November 19
A good night's sleep, apparently, had been enough to mend Aislinn's headache, as she was in the staff room the following morning for the meeting. Severus was a bit surprised to see her come in, scooting in the door and seating herself only seconds before the clock chimed 6:00—the appointed time for the meeting to begin. He'd always marveled at her ability to cut time so close; he was either ten minutes early or late, but never precisely on time as she almost always was. And, as Dumbledore began speaking as soon as the clock chimed, Severus noted that Aislinn had a quill and parchment out, taking notes, another astounding ability in his opinion.
As the meeting droned on, Severus found plenty of time to study Aislinn. After all, he knew the issues being brought up by heart. Teachers needed to be more conscientious about being in the corridors during passing periods. Aislinn's eyes were bright and clear, perhaps too bright and clear, in fact. He wondered why. Dumbledore was requesting that they all please ascertain that demerits were awarded only when deserved. Aislinn was studiously not looking at him, but then, she was also not looking at Jordan. Was that because she was avoiding eye contact with either of them, or was she simply engrossed in the meeting? She had half a page of notes already, but from his vantage point, Severus wouldn't have been sure if they were notes about the meeting or about the position of Venus or lines of poetry. Speaking of notes, Severus scrawled a note to himself, as did the other three Heads of Houses, when Dumbledore said he needed a count of the students who would be staying over the Christmas holidays.
As the usual business wound down to a close, one by one the other teachers began offering up their own concerns and complaints. Sometimes—often, in fact—these supposed 'staff meetings' turned into individual gripe sessions to which the entire staff was subjected. Just now, for instance, Flitwick was on about something that concerned no one in the room except himself and Dumbledore, and within seconds, there were signs that everyone was growing impatient. Severus shifted slightly, and watched as Aislinn began an absent-minded doodling on her parchment. He couldn't see precisely what she was drawing, or if she was drawing anything in particular, but just based on the way the end of her quill swirled and dipped, he thought it likely that she was making whorls of some sort. She was entirely oblivious to him, looking up at Dumbledore and Flitwick now and again, but mostly engrossed in her doodles.
When Flitwick and Dumbledore finally reached a decision on whatever it was they'd been talking about, Minerva piped in with a complaint that was, at least, more generally relevant, though Severus was sure it was aimed primarily at him. Favoritism, she was accusing, ran rampant through the corridors, and she for one was tired of seeing it. It was one thing for students to use that as a handy excuse, but when it was blatantly obvious… Severus tuned that lecture out entirely. Even if she was looking at Dumbledore with occasional glances to Madame Pomfrey, Severus had no doubt in his mind that she was speaking to him. And you know as well as I do that there is a bloody good reason for me to show favoritism to the Slytherin students, he thought defensively. Besides, how many members of the staff are quicker to take points from Slytherin, and slower to award them? Give it a rest. Severus knew for a fact that his two and five points at a time were nothing to the fifty points at a time that McGonagall awarded to and docked from the students she watched most closely. How many times had Malfoy been docked twenty-five points for something absurd? How often had Potter and company been awarded fifty points for managing to not get killed despite breaking a rule? If she wanted to talk about favoritism, she could bloody well talk to herself.
With some degree of amusement, Severus noted that Aislinn was looking decidedly abashed. Could she possibly think that the little lecture was being directed at her? That was an intriguing possibility, though one that Severus dismissed out of hand. After all, he had noticed that she was responsible for close to half the points awarded to Slytherin that he did not award himself, though he wasn't sure there was a significant difference in how many she awarded the other houses. It was almost laughable, really. Aislinn Ichalia could completely stop dispensing points, and it likely wouldn't affect the House standings appreciably, though the students never seemed to notice that. He wondered idly if she realized it. Probably, he conceded, she isn't stupid, after all. She's very shrewd, in fact. Awarding all those points… no wonder the students respond so readily to her. She rewards them well, but as the rewards are so evenly dispensed, it's almost as though they don't exist. Not really the sort of thing he would expect from a Gryffindor, usually. More something he would expect from Slytherin. And, a variation on his own technique. He awarded points to few people, and took them away almost dispassionately, and never enough to amount to anything anyway. The horror stories of Gryffindor losing fifty points at a time whenever they had Potions Class was a myth blown out of proportion. Severus could remember maybe ten days in the history of his career at Hogwarts when he'd affected any one House's points by fifty, in either direction.
When Minerva finally wound down from her soapbox, Severus breathed an indiscernible sigh of relief. Madame Pomfrey managed to get the next word in, and Severus did make notes of what she said. There was a rash of colds going around, apparently, and all teachers were asked to please send students to her as soon as it became obvious they had colds as she was tired of having to cure bronchitis because a student had spent three weeks sneezing and running a fever before deciding it was bad enough to seek help with. She also spoke directly to Severus, as though suddenly remembering something she'd been intending to talk to him about.
"I'm running low on a number of the potions I use for general aches and pains," she was telling him, "do you think you will have the opportunity to mix some of them if I give you a list, or shall I place an order?"
Severus frowned for a moment and considered. "Give me a list," he told her, "and I'll let you know whether I can accommodate you or not." She nodded, and Severus glanced at Aislinn, who had stopped doodling and was studying him rather intently. Yes, he thought, that goes for you too. Ask me, and I'll keep a supply of that on hand. He didn't know, of course, whether she was considering asking him about the headache potion, but he liked to think she was. He liked the idea of her coming to him and meekly begging that he keep her supplied with something for the pains in her head. In fact, he liked the idea of being able to help with those headaches, whether she asked it or not, and he decided then and there to enlist Pomfrey's help in the matter. If anyone could insist that someone take better care of herself, it was the formidable school nurse.
Filch was piping up next, complaining about the dungbombs being set off in the corridors in the evenings. He was certain that it was Harry Potter, but Severus, as much as he wished he could lay the blame at Potter's feet, actually rather suspected a certain Hufflepuff. He closed out the remainder of that discussion and put his mind to an enticing fantasy about slipping something into Jordan Mickery's tea. Nothing truly harmful, of course, but something that would keep him, say, running to the bathroom all day would be amusing. It was not, of course, something Severus would actually do, but the idea was almost enough to make him smile. And almost enough to make him scowl. And you're supposed to be a mature adult, he scolded himself, not some misbehaving adolescent. Surely you've outgrown any affinity you ever had for pranks? As it happened, Severus had never really had much of an inclination towards pranks. Pranks, by definition, were anonymous acts of mischief, and Severus preferred to be recognized for what he did. And mischief wasn't really his style, either. If he were going to do something, it was usually for revenge, and revenge was sweeter by far if the person receiving was blatantly aware of it.
For another half hour, the meeting droned on, and finally, at 7:30, it adjourned. And not a moment too soon, if the reactions of Hooch and Sprout were any indication. After all, the meeting had lasted half an hour into breakfast, and those two were notorious for thinking they had to have their meals precisely on schedule. As Severus gathered his notes, though, a rumbling in his own stomach reminded him that he was hungry as well, and he wasted no time in getting to the Great Hall. No one did, in fact, except Aislinn and Jordan Mickery. Severus found himself reconsidering his stance on pranks.
Any thoughts Severus might have entertained about laxatives in teacups were cut short by his entrance to the Great Hall, where he found that in the absence of adult supervision, half a dozen Fifth Year students (four of them Slytherin, he noted with a certain degree of resignation) had found pleasure in levitating a terrified-looking First Year high above the teachers' table. Severus' long legs and determined stride had brought him to the Hall before any of the other teachers, so his was the singular pleasure of dealing with the vapid antics of students with too much time on their hands. With a grimace, the potions master backed out of the Great Hall again, retreating silently and unnoticed by students who were having entirely too much fun taunting the poor boy—or, in the case of a few brave souls, defending him—to notice that anyone had entered. Three of the teachers were approaching now, and he held up a hand to indicate that they shouldn't speak, and, while Sprout looked a bit put off, the rest of them stood back as Severus opened the doors again, this time with a bang that echoed through the room.
Silence descended, and the First Year boy began a quick descent as well as the ones who had found it so amusing to elevate him seemed to forget it was a human their wands were holding up rather than a feather. Severus whipped out his wand and pointed it at the boy, shouting an incantation and catching him just before he hit the table. Holding him there, Severus closed his eyes and silently said a brief prayer of thanks to whichever was the deity that had kept the other boys from losing their concentration a second sooner.
Snape lowered the boy slowly to the ground, his dark eyes glittering angrily as he passed the Slytherin table, bestowing a frozen glare on the lot of them. "I hope," he said dangerously, "that there is a suitable explanation for this?" He shot a look at the First Year and sighed inwardly. A Hufflepuff, of course, and the two students involved in the stunt who were not Slytherin were Ravenclaws. Pity that he wouldn't have the chance to deduct points from Gryffindor in front of McGonagall's face for such an act.
"Well, Mr. Murphy?" Severus let his eyes settle on a black-haired, gray-eyed boy who was very nearly as tall as he was. "No explanation?" The boy shook his head, and Severus moved his gaze to pin another one to his seat. "Mr. Arnold?" Again there was no answer, and Severus moved his eyes to the next student, then the next and the next. None of them, it seemed, had an explanation. Draco Malfoy, however, had a smirk on his face that the Head of Slytherin itched to wipe away. "Mr. Malfoy?" he asked suddenly, his voice dropping to a shade more deadly.
Draco smiled the smile of a boy who was confident he was safe from punishment, by virtue of his name. "Yes, Professor?" he asked, his voice the model of respect. Severus, however, was far from convinced. Draco Malfoy had picked up the worst of his father's habits, but fell somewhat short of the charm his father oozed. That boy could learn a good bit from Lucius, Severus thought as he watched the Malfoy prodigy. I'm not sure he doesn't have more to learn than I did.
There were few left at Hogwarts who realized it, but as a boy, Severus had been greatly influenced by Lucius Malfoy, who had a silken way of sweeping people along with him. Charismatic, charming, a natural leader who looked like a king even when he was on his knees at the Dark Lord's feet, Lucius had left a life-long impression on Severus. One that had begun long before Severus was in service to the Dark Lord.
"Severus?"
Oh no, he thought, burying his head deeper into his pillow, God, if you exist, please don't let that be...
If God existed, He apparently didn't have much sympathy for eleven-year-old boys who were crying into their pillows and praying that no one noticed. The mattress sank a little, and Severus stiffened as he felt a hand on his back. "What's wrong, Severus?"
There was no mistake about it now, the smooth voice belonged to Lucius Malfoy, a Sixth-Year Prefect whom Severus admired greatly. Lucius had been quite kind to him since his arrival at Hogwarts, intervening when he was being teased relentlessly, taking a moment to show him the way to his classes, giving him a few words of advice on how to tell when the stairs were about to change so that he wouldn't be caught on the wrong floor of the wrong wing. If Severus had ever had an older brother, he imagined that it would have been something like having Lucius around. Severus, however, had not had an older brother, nor any brothers at all. He was an only child, which, while lonely was probably for the best. Severus had never wished for a brother or sister; he wouldn't inflict his family on anyone. Not even someone he hated.
"Nothing," he whispered, trying valiantly to stop crying, but not quite able to muster it.
There was a lengthy silence, and he might have thought that Lucius had left him to his misery, except that there was still a comforting hand on his back. It was the first time he had ever considered that someone might not be about to abandon him. Slowly, his tears began to subside, and, at length, he trusted himself to sit up, hoping that his eyes had dried sufficiently to not embarrass him further in front of the older boy. There was something in Severus that desperately wanted to please the Prefect, and something that screamed that being a bawling little baby was not the best way to go about that.
As he lifted his head, though, his cheeks were still damp from the tears. "Dry your eyes," Lucius suggested calmly, offering him a linen handkerchief.
Severus took the handkerchief, still trembling slightly, waiting for the older boy to start laughing at him. The laughter, however, never came. It would be several years before Severus understood that there came a point in a man's life where he realized that tears were not a reason to ridicule anyone, let alone an eleven-year-old boy. "Th-thank you," he hiccuped, complying with Lucius' suggestion, which, while polite had been firm.
As Severus tended to his tear-streaked face, Lucius rose from where he'd been sitting on the edge of the bed and walked away, carefully studying a poster on the wall across the room, intently not noticing the younger boy's humiliation. That had been the first time that Severus had ever truly realized what kind of man he wanted to grow up to be. A man like Lucius Malfoy, calm and composed at all times, icily distant and indifferent, smoothly poised and coolly detached, yet always formally polite.
Severus had grown up in a small, dirty flat, his father a drunkard, his mother desperately needy. He'd spent his short life trying not to anger his father, as that always ended disastrously. His mother, once a beautiful woman, was either unable or unwilling to defend Severus from his father, so he'd learned at an early age to take care with what he said and did in the man's presence. He'd learned to hide in his small, filthy room and to keep quiet, amusing himself by reading books that no child should have even had access to. He'd been like a little sponge, soaking up information, and he'd spent weeks on end with his father's wand, practicing illicitly. Of course he shouldn't have been doing any such thing, but no one in his family ever paid him much mind, and there was no one about to guide his interest away from the curses and hexes. Curses and hexes he'd always dreamed of being able to use on his father, as payment for the hellish life he lead.
"Now," Lucius was speaking, and Severus looked at the handkerchief still clutched in his hands, frowning a bit at it. Was he supposed to give it back to Lucius? He certainly didn't think he would want a handkerchief back after some sniffling kid had snotted all over it, but... He folded it and set it on the bed so Lucius could make that determination for himself. "Tell me what is the matter, Severus?" This time, the Prefect's tone was firm and unyielding, and Severus had no more inclination to ignore him than he would have had to ignore the Headmaster.
Still, he didn't really want to talk about it either. "It's stupid," he muttered under his breath, and Lucius laughed softly.
"If you really thought that, it would not have upset you so," the older boy said reasonably, turning his head to one side, as though trying to find a better angle from which to consider the still-sniffling boy.
Severus looked at the blanket on his bed, tracing a fold with his finger. He did think that it was stupid, and what was more, he was sure that Lucius would think it was stupid, and he felt stupid for letting it bother him... but one glance at that calm, aristocratic face told Severus that it would do no good to protest. Lucius had eyes like glaciers, and even at seventeen he had mastered an icy look that demanded obedience. It was why he made such a good Prefect; no one even wanted to cross Lucius Malfoy. "They... they just said..." Severus sighed heavily. "They said my da's a drunk," he admitted finally. "They said he's a worthless pile of rags."
"Did they?" Lucius had stood again, and walked over to the window, moving the curtain aside. "And who are 'they', Severus?"
Severus frowned and looked at his hands. "James Potter and Sirius Black," he replied quietly.
Lucius had clasped his hands behind his back and was staring outside. "James Potter," Lucius repeated slowly, "and Sirius Black. Black, at least, might have some room to talk; he is, after all, a Pureblood at least. Potter, however..." Lucius clucked his tongue. "A mudblood, and a blood traitor. Why, Severus, do you let what they say bother you?"
Black eyes glittered behind a fresh sheen of tears. "Because it's true," he whispered.
Lucius turned around, a smile on his face that didn't warm his eyes. "And what has that to do with anything?" he asked. "Your father-and yes, Severus, I know who your father is-he had the potential to be anything he wanted. He squandered that potential, true enough, but what does that matter? Even the best orchard will sometimes bear rotten fruit." He was walking across the room again, and Severus' eyes followed him, as though attached with a string. "Whatever else he may be, though, your father is a Pureblood, as is your mother. And you, Severus, are not trapped by their erroneous and unfortunate decisions. They gave you a powerful gift, the only gift you need from them, and that, my boy, is a bloodline that reaches back before recorded time. You take that gift and never look back, Severus. You decide what you do with it, because it is your birthright, and that is something that the likes of James Potter will never be able to claim."
Wide-eyed, Severus watched as Lucius came back to stand before his bed. He wanted to believe the pale-haired prefect, really he did, but it was hard. "But if everyone judges me by my father," he began, but Lucius raised a hand and cut him off.
"They will not," he said firmly. "I will tell you something, Severus, if you promise not to spread it around." Severus nodded, awestruck at the grace with which Lucius moved, the finesse with which he spoke. "My own family," he said with a hard smile, "is not perfection incarnate to the beginning of time. Not two hundred years ago, the Malfoys were barely better than common peasants, the blood wasting away and all but spent. But my grandfather's great grandfather, who was the last of the line and the family's last hope, made it his goal to be better than the family dictated. He worked hard, Severus, and he was determined, and he kept the estates from falling to ruin, and he made himself worthy of marriage back into the blood, and he saw to it that his children, and grandchildren, were properly schooled and educated. By the time my grandfather was a student at Hogwarts, the Malfoy name was respected again, and no one dares suggest it was ever anything else now."
Severus nodded slowly, understanding gleaming in his eyes, but it was an understanding entwined with doubt. "But I don't know how to..."
"To what?" Lucius asked smoothly.
That's right, what is it you don't know how to do anyway? Severus thought for a moment, then frowned a bit. "I don't know how to act and to... to talk right... and to..." he fumbled clumsily for words to express what he meant. I don't know how to be like you.
Lucius, however, seemed to understand inherently what Severus could not say. "Well," he said, sounding as though he were contemplating, "I suppose that you really need just find someone to model yourself after. Someone you respect, and would like to be like. The Headmaster, perhaps?"
There was a subtly sneering emphasis on 'Headmaster', and Severus bit his lip. He liked Dumbledore. Dumbledore was always nice to him, always had candy for the students, always made them laugh. Lucius, however, did not seem to be as fond of the Headmaster as Severus was. "No," he whispered hesitantly, half-asking, "I'm not sure that I want to be like Dumbledore."
Lucius rewarded him with a smile; that, apparently, had been the right answer. "Hm. Perhaps Professor Flitwick, then?"
Severus shook his head, immediately this time. "No," he said, more convinced.
"Who would you choose, then?" Lucius asked, and Severus thought quickly, not wanting to sound like a pathetic little snit saying 'you, Lucius.'.
"Maybe Professor Nicklin?" he suggested, and Lucius smile broadened. Nicklin was Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and Head of Slytherin House.
"Likely the best choice," he commented smoothly. "So, you keep your eye on Professor Nicklin," Lucius suggested, "and don't worry about what James Potter and Sirius Black say. I think the time will soon come when they will suffer the consequences of their actions. And when that day comes, Severus, you will find that you are the victor. Not they."
Lucius Malfoy had been instrumental in bringing most of the Slytherins to Voldemort's aid for at least a decade, and Severus had been included in that. After all, it was never Nicklin he'd modeled himself after, but Malfoy. There were very few indeed who remembered Severus Snape as the uneducated, terrified little brat he'd been his first year at Hogwarts; by his second year, he'd been making progress towards learning to talk and act like the admirable Lucius Malfoy. Severus was aware that Draco knew that his father held influence over Hogwarts in general and Slytherin in particular, but he wasn't sure if the youngest Malfoy had any idea how much influence Lucius had always had over the potions teacher, personally.
"Malfoy, why did you allow this to happen?" Severus' voice was smooth and silky, and he could tell by the look of doubt that flickered across the delicately boned face that his question had hit a nerve with Draco. Possibly because I learned that tone and that calm from your father?
"I had nothing to do with it, Sir. I was sitting right here the whole time. You can ask—"
"I don't need to ask," Severus replied evenly, "I want to know why it is that four Slytherin students were involved in a dangerous prank while a Sixth-Year Prefect sat at the table with them and did not so much as lift a finger to stop them."
By the time he'd made his way to the teachers' table, Severus had added another day to his tally of times he'd deducted more than fifty points from a single House in one day. He'd taken ten points from each of the Prefects present (and to his delight, found that meant that Gryffindor lost the most, fifty, as all six of their Prefects were there. Severus was uninterested in the fact that all had been part of the group trying variously to order the Slytherins down, to disarm them, and it had been a Gryffindor who went in search of the teachers.) His own house had lost forty points, though, which soured his mood slightly. After all, there had been two Slytherin Prefects present, and four Slytherins involved. Two Ravenclaws and four Ravenclaw prefects. The three Hufflepuff prefects, however, did not lose any points for inaction, as even Severus couldn't quite bring himself to deduct points from the victim's House when it was obvious that the Hufflepuffs had been outraged over the incident to begin with. He did, however, take five points from each of the Hufflepuff prefects for general ineffectiveness.
He made a biting comment about being unable to leave the students alone even for the time it took them to eat breakfast, and implied that perhaps the entire school should receive detention (not, of course, that he had any intention of actually doing that; the paperwork alone would be enough to deter him, and Dumbledore would never allow it. The rest of the staff would protest, of course, but Severus was feeling contrary enough by now to not be particularly concerned with any of them.)
Professor Sprout, of course, had been close on Severus' heels and awarded her own House thirty points for their lack of retaliation (Severus wasn't sure that was a behavior worth rewarding, but left the herbology teacher to her rat-killing) and Madame Pomfrey had fussed over the victim (who was crying and snuffling and carrying on until Severus thought his head was going to explode from the commotion) and McGonagall had glared at him for taking points from Gryffindor (and when it came right to it, he still thought that he was justified; after all, prefects should be able to keep the students out of trouble in the absence of teachers). And then, just as Severus finally made it to his place at the table, the doors to the Great Hall opened again and Dumbledore appeared, with Jordan Mickery and Aislinn Ichalia close on his heels, and McGonagall would have no delays in telling the Headmaster everything that had transpired. And, in short, Severus never did manage breakfast, which put him in an especially sour mood for the rest of the day.