"And the boy?" Dumbledore effortlessly changed the candies in his bowl, shifting kinds and flavors and shapes, dissatisfied with each selection. He was craving something, but couldn't quite put his finger on what.
Changing a bowl of chocolate frogs into bright pink licorice whips, he figured he'd come across something he wanted eventually.
Severus looked on, something between disgust and fascination warring on his pinched features. With Voldemort gone, he had much less to be displeased about, but Severus Snape wasn't one to break habits easily.
"Draco is doing well, considering the adjustments he's been forced to make," Severus said, looking down his nose at the bowl, which was now full of wha appeared to be orange gummy spiders.
"Fantastic," Dumbledore said. Classes had only been underway a week, but that was more than enough time. "I have another class for him to take." He had the satisfaction of seeing Severus grasp for words, if only momentarily.
"Headmaster, I don't think you understand. He's already enrolled in doubles of each of his classes. The boy is trying to work himself to—" He'd been ready to say "to death," then thought better of it with a wince.
He'd watched Draco as the young man had thrown himself into what he remembered of normalcy—classes and Quidditch. But with so little of Slytherin house left, it was nearly impossible to scrape together a team.
Severus meant to do it, if only for Draco's sake.
"He'll have another class, Severus," Dumbledore insisted, letting out a soft "ahh" as he conjured a bowl of cherry cordials. "Send him to my classroom, 12 after eleven, sharp."
Severus was once again at a loss for words, his pallid face growing pinker by the second. "Albus, you don't mean to teach again."
"Not in so many words," the old headmaster said pleasantly, wondering how long the Potions Master was going to be able to sour without the constant strain of being a double agent.
Sadly, Albus knew, there were years of memories, years of guilt that Severus had yet to atone for.
And so the headmaster did what he could to help alleviate the problem. "I've something for you. I've been keeping it at her direction, but surely she won't mind."
Severus's eyebrows rose sharply at the mention of a "she." The only one who would ever pay him mind—the only one who ever had, really—was miles away in America, sweeping up the last of the Death Eaters.
Dea, whom he'd have gladly died for. And die he nearly had, risking life and limb to protect her against Lucius Malfoy, and then risking his heart to send her away with Remus Lupin.
Only a fool pressed on when he wasn't the better man, and Severus Snape was no fool.
But he grabbed the owled message from Albus with barely concealed eagerness and read her words to himself.
Severus,
Doubtless you're back at Hogwarts, teaching your students and surely making yourself feel bad over something or other.
Our work here is nearly done, and Remus has steadily worked his way up through the ranks. Even if they minded his condition, it would hardly matter now. He's nigh to indispensable. Makes his head a mite big, you know.
As for me, I've turned legitimate. Healer's degree and everything.
Because I'm nosy, as ever, and impertinent and crass and rude, as you never failed to remind me, I demand to know how you are.
I can't rest when I don't know.
I've told Albus to keep this until things are settled there, so you'll just have to deal with it if it's weeks and weeks before you hear word from me.
Knowing you, you'll have already assumed I blew us all up or something similar.
Someday soon, I'll be back to keep an eye on you.
Someone has to.
And instead of a signature, a small golden heart graced the bottom of the page.
In the aftermath of a war, she'd disappeared to clean up remnants of it, disappeared with the man she'd come to love, and in doing so, she'd left another behind, wounded just as surely as anyone else.
Severus missed her, missed the only one who'd ever understood him.
And because he did, he cleared his throat and deposited the message carelessly in one of myriad pockets in his robe. "Very well," he said, looking back at the headmaster. "Was there anything else you wished of me?"
Popping yet another candy into his mouth, Dumbledore looked thoughtful, though he wanted to smile at the man who was still very much a lonely, lonely boy. "I don't believe so. Cherry?"
~~~
"It isn't as though any of them matter." Draco walked down the hallway beside Severus, his fingers clenching and unclenching in a fist, a nervous gesture that hadn't existed before the death of his parents.
"All of your classes matter," Severus said, feeling the last of his patience ebb away. Really, who could deal with such a difficult boy?
Surely he'd never been one himself.
"What am I supposed to do?" Draco said, turning and looking at Severus defiantly. What need had he for obedience, after all? The worst they could do was tell his parents—if they'd still been alive. "Finish this place and move onto a job?" He scoffed at the thought. "Sure, with a name like Malfoy, everyone'll be going absolutely nutters to hire me."
"Only if you choose to quit sniveling and make yourself better than your name," Severus said, the seemingly heartless remark hitting its mark perfectly. Draco's spine stiffened and he quickened his pace to Dumbledore's old classroom.
By the time Severus caught up, he could hear the young man arguing with the headmaster. Though the argumentative mood had been steadily set since Draco's return to Hogwarts, he was shocked to see the boy arguing with Albus Dumbledore. But Severus had to admit—it was fairly amusing.
"You're not getting my bloody wand!" Draco said haughtily, crossing his arms over his chest and keeping the wand tucked in it. "It's not like I'm going to hurt anyone with it."
"I wouldn't count on that," Albus said cagily. "I'm not sending you into battle unarmed, Draco, I'm only asking that you check the wand with me for a portion of an hour." It was very nearly a lie, Albus thought. Battle it would be, and he'd be remiss if he missed eavesdropping on at least a little of it.
Draco made the mistake of brandishing his wand, preparing to make a long-winded speech about what could and could not be done to a Malfoy. It only took a split second, and Dumbledore had him disarmed neatly. He was near to spluttering when Dumbledore shunted him into the classroom.
Breathing heavily, the old man turned and eyed Severus. "Not as young as I used to be," he explained.
But Severus was too busy trying to look in the door to hear his mentor. When he saw what—or who, precisely—was in the room, he stepped back with a raised eyebrow.
"I hardly think that's wise, Headmaster. After all, it's bad enough that you locked together a Weasley and a Malfoy, but that you locked together an adolescent boy and an adolescent girl is somewhat volatile." No matter what his reservations were, he couldn't help the smirk that crossed his face.
If there were two people in Hogwarts who could stand to take lessons from one another, it was those two.
"Bloody buggering hell!" The words came, surprisingly, from Ginny's mouth rather than Draco's.
He was stricken speechless.
"You know, that's the last time I ever agree to do the headmaster a favor without asking what it is," Ginny said decisively, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Draco. "I'd never dreamed he'd lock me up with an animal just for jollies."
"I'm supposed to be in a class, Weasel," Draco said, turning and trying the door handle.
The bint was right. They really were locked up.
"It isn't as though my life isn't bad enough," Draco shouted, hoping they could hear him through the door. "My parents are dead, and now you lock me in with one of these redheaded, freckled wretches? Too bad I didn't die, as well, eh?"
He never even saw the book flying toward the back of his head.