One Young Heart
Chapter 19: Filch
Severus stalked up to the group of students where they stood whispering desperately to one another. The teachers had pushed themselves to the front of the throng, a narrow ring of authority forming what was clearly an utterly ineffectual barrier between the innocence of the students and the world of the Dark Lord, but still there, still standing. Behind them was a forest of backs, including that of Hermione Granger. Severus could have pushed through to the front, but he doubted that he could bear it. He did not belong with these students, or with these teachers, proud, ready to fight to the bitter end.
The tones of Voldemort's voice had died out by the time he arrived, and the whole school stared breathless at the pillar that shaded the Headmaster's face, instinctively feeling that he was near, and seeking for a solution that could never exist.
Let him stew over that for a bit, thought Severus savagely, to old familiar feeling of resentment alive in his heart. I don't know what is going on, and I have a homicidal painting in my office. I'm leaving. He was turning to go when he heard the harsh rasp of Argus Filch's voice directly behind him.
"I expect you won't want to be seen at the moment, Professor." He observed, somewhere between a house elf's servility and a ghoul's delight in its latest prank. "He' fighting mad at the moment, the Headmaster is, and it wouldn't do to present a target that doesn't so much as know what's in the oven. Unless your 'lord' has told you." He smiled, showing a row of decaying teeth. "Perhaps you'd care to take a walk, professor?"
Chapter 19: Filch
Severus stalked up to the group of students where they stood whispering desperately to one another. The teachers had pushed themselves to the front of the throng, a narrow ring of authority forming what was clearly an utterly ineffectual barrier between the innocence of the students and the world of the Dark Lord, but still there, still standing. Behind them was a forest of backs, including that of Hermione Granger. Severus could have pushed through to the front, but he doubted that he could bear it. He did not belong with these students, or with these teachers, proud, ready to fight to the bitter end.
The tones of Voldemort's voice had died out by the time he arrived, and the whole school stared breathless at the pillar that shaded the Headmaster's face, instinctively feeling that he was near, and seeking for a solution that could never exist.
Let him stew over that for a bit, thought Severus savagely, to old familiar feeling of resentment alive in his heart. I don't know what is going on, and I have a homicidal painting in my office. I'm leaving. He was turning to go when he heard the harsh rasp of Argus Filch's voice directly behind him.
"I expect you won't want to be seen at the moment, Professor." He observed, somewhere between a house elf's servility and a ghoul's delight in its latest prank. "He' fighting mad at the moment, the Headmaster is, and it wouldn't do to present a target that doesn't so much as know what's in the oven. Unless your 'lord' has told you." He smiled, showing a row of decaying teeth. "Perhaps you'd care to take a walk, professor?"