Severus,
I took the liberty of leaving these letters on your desk. I thought you would want them, but I did not want you to be buried under them while you were on your vacation.
Your classes were a delight, very knowledgeable and well-behaved. We covered the chapters you indicated, and the essays you requested are sorted by House and Year on the sideboard. The NEWT students have been doing independent studies, as well. I hope you don't mind, but they seemed particularly offended by the essay you had left for them, and, when three of them pulled out the same essay that they'd already written three weeks ago, I gave them the benefit of the doubt, but told them they were to choose an independent study that they felt would satisfy you. I believe a few of them did the assigned essay rather than chance your anger, but most of them found other topics of interest. All of your classes should have their essays ready to hand in the first time they see you this week, and I would take no excuses from them.
Minerva spoke with the Slytherins twice this week, and both times insisted that they were polite and respectful to her. We have had no particular problems with your House in your absence. The Quidditch team seemed particularly concerned that you would return in time for the game on Tuesday, so perhaps you would care to assure them that you have, indeed, returned in time for it.
A number of the students have inquired as to your whereabouts these past few days, and the staff's official answer has been that you were feeling under the weather and if the students wanted more detail, they needed to address their concerns with you. As for the staff, Poppy, Minerva and I remain the only ones who know where you have been; the others were told only that you had personal business to attend. Whatever version of the truth you wish to spread as a rumor, we will support it.
Amber Carlisle has been particularly concerned about you. Minerva said that the girl came to her twice to ask when you would be back, and she also asked me three times. Perhaps it would be thoughtful for you to let her see that you are alive and well. I fear she has developed a phobia of losing people, and it would set her mind to ease to know that you are back and in good health.
There is, as always, more business, but nothing pressing. I thought we would postpone our weekly meeting, or perhaps cancel it all together, as it seems pointless to ask you if there is anything new you wish to report the day you return from your time away. The Tuesday evening staff meeting has been rescheduled to Thursday morning to accommodate the Quidditch game.
If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask.
Welcome back, my boy.
Dumbledore.
Severus shook his head slightly and folded the parchment in half, dropping it in the drawer of his desk to read again tomorrow morning. It was just past five in the evening, and he had no more than Flooed into his office before he was assaulted with the primary reason he did not shirk his teaching duties for personal reasons—his desk looked as though a parchment production factory had exploded atop it.
The letter from Dumbledore had been on top of the most central pile, and had caught his eye immediately, but now his gaze swept the other stacks and he couldn't help but sigh. He had no less than three essays to mark for damn near every student in the school, and that wasn't counting the ones he'd be collecting this week. He had never been so far behind on marking papers, and, much as he hated the idea, he thought that the Quidditch game on Tuesday might just have to be sacrificed so he could get caught up.
He picked up a stack of scrolls and peered at the note affixed to them—First Year essays on the properties of moonstone. He let them fall again and peered at another stack—Second Year essays on the properties of wormwood. Fifth Year essays on the reactive properties of witch-hazel and willow bark. Second Year essays on the stages of liquid. Fourth Year essays on the measures of viscosity. Fifth Year essays on the catalytic properties of powdered ginger root.
"Maybe the next essay will be on the benefit of writing essays," he muttered to himself, trying to move the scrolls into stacks that made more sense. After a moment, he decided it was an exercise in futility, and one which might be helped by a measure of brandy. Pouring himself a generous snifter, he settled into his chair and then looked over the mountain of parchment that concealed his desk, trying to decide on a plan of attack for the mess.
However his mind was set to reducing the parchment, though, his eyes kept sliding back to a stack of folded pages on one corner, tightly bundled with string. He knew what they were—letters from his students—and part of him wanted nothing more than to open them and to gorge himself on the knowledge that some of his students cared. It was odd how important that seemed to him suddenly, and not something he would have ever expected or believed, but it was the truth. Seeing that stack of parchment lightened his heart more than he cared to admit.
With a sigh, he pointedly ignored the pages and stood again, studying the room. He needed some sort of organization here. Brandy still in his left hand, he took out his wand and pointed it at a stack of scrolls, directing them to a shelf. First Year scrolls, then Second Year, then Third and so forth until two and a half shelves were filled with the essays he needed to be marking. There were probably close to two thousand of them. Miserable.
"And none of them are going to mark themselves," he chastised himself firmly, picking up a stack of a dozen or so and moving back to his desk. Once more, the stack of parchment was tempting, but he picked it up and dropped it into a drawer so it was no longer just sitting there, begging to be read. He removed his grading ledger from his desk, and a bottle of red ink, unrolled the first scroll and readied his quill as he began to peruse the parchment. He made small checks as he found the points he was looking for on the scroll, and then, after he'd read it twice, he scrawled an 'A' onto the upper left corner with a note at the bottom to pay more attention to grammar and to take care with word choice. He recorded the grade, and moved on. By the time he reached the tenth essay, he was wishing he had a stamp with 'pay more attention to grammar' on it, because every single scroll was riddled with errors. He hadn't the time to teach them to write properly, and wished it was a given that they already knew.
Marking the First Year essays went fairly quickly, at least, as they were shorter and simpler than the older students' essays would be. Four or five paragraphs, and there were four or five points he was looking for, and a certain level of overall finesse. Most of the students passed these essays, and a few even scored Excellent marks. Only two First Years scored Outstanding, and, unsurprisingly, both were Ravenclaws. He'd cringed slightly as he penned a 'D' onto Amber's scroll, but it couldn't be helped—he'd swear she hadn't even read the chapter. At least there were no 'T's this time around.
The second set of First Year essays were equally straight-forward, and, even though he knew that the more advanced students' essays would take longer to grade, Severus felt a sense of accomplishment as, three hours after he had begun his marking he entered the last of the First Years' grades into his ledger and reached for the Second Year scrolls. They did well enough with the properties of wormwood, having had almost two full years now to work out what he was looking for when he asked for the properties of a substance (which was to say that he was less interested in what color ginger root was than he was in the effect it had on potions) and, to his pleasure, he found that no one scored lower than an 'A' on the essays. He even had half a dozen or so that scored 'O's, one of which was a Slytherin, which was enough to make his lips curve into a smile.
The essays on the stages of a liquid were far less impressive, and, after marking the twelfth 'D', he reached for his class notes and made a memo to himself to go over that again. It was not a difficult concept, and he detested having to waste time re-teaching something, but if his Second Year students could not consistently explain the difference between a steam and a vapor, he had his doubts that they would succeed in any of their Third Year potions. It was half past eleven when Severus finally marked the last of those scrolls, frowning at the results. There had been one 'E', and more than half of them were D's. That class was going to hear about his displeasure... tomorrow morning. He had Second Year students in his first lecture on Monday mornings.
His eyes strayed to the clock, then to the shelf of parchment, and he found himself wondering how many of those Third Year essays he could grade before midnight. It would make him feel better, at least, to begin them, and he wasn't really ready to go to bed yet, though he knew he would force himself to in another half hour. Half an hour wasn't really time to grade more than three or four of them, though, which wasn't even worth dragging them out. With a sigh, he capped his ink bottle and dropped it back in his desk, and his eyes strayed to the bundle of letters he'd successfully hidden from himself in his drawer. Another glance at the clock, and he picked up the bundle, picking off the string, and flipping the first one open. They were largely the same as all of them had been so far, but once again, he found his mood lightening as he read the evidence that his students cared.
He was halfway through the stack when he found one that was different. Very different. As he read it, he felt his heart clench, and he closed his eyes, fighting a wave of nausea as he thought about those letters, and how he'd enjoyed them. And the ones he'd answered.
Fool, he thought bitterly, staring blankly at the parchment. Fool to play into their hands. He spent a long moment considering what to do with the parchment. He considered sending it to Dumbledore. He considered a scathing reply. He even momentarily considered simply ignoring it, but he knew that that was probably the least feasible option he had. Finally, he decided to do nothing with it, and he stood abruptly, the entire stack of parchment in his hand, opened and unopened letters alike, then stalked over to the fireplace and tossed them in. And, after a moment's hesitation, he stalked back to the desk, jerked open the drawer and brought out the bundle he'd had while at headquarters. Those, too, went into the fireplace.
"Incendio," he muttered, pointing his wand at the pile of parchment, and watching as the flames leaped and licked at the pages, curling them one by one into ash. His eyes lingered on the one that had left such a bitter taste in his mouth.
Dear Professor Snape,
The only reason I'm writing is because McGonagall told us she'd give us extra credit if we wrote you get well letters, and I need the extra marks from her. I still don't like you, and if you have a cold, I hope you sneeze your nose off. It would be an improvement.
Your loving student who doesn't love you enough to tell you who to give the detention to.
hr
"You have wasted enough time in this class in the past week, so cease your talking and open your texts to page 53." Severus did not even wait until all the students had filed in before he began issuing instructions, and the doors to the dungeon shut with an air of finality behind the last of the students, narrowly missing catching the girl's robe. "If there is one of you who is capable of reading, I suggest you begin reading aloud at the second paragraph, as we are embarking today on a bit of remedial vocabulary work. I was most disappointed in the essays you all handed in last week, and, after I assure myself that literacy is not the issue, you will all be redoing that assignment in detention on Wednesday evening." He was leaning against his desk, his arms folded as the students exchanged looks of varying degrees of fear and disbelief while flipping to their pages. "Well?" he snarled. "Why is no one reading yet?"
There was a slight shuffle, and then a small voice in the back began to speak. "In order to understand the potion-making process, it is critical to comprehend the nature of a mixture. There are four general classes of matter-- solid, liquid, gaseous and plasma. The plasma stage will not be discussed in this text beyond a brief definition, as it applies only to very advanced potions..." Severus watched the girl read, his eyes never wavering from her face, his own copy of the text open on the desk behind him, ignored. "...liquid takes seven forms, and..."
"Stop, Miss Bernard. Read that sentence again, please." His voice was cold and unyielding, and despite the formality of his request, there was not a student who would dare doubt it was an order. The girl cleared her throat softly.
"Liquid takes seven forms," she repeated.
"Liquid takes seven forms," Severus repeated softly. "Tell me, Miss Bernard, how many forms of liquid did you define in your essay?"
She licked her lips, and looked at the table. "Three," she answered.
"Three," he repeated. "And why did you choose to only define three when the text plainly states that there are seven?"
"I... I don't know, sir."
A snickering from the Gryffindor side of the room brought his attention around and he narrowed his eyes at the offender. "Do you find something amusing, Mr. Overton? How many forms of liquid did you define in your essay?"
The boy's face suddenly paled. "I don't know, sir," he replied softly.
"Four, Mr. Overton. You chose to define four. And you, Mr., Fitzhugh? How many did you define?"
Had any of the students not been so frightened of their potions master, some of them may have marveled that he was capable of telling each one of them how many forms of liquid they'd defined. It was, after all, no small feat to keep up with that many students' writings, but Severus had the kind of mind that remembered details like that. He might not know them all by sight when they were not in their seats, and he might not be able to come up with first names on cue, but Severus could recite any of their marks, and any of their errors on the last homework he'd assigned. And he could recite entire pages of the text, knew on which pages what information was given, knew which paragraphs began the information. He was an exacting teacher, and in possession of a mind that some of his Muggle-born students might have likened to a computer. None of them, though, could see very far beyond the sharp remarks and biting comments.
"Anyone who did not define a minimum of five forms of liquid did not pass this assignment," he announced quietly. "It is unlikely that anyone who did not define at least six managed a passing grade."
A whisper in the front left corner of the room caught his attention, though his eyes were still on the back right. "Since you find this worthy of comment, Miss Carringsen, why don't you enlighten us? Read the fourth paragraph." He had finished speaking before he turned his gaze to her, and she held the wide-eyed, disbelieving expression of a student who was certain that her teacher had just read her mind somehow.
She cleared her throat softly. "Steam is the most highly energized form that can still be referred to as liquid. A steam is the result of heated particles of liquid condensing in the air. The visible portion of steam is the liquid portion of it; the gaseous portion is invisible. The second form of liquid, vapor, is similar to steam in that it is a semi-gas, but where a steam has been heated past boiling point, a vapor is a reaction which causes a cloud of gas, which then condenses in the air. Again, the visible portion of the vapor is the liquid portion, and the invisible portion the gaseous."
"Stop." Severus paced slowly across the front of the classroom, his eyes landing on each student's face in turn. After a long silence, he spoke very softly. "Is there a difference between steam and vapor, then?" he asked, and his eyes settled on a Slytherin, who stared, wide-eyed back at him. "Based on the passage Miss Carringsen just read for us, is there a difference between a steam and a vapor?" A few heads were nodding uncertainly, and Severus picked one at random. "Mr. Mallory, will you please explain to us the difference between a steam and a vapor?"
Mallory swallowed hard and his voice was anything but confident. "A steam is the liquid portion of a gas," he offered, "and a vapor is the gas portion of a liquid..."
Severus stopped suddenly, his lips moving as he silently repeated what Mallory had said. The liquid portion of a gas? "What is a liquid, Mr. Mallory?"
"I..." the student looked as though he wished he could simply sink through the floor.
"Very well. What is a gas?"
There was utter silence. Severus sighed heavily. "I think perhaps that I was mistaken in thinking that this class had mastered the material from First Year potions," he told them scathingly. "But that is a situation I can rectify. All of you, take out your quills, and you will spend the remainder of class composing an essay for me, detailing the forms of matter with a special emphasis on identifying them from one another. I think thirty inches will suffice," he told them. "And all of you will report to this classroom on Wednesday at seven o'clock, as we will begin a tutorial session for those of you who have not satisfied me that you have mastered this concept. Begin your work, silently! Thirty inches. Are there any questions?" After a momentary pause, one hand came up in the back row, and Severus raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Miss Nethrey?"
She cleared her throat softly. "Are you feeling better, Professor?" she asked softly.
Had he not read that note from one of his students explaining the reason he'd been getting letters of concern from them, he might have been touched. "Your concern is appreciated, Miss Nethrey, but unnecessary. I feel fine, thank you. Thirty inches."