A sudden flash of light woke Desdemona from fitful dreams. Beside her, a voice grabbed blankets and pulled them over his head, barking a garbled order to put out the damned candlelight. However, there was no candle lit in the room. Instead, a brightly shining bird perched on Severus' dresser, preening his feathers, which emitted sparks of light into the darkness.
Adrenaline running through her, Desi found herself completely awake. "Fawkes?"
A lone note of phoenix song hovered in the air between the large bird and the woman he'd come to visit. As he did, Desi felt something release in her mind, a sort of awareness, as if recalling a forgotten dream. At the sound, an incredibly tired and confused man finally opened his eyes.
"What in bloody hell is that bird doing here?"
Desi ignored him. "It's time, isn't it, Fawkes?"
The bird nodded once, and then vanished in a second flash of light, leaving Desi sitting up in a tangled mass of black sheets, shaking, her face looking as if all color had drained away, her auburn curls casting shadows across her features.
"Would you care to explain to me what in the lowest depths of Azkaban is going on?" Sev finally struggled to gain some level of alertness, rubbing his eyes and trying to make sense of the previous thirty seconds. "Time for what?"
Desi shot from the bed and began throwing clothes on haphazardly, taking a full minute to realize that her sweater was inside out and backwards. Sliding back into her jeans, she began to look under the bed for her shoes, swearing when she couldn't find them.
"You were barefoot last night, remember?" For some reason, the sight of her fumbling for her clothes as if they'd been caught by a prefect amused him, until he noticed that she was chewing on her bottom lip; she had a habit of doing that when worried about something. Desi hadn't paid him any attention, and hadn't answered his question. "Desdemona, what is going on?"
She barely looked over at him as she searched for her wand, which she remembered bringing in case she had needed to hex his obstinate ass into staying put last night. Finally grasping the slender rosewood wand, she conjured her hair into a ponytail. "Get dressed" were her only words, spoken over her shoulder as she walked from the bedroom to his kitchen.
Within seconds, the smell of coffee wafted to him, as he still sat in his bed, baffled at her mechanical and detached behavior. Grumbling to himself, Severus finally left his warm bed, shivering as bare feet hit the cold stone floor. Yelping as he stubbed his toe in the dark, he threw on clothes and stormed out of his bedroom. From the palest of light on the horizon, it was barely dawn.
He gladly took the mug of coffee Desi offered him, her cup half empty already. That was one blessing – she appreciated a morning cup of coffee as much as he did. Just the scent was enough for him to open his eyes a little wider.
And his students wondered why he was always so moody during early morning potions.
Swallowing a gulp of the insanely strong, black, hot coffee, he glared at Desi, who was working hard to avoid his gaze. "Now that we're both awake and dressed at some hour of the day which is positively inhuman, would you like to tell me what in the name of Salazar Slytherin is going on?"
Desi bolted down the rest of the mug of coffee and slammed the cup down on the counter like it had been a shot of firewhiskey. "We're expected at the Headmaster's office. Fawkes is getting the other heads of houses."
"Why?" Just because he had coffee did not mean he was completely alert and functioning.
"I still can't talk about it, Sev. Just hurry up with the coffee."
"Does this have anything to do with that repression charm you mentioned last night?"
She nodded, biting her lip again. A melancholy haze drifted across her face.
Damn. Three gulps later, the coffee was gone, and the pair headed out his apartment door, towards the headmaster's office, Desi remaining silent the entire way.
By the time they reached the door, Minerva McGonagall was turning a corner, followed moments later by Professors Flitwick and Sprout. All three looked as if they too had dressed in a hurry, with little attention given to their appearances. Fawkes hovered in front of the sliding door that opened to the staircase leading up to the Headmaster of Hogwarts' office, his wings flapping overhead, sparks raining down from them.
"Desdemona, what are you doing here?" McGonagall asked, looking exhausted on the other side of her spectacles. "And where is Professor Dumbledore?"
Desi looked at all four people intently. "Gone." The word shook as much as her hands.
Flitwick stared upward at her, confusing plainly written on his face. "What exactly do you mean by 'gone'?"
McGonagall searched Desi's face. "He left?" At her nod, she sucked in a breath. "I didn't think he would leave without saying goodbye to the students..."
"There wasn't time."
Severus grabbed her upper arm and spun her around to face him. "Time for what? Damn it, Desi, start talking."
Desi choked down a sob, looking up into black eyes that reflected frustration. Eyes that had, only hours ago, convinced her that everything in her life would be alright in the end. The truth that had been locked in her mind until Fawkes' arrival mere minutes ago filled her very soul with dread and loss. "Papa had to leave Hogwarts. He's in hiding. By now, the Order has a new Secret-Keeper, and Papa is far away from here and unfindable. He has his own Secret-Keeper, to keep him safe. The Hat has chosen the new headmaster of Hogwarts."
He didn't like where this was going. The coffee was finally working; pieces of the insane puzzle were clicking into place.
Finally, he spoke up. "Well, who is the new Headmaster?"
Desi exchanged a long glance with Minerva McGonagall, volumes of understanding carrying between the two, before looking over at Sev, black fire burning in his eyes.
"Fawkes, I'm ready." The phoenix nodded, and sang. As the notes reverberated in the hallway, the second repression charm in Desdemona's mind was released.
"Perfect balance."
As soon as Desi uttered those words, the sliding door parted, allowing the petite witch to walk up the staircase to her grandfather's office.
Her office.
As she disappeared up the staircase, Severus Snape raged. Glaring at the other three heads of houses, he bellowed. "Would one of the three of you care to let me in on the damned secret, since little miss 'follow the phoenix' found herself incapable? What did the Hat and the bird have to do with any of this? And why isn't McGonagall, of all people at this school, the Headmaster? Why Desi?"
Minerva looked up at the man, annoyance at his tone of voice warring with a feeling of sympathy towards him. She'd warned Albus that keeping the head of Slytherin House in the dark about certain protocol was foolish at best. Now, however, given the circumstances, she understood why he had. After all it had been she herself who had pointed out his granddaughter's infatuation with the tall boy years ago, when both were mere students. Since the Sorting Hat would have said something ages ago to Albus about the succession, the silence finally made sense.
She sighed, taking it upon herself to answer his question. "When it is time for a new Headmaster to be appointed, the phoenix gathers the four heads of houses and, in some cases, a fifth person. Generally, the Headmaster finds their way on staff at Hogwarts, and is sometimes already the head of a house, but, other times, this isn't the case. The phoenix then tells the selected Headmaster the new password, and conveys the secrets of the school to him or her."
Coffee wasn't enough for him right then. He needed something stronger. A damn sight stronger. He wondered if he still had that bottle of whiskey in his kitchen. "So, the bird chose Desi to be the headmaster?"
McGonagall shook her head. "No. The phoenix only told her the secrets. The Sorting Hat chose her."
Make that a bottle of whiskey followed by the bottle of Muggle rum he still had from five years ago. "The hat? A hat and a bird choose who runs the school?"
The three professors nodded in unison. He merely shook his head. "Please tell me this is a really bad dream."
McGonagall's sympathy won out. "It's not, Severus. Desdemona is the new Headmistress of Hogwarts. Why Dumbledore never explained the succession to you, or gave you any hint that she was chosen, is not something I can answer for. I'm sorry. However, this does not stop time. We still have finals to give our students and a school to run, and I would suggest we return to our houses." With one last look of pity etched on her face, Minerva McGonagall turned and swept around the corner again, presumably going to Gryffindor Tower, leaving the man to stand outside a closed door in a mental daze.
In a daze of her own, Desdemona walked around the room, staring in awe at pictures on the walls and shelves filled with books and trinkets. The desk had been cleared off; a sight she had never thought she'd see in all her days. Fawkes flew to her shoulder, perching there, trilling into her ear as her mind felt overflowing with the wisdom that the phoenix's voice imparted.
With ice in her voice, she finally addressed the other sentient being in the room. "Why me?"
The sorting hat coughed politely. "Lovely to begin working with you too, Ms. Dumbledore."
"Drecorum. I don't see any reason to stop using my mother's name."
The sorting hat paused for a moment. "A wise choice, if I may say so. Hopefully, it will reduce comparisons between Albus Dumbledore and yourself."
"You still didn't answer my question." Icicles still dripped from her words. "Why me? Why am I the Headmistress? Why didn't you choose someone more suited, like McGonagall or Flitwick? I've barely been a professor for a year. Why am I so special?"
Something gave her the impression the Sorting Hat didn't want to answer her question. However, after a few moments of waiting, it finally began to speak.
"Let me begin by saying, Ms. Drecorum, that if history had gone a different way, it would not have been you. However, events take place outside these walls that I cannot always predict, or control, or avoid. Regardless, you are the person best suited for this task, as of this moment."
She rolled her eyes. "I promise you, artifact from the founding of this school or not, I will pitch you into the fireplace if you don't start being a little less cryptic, starting immediately. I agreed to this nonsense because my grandfather begged me to, and because you promised me answers when it was time for me to hear them. I have not just turned my entire life upside down to be given riddles and clues from some shabby piece of fabric."
To her amazement, the Sorting Hat chuckled. "I told your grandfather you had spirit. You deserve to hear the truth, Ms. Drecorum. All of the truth. Which starts, sadly enough, at the founding itself. The founders designed me to do more than ensure that the students made it into the courses of study that best suited them. I also council the Headmasters of the school, as well as select the new headmaster when the previous one steps down. It allows for a certain impartiality that governing bodies cannot seem to accomplish. Fawkes, as you now know, is the guardian of that secret, and all the secrets of Hogwarts. Like me, he has been with the school and its leaders since the very beginning."
"Yes, yes, Papa explained that bit to me. Can we fast-forward through the exposition here?" Desi was losing patience with the Hat. "I have finals to oversee and students to look after, not to mention an incredibly hurt, overly-anxious and likely highly-irate Head of Slytherin House to try and placate."
"The founders realized that having four leaders of the school was unrealistic, especially after Slytherin left. It was too chaotic. People need one leader. One person to turn to and to solve the crises. However, a person can be overly-oriented into one direction or another. Hence, my role in the selection of the new headmaster. When I sort the students, every year, I am always searching for the one who is the best candidate for the Headmastership. I'm always looking for someone who is very difficult to place in one house or another. Someone, Ms. Drecorum, who is perfectly balanced in deeds and interests."
Where had she heard those words before?
"The Hat said that, Papa?"
"Yes, it did, little one. 'Between snake and lion, the girl's heart rests. Perfectly balanced in deeds and interests.'"
"What does it mean?"
A sad sort of smile. "It means, little one, that you are equally one and the other. That you are as much noble and brave as you are cunning and shrewd."
"Is that good?"
"In a way, yes."
She'd been eleven when her grandfather told her what the Hat had said. Eleven. He had known even then that this was her fate. Now she understood his protective nature.
"If I'm as balanced as you claim, then who was the person who was supposed to be here? You said that it would have been someone else if history hadn't gone the way it had. Was there someone else better suited for this than myself? What happened?" Desi's mind reeled.
The Hat sighed; a strange, lamenting sort of sound. "The woman who should have been Headmistress died years ago. Murdered in the first conflict with Voldemort, from what I learned. She would have been Potions professor and head of Slytherin House, instead of Severus Snape. In some ways, she would have been a better choice than he; she had less inner turmoil than he carries with him. However, I do not control the hands of fate. Which is why, Ms. Drecorum, you stand in this office now, instead of your mother."
"My...my mother?" Desi's knees gave out and she hit the floor, frightening Fawkes so that he left her shoulder and flew to his perch. "My mother was supposed to be the Headmistress of Hogwarts? Head of Slytherin? Potions professor?" She'd known she resembled her mother in a lot of ways, but this was beyond ridiculous. "Are you sure we're talking about the same woman? My mother had a temper than could make volcanic eruptions seem tame. She could swing from one emotion to the next like a squirrel jumps from one tree to another. Granted, she loved her cauldron more than I love mine, and she would have made a wonderful professor, but Headmaster?"
The Sorting Hat gave her the impression that it would have nodded if it were possible. "The same traits that make you the best choice were in her as well. Yes, she had a temper, a desire to prove herself, and a gift for bending ethics to suit her needs, but she always gave of herself selflessly at the same time, no matter her temperament. She was bright and ambitious, fair and brave. Many of the same traits, if you recall, that you yourself possess. Just because she herself was a Slytherin, like yourself, does not mean she wasn't noble or that her heart wasn't just. To think that about her discredits yourself as well. Simply put, Cassandra Drecorum should have been a professor at Hogwarts. She should have become Headmistress. She should have been the one to take this position. It is a shame that the fates willed a different path. However, fate gave this school a second chance, the day you came to Hogwarts."
Desi had no idea how long she'd been crying, or which thought made her start in the first place. Her mother should have been here. Her mother should have lived.
Instead, she sat there, on a cold stone floor, weeping for what was lost, what could never be replaced, and for a future so filled with uncertainty that she ached with it.
He never returned to his apartments.
Instead, Severus sat outside the door that steadfastly, and almost stubbornly, refused to open. He'd tried every muggle treat that Dumbledore had ever used as passwords before. He finally realized, after thirty minutes, that Dumbledore's passwords didn't work anymore.
This is what drove her to frustration last night. This was the burden weighing on her shoulders. She'd known all of this, but couldn't speak of it.
Damn Albus Dumbledore. Damn him and his interference in everyone's lives around him. Sometimes, he wondered what the difference was between his two former employers.
Sometimes, he didn't think the difference was really that great.
"It's been three years, Headmaster. The Dark Lord is gone. Your students are safe. I've played the dance with the Death Eaters who escaped imprisonment. Why do you still act as if you don't trust me enough to let me teach the Defense classes?"
"I trust you, Severus. More than you know. I trust that you will continue the charade I asked you to play, and I trust that you will not break my confidence."
"With all due respect, Headmaster, you don't."
"How do you mean, Severus?"
"I mean, the only reason you trust me is the leverage you wield over my head."
"And by that, you mean the memory of my granddaughter."
"Yes, you cold-hearted...yes, sir. I do."
"I see your temper is still quick to rise, Severus. Something that, sadly, you haven't lost yet. Perhaps soon, but not yet."
"You asked me to risk my life for her..."
"Which was, at the time, the only reason you could find to not end your life right then and there, if I recall events clearly."
"How did you know?"
"Just because my specialty is transfiguration, Severus, does not mean I was not proficient at Potions as well. I recognized the liquid in that bottle that sat on your bedside table. I remember the empty longing in your eyes that night, searching for an answer. I remember the first spark of life I saw in you as I begged for your help, at the mention of her name. Your life, Severus, has never been very kind or sympathetic to you. For that, I can only apologize."
"Apologize? You hold her name over my head like a guillotine, ready to bring the blade down at a moment's notice, and you have the nerve to apologize for the unfairness of life? Fair would be letting me suffer in silence, without constant reminders of her presence. Fair would be helping me forget the selfish and foolish thing I did and the harm it caused. Fair would be letting me simply be. This isn't fair."
"Ah, I see. You wish for me to promote you to Defense instructor so you can forget Desdemona, because the Potions classroom reminds you of her?"
"That's not what I said..."
"Severus, if I could, I would. But I need you to teach Potions. One day, you'll understand. However, you are right. I have been holding her memory over your head, and that is not fair to you. I promise, I will never mention her again in your company."
The irony of it all ate at him. He realized now what he couldn't possibly see then. Dumbledore had known one day he would need to bring her back to the school. He tried to prepare him for that day.
The last time he'd seen her, she'd been fourteen, sitting in the library alone, studying, tears falling down her cheeks. He'd caught sight of her in a gap of books on a shelf, and the sight had made his heart clench. It was that moment that made him leave the school early, after exams but before the end-of-term formalities.
Twenty-five years later, his first sight of her had made his heart clench again.
Watching her walk into the Great Hall, as students poured in from the carriage ride, lining up at their tables.
Seeing the warm smile she gave McGonagall, reaching out to shake hands with Flitwick, Sinistra, Trelawney.
Noticing how much effort she put into ignoring his presence.
Hating himself the entire time.
Twenty-five years had brought so much change, and yet so little all at once. The unruly waves of auburn hair, the flash in her deep blue eyes, the mischievous grin – that was the girl he'd met as a fifth-year student. The chill in her voice, the stiff posturing, the constant watchful gaze sweeping around her – those were new.
Her grandfather had brought her back to this school. Brought her back to fulfill a destiny he clearly knew to be hers.
Dumbledore had played her as easily as he'd played Severus. Instead of being direct and clear, he'd been calculating and devious. He'd waited; waited until he was sure the two had finally broken the ice, until he had atoned for his sins, until she had made her confession. Waited until there was no going back before causing this upheaval.
"When, Severus, do you plan to let yourself know what the rest of the world clearly sees?"
Silence his only answer.
"Severus, why do you fight? Why do you constantly try to repress your humanity behind a brick wall?"
"I hurt her once. I never wanted to do it again." Anger filling his very soul. "You knew. You knew she would object to this plan. I told you, Lupin told you, even Potter told you. Then you asked me to take part in it, knowing how much she objected. You made me choose between my feelings for your granddaughter and my loyalty to you."
"Not to me, Severus. To the Order. To Harry. To the future of wizardkind."
"Hide it in euphemisms all you want, Professor. You and I know the truth. You held a decades-old promise in your hand, and asked me to do something that you knew could drive a wedge between her and I. After all the talk about being grateful the past can be set aside and futures can be written, you asked me to risk that. For you."
"Perhaps I did, Severus. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps you're more honest about it than I am being. However, in all fairness, would you have actually said no, if she asked it of you?"
Unable to answer the simple question.
"Just because you cannot always make her happy, Severus, does not mean you don't love her. It only hurts you more."
Silence again.
He sat now on the floor outside the office, highly undignified yet not caring one bit.
He owed her so much.
He owed her everything.
"What do you want?"
"This looked like a good place to study. Do you mind?"
Looking the new Slytherin up and down. "If I said yes?"
"Then I'd leave."
He rolled his eyes. Then he noticed the book in her hands.
"What are you doing with an advanced Potions book?"
"I'm in third-year Potions. It's the required book. I wanted to study some of the titration methods before double Potions tomorrow."
His jaw hanging open. "You're new, aren't you? A-a first year, I mean?"
Nodding in affirmation, auburn hair spilling everywhere.
"And you're in third-year potions?"
"Mum taught me everything she knew. I had my own cauldron when I was three. I've been making actual potions since I was probably seven or eight. So, when I got my letter for school, Papa asked Professor Rasputin to test me since I wanted to take a higher Potions class. Third year's the highest he'll let me go, since I'm so young."
Staring. "Your Papa?"
Sighing in relief. "Thank Circe. Someone who doesn't recognize me immediately. I'm Desdemona Dumbledore."
Memory rushing back. The Great Hall silent as the small witch sat with the Sorting Hat. Half an hour passing by. Finally pulling out a book while he waited.
She'd gone to Slytherin?
"Your 'Papa' is the Headmaster?"
Smiling blue eyes. "My grandfather. On my father's side, obviously."
"But your grandfather..."
"...was in Gryffindor. Yes, yes, I know. So was my father. Trust me, Great-Uncle Aberforth has not let me forget this. But my mother was a Slytherin, so it balances out in the long run. But that's neither here nor there. You never did answer my question. May I study with you?"
"What makes you think I need a study partner?"
Amusement in dancing blue eyes. "Well, for starters, those two Gryffindor boys who harassed you on the train won't touch you as long as I'm around, seeing as how I'm the headmaster's granddaughter and all."
"What?"
Sighing again, in exasperation. "The two boys with black hair. Your age. Gryffindor. One with glasses. They were awful to you. Plus, Professor Rasputin said you're very good with Potions and Defense classes – it would be good for me to study with you. So, a trade-off. They can't harass you as much, and I get to learn more than I will in my regular classes."
In shock at the negotiating abilities of an eleven year old girl.
Shaking her hand in agreement.
She'd turned herself into a social pariah to be his friend, and he never fully realized it until it was too late. She'd missed out on close friendships and dating and gossip and...
...and she'd done it willingly, without reservation.
She'd become the one person no one ever wanted to be. She'd made herself his friend.
Twenty-five years later, she was his love.
He glared at the door one last time. Desi was the new headmaster now.
They needed to have a chat.