Chapter 3: A Word In Rage

Irene found that teaching Arithmancy was as difficult as studying it. Professor Vector had laid excellent groundwork and now, she had to keep up this high standard. In the older years, where students had already grasped the basics, where students were fascinated by the subtle art of their studies, teaching was mostly fun. The class she dreaded the most were the third years. Would she be able to explain the complex principles, would she be able to rouse an interest in the subject, to help them understand what, strictly speaking, could not be comprehensively understood at all?

Thursday afternoon arrived quickly and she found herself in her classroom on the fourth floor of the west wing surrounded by thirteen years olds that stared at the posters, theorems and equations she had put on the walls with equal parts of fascination and apprehension. It was a small class, thirteen students from all four Houses, all of them looking for different things in Arithmancy, it seemed.

There were the three Gryffindor girls, Johnson, Spinnet and Gage, a lonely Hufflepuff who joined Gage at her desk, five Ravenclaws and four Slytherin students, all staring at her with fascination as she gave a quick introduction into the subject.

"Arithmancy," she started, flicking her wand to make the word appear on the board. "Is an incredibly complex and difficult branch of magic. Do you know its central theory?"

Several hands rose. Whom to choose? They all knew the answer, yet she could only award house points to the one she picked. Irene had always hated partial teachers, yet now, standing on the other side of the desk, she found it was difficult to be entirely impartial, faced with six raised hands from all four houses. She decided on the Hufflepuff girl for purely pragmatic reasons: There had been precious few diamonds in their hourglass that morning.

"Yes, Miss Abbott?"

"According to the lore of Pythagoras, the known world can be broken apart and reduced to numbers. As a part of the known world, magic is also a combination of numbers."

"You are certainly right about Pythagoras being one of the most prominent heads of Arithmancy theory, so take five points for your House. Yet the essence of our studies is not to see the world as a mere combination of numbers but rather…"

She left the sentence hanging in the air, waiting for someone else to finish it for her.

"Yes, Mr Finch?"

"I think Arithmancy's more like exploring theoretical possibilities. It's not really categorising the world because that is just impossible, but it's some sort of connection between what we see and what we…feel?"

He looked slightly abashed.

"You have already studied the textbook, then, Mr Finch?" she smiled at him.

He nervously fidgeted with his copy of "A World of Secrets – A Beginner's Guide to Numerology". "Yes, ma'am."

"Well-done. Take ten points for Slytherin."

"You are both correct, as it is. While it is true that everything that meets the eye can be expressed as a combination of numbers – both analytically and algebraically – the known world consists of far more than physicality. Advanced Arithmancy, an extension of numerology, seeks to establish a connection between those realms. Do you know other disciplines Arithmancy is connected to?"

"Numerology, gematria and isopsephy, and in general to geometry, algebra, analysis and stochastics."

"Indeed, Miss Fawcett. Take five points."

"Advanced Arithmancy links all these disciplines and more, yet we will start with basic numerology and isopsephy. Can you explain briefly what is understood by the latter?"

This time, Spinnet answered: "Relating letters with numbers. Like, numbering the letters of the alphabet."

"That is one known application, yes. Very good. This – "

Irene pointed her wand at the board, where the letters of Arithmancy turned into symbols, numbers, patterns, until nothing was left of the original word. At least not to the unschooled eye. The class seemed fascinated by a spiral that seemed to turn around its centre again and again.

"is a combination of different isopsephy methods. Before we start that complex topic, however, we need to learn more about the magical properties of numbers. On page four, you will find an extensive table that equates all numbers up to 100 and subsequent sums and products with a certain meaning. Study the table on your own and look for potential patterns.. Then discuss these with a partner. You have –" She waved her wand again, "fifteen minutes."

Time flew and by the time the lesson ended, each student seemed to have grasped the underlying concept.

"For homework," Irene said, pointing her wand at the board one last time and the assignment appeared. "You will use the studied principles on your birthdate. If applied correctly, the results of your analysis should yield enough information for a two-to-three feet long essay."

Students groaned.

"You cannot hope to succeed in this class if you are unwilling to actually apply the theory we study in class in your homework. Today, switches are still possible. If you consider an analysis and subsequent explanation of three feet at the most too much of a workload, I suggest you inquire after different fields of study."

Some of the students looked annoyed by her explanation, yet it was the most truthful she could give. She wanted to be a good teacher. She wanted to be liked. But she was here to teach them, so that she would do.

~o~

October came, golden but chilly, and by then, Irene had gotten used to her strange new life. She had a quiet routine: Teaching Mondays to Fridays, then leaving school for the weekend to meet friends or family. But those meetings grew scarcer as her workload increased. Spending a whole evening talking over drinks or food became impossible with intensifying lesson planning, time-consuming staff meetings and long essays piling up on her desk. And Irene found she didn't mind. She kept in touch with her parents and sisters, who often Floo'd her, and every now and then, some friends would meet her in Hogsmeade or in Diagon Alley. Irene was content. Yes, she would have liked some closer friends among the teaching staff but there was no way to rush these matters. She got on well with most of the other teachers. Snape, of course, was just as she remembered him from their shared Potions lessons, Quirrell was plain weird since he'd come back from the continent and Trelawney was half mad, but apart from that, she liked her colleagues, especially Charity and Aurora. And they seemed to like her, too. On a rainy Saturday afternoon, right after the staff meeting, Charity approached her.

"We thought of going into the village after dinner for drinks, Aurora and I." Charity pushed a loose curl back into her messy bun. "Bathsheda might come as well, depending on the quality of her fourth years' homework," she smiled. "And Hagrid wanted to tag along. On Saturdays, witching hour starts at eleven, so there's no point going earlier, really. Do you want to come as well? We'd love to get to know you."

Her heart lightened a little. "Yeah, sure," she smiled. "Thanks for asking, I'd love to go as well."

"Great." Charity beamed at her, then her eyes darted over the few remaining teachers. "Quirinus, Severus?" she asked.

Quirrell was asked for politeness's sake, and so was Snape, she thought, but to her surprise, the latter looked up from the newspaper he was reading and gave Charity a thoughtful look. "Why not." He jerked his head in some sort of nod before redirecting his attention to a long article.

Quirrell stuttered his refusal, then left as if they were hunting him with pitchforks.

Aurora's dark eyes followed him with more than a hint of amusement.

"Odd bird," she said, more to herself than to anyone in particular. Charity nudged her in the side in a gentle reprimand.

"So, table for six." She cleared her throat and gave Aurora a pointed look. "Can you let Rosmerta know, dear?"

The astronomy witch gave her a rare bright smile. "I'll send an owl. See you later?"

There was an intensity in the look that passed between them that Irene hadn't noticed before.

"See you later," Charity replied in an uncharacteristically low voice, her blue eyes fixed on Aurora's brown ones. A second later, the other witch had turned on her heel without another look, leaving Charity behind.

"It's going to be so much fun," she said when she noticed Irene's curious glance. "Our first proper evening out and we've already been back at school for over a month."

"It's been a busy month," Irene replied, smiling. "So there's a lot to catch up on."

"Brilliant. We meet at eleven in the Entrance Hall. Don't be late, I'm thirsty." She winked at her before sweeping out of the staffroom as well.

Snape snorted, eyes fixed on the paper rather too statically. He'd been listening to their conversation and considering that he had not even flipped the page of his paper yet, he had been doing so rather intently, perhaps only to be able to mock her now.

"What?" she asked, unable not to respond to his challenge.

"Oh, nothing at all," he said silkily as always, "I do hope Charity knows what she's doing."

"I see," she put her hands on her hips, a well-practised gesture she had adopted as a teenager when the people around her had grown taller and taller but she hadn't. "Because I'm always late. Very funny."

He abandoned his pretence, putting the papers aside with an abrupt movement.

"Not funny at all, actually. Perhaps you are used to people waiting for you patiently and acquiescently but I doubt this is your usual crowd. The teachers of Hogwarts tend to value their time, given they have so little of it."

Why did he have to come along at all if he was in such a foul mood? It was not like anyone would miss him.

"I loathe to take up any more of yours, Snape. I'll see you tonight."

She turned on her heel.

"It must be difficult for you to be criticised," he said softly. It was a bone he was throwing her, she knew, something to entice her to turn back around and allow him to vent his anger on her. Irene knew that nothing good would come out of giving in. That she would be angry with him, herself, and then him again. She took another step towards the door, though considerably more slowly.

"You are not used to the concept, I recall." His voice slid over the words like a summer breeze.

Another step. She could tell him that just because Slughorn had liked her more, that didn't mean that her grades had been unfair. That she was good at Potions and that, if he had ever raised his stupid, greasy head in class, he might have witnessed her skill first hand.

Instead, she took another step.

"Most of us outgrow our childish weaknesses as we mature. I am confident you will, too, at some point."

Irene had her hand on the doorknob, ready to turn it.

"Aurora might be inclined to explain to you that our world does not, in fact, revolve around you."

Something inside her snapped at the supple smugness in his voice. She wheeled around and knew that her face was revealing too much of her outrage, that once again, she had allowed him to play with her as if she was a chess piece, making just the move he had planned for her. It only enraged her more to see the unpleasant smirk on his face and she was desperate to wipe it away.

"I thank you for your concern, Snape, but it is quite unnecessary. Nor do I need advice from you on outgrowing old habits, although of course I admit you are singularly suited to the task given your former loyalties."

The sentence hit like a whip. For the briefest of moments, regret flickered over his face, painful as an arrow to her chest. Then, cold anger replaced the sentiment, settling into every line of his hard face.

"You have no idea what you are talking about," he snarled in a voice she hadn't heard before, darker and deeper and laced with raw pain. It was this pain that snapped her out of her angry trance.

"I –" she started, ready to apologise for her remark, understanding only now the impact of her words. It had been a low shot, unfair and terrible, and she had quite evidently awoken something inside him.

"I'm sorry, I am truly, I didn't think –"

But Snape's face had turned a nasty shade of pink. He swept past her with a cold look full of hatred. "Then I suggest you start doing so."

He slammed the door shut behind him.

She was a terrible person. It was the one thing she had sworn never to bring up. He had changed, quite evidently. He had switched sides once he'd recognised the error of his ways, if he'd ever truly supported You-Know-Who. Snape had been a withdrawn boy and friends with some of those Slytherins that had enjoyed bullying Muggleborns but she had never seen him joining them. She had barely seen him outside of class, as it was. He had joined the Death Eaters after his mother's death, just a few months out of school. How long he had been with them, truly with them, only he knew, and probably Dumbledore. And that was not her business at all anyway.

Irene knew she had to apologise to him. She had been unfair and out of line and it had been a cruel thing to say, no matter how much he taunted her.

She waited for him in the Entrance Hall, early for the first time in her life, but he turned up only when Aurora and Chastity were just descending the final flight of stairs and apart from a seething glance at her, her remark seemed to have had no effect on him.

"Bathsheda's not coming," Charity called down. "It won't be a good Monday for her fourth years, I fear."

They met Hagrid on the way to Hogsmeade and Irene seized the opportunity to distract herself from the guilt that sat heavy on her chest. Hagrid, always friendly, always chummy, was almost loud enough to drown out her doubts and chiding thoughts as they made their way to the Three Broomsticks.

Once there, however, she couldn't escape her conscience. Although she had chosen the seat that was farthest away from Snape's, her gaze seemed to be drawn to him for she found herself looking at his sharp, unappealing features far more often than she had in the month she'd been at Hogwarts.

Snape ignored her apart from an occasional remark meant to hurt. Yet, whenever he looked at her, or past her rather, for he didn't meet her eyes, it seemed to her that the temperature dropped by a few degrees and a sort of hatred radiated off of him.

The others did not seem to notice the frostiness between them and their attentiveness waned with every round of firewhiskey Rosmerta brought. Once again, Irene thought she served Snape with special care but there was the chance she was only imagining it, especially with her attention so focused on Snape. The firewhiskey didn't seem to do anything for his mood either and after two shots, he nursed his third for at least three rounds, to the dismay of Charity who tried to force another one on him and Irene. With her thoughts illuminated by the third firewhiskey, she decided that the walk back to the castle would provide her with the opportunity for the necessary apology. Once she had made this decision, she waited impatiently for the end of the evening, holding on to her fourth glass determinedly, no matter how much Charity tried to annoy her into having a fifth.

Snape, quite like her, remained stoney-faced for most of the evening. It seemed to her, who watched him almost shamelessly, that he did rather like Aurora. She, in turn, also seemed to like him. Despite his occasional remark to her, Snape was largely silent, rarely joining in the conversation that turned to more and more private topics as the evening progressed.

They seemed to be the only two people in the whole bar who weren't having a good time. This knowledge did nothing to ease the guilt that was plaguing her. Had her remark hurt him? With Snape, you could never know. The only emotion he seemed capable of showing was anger and even then, his behaviour seemed restrained and cautious, as if there was something he kept well hidden underneath. She remembered vividly the bright shade of pink his face had turned, the pulsing vein on his temple and the rage that had entered his eyes. That had been unusual, too. His eyes were always bleak and cold. Her words must have cut deep to elicit such a vehement response. What did you think? You brought up a mistake he made over ten years ago, and one he has repented for in ways you cannot even imagine.

Her subconscious made matters worse for her when it started to spew out random information considering Snape's brief career as a Death Eater and his subsequent acquittal and the clearance of his name based on Dumbledore's pledge. Irene could not imagine that particular sort of hell he had been through and she had awoken the memory with a careless remark – although it had not been as careless as she tried to make out. She had spoken to hurt, so she had known the impact it would have. She had just been short-sighted in her anger.

When it became unbearable to sit and force a smile while her mind was left free to go over the details of their fight again and again, Aurora got to her feet with a little stagger.

"I need to sleep," she said, yawning unapologetically.

The others followed suit and soon, they left the dark houses of the village behind them. Snape walked a little ahead with quick, long strides. Irene left the others to their chatter and broke into a little jog to catch up with him. He didn't turn to her when she reached him but she thought he quickened his pace.

"I'm sorry," she said without preamble. "I shouldn't have brought that up earlier. That was tactless and wrong. You very clearly moved past all that, it wasn't fair to mention it. I am unfamiliar with the circumstances and in no position to judge any choices anyone made. I was angry and I was trying to hurt you, which was unforgivable, and I fear I also succeeded. I apologise. Truly. I will not do it ever again."

He slowed down almost to a halt, eyes fixed on hers, strangely questioning, as if he was trying to decide whether she was making fun of him. In the faint moonlight, she could barely make out his eyes, dark pits in a pale face, but his gaze still penetrated her. Despite the discomfort this look brought, she didn't lower her eyes.

After a brief moment, the intensity of his gaze ebbed away and he jerked his head, resuming his earlier quick stride.

"I'm sorry I hurt," she said again. His lips curled in response.

"You have apologised thrice now. To the skilled arithmancer, I suppose that is a meaningful number but I assure you, once sufficed for me." His tone was light, she knew it well. He was back to mocking her.

"Of course now you criticise my apologies," she joined in, knowing that this was exactly how she had become so angry she had wanted to hurt him in the first place, "Is there anything I do that doesn't irritate you?"

He turned to face away thought she thought she caught a glimpse at a smile.

"You breathe quietly enough."

"You're being mean."

"If you had paid closer attention, you would have noticed that I just complimented your arithmantic skill. I would have thought such high praise would please you."

She found it difficult to keep up with his long strides but she didn't want to show weakness now.

"You didn't compliment me," she pointed out, a little out of breath, "You said 'To the skilled arithmancer', which, given your usual regard for my intellect, didn't imply at all you meant me."

"You have successfully taken me by surprise: You are too hard on yourself." His voice was thick with sarcasm as he cast a sideway glance at her.

"No, I know I am a skilled arithmancer. I just mean you are a little slow on the uptake in that regard."

"I doubt you can be the judge of my uptake."

"Of course you do."

She caught an edge of his moonlit smirk and fought the urge to smile herself.

"I am still surprised by your ability to quote me," he shot back, his eyes briefly darting over her face.

"Because usually, you speak in such intellectual terms I can hardly understand, let alone repeat your words, you mean?"

"Quite right," he said in a teacher's voice, "It is an ability you could have put to good use during our school days. It might have won you an 'O' during our N.E.W.T. years."

They seemed unable to move past that foolish rivalry, perhaps because they both felt they'd been treated unfairly.

"I had an 'O' in my Potions N.E.W.T., and all without your help."

"I only meant you could have earned it," he replied, his voice smooth as still water.

"Had you looked up from your strange scribbles in your Potions book for longer than two seconds, you might have noticed that I have."

"The strange scribbles were my notes on potion making, Bertram," he drew out her name impatiently, "and they proved rather useful. You should have tried that instead of flattering Slughorn."

The second time that day, her patience had run out. She planted herself in front of him in a way that might have looked threatening had he not towered over her.

"I did not flatter him. He liked me. A lot of people like me, in case you haven't noticed."

He looked slightly amused. "Perhaps you didn't flatter him," he allowed, slowly, reluctantly. "Perhaps he was only partial to you because of your immensely likeable character."

She ignored the irony in his voice. "I'll settle for that for now." She turned around again as she saw the others catching up with them slowly. Aurora and Charity were walking arm and arm, Charity had an arm on Hagrid's elbow as well. Together, they were singing a bawdy drinking song that mentioned wands in a rather suggestive way and was crude enough to make her cheeks redden.

"We should wait for them. They won't find the gate without us."

Snape shrugged as if that did not concern him at all but he turned aside nevertheless, standing tall and straight as a lance, his unfathomable dark eyes on the motley group that tagged behind. He didn't break the silence that stretched between them now that all the necessary words were spoken. Irene was usually uncomfortable with this kind of anonymous silence. There were a hundred questions she could ask him about his drinking preferences, his subject, his plans for the night or the next few days. Yet, her tongue was heavy and reluctant to ask any of them. Somehow, that sort of chatter seemed too trivial for Snape, especially after their conversation before. She had never spoken to him normally, every remark was countered with a sneer or jibe. Snape disliked her and had done so since their school years. She, in turn, had always disliked him, as long as she had truly known him. After her apology, however, and the acknowledgement of the water under their particular bridge that had not yet flown downstream, it seemed unnatural to continue their quarrel, as much as it seemed absurd to discuss the weather with him, or the new club on Vertic Alley. Something had changed, very subtly, in their dynamic. She did not like him any more than she had before, and she knew the same was true for him, yet the need to apologise and his acceptance had inevitably formed a bond between them. A weak and fragile one that a week's worth of the usual casual enmity would destroy, she didn't doubt that, but now, alone under a dark sky with night's silence weighing down on them like a velvet blanket, and only the distant chants of their companions as a distraction, the bond remained, as unwelcome as it was.

Therefore, Irene remained silent, which was very much unlike her, and desperately waited for the others to join them. A loud buffer between them was the very thing she wanted now. And perhaps for once, Snape and she agreed, for he gave her a forced smile – a slight curling of his lips, in fact – and nodded at their three companions.

"Burbage seems to be in need of some support."

In unspoken agreement, they walked towards them, not outright hurriedly, but with hasty steps, only to join the three teachers on either side, Irene reaching up to Hagrid's forearm, Severus making some snide comment to Aurora, whose hat was so askew that Irene suspected she had Charmed it to her head.

Irene went to bed that night determined not to think of their encounter anymore, mainly because it still left her with a very distinct twinge of guilt. Therefore she took a book with her into bed and read until her eyes fell shut, giving her wine-numbed mind no chance to bother with Severus Snape.

A/N: Next chapter will open with the very first dream sequence, so stay tuned! The google doc for this story is at 120 pages atm, so you see, I'm quite invested in it. As we are now leaving the slow start behind ad getting into the proper plot, please consider leaving a review if you like where the story is going or leave some constructive criticism. Thanks xx