharply.
"I did," he said, laughing a bitter laugh. "She was taking an attitude with me, so I looked in her mind. She saw me and Quirrell in the forest, the whole conversation. So I obliviated her—she's supposed to trust me, after all, and how would she if she knew I had submitted myself to the Dark Lord's service?"
"I'll think you will find that Miss Potter is a bright child, Severus. She would have understood the circumstances had you explained."
"Explained what? That the Dark Lord thinks I'm his loyal servant, but I'm only pretending, as I'm actually yours? Explain the whole tangled web of my life?"
Dumbledore peered at him from over his glasses, sitting down in the armchair he frequently claimed. "Children are capable of much more understanding than you give them credit for."
Severus laughed again, taking another drink of firewhisky, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat. "Children are arrogant little berks who look for an excuse to hate anything different than they are."
"I find most children to be delightfully accepting when it comes to accepting things which are different, provided they have not been taught otherwise."
A crooked grin took over Severus's face. "You forget who you're talking to, old man. The other children in Cokeworth were all too happy to make fun of the long-haired, greasy, ugly little kid who wore his mother's old blouses. And Hogwarts wasn't any better—not with Potter and his ilk hounding me from the very train. Always accusing me of something when I just wanted to be left alone, calling me Snivellus, convincing the whole school that I was worthless. Even Lily, in the end."
A look of sad contemplation replaced the usual twinkling in Dumbledore's eyes. For a moment, he seemed far away, lost in his own thoughts. When he came back to himself, he said, "Yes, children can be capable of great cruelty, Severus, but that is not what lurks in their very nature. Children fear, but seldom do they truly hate."
Severus knew better than to try to convince him. He was a man who would always remain positive, even in the worst of times. He saw the best in situations, just as he saw the best in people who perhaps didn't deserve it. Severus maintained that Dumbledore had to be mad, trusting him as he did. He didn't deserve it. He was a selfish man—all he had wanted was for his one friend to survive, even if that meant the rest of her family died. Yet Dumbledore wouldn't hear a word against him now, all because of love. He wouldn't hear a word against children either, all because he thought they were capable of great love as well.
So he decided on an adolescent approach. He rolled his eyes and said, "Whatever."
Dumbledore only smiled.
"Aren't you going to punish me?" he muttered. "I did something illegal, again. And it was wrong, and I knew it."
He felt uncharacteristically vulnerable. He wanted Dumbledore to yell at him, to rage at him, to do anything but sit there and look at him knowingly. He knew how to react to punishment, but even after all these years, Dumbledore's unflappable demeanor unsettled him. He was used to his father's fists, his mother's indifference, the Dark Lord's wand, the students' hate, but not this calm caring. He was used to being hated and despised, excluded and unvalued. But Dumbledore was different. He saw something of worth in him and cared for him and his opinions.
"My boy, I do believe you punish yourself enough already."
"Not enough," Severus said. "Never enough."
He started to take another drink from his bottle, but found it was empty. He stood up on shaky legs to go fetch another one from his liquor cabinet but tripped on a stack of books and fell. Dumbledore rose from his armchair to help the younger man to his feet, but Severus waved him away, struggling to stand on his own. Dumbledore seized his arm with the strength of a much younger man and steadied him, patting him on the back.
When Severus made to get another bottle of firewhisky, Dumbledore's gentle hand remained on his back. Severus flinched away, but Dumbledore persisted.
"I believe you have had enough for the night, Severus."
"I managed fine before you came along."
"Humor an old man's wishes, then. As I said, it is likely you will regret this when morning comes. I am not unacquainted with the ills of overindulgence myself."
Severus snorted. "You, drunk. Now that's something I would like to see."
"It has been many years," he said, eyes twinkling. "I recall an incident with my dear friend Elphias that involved smuggling in firewhisky and setting some bed curtains on fire. Unfortunately, the rest of the dormitory caught fire too. I do believe that was the first and only time Headmaster Black entered the Gryffindor common room. He was rather upset with Elphias and I."
"I can imagine," Severus said, trying to shake Dumbledore's hand off him. "If one of my Slytherins set a dormitory on fire because they were drunk, they'd be in detention for the rest of their days at Hogwarts."
"Yes," Dumbledore said. "You do like assigning detentions, especially to young Hazel."
"I would quit assigning her detentions if she quit earning them."
"Perhaps it's your way of enjoying the dear girl's company. Minerva says she's a delightful child, if not as talented as her father was."
He scowled again at the mention of that bastard. "She has Lily's knack for Potions," he said. He must be drunker than he thought, willingly mentioning Lily. But these days he found her name not far from the tip of his tongue, what with the girl looking and acting so much like her. If the even-brighter twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes was anything to go by, he thought that was an improvement.
The smile fell slightly from Dumbledore's face as their eyes locked. Severus averted his gaze, not because he feared legilimency, but because he was ashamed. Here was the man who wanted to be like the father he never had, and he was pushing him away, making a fool of himself. Severus wanted to deserve Dumbledore's love—he knew it was freely given, but no one should ever just give something so precious to a wretch like him. Somehow, he would end up ruining it, even though all his misdeeds had been forgiven thus far.
"What am I doing?" he said, more to himself than Dumbledore.
Dumbledore's hand returned to his back. This time, he didn't flinch away, through an act of will. He wasn't used to being touched, other than to be hit or slapped. Even after all these years, his abusive childhood continued to hound him. He had gotten marginally better at controlling his reactions but knew he would never completely be free of them. He suspected he would only ever be comfortable with touch he initiated.
"I don't know, my dear boy. Drowning your sorrows only serves to deepen them."
He stumbled back towards the sofa. He didn't want to hear Dumbledore's wisdom right now. It just made him feel even more wretched. Dumbledore would have known what to do, other than obliviate the girl. He would never have done something horrid, not even in service of the greater good. He would have found another way, persisted in explaining the circumstances until the girl understood. But Severus couldn't have done that. His words were a shield to hide behind, not anything to gain a young girl's trust. He knew all about driving people away and making them hate him, but nothing about gaining their admiration and trust.
He probably never would. No one had ever liked him much and he knew it. Even most of the staff barely tolerated him, and only did so because Dumbledore claimed to trust him. They knew all about his stint in Azkaban, the pathetic creature he had been afterwards. And they certainly had their suspicions about what he had done to be placed there, had ideas about what horrible things the pitiful boy they had taught had done.
He just wanted it all to end.
He met Dumbledore's blue eyes, which were filled with concern. Dumbledore wanted him to open up, confess his feelings, but he had done more than enough of that tonight. He had revealed too much tonight and shown the worst of himself to the one person who still cared about him.
He leaned over, putting his head in his hands. He would have a pounding headache in the morning.
"Goodnight, Albus," he said.
Dumbledore smiled at the use of his name, stood up, and walked out the door, leaving Severus to his self-recriminating thoughts.
*HP*
The weather had turned, as it was now mid-April. It still rained something fierce from time to time, but it was now regularly warm enough to be out on the grounds. Daphne, Hermione, and Hazel had claimed a solid old oak tree by the lake, and often spent their breaks under its stolid shade. Daphne was glad to be out of the library's stuffy confines, while Hermione missed having all those wonderful books within reach. Hazel, for her part, found anywhere her friends were a good enough place to be.
Hazel took off her socks and shoes and waded into the lake until the water reached her knees. The water had a bite to it. It was warmer now, but the water was still cold. Hermione told her that it was much too cold still to be in the water, and no one else had joined her yet. But Hazel didn't mind the cold or the lack of company. For once, she was free to be herself. Never had she been allowed to do something so carefree as stand in the muddy water of a lake and skip rocks—the Dursleys simply wouldn't have it. Daphne had to show her how to do it, standing a few feet away on the shore while Hermione read in the shade of the tree.
Hazel smiled when one of her rocks skipped far out, disappearing into the distance. That had been the best one yet.
A loud shriek and splash behind her drew her from her peaceful thoughts. She turned around to see Daphne sitting in the water, covered in mud. Draco Malfoy stood behind her, self-satisfied smirk planted on his face. Daphne glowered at the blond boy. Hazel drew her wand.
"You ought to know better than to associate with scarhead and the know-it-all mudblood, Greengrass" Malfoy said. "I thought your family was more well-bred than that."
"More well-bred than yours, Malfoy," Daphne retorted. "Because we're not bred at all. Or should I say inbred?"
Pink tinged Malfoy's cheeks. He drew his wand and pointed it at her, emphasizing each word with a wave. "You take that back, blood traitor," he said.
"No," she said. "I don't think I will. Everyone knows it's true—your family hates foreigners and anyone with less than pure blood, so you've resorted to marrying your own cousins. Your mother was a Black, yes? They're even worse about it than the Malfoys. It's no wonder you're such an ugly git, with genes like that."
Hazel waded back towards Daphne, keeping her wand held aloft. She offered Daphne a hand up with her free hand, which the other girl graciously took. Daphne drew her own wand and pointed it at Crabbe, who had drawn his as well. Goyle looked on stupidly, scrambling to draw his wand when he realized everyone else had theirs out.
Malfoy sneered. "We've got you outnumbered. I daresay we can do whatever we like—Locomotor Mortis!"
Hazel dodged the curse, splashing in the water. She nearly slipped in the mud but caught herself on Daphne's shoulder before she fell. She held on, steadying herself. Hazel laughed and said, "You'll have to do better than that!"
She fired off the Dancing Feet Spell. Malfoy dodged it, but it hit Crabbe, who was standing behind him. The big boy lost control of his feet, which were now leading him on a tap-dance routine. He looked like a dancing ape, and when the jinx ended, it sent him sliding in the mud, which caused him to fall into the lake. Hazel giggled at the sight, and only wished it was Malfoy who had fallen rather than Crabbe.
"I'll get you for that, scarhead!"
"I rather think not, Mister Malfoy," a distinctly Scottish voice said behind him.
Malfoy closed his eyes and screwed up his face. Hazel smiled—Professor McGonagall had come. She was going to enjoy seeing the arrogant boy get his punishment.
"Miss Granger came and found me when she saw you approaching. She seemed to think you were going to cause trouble. As usual, she was right," Professor McGonagall said dryly.
Hermione peeked out from behind Professor McGonagall, her face flushed in pleasure from the praise.
"Potter cursed Crabbe!"
"It was a harmless jinx, Mister Malfoy. That being said, I'll have ten points from Slytherin for using magic on another student without their consent, and another five from you, Mister Malfoy, for starting a duel. Don't think I didn't see you cast that spell on the way down here."
Malfoy turned red. "Potter deserves detention!"
"Do not tell me how to discipline my students, Mister Malfoy. I assure you I know what I'm doing—I've been a teacher longer than you've been alive. Now return to the castle. I believe these three girls were managing fine without your presence."
Malfoy shot Hazel and Daphne a nasty glare over his shoulder, but turned and marched back up to the castle, muttering curses under his breath, McGonagall on his heels, lecturing him about his language.
"Well, that was refreshing," Daphne said, wiping her muddy hands on her robes. "Do you reckon the house elves can get the mud out? These are my favorite robes."
"Let me try, Daphne!" Hermione said.
"I should have known you'd be a nutter about cleaning to," Daphne muttered.
Hermione ignored the blonde girl's jibe and said, "Mundare!"
A jet of pink bubbles shot from the end of Hermione's wand. The bubbles engulfed the muddy robes and made a gurgling sound. After a few seconds, the bubbles disappeared, leaving a spotless Daphne standing ankle-deep in the lake.
"I love magic," Hazel said.
"I've just been waiting to try that spell!" Hermione said. "I—"
"Read about it in a book," Daphne said. "We know, Hermione."
Hazel grinned. They argued a lot, but she really loved her friends. She didn't know where she would be without them.
A moment later, an owl hooted above them and dropped a letter on Hazel, which she caught before it fell into the water. She unfolded the large piece of parchment with deft hands and read out the contents to Hermione and Daphne. "Hazel, if you would like to come visit me, I have something I think you'll find interesting. Yours, Hagrid."
"That's mysterious," Daphne said. "I didn't think Hagrid could do mysterious."
"Me neither. What do you reckon it's about?" said Hazel.
"I don't know, but we really ought to get back up to the castle," Hermione said. "It looks like it's going to rain."
"Come on, Hermione!" Hazel said. "It's Hagrid."
"That's what concerns me. Every time we go see Hagrid, he tells us something we shouldn't know, and you take to it like a dog with a bone. Look where searching for Nicolas Flamel got us!"
Hazel smiled sheepishly. "What if I promise not to do anything rash?"
"You don't know how to take no for an answer, do you?" Daphne said. "Let's go with her to Hagrid's—you know the drill, Hermione. She'll say she's going with or without us, we'll get sucked in to whatever scheme she's dreamed up, she'll execute said scheme, and then we'll be in a load of trouble."
"But it's always fun," Hazel said, grinning.
"I miss the library," Hermione sighed.
The three girls made their way down to Hagrid's hut. They were surprised to see the windows closed and the curtains drawn. Hagrid normally had the windows open, when the weather was nice—he said his hut got stuffy when it was hot outside. Hazel knocked on the door—even if he didn't look like he wanted company, he had invited them. Hagrid called "Who is it?" before he let them, and then shut the door behind them as soon as they were through it.
Hazel now knew what Hagrid meant when he said it was stuffy in his cabin when it was hot. Why he had a fire blazing in the grate, Hazel couldn't guess. She stripped off her outer robe and tossed it over a chair. Hermione and Daphne did the same. She felt as though she would burst into flames if it got any hotter.
Hagrid sat down at his table, drinking a glass of tea the size of a small barrel and eating a large stoat sandwich. He offered them some, which they politely refused. They were intimately familiar with the perils of eating Hagrid's cooking.
"Can we open a window?" Hazel said. "I'm boiling."
"Can't, Hazel, sorry," Hagrid said. He glanced at the fire. Hazel followed Hagrid's gaze, which rested on a black egg in the heart of the fire.
"Hagrid—what's that?" She had a sinking suspicion that she already knew what it was—they had seen Hagrid in the library near the section on dragons during their last days in the library.
"Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard. "That's—er…"
"Please tell me that's not what I think it is," Daphne said. "And please tell me you didn't do anything illegal to get it—no, never mind, I know you did something illegal to get it already. You can't get dragon eggs legally!"
"Yeh'd know all about that, wouldn't yeh?" Hagrid said. "Yer dad being an auror and all. Well, I didn't do anything shifty to get it—I've always wanted one, mind, but I wouldn't ever do what it took to get one."
"Then how in Merlin's name did you get one?"
"Won it. Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."
"I should think so!"
"What are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" Hermione asked.
"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'. I know how ter hatch it, what ter feed it when it does, and how ter recognize the egg. What I got here's a Norwegian Ridgeback. Rare, very rare."
Hermione fixed him with a stern look that would've made Professor McGonagall proud.
"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house."
Hagrid didn't respond and instead hummed a merry tune as he stoked the fire.
"You thought this would interest us, Hagrid?" Daphne said. "Make us concerned, more like."
"Come on, Daphne, it is interesting," Hazel said.
"That's one word for it," she muttered.
"I called yeh down here, yeh see, because it's hatching." Hagrid reached into the fire with a massive set of tongs and pulled the eggs out, setting the egg on the table.
The egg cracked—a small, spiky head poked out of the opening. A black eye larger than seemed possible for the head's size was fixed on Hagrid. A forked tongue slithered out of its mouth, and then back in. Daphne looked as though she was about to faint.
The dragon, with a shake of its head, cracked the rest of the shell, which fell in pieces on the table.
"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured, reaching out to stroke the dragon's head. The dragon snapped at his fingers in a flash of pointy fangs. "Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!"
"Mummy?" Daphne said incredulously.
Just as Hagrid was about to answer, the color drained from his face. He leapt to his feet and ran to the window.
"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains," he said. "It's a kid—he's runnin' back up ter the school.
Hazel bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance, there was no mistaking that downy blond hair.
"That was Malfoy, Hagrid," Hazel said. "He's going to go get someone—we're going to be in such trouble!"
"No yer not," Hagrid said. "Yer goin' ter go back up ter the school and get in bed and pretend yeh never met Norbert—"
"Norbert!" Daphne cut in.
"—and yeh'll leave me ter whatever trouble I'll get into fer havin' him."
"No, Hagrid!" Hazel said. "We're in this together." She reached across the table and patted Hagrid's hand. He was shaking his head.
"No, Hazel. Bless yeh fer thinkin' it, but this is my problem. I shouldn't have told yeh ter come down here, jus' thought yeh'd like to see the egg hatch. Isn't summat that most witches get ter see."
"Come on, Hazel," Hermione said, tugging on the sleeve of her robe. "Hagrid's right—he'll be in enough trouble without them knowing he had students here."
Hazel considered this—leaving a friend because he was in trouble seemed a cowardly thing to do. Hagrid had always stood by her, hadn't stopped caring about her just because she was in Slytherin. It seemed a small thing to stand by him now. But Hermione was right—Hagrid would be in enough trouble when Malfoy brought someone back to see the dragon. He would surely be sacked if whoever Malfoy told found him showing three students after curfew. As it was, they could only hope that whichever teacher Malfoy found wouldn't believe that they had been there if they had no proof aside from his word.
Hazel stood up, following Daphne and Hermione to the door. She paused and rested her hand on the doorknob, shooting one last apologetic look to Hagrid, who was shooing her out the door.
The three girls raced back up towards the school, their feet leaving damp imprints in the soggy grass.
"Nearly there!" Hazel panted, as they reached the doors to the school. She pushed them open and nearly groaned at the sight that greeted her.
Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, holding Malfoy by the ear.
"Detention!" she shouted. "After I took you back up to the castle! Twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around after curfew, how dare you—"
"Miss Potter!"
Hazel closed her eyes. It had been too much to hope that Professor McGonagall wouldn't notice them sneaking in through the crack in the doors. Luck certainly was not on their side tonight. First a dragon, now being caught by McGonagall after curfew.
Not to mention the fact that Professor Snape was going to kill her.
"You don't understand, professor!" Malfoy said. "She's got a dragon—it's down with Hagrid!"
Professor McGonagall stopped in her tracks. Hazel closed her eyes again. Hagrid was going to be in such trouble if she didn't do some very fast thinking.
"It-it was just a toy," Hazel invented wildly. "Made to look like a dragon. Hagrid told me he had always wanted a dragon, so when I saw that in Toymeisters of London's catalog, I just had to get it for him."
Professor McGonagall stopped for a moment, a glassy look in her eyes. Hazel almost sighed in relief—Professor McGonagall believed the story and if the look in her eyes spoke to her thoughts, was impressed by it as well.
She came back to herself with a shake of her head. "Be that as it may, Miss Potter, you are out of bed after curfew. Nothing, nothing excuses that. Twenty points from Slytherin each, for you and Miss Greengrass, and twenty from Gryffindor, Miss Granger. Detention as well. And Professor Snape will be hearing about this—I would have thought you learned your lesson after last time."
Hazel blushed at the mention of her last ill-fated foray into wandering the school after curfew. She supposed that at least she hadn't been found in a forbidden corridor and had only lost twenty points for Slytherin. Not that her housemates would be happy about that—they still hadn't forgiven her for her last bout of rule-breaking.
"Now get back to your common rooms, all of you, and don't let me catch you out after curfew again."
Not two days later, they received their instructions for detention from Professor McGonagall. Daphne and Hermione were to report Hagrid for detention, along with Malfoy, whereas Hazel had earned yet another detention with Professor Snape. He was…civil…with her again, though he curiously seemed to be avoiding her. Hazel had not spoken to the man outside of class since she had fainted, so it seemed odd that he would be voluntarily spending time with her now. But she didn't have time to dwell on it, as she needed to be there by six o'clock. Bidding Daphne goodbye, she stood up from the Slytherin table, leaving her dinner half-eaten, and made her way to the dungeons.
*HP*
Severus paced the length of his classroom, waiting on the girl to knock on the door. The Dark Lord had instructed him to take her detention. That did not bode well, to say the least. He had no idea what the madman had planned, nor did Dumbledore, who had only told him to play along unless it placed the girl in danger he could not protect her from. He feared that by the time he recognized such a danger, it would be too late.
When he heard a knock on his door, he immediately called "Enter." He usually liked to keep students waiting, to build their anticipation, but he was in no mood for such games tonight. He wanted to know what the Dark Lord's plans were, so he could protect the girl.
When the door opened, he found himself face to face not with the girl, but with Quirrell, who was smirking at him. "Severus," he said, striding into the classroom. "Our master wishes to speak with you."
"The girl will be here soon," he hissed. "If she walks in on us talking to the Dark Lord, then what will we do?"
"It doesn't matter anymore."
His blood turned cold. If being caught by the girl didn't matter anymore, that could only mean one thing—the Dark Lord planned on killing her tonight.
And Dumbledore was gone.
This did not bode well at all.
Quirrell unwrapped his turban, and Severus found himself standing face to face with the Dark Lord again. He averted his gaze. He had no desire to look at that hideous abomination. He had always been fascinated by Dark Magic, yes, but this was beyond anything he desired to associate with. The Dark Lord was blasely practicing magics blacker than anything Severus had ever studied.
"Sseveruss," the Dark Lord hissed. "Do not look away from me."
So this was the Dark Lord's mood. Knowing better than to disobey a direct order, he looked straight into the Dark Lord's milky eyes and slammed his Occlumency shields into place. The Dark Lord could not know about his obliviating the girl—to take such monumental action without the Dark Lord's approval would mean punishment. Instead he pushed forwards the small actions he had taken to gain the girl's trust back—giving her points for potions well-completed, simple praise on her essays, the typical favoring of Slytherin.
"Weak efforts, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed. "You have not once spoken to the girl outside of your duties as a teacher. She is supposed to trust you, not think of you as any other teacher."
Severus bowed his head. "I am sorry for my failure, my lord."
"As you should be. We shall discuss this…failure…at a later time. For now, we have more pressing matters to attend to. If the girl will not come willingly, she must be made to come."
"Come where?"
"Really, Severus. I had thought you intelligent. Surely you know by now, why I came here tonight? Tonight is the night you shall help me return to power, my loyal servant. Tonight is the night Hazel Potter dies."
Bumps prickled on Severus's neck. To know it was one thing, to hear it was another. Oh, of all the nights for Dumbledore to be called to the Ministry! Why couldn't Hagrid have managed to volunteer for the girl's detention before him? Then she would be with her miscreant friends, safe from the Dark Lord's machinations. He had thought the Dark Lord's instructions to volunteer for the girl's detention had merely been a part of his task to get close to her, not a plot to kill her. He was a fool, a fool for underestimating the Dark Lord's intentions.
"Do you not think this a good plan, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked.
He had taken too long to reply.
"It is an excellent plan, my lord. The headmaster is gone from the school—there is no one left to stop us. The girl will be dead by morning, and you will be returned to your former glory." The words tumbled out, not at all the smooth and confident tones he used on students. The Dark Lord always had that effect on him. He could not help but be nervous, as he was never assured of his position in the madman's eyes.
And then another knock sounded on the door. With a flick of his wand, Quirrell had the turban back on his head. He fixed his face into his usual quivering expression and pretended to cower at the sight of Severus. Now that the younger man had appropriately composed himself, Severus called for the girl to enter.
She walked through the door, her face flushed as though she had just finished running. Perhaps she had just finished running—one look at his pocket watch told him she was a minute late.
"Miss Potter," he said.
"I'm so sorry, Professor!" she said. "I just got the message five minutes ago!"
He raised a hand. "It is no matter, Miss Potter."
"So what am I doing tonight? Scrubbing cauldrons again?"
"Now, Severus!" the Dark Lord hissed.
Severus drew his wand and pointed it at the girl, hating himself as he cast the spell. With the Dark Lord listening, there was only one thing to do.
"Imperio," he said.