Hogwarts was different, when it was empty. It was never exactly still; moving portraits, shifting staircases and shimmering ghosts saw to that, lending a constant buzz of sound and motion to the otherwise deserted halls. But beneath that hum, without the constant chatter and bustle of hundreds of students to drown it out, you could feel the steady undercurrent of ancient magic that permeated the castle. It had been subtle at first, but the longer you spent in the sparsely populated school, the more tremendous it became. It was like getting to gaze upon a masterpiece with no one else in the museum. A special viewing, just for you. And it was humbling to feel its magic thrumming harmoniously against your own, because frankly, you'd been feeling disconnected from your own magic for months.
You had opted to take the Hogwarts Express for this very reason. You could barely trust yourself to properly shrink your own belongings for the trip, much less Apparate yourself across the country. Your wand had been particularly displeased with your malaise as of late; you'd practically watched the shiny maple wood turn dull over time, could almost hear the unicorn hair inside getting split ends. You had finally started getting back in tune with your magic when you began drawing up your lesson plans, but all the same, you were relieved that you weren't going to be teaching a class about actual magic. You weren't sure you'd be up for the task once term began. But you were getting better, now that you felt like you had a passion worth pursuing, and your magic was responding in kind.
It had felt good to retrace your steps back to Hogwarts, if a bit lonely. The deserted Platform 9 ¾, the nearly barren steam engine; it hadn't been your first time encountering these odd anomalies, but it was your first time going it entirely alone. You'd at least been in good company last time. You savored the nostalgia nonetheless, buying cauldron cakes from the trolley witch and watching the verdant countryside roll by. And for the first time in weeks, your nervous energy gave way to a sense of peace, the calming kind that came with the assurance that you were on your way home after a long trip. And that was exactly what it felt like. Going home. It might have been the beginning of a new leg of the journey, but you felt ready for this, if only to have a sense of purpose again.
You'd arrived in Hogsmeade with daylight to spare, and you were greeted not by Rubeus Hagrid (which you'd rather been looking forward to), but instead by Argus Filch. Though 'greeted' was perhaps too strong a word. More like the man had sneered at you on sight, muttering under his breath about 'flashy indecency' as he turned away to hobble off of the platform, making you question your fashion choices more than you usually do. You weren't sure exactly what he considered indecent, besides the fact that your shoulders were showing. You were wearing blue jeans, a burgundy sleeveless turtleneck and a pastel ice dyed kimono-style robe. Was it the muggle-ness that made it indecent? You just didn't feel like wearing dress robes; you thought being the Muggle Studies professor would give you a free pass!
There had been chilly silence as you'd followed the curmudgeonly old caretaker down the path towards the castle, but it thawed almost instantly the second you'd decided to ask how Mrs. Norris was doing. It was low hanging fruit in terms of conversation starters, but it did its job to get Filch talking like you were an equal instead of just another delinquent. He actually looked a little abashed over how he'd spoken to you earlier, now that he realized you were clearly a woman of culture, and had thanked you kindly for asking after his dear cat, especially after her bout of petrification last year. You'd never had much trouble with Filch or Mrs. Norris while you were a student (thank god), and you'd always thought the cat had the prettiest yellow eyes, so honestly, your interest wasn't even forced.
Your first steps into the empty castle had been surreal. The clack of your boots echoed loudly in the vast and empty Entrance Hall, and as you came to a halt in the center of it, waiting for Filch to shut up the front doors, you were overwhelmed with dueling sensations. It was a potent combination of the reverence one felt when entering a quiet church, combined with the eeriness one might experience when exploring an abandoned building. Like, you knew Hogwarts was haunted because there were ghosts everywhere, but this feeling was haunting. And for a few moments you'd felt powerless to move. It was then that you'd first become aware of that strange hum on the edge of your perception, feeling those traces of old magic brushing against you own, and it made you shiver. You didn't know if Filch could feel it too, but the man stood close beside you for several long moments, basking in the silence along with you. A silence that would be gone in a scant two weeks. You thought you might understand why the man wasn't so fond of students.
After your quiet reverie, Filch had finally broken the silence by offering to show you to your classroom and quarters, which you eagerly accepted. The classroom was located on the first floor, only a few doors down from the staffroom. It was modestly sized, as Muggle Studies wasn't exactly the most popular extracurricular in the school, but you were absolutely thrilled to find that it actually looked like a perfectly average muggle classroom. There were individual tablet arm school desks in four neat rows, six desks deep, set up before a large black board and flanked by pedestals containing 'muggle artifacts' under glass, such as a telephone, a boombox, and a compact disk ('Dangerous' by Michael Jackson, you noted). Just seeing this quaint little classroom made you feel even more excited to actually teach this class. It was like being back in muggle primary school. Except, you know, inside of a castle.
Through a door in the back of the classroom was your personal office, which was considerably less muggle looking by comparison. It was dominated by a heavy wooden desk, much like the ones you'd seen in numerous other teachers' offices when you were a student. The bookshelves lining the walls were mostly bare, though it seemed Charity Burbage had left behind a small selection of muggle novels and children's books. You had a selection of your own to fill up the rest.
There was another door behind your desk which lead to your quarters, and before you entered, Filch decided to take his leave. He gave you some basic instructions, like how to summon a house elf if you required sustenance, or where to find him if you needed any further assistance. You'd thanked him kindly for his hospitality, which actually made the scraggly old man blush. He'd fumblingly asked if you would like to join him for tea tomorrow, so you could visit with Mrs. Norris, of course, and you'd readily accepted, which only made him redden more. You grinned fondly as he hobbled his way out of your office, before turning to the door which lead to your quarters, your new home, and stepping inside.
You weren't sure what you had been expecting. It always seemed like some great secret, what a teachers quarters were like, but really, there wasn't much to them. The room was fairly large, sort of like a studio apartment, the main focal point being the large four poster bed which was draped with breezy sunflower yellow curtains and adorned with wine colored pillows. You didn't know who the interior decorator was, but they clearly had your aesthetic dialed in. One wall was dominated by a large alcove window, with a small dining table and comfortable looking chairs nestled before it. More book shelves lined the other wall, along with two doors, one leading into a small walk in closet, and the other into the en suite bathroom, which contained a large, claw footed tub, and frankly you could not be happier. Oh yes. You could certainly live here.
You had a lot to unpack. Your messenger bag was laden with several trunks which you had shrunk to the size of ring boxes, but honestly, you simply weren't in the mood to deal with them right now. You had two whole weeks to take your time turning this little room in to your home, and there was no reason you had to get started right away. Clothes, books, teaching materials, personal effects. They could all wait, for now. Placing your bag on the table by the window, you only bothered casting an engorgement charm on one of the trunks, the one containing your essentials, like your toothbrush and pajamas. You would unpack it later, but it would be convenient to have it ready to go you when you returned. Because right now, you wanted to explore. Dumbledore had advised you to reacquaint yourself with the castle, and with its powerful magic fluttering against your own, you wanted to do just that, right now.
Why not start with the dungeons, hm?
You were secretly quite pleased that the walk from your first floor classroom to the dungeons was a short one. Navigating the halls and corridors was an easy task; practically nothing had changed since the last time you were here. The painting leading to the kitchens, the entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room, the stairs down to the dungeons, the Potion's classroom. All right where you remembered. And your feet carried you there automatically, because who were you kidding? It wasn't exactly the castle you wished to reacquaint yourself with.
How many times had you stood here? Staring at this ancient wooden panel, with roiling anticipation twisting up your guts as you waited for its occupant to come out and retrieve you? It was a familiar anxiety, but you hadn't been waiting just three weeks to see him this time. It had been three years. And though you had corresponded regularly… would things be different now? Was he anticipating this reunion as direly as you were? You were no longer a student, an apprentice or a protégée. You were a grown woman now, a colleague, maybe even a friend (definitely at least that, right?). But you were also an idiot, and just like when you were a girl, the first thing you expected to receive was a reprimand. But at least a reprimand was still familiar territory.
Alright. You couldn't stand here twining your fingers forever. You stepped forward with determination, raising your fist to rap against the door-
"Professor Snape hasn't arrived yet, Miss Goode."
You yelped. Sonofabitch you actually squealed as you pulled your hand away from the door, twisting around to find Professor McGonagall standing only a few feet away, looking as severe and unamused as ever. Oh dear god. How long had she been standing there? Just how deep were you into your own thoughts that you hadn't even heard her approach? What a brilliant first impression to make on your new boss, who you already suspected had a very low opinion of you to begin with.
Your heart was pounding in your chest as you clutched your fist against it, trying not to collapse like the last time she had caught you skulking outside of a room you didn't belong in. "Aha… Hello, Professor McGonagall," you greeted with a curt nod, your voice quaking just a bit. But the meaning of her words finally sank in, and you deflated, glancing towards the door before looking back to the older woman. "S-So you… you mean he's not… here…" You words trailed off, and even you couldn't hide the bitter edge of disappointment that crept into your voice.
McGonagall didn't even look remotely sympathetic, uncrossing her arms to instead prop one hand on her hip with an exasperated sigh. "I'm afraid not," she explained, and you cringed at your own longing. This second first impression was just getting worse by the moment. "Aside from those of us who live in the castle year round, you're the first to arrive."
Several parts of that sentence stuck stupidly in your brain like chewing gum, and it took what felt like an embarrassingly long time before you managed to ask, "You live here during the summers?" You never considered that there might be teachers who lived in the castle permanently. You knew Hagrid had a house out on the grounds, but to live inside the castle, all summer long? That seemed rather lonely. You had only been inside of the empty castle for less than an hour, and you were already feeling a profound sense of isolation. And the way the castle's magic became so much more pronounced when it was empty, an ever present something on the edge of your awareness… It was a wonder that no one went full on Jack Torrance up in here.
"I do, along with Professor Dumbledore, Professor Trelawney and Madam Hooch," McGonagall explained briskly, rather forthcoming with the information. It made you feel slightly less stupid for asking. "And Mister Filch and Hagrid, of course." Ah, so it wasn't complete isolation. There were other people here. Filch and Hagrid you could understand. Trelawney, too. The woman was practically a hermit, and you had never once seen her outside of her classroom the whole time you'd been taking her class. But Madam Hooch came as a surprise. You always thought she was something of a freelancer, assuming that her only duties were to teach first years how to fly, and to referee Quidditch games. What reason did she have for staying at Hogwarts year round? And Dumbledore… Was he here? Why couldn't he have come to greet you instead of… well.
You nodded your understanding however, before picking at the other thought that had stuck in your mind. "And when um… When do the other professors usually arrive?" you asked tentatively, glancing over to the Potion's classroom door again. You rather hoped she would say 'any minute now'. But of course, when could you ever be so lucky?
"I believe Albus may have been a little over eager, suggesting you arrive a full two weeks early," McGonagall clarified, making you deflate even further. Her tone was lighthearted, but to you, it sounded ominous. She continued, showing off her own impeccable brow arching skills. "Some professors don't even show up until the day of the feast." You physically blanched at that. Really? You had arrived this early, when some professors wouldn't even show up for another two weeks? You had already waited so long, would you really have to…?
"But then again," McGonagall interjected, and you snapped yourself out of your tumultuous introspection. "They have a great deal less to set up than a first time teacher might." Ah… Well that was true. You did have an entire life and curriculum to unpack. Getting everything set up how you wanted would take time, two weeks sounding about right. It would give you something to do in this achingly lonely castle. But still… you'd hoped… really hoped…
"Care to join me for tea?"
You blinked stupidly, her sudden shift in topic and demeanor catching you off guard. Tea? With McGonagall? That honestly sounded like a nightmare, given how terribly this interaction was already going. But how could you refuse? What excuse could you give her? What else could you possibly have going on? It wasn't like you had anything better to do… Or anyone else to see.
You suddenly felt exhausted, the length of the day finally catching up to you like a shadow, exacerbated by the knowledge that you wouldn't get to see him today. But you put a smile on your face anyway, tired though it may be. "I'd love to," you accepted, and McGonagall wasted no time nodding her assent before turning on her heel and heading up and out of the dungeons.
You followed her dutifully, trying not to feel too put out at this sudden turn of events. Maybe it was better that he hadn't been there. Your over-eagerness must have been pretty apparent to McGonagall, and that kind of desperation probably wasn't cute. At least this diversion would give you the opportunity to slow your ass down before you went and threw yourself at him like a harlequin romance. Though there was still no guarantee that wouldn't happen…
You hadn't really been paying attention to where you were being lead, but when you found yourself being welcomed into McGonagall's study, it came with the uncomfortable realization that it was almost directly across from your classroom. Outstanding. Exactly what you always wanted.
The office was a lot warmer than you remember it being as a student. More welcoming at least, given the fact that you could only ever remember being in this room once, with a throbbing hand and a Slytherin boy groaning pathetically in one of the maroon wing backed chairs. The chairs were still there, though they were situated in front of a fireplace, instead of standing before the walnut desk. The room was sparse, not much in the ways of personal affects, but one thing you did notice was the burnished gold House Cup, gleaming on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Slytherin had won the House Cup nearly every single year you had attended Hogwarts, but it was only recently that Gryffindor had started making a comeback. Those had been some colorfully worded letters. You wondered who had the Quidditch Cup at the moment…
You jumped with a gasp as the office door clanged shut, and McGonagall didn't even spare you a glance as she strode past you toward her desk, the barest hint of smug satisfaction tugging at her thin lips. She was enjoying this entirely too much, but frankly, you were sort of inclined to just let her. You weren't going to let her intimidate you, but if she felt the need to push your buttons as some form of petty revenge for all of the grief you put her through as a student, you could deal with it. You watched as she snapped her fingers, and a tea tray clattered to her desk at the same time a fire burst to life in the hearth. Taking your cue, you walked cautiously over to the fireplace, slowly taking a seat as you watched McGonagall pour tea into two garnet and gold tea cups.
"How do you take your tea?" McGonagall asked cordially, though the stern lines of her face gave you the impression that this was a very important question. As if your entire relationship with this woman hung on to how you took your bloody tea. And maybe it did. But. You wouldn't be intimidated. Goddamn it.
You shrugged a shoulder and offered another smile, one you hoped was entirely casual and not passive aggressive at all. "I'll… have it however you're having it," you answered, as the truth was you didn't really care how you took your tea. Plain? Cool. Milk? Great! Sugar? Why not. It was one of many types of hot caffeinated brown water that you enjoyed drinking, and it really didn't matter to you one way or another.
McGonagall raised both of her eyebrows, looking you over appraisingly, and there was a tense beat of silence where you feared that had been the wrong answer. But after a moments pause, McGonagall bent over, opening one of her desk drawers and rummaging around for a moment, before straightening up with what was unmistakably a bottle of brandy. Your own eyebrows flew up your forehead, watching in silent awe as she unscrewed the cap, splashing a little bit of the amber spirits into each cup. She then placed the bottle onto the tea tray before using her wand to levitate the whole thing to the small coffee table set between the two chairs.
"I didn't just ask you to join me out of the kindness of my heart," McGonagall stated, voice clipped as she settled herself into the chair opposite yours before taking up a cup. She watched you expectantly for a few moments, before you got the hint and did the same, eyes never leaving hers. "As Deputy Headmistress, I'm obligated to give you the same speech that I gave Severus Snape when he started teaching here at the ripe old age of twenty one." You glanced away at that, cheeks tinting as you peered down into your tea cup, inhaling the heady aroma of black tea and brandy. Ah, was that part of the problem as well? Your age? Did she think you were just as impulsive and irresponsible as you had been as a student? If she was already biased against you-
"And the same speech that Albus Dumbledore gave me when I started teaching here at the same age."
You lifted your head at that, your lips parting in what you hoped wasn't a completely stupid expression of bafflement. McGonagall was sipping her tea, looking as prim and severe as she ever had, her dark hair now steaked with silver, the lines on her face doing nothing to detract from her elegance. And you couldn't help but wonder if she'd been in the same position you were in now. Faced down by a former professor, feeling small and inadequate, wondering if any of this had been a good idea.
But McGonagall's face had softened, ever so slightly, as she settled her cup back onto its saucer on her lap and leaned against the arm of her chair towards you, to make sure her words were clear. "I'm not your teacher anymore," she stated quite plainly. "Nor are you my student. However," she straightened up a little, expression shifting to one of warning. "I am the one who signs your paycheck. So do keep that in mind."
You couldn't keep yourself from smiling at that. It wasn't so much of a threat as just a note of caution, and you nodded your head in understanding. You knew where your position was on the food chain. But at least she was acknowledging that you were technically equals now. You wondered if she would uphold that end of the arrangement over the course of this conversation.
You finally took a sip of your tea, the burn of brandy warming your insides as you leaned back against your seat. "I'm happy to be getting a paycheck at all," you admitted ruefully, the barest hint of bitterness creeping in behind your smile. And McGonagall seemed to pick up on it right away, because her face fell even further, nearing something like pity.
"Indeed," she breathed with a heavy sigh, shaking her head in disappointment which, for once, was not actually directed towards you. "I can guarantee you that you will be living and working in a considerably more… professional setting, than your last place of employment turned out to be." She turned to face you again, genuine remorse gracing her expression as she looked you in the eye. It made your breath catch to be on the receiving end of such a look from a woman you thought didn't care very much for you at all. "I am sorry for what happened with Damocles Belby, Miss Goode. That's no way for a young witch to be treated when entering the world afresh."
Oh… that was… a really nice thing to say. Her words were so sincere, so earnest. McGonagall appeared genuinely repulsed by the actions that had been perpetrated against you, and probably dozens of other women like you, who had been taken advantage of in one way or another by no fault of their own besides ignorance. You felt an unfamiliar swell of affection for this woman, something you were quite sure you'd never felt before.
"Thank you, Professor," you intoned honestly, hoping that your own sincerity was evident in your face. And it appeared to be satisfactory, as the older woman gave a nod of acknowledgment before returning her attention to her tea. You did the same, taking another warming sip.
"Now, I'm sure I've no need to remind you that you are a professor at Hogwarts, and we expect you to act appropriately," McGonagall began, right back to business in terms of… well. Giving you the business. You set down your tea cup, showing that she had your full attention. But you couldn't help but wonder how Severus had felt when he'd received this same talking to. McGonagall's expression was one of great significance as she explained, "You are to watch after your students, respect your colleagues, and though you may be an adult, I would still consider you a very young adult. You are burdened with the freedom to do as you please, but do remember there will always be consequences for your actions, even as a professor." There was a pause where you watched as her eyes raked over your appearance, and she made no effort to hide it either. "Do try to maintain a sense of modesty and decorum?"
Your entire existence prickled at her implication. Goddamn it. You looked away, abashed as you shrugged your robes up over your freckle spotted shoulders from where they had fallen down around your elbows. Alright, so there was a dress code. Fine. Whatever. If both Filch and McGonagall were going to call you out, you would make an effort to abide. But they didn't have to be quite so pretentious. "Yes, ma'am," you assured her, and you really hoped that would be the end of it.
And it appeared that it was, as McGonagall nodded her approval before placing her tea back onto the table. "Now, I have the sneaking suspicion that when Albus hired you, he didn't provide you with any of the pertinent paperwork?" she asked, rising from her seat and making her way over to her desk.
You were a little surprised to hear her speak of the Headmaster with such a resentful tone, but you imagined they'd been working together for such a long time… one became accustomed to the others idiosyncrasies. "He did send me a contract to sign-" you began to explain, but McGonagall waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head.
"That was just your terms of employment," she clarified, searching through yet another one of her desk drawers before coming up with a few slips of parchment and making her way back to you. "What I'm speaking of would be closer to… a code of conduct." She stopped in front of you, holding out one of the parchments, and you took the paper with both hands, internally cringing at the amount of fine print. "For example, favoritism will not be tolerated. That is to say, don't give Hufflepuff, or Slytherin for that matter, more points than you do any other house. We will be watching who is doling out what." You bristled again (what was she inferring with that?) but nodded readily. It made sense, though you wondered how well enforced it actually was. You had received a rather strongly worded note from Severus when Dumbledore had handed out a resounding 170 points to Gryffindor at the last minute in '92, causing Slytherin to lose the house cup for the first time in six years.
McGonagall had settled back into her chair, leaning against her arm rest to get your attention back from the paper in your hands. "Speaking of house points, you were a student here once. I trust you to use proper judgement on what deserves praise, and what deserves punishment." You winced. She was doing it again. That whole 'reminding you of how much she disapproved of you and your actions as a student' thing. But you kept your mouth shut as she continued, with a touch less severity in her voice, "Though if you're unsure, report the particular student to their Head of House to assess the situation."
You sighed through your nose, grateful for the return of her businesslike tone, as well as the assurance that you could pass off that responsibility should you ever feel the need. You looked back down to the paper, the Code of Conduct as she'd called it, skimming over the many little blocks of text that were staring back at you. "Yes, ma'am," you agreed again somberly, hoping that your dedication was evident.
"Take your time looking over that," McGonagall gestured towards the paper in your hands, pointing down towards the empty line on the bottom. "Sign it and return it to me before term starts. I know it's a lot of bureaucracy, but its standard procedure here." A tight smile returned to your face. At least she was willing to acknowledge that this seemed a little excessive. But on the other hand, you had every intention of reading the entire paper before handing it back in. You honestly didn't want to fuck all of this up.
"Now, did Albus already send you your class schedule?" McGonagall asked, looking over the other sheet of parchment in her hands, and you glanced at it at well, seeing that it was nearly an exact copy of what you already had. You were happy not to have to throw Dumbledore under the bus this time.
"Yes he did," you confirmed cheerfully. "I've got my lesson plans and curriculum ready to go." You were quite proud of it, really, and you hoped that your preparedness might give McGonagall a little extra confidence in you. You had planned out five different programs for the course, one for each of the five different years of students you would be teaching. You also hoped that it would be comprehensive enough for the students who had already started the class with Burbage or Quirrell to be able to continue comfortably, and that there wouldn't be much overlap in curriculums.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow at your apparent pride in yourself, and allowed herself the faintest smile at it. "Good," she said curtly, and goddamn it almost sounded like praise to you. You thought that was worth a gold star. But then she tossed you a curve ball. "How about your rounds schedule?"
You blinked, perhaps quite stupidly as your confidence fell away. "My…?"
But McGonagall was rolling her eyes before you could say any more. "For Merlin's sake, Albus…" She huffed, shuffling through some of the parchment in her hands, before coming up with a paper containing a large chart. "Obviously, aside from just being a teacher, you have other duties as well, specifically in the vein of keeping Hogwarts and its students safe." She handed you the parchment, and you looked it over carefully in the light from the fire. The chart was actually more of a calendar, with each column being a month of the school year, and the rows under it containing important dates for each month. Quidditch matches, staff meetings, school holidays. It was personally tailored to you, to include your exam schedule, as well as a ridged regimen of when you were supposed to walk rounds. And you couldn't help but notice that the chart also contained the dates for the full moon.
"You've got rounds duty on the first floor and the dungeons every Tuesday and Thursday, from ten o'clock to midnight, as well as every other weekend. You were a Hufflepuff, so we simply assumed you were well acquainted with the lower levels of the castle." McGonagall was all business again, and you nodded along silently as she described your duties. This however, was followed by a heavy silence that forced you to lift your head, where you found a look of gravest import on her face. "These rounds are particularly imperative right now, given the current… climate surrounding the school. I assume you're abreast of the Sirius Black situation?"
Oh. You actually shivered a little, remembering that gaunt, sunken face on the television, and then again as it laughed and raged in the Prophet. You never considered yourself an easily frightened person; you'd been watching horror movies, perhaps ill-advisedly, since you were five. But it was much different when the killer was a real honest to god threat that could also do magic.
"Just what they've been reporting, both in the magical and muggle news," you replied. "That he's a dangerous convict who escaped from Azkaban." That was awfully redundant to say, since it seemed that everyone knew at least that much. However, you felt like McGonagall knew more than the collective 'everyone'. And that was kind of scary. "Is… Is there reason to think he may be coming here?"
McGonagall's face fell, her turn to sigh heavily though her nose. "Albus seems to think so, as does the Ministry of Magic," she began, reaching not for the tea pot, but for the bottle of brandy, unscrewing the lid and topping off both of your cups. "While Hogwarts is one of the safest and most secure places on the planet… so is Azkaban prison. If he could break out of there, there is sufficient evidence to suggest he could break in to here. And though no one has shared this evidence with me, I do have my suspicions." Disregarding all pretense of sophistication, she took a very long, thoughtful nip from her cup, and you were actually sort of impressed.
Gasping from the burn, she pressed on, clearly needing the alcohol to strengthen her resolve for her next revelation. "Because of all this, the Ministry has been kind enough to send us a battalion of Dementors to guard the castle walls." Oh. Jesus Christ. You could understand now, why she was so keen to throw back the brandy. You lifted your own cup and took a heavy swig. "Albus isn't happy about it, and neither am I. But there isn't much he can do at this point." Swirling around the dregs of her cup, she nodded towards the schedule in your hand. "There will be a strict curfew in effect when term begins, for students and teachers alike. Be back on the grounds before midnight, or you may find yourself locked out of the castle entirely."
With Dementors posted around the castle, you didn't feel terribly inclined to be leaving the grounds anyway. Swallowing back the entirety of your own cup, you set down the porcelain with a wince before nodding gravely. "I don't think that will be an issue," you admitted, folding up both your calendar and the code of conduct and slipping them into the pocket of your robe. You shuddered again just thinking about possibly having to face one of those… things. You didn't know much about them if you were being honest, but you knew enough. The Prophet had no issue constantly going into detail of the effects of the Azkaban guards.
"And finally… well, this situation is quite unique to you." Glancing up to McGonagall, you found she had drained her cup as well, but was making no move to refill it this time. She had a curious sort of look on her face, a cross between apprehension and uncertainty. If you held your breath any longer you were going to pass out. "Albus of course told you about Remus Lupin, our new Defense professor."
Oh, thank god. You breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. "Yes, he did," you replied, though you were still a bit hesitant yourself, unsure of the reason for McGonagall's own trepidation.
McGonagall nodded, regaining a little more of control over herself at your answer. "The entirety of the staff knows of his condition, now," she explained, and you were honestly quite glad to hear it. Keeping that sort of thing a secret from the staff would have been… irresponsible, honestly. "Albus had to pull a lot of strings and make a lot of promises, but frankly, not everyone is pleased with his decision. You being here is actually what convinced many of them to go along with it."
Your eyebrows almost flew off of your face for how quickly they shot up your forehead. Excuse you? You had been a bargaining chip? That… was actually pretty distressing. Dumbledore had said he'd hired you because you came highly recommended for the position. Was that really the case? Or did he have a different agenda…?
"Professor Snape has been tasked with brewing the potion itself," McGonagall began, leaning forward a little to catch your eye, as they'd drifted away with the sudden influx of self-doubt. "However, Albus has delegated the responsibility of looking after Professor Lupin before, during, and after his transformations, to you. Given that you have such extensive experience, you've been trusted with casting the appropriate charms to keep him isolated, as well as tending to him after he's turned back. Madam Pomphrey will be available to help, of course, but she's limited in her experience with werewolves."
That look of uncertain apprehension had returned to McGonagall's face, as if she were reluctantly delivering some very bad news. And she sort of was. This hadn't exactly been a part of your job description when you'd been hired. It didn't even sound like you were being given a choice in this matter. Once again you found yourself fretting, over whether or not you had been hired based on your own merit, or if you had been brought on purely to assure the hiring of another professor, who taught a much more important subject than your own. The employment of a disenfranchised werewolf hinged on whether or not you complied with these demands.
As if there was ever a chance you wouldn't.
"It shouldn't be a problem," you said finally, forcing some confidence back into your voice, perhaps with the aid of some of that liquid courage. "I've been doing this for three years now. The Wolfsbane Potion greatly reduces the vast majority of symptoms and injuries associated with transformation. But as you said, it's important to keep Hogwarts and its students safe." You offered another smile, not one of resignation, but rather one of genuine gratitude. Because you were grateful for this job. And you were grateful that Dumbledore had offered the same opportunity to someone like Remus Lupin. "I'm happy to help in any way I can."
McGonagall was watching you shrewdly now, her face a mask of stony contemplation. There was an uncomfortably long beat of silence, one which left you wondering if you had perhaps said the wrong thing by agreeing to do as you were told. Like maybe she was hoping you would decline, and they'd have to look elsewhere for their Defense professor. As she sharply drew breath to speak, you felt your stomach drop.
"You know, I had my reservations about this whole arrangement," she admitted, and you felt that familiar anxiety squirming up your back. "If taking Lupin on was a good idea… If taking you on was a good idea." That stung, and you must have visibly winced as the older woman arched one of her fine dark brows in response. "I'm just being frank with you, Miss Goode. I don't think it's a secret that I wasn't terribly impressed by you or your antics as a student. However," she cut you off just as you'd opened your mouth to defend yourself. Just when you thought you'd gained some traction with her, she was bringing up your past. But her face had softened slightly, and you held your tongue, and your breath, in anticipation. "I think now, that I may have been a little hard on you, back then. But you've certainly come into your own since you left my classroom. I've no place to judge any headstrong young woman for defending herself in this world."
You snapped your mouth shut with a soft click. You hadn't really been expecting that. Like, at all. You felt that newfound affection for her again, and you couldn't help but smile a little. So maybe you had gained some more even footing with her. It wasn't much, but you would take what you could get, and use it to build a more stable foundation. You'd cultivated friendships with people who had much stronger walls. "Thank you, Professor," you said again, for the second time that night. And you meant it just as sincerely as you had the first time. Gaining any sort of respect from the woman felt like climbing a mountain. It was no small feat.
This time, McGonagall actually offered you a smile back. It was thin, and tight lipped, but it didn't appear forced or disingenuous. She huffed a little, the barest hint of a laugh, as she dropped her head and reached for the brandy bottle one more time. "I suppose you should call me Minerva now. Since we're finally on the same-"
There was a loud crack, and for a moment you though that McGonagall had dropped the bottle onto the stone floor. You'd nearly jumped out of your skin, but the other woman was looking indifferently towards the fireplace. You followed her line of sight, and jumped again when you saw a young, flour sack clad house elf standing on the hearth, her body bowed low and her piggy little nose nearly brushing the floor.
"Professor McGonagall, sir! I mean, ma'am!" the house elf squeaked, her voice incredibly high pitched and girlish, even for a house elf. You stifled a giggle at the slip up, hiding your smile behind your hand.
"Yes, Flopsy, what is it," McGonagall sighed, placing the brandy bottle back on to the tea tray. But Flopsy wasn't paying attention. She'd turned her violet eyes up towards you, a light of recognition sparking in them. And you found you recognized her too. She was one of the house elves you'd convinced to allow you to use the kitchens for yourself back when you were a girl. She was raising a small hand to wave at you shyly, and you were about to return the gesture, when McGonagall cut in sternly, "Flopsy."
The house elf straightened up like a soldier. You almost thought she was about to salute. "Professor Snape has arrived, ma'am! Just arrived on the grounds! Should be in the Entrance Hall any minute, now, si-ma'am!"
Your heart gave a giant leap in your chest at the squeakily delivered message, and you were quite thankful that Minerva hadn't refilled your cup. Because you were certain you would have dropped it to the floor at that very moment. Oh god, oh god.
McGonagall- no, Minerva, had arched a brow in your direction, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. "Thank you very much, Flopsy," she dismissed the elf, and after Flopsy had finally managed a small wave to you, she disappeared with another crack, leaving the two of you alone in the study once again. You looked over to her, certain there was terror in your eyes as her smirk widened into a smug smile. "I suppose we ought to go and greet him," she suggested, and rose from her chair.
Oh. Okay. So this was happening. Finally happening. Your heart had started a wild staccato against your rib cage as you stood to follow, and you nearly swooned as the effects of the alcohol and your sudden dread rushed over you. You felt lightheaded. You felt like you were going to piss your jeans. You felt like you might completely lose your mind in the short distance from Minerva's office to the Entrance Hall because you were finally going to see him again.
As you followed behind the other woman, there was a sudden flair of hot anger as you remembered her telling you that some professors didn't even show up until the welcoming feast. Had that been another ruse to ruffle your feathers? Because it sure had worked. You tugged your robes back off of your shoulders and let them pool around your elbows in retaliation.
The main doors were just clanging shut as you and Minerva reached the Entrance Hall. You felt your heart give another fierce leap in your chest as you laid eyes on him, on the real him, for the first time in three years. A memory in a scrying bowl was nothing like seeing the real thing, and the rush of love (god, yes, it was love) that suddenly consumed you was entirely overwhelming. You held yourself back in the archway as Minerva pressed on, approaching the Potions Master who had just arrived through the doors, and was about to walk up the main staircase before McGonagall's footsteps alerted him that he was not alone.
"Severus. Have a relaxing summer?" Minerva asked cordially, extending a hand out for his. He took it easily, but didn't answer the question. He didn't even speak. He merely arched a brow (you felt fireworks burst behind your eyes) in a perfect deadpan. Minerva shrugged her shoulders as she released his hand with an exasperated sigh. "Don't even know why I keep asking you that." She'd taken a step back from him, and it was this movement that drew his attention towards the archway, and towards you. You felt electricity in that coal black gaze, but you also felt trepidation. You were on the verge of fainting, but you had no idea what he was feeling. His face betrayed nothing. A smooth stone mask, as it always had been.
Except for the fact that he wasn't looking away.
"You're rather early," Minerva commented, perhaps a little louder than necessary, but Severus' gaze didn't budge from yours. "Pomona and Filius won't be arriving until tomorrow. Albus isn't even back yet."
It was only at the mention of Dumbledore that Severus managed to pull his eyes away from you. Turning back to Minerva, he looked up towards the staircase he'd been about to head up, before sighing and taking a step away from them. "Cokeworth in summertime isn't exactly idyllic," he explained dully, before glancing towards you again. "I saw no reason to delay my arrival."
Minerva looked over her shoulder at you too, and you finally felt like maybe you could walk again. You toddled your way into the Entrance Hall as Minerva continued on, her voice shifting to a more professional tone. "Well, welcome back all the same. We'll have a staff meeting tomorrow at noon, or once the other House Heads have arrived, I suppose. You're welcome to join us, Professor Goode." You jumped a little as you finally came to a halt beside her, mostly surprised to be addressed in such a way. But she smiled to you, almost kindly, though there was still a gleam of disapproval in her eyes. Was it the shoulders? "Though it will mostly be administrative business."
Time to talk like a human being and not just immediately throw up. Come on Gwen, you can do this. "I think I'm having tea with Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris tomorrow afternoon," you managed to say, your voice barely even squeaking at all, though it had gone a bit breathy. You felt like your smile was quivering, like it was trying to pull into a frown, like you were also on the verge of bursting into tears by sheer nerves alone. "But thank you all the same."
Minerva glanced between the two of you, and you dreaded that eyebrow that was creeping up her forehead. "Well then. It's gotten rather late. I think I'll be retiring now. Severus, you didn't happen to see Rolanda out in the Quidditch pitch on your way in, did you?" You blinked at this, as it struck you as rather an odd question. Had Madam Hooch been here the whole time?
"I must confess I hadn't been looking out that way," he apologized, pulling his eyes away from you a second time. They kept drifting back in your direction.
Minerva sighed; whether she was fed up with the both of you, or with Madam Hooch, you weren't quite sure. "Of course you hadn't. Very well then. I'll see the two of you tomorrow. Severus. Gwendolyn." She nodded to you both in turn, before departing for the doors of the Entrance Hall, where you suspected she was going to go and retrieve Madam Hooch from the pitch. That was… interesting. And you smiled a little at the connotations.
You jumped slightly as you saw the large door swing open, and you quickly stepped towards them, calling out, "Thank you for the tea, Minerva!" You weren't sure if she had heard you, or if she was ignoring you, but the doors were clanging shut again. And you were left in the quiet Entrance Hall. With…
"It sounds like you've become a rather popular tea party guest."
You swiveled around to face him, and as was so often the case, you were struck with the dueling desire to laugh and cry at the same time. So of course, you laughed, covering your face with both of your hands as your mirth and joy and fear spilled out of you in gasping giggles. He waited patiently as you managed to get control of yourself, and you were wiping your eyes when you finally felt coherent enough to answer.
"To be fair, Minerva prefers just a little tea in her brandy, while Mr. Filch was in fact very cordial in inviting me." Severus seemed to be fighting back his own smile now, though he did allow the smallest smirk to grace his features. You'd missed that. You'd missed every fucking thing about him. His hair was shorter now, but you knew that from the memory he'd sent you. He might have put on a little weight too, which wasn't at all a bad thing because he'd been rail thin the entire time you'd known him. You thought perhaps that you must have gotten a little taller, as you no longer had to look up quite so high to see his face. Though that could have been the boots you had on. The circles under his eyes might have been a little darker, and the lines in his face might have been a little deeper. But otherwise… he was exactly the same.
You were staring. He was staring back. The Entrance Hall had fallen silent, but for the flicker of the torches, the murmur of the paintings, and of course, that low, baseline hum of magic that was pulsing against you with renewed vigor. After a long beat of just… looking at each other, Severus dropped his gaze away from your face to rest between you, before reaching his hand out towards you. Your breath stuttered as long, delicate fingers brushed against your sternum through the knit shirt you wore, and as you peered down, you saw that he held the bottle of Phoenix Tears that hung around your neck.
You shuddered, your breath coming out in a ragged exhale as you reached up your hands to join his. Sliding your warm palms against his cool skin, you pressed his hand to your chest, hoping he could feel your heart pounding beneath. "I've missed you so much," you whispered, your head bowed, because it was all you could manage without your voice cracking. You didn't want to disrupt the pulse of magic around you. "I have so much I want to tell you… But I'll need considerably more alcohol in my system for that." You laughed bitterly, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye.
You watched as he raised his other hand, felt his palm press against your cheek, his thumb brush away the stray tear. You laughed again, at this near mirror image of how you had left each other, and you disentwined one of your hands as you raised your head, molding your fingers against his wrist as you held his hand against your face. "Do you want to go to the Hog's Head with me? The curfew isn't in effect until term starts, right?" You still felt breathless, more than ever as you looked up into his eyes, and you wondered if he would peek inside. If he wanted to know what you were thinking just as desperately as you wanted to know the same.
He nodded once, you suspected in response to both of your questions, before finally slipping his hands through yours. "Give me… fifteen minutes?" he asked, glancing towards the entrance to the dungeons, and you smiled widely again, wiping your eyes as you nodded.
"I'll be here."