* * * Morning After Blues* * *
Snape awoke alone. Hardly a surprise, although he thought he might have preferred the opportunity to listen to Potter's horrified babblings from the comfort of his own bed. But Potter was gone. The blanket which Snape had conjured for him was folded at the foot of the bed and there was a chastened air to the uneven folds of wool that brought a slight and twisted smile to Snape's face.
There was Potter sign in the bathroom; puddles of water around the basin and on the floor suggested handfuls of cold water poured over an aching head. Snape hoped the rotten cock-teasing bastard's eyes were bleeding this morning. Looking at his own pale, lined face in the mirror, Snape understood Potter's retreat, that made more sense than the idiot usually demonstrated. What he didn't understand, what he resented deeply, was why Potter had made the advance in the first place. Drink, despair and a life debt, he supposed, buttoning his waistcoat sourly. It would be humiliating to a younger man than Snape. As it was, it was merely annoying and would prove entertaining. Snape decided on breakfasting with the rest of the staff - and Potter. He plucked the small bottle of Hangover Helper he'd brewed last night from off the mantel and tucked it into a pocket, just in case his mood turned merciful at the sight of Potter's sufferings. He did not think it would.
Snape's sneer was firmly in place when he reached the small parlor in which the staff ate during holidays. Surprisingly, he was greeted warmly by those colleagues who remained. It was a trifle disconcerting to be patted on the back by Flitwick and clasped to Trelawney's scented bosom. Even McGonagall shook his hand and asked how he was feeling. Pomfrey noted that his color and appetite were good and recommended reducing the dosage of Heartsease. Since Snape didn't mention that he hadn't bothered with the stuff this morning, the topic of conversation passed calmly on to the weather.
Neither Potter or Dumbledore were at breakfast this morning. Snape sighed as he gnawed at a kipper. He felt like an owl that had missed its strike; bereft of prey, he turned his attention to the newspaper that Flitwick was just lying down. He stopped chewing abruptly.
A photo of Harry Potter glared wildly from the front page of the Daily Prophet. The headline nearly made him spit his tea out.
"Harry Potter - The Boy Who Was Sacked.
"Ministry officials revealed late last night that Harry Potter, formerly a member of the Special Operations unit, has been fired. Complaints regarding sloppy procedure and botched operations played a factor in the decision, an anonymous Ministry source reports. The recent, tragic deaths of several young colleagues appear to ..."
"Has the Headmaster seen this?" Snape waved the paper at the jabbering idiots with whom he worked.
"He has," McGonagall said in her clipped tones. "Right after Mr. Potter saw it and went crashing out of here. I believe Professor Dumbledore is attempting to determine if this is a prank."
"It's not prank," Snape snapped, then stood, abandoning his breakfast. "Where's Albus?"
* * *
"What the hell is Fudge thinking?" were Snape's first words as he strode into the Headmaster's office.
"Ah, good morning, Severus. Feeling better?" Dumbledore smiled gently at him, as if Snape's demanding tone was more reassuring than irritating.
"I am fine, Headmaster. Which is more than I can say for Fudge... or Potter."
"Hmm, yes, I did think young Harry was looking a touch under the weather this morning."
"Before or after he saw Cornelius Fudge's vengeful little foray into the realm of dramatic fiction?"
"You're of the opinion it was Fudge, then?" Dumbledore asked thoughtfully.
"Who else would it be, Albus? I know it was Fudge. What I cannot decide upon is his motivation."
Dumbledore's mouth crooked slightly. "I would think his motivation would be crystal clear, Severus. Harry rather pricked his pride yesterday and that would be rather a large wound to a man such as Cornelius."
Snape waved a hand irritably. "Don't play dumb with me. Which is it? Is Fudge a short-sighted idiot trying to make political hay out of slander and cover up? Or is he working for Voldemort and trying to destabilize the Ministry and lay the groundwork for a widespread mistrust and possible panic before the Death Eaters' next big offensive?"
Dumbledore stared steadily at his Potions master, one finger tapping his mended desk thoughtfully. "The difficulty," he said slowly, " is that the facts we have at the moment support both theories equally well. Fudge might just be a small-minded opportunist taking advantage of the current situation to eliminate those he considers threats to his political career. Like Harry."
"Or he might be systematically weakening the Ministry from the inside, in order to make any effective defense against Voldemort difficult to impossible. Discrediting Harry Potter, his work and the Special Ops teams would be a shrewd move, once he realized the poison wasn't going to kill the boy."
"In some ways, it's even more effective than killing him. Dead, Harry Potter would become a martyr and a rallying cry. Alive but disgraced, his very fame works against him. "
They were both silent for a moment. "You know, if it turns out that Fudge *is* working for Voldemort, I shall have to revise my opinion of the man's intelligence," Snape said.
"You never heard any rumor about a Ministry mole...?" Dumbledore asked delicately.
"No one that highly placed."
They were silent again. Snape noticed finally that it was snowing outside. Finally he asked, "How do we find out?"
"I have put several agents to work on different aspects of the problem. We should have some definite information in the next forty-eight hours. In the meantime, my dear boy, I am afraid that I shall have to ask you to make another largish batch of that new..."
"I won't do it," Snape said quietly. "No more poisons, Albus. There's enough of Potter's poison to cure someone else, but I won't make any more to be used as a weapon."
"That new Veritaserum variation you have been researching," Dumbledore continued smoothly. "The one that erases the short-term memory."
At Snape's half-apologetic, half annoyed look, Dumbledore smiled. There was an edge to the twinkle in his eyes when he said, "I believe that I'll be inviting the Minister to tea the day after tomorrow, Severus. After all, it's Hogmanay."
Snape reflected again that it was never wise to make assumptions about the headmaster of Hogwarts. Cornelius Fudge was in for a hell of a surprise. He found that the thought gave him no pain. Potter would certainly enjoy it.
"Where is Harry?" Snape asked suddenly.
Dumbledore's shrewd look over his glasses made Snape wish he'd phrased the question differently. Perhaps a drawling slight would have headed off the conversation he could see coming. But Dumbledore said only,
"He was rather upset by the article. He was certainly in no mood to be reasoned with, so I let him go. Let's see where he is, shall we?"
The old wizard drew a scroll of parchment out of one of the desk's innumerable drawers. Unrolling it, he tapped the blank sheet with his wand. A complete and marvelously detailed map of the entire school shimmered into existence. Tiny numbers written to the left of the page revealed the plans of different floors when they were tapped. Exquisitely small letters spelled out the names of each of the castle's occupants, down to the last house elf. Harry Potter's name was finally found - at the top of the unused tower beyond the owlery.
Snape sighed irritably. It was going to be a long, cold walk up the tower's outside stairs. In the snow, no less. He hated snow. Inconsiderate brat.
"Shall we talk about your feelings for Harry Potter now, Severus?" Dumbledore asked in a considerate tone. Snape stared at him, stricken by the unexpected attack. Smiling gently, with just the tiniest glint of malice in his eyes, Dumbledore said only, "Wear a hat, my dear boy. It wouldn't do to catch a cold so soon after leaving Madam Pomfrey's excellent care."
As there was no answer to be made, Snape simply got up and left.
Snape awoke alone. Hardly a surprise, although he thought he might have preferred the opportunity to listen to Potter's horrified babblings from the comfort of his own bed. But Potter was gone. The blanket which Snape had conjured for him was folded at the foot of the bed and there was a chastened air to the uneven folds of wool that brought a slight and twisted smile to Snape's face.
There was Potter sign in the bathroom; puddles of water around the basin and on the floor suggested handfuls of cold water poured over an aching head. Snape hoped the rotten cock-teasing bastard's eyes were bleeding this morning. Looking at his own pale, lined face in the mirror, Snape understood Potter's retreat, that made more sense than the idiot usually demonstrated. What he didn't understand, what he resented deeply, was why Potter had made the advance in the first place. Drink, despair and a life debt, he supposed, buttoning his waistcoat sourly. It would be humiliating to a younger man than Snape. As it was, it was merely annoying and would prove entertaining. Snape decided on breakfasting with the rest of the staff - and Potter. He plucked the small bottle of Hangover Helper he'd brewed last night from off the mantel and tucked it into a pocket, just in case his mood turned merciful at the sight of Potter's sufferings. He did not think it would.
Snape's sneer was firmly in place when he reached the small parlor in which the staff ate during holidays. Surprisingly, he was greeted warmly by those colleagues who remained. It was a trifle disconcerting to be patted on the back by Flitwick and clasped to Trelawney's scented bosom. Even McGonagall shook his hand and asked how he was feeling. Pomfrey noted that his color and appetite were good and recommended reducing the dosage of Heartsease. Since Snape didn't mention that he hadn't bothered with the stuff this morning, the topic of conversation passed calmly on to the weather.
Neither Potter or Dumbledore were at breakfast this morning. Snape sighed as he gnawed at a kipper. He felt like an owl that had missed its strike; bereft of prey, he turned his attention to the newspaper that Flitwick was just lying down. He stopped chewing abruptly.
A photo of Harry Potter glared wildly from the front page of the Daily Prophet. The headline nearly made him spit his tea out.
"Harry Potter - The Boy Who Was Sacked.
"Ministry officials revealed late last night that Harry Potter, formerly a member of the Special Operations unit, has been fired. Complaints regarding sloppy procedure and botched operations played a factor in the decision, an anonymous Ministry source reports. The recent, tragic deaths of several young colleagues appear to ..."
"Has the Headmaster seen this?" Snape waved the paper at the jabbering idiots with whom he worked.
"He has," McGonagall said in her clipped tones. "Right after Mr. Potter saw it and went crashing out of here. I believe Professor Dumbledore is attempting to determine if this is a prank."
"It's not prank," Snape snapped, then stood, abandoning his breakfast. "Where's Albus?"
* * *
"What the hell is Fudge thinking?" were Snape's first words as he strode into the Headmaster's office.
"Ah, good morning, Severus. Feeling better?" Dumbledore smiled gently at him, as if Snape's demanding tone was more reassuring than irritating.
"I am fine, Headmaster. Which is more than I can say for Fudge... or Potter."
"Hmm, yes, I did think young Harry was looking a touch under the weather this morning."
"Before or after he saw Cornelius Fudge's vengeful little foray into the realm of dramatic fiction?"
"You're of the opinion it was Fudge, then?" Dumbledore asked thoughtfully.
"Who else would it be, Albus? I know it was Fudge. What I cannot decide upon is his motivation."
Dumbledore's mouth crooked slightly. "I would think his motivation would be crystal clear, Severus. Harry rather pricked his pride yesterday and that would be rather a large wound to a man such as Cornelius."
Snape waved a hand irritably. "Don't play dumb with me. Which is it? Is Fudge a short-sighted idiot trying to make political hay out of slander and cover up? Or is he working for Voldemort and trying to destabilize the Ministry and lay the groundwork for a widespread mistrust and possible panic before the Death Eaters' next big offensive?"
Dumbledore stared steadily at his Potions master, one finger tapping his mended desk thoughtfully. "The difficulty," he said slowly, " is that the facts we have at the moment support both theories equally well. Fudge might just be a small-minded opportunist taking advantage of the current situation to eliminate those he considers threats to his political career. Like Harry."
"Or he might be systematically weakening the Ministry from the inside, in order to make any effective defense against Voldemort difficult to impossible. Discrediting Harry Potter, his work and the Special Ops teams would be a shrewd move, once he realized the poison wasn't going to kill the boy."
"In some ways, it's even more effective than killing him. Dead, Harry Potter would become a martyr and a rallying cry. Alive but disgraced, his very fame works against him. "
They were both silent for a moment. "You know, if it turns out that Fudge *is* working for Voldemort, I shall have to revise my opinion of the man's intelligence," Snape said.
"You never heard any rumor about a Ministry mole...?" Dumbledore asked delicately.
"No one that highly placed."
They were silent again. Snape noticed finally that it was snowing outside. Finally he asked, "How do we find out?"
"I have put several agents to work on different aspects of the problem. We should have some definite information in the next forty-eight hours. In the meantime, my dear boy, I am afraid that I shall have to ask you to make another largish batch of that new..."
"I won't do it," Snape said quietly. "No more poisons, Albus. There's enough of Potter's poison to cure someone else, but I won't make any more to be used as a weapon."
"That new Veritaserum variation you have been researching," Dumbledore continued smoothly. "The one that erases the short-term memory."
At Snape's half-apologetic, half annoyed look, Dumbledore smiled. There was an edge to the twinkle in his eyes when he said, "I believe that I'll be inviting the Minister to tea the day after tomorrow, Severus. After all, it's Hogmanay."
Snape reflected again that it was never wise to make assumptions about the headmaster of Hogwarts. Cornelius Fudge was in for a hell of a surprise. He found that the thought gave him no pain. Potter would certainly enjoy it.
"Where is Harry?" Snape asked suddenly.
Dumbledore's shrewd look over his glasses made Snape wish he'd phrased the question differently. Perhaps a drawling slight would have headed off the conversation he could see coming. But Dumbledore said only,
"He was rather upset by the article. He was certainly in no mood to be reasoned with, so I let him go. Let's see where he is, shall we?"
The old wizard drew a scroll of parchment out of one of the desk's innumerable drawers. Unrolling it, he tapped the blank sheet with his wand. A complete and marvelously detailed map of the entire school shimmered into existence. Tiny numbers written to the left of the page revealed the plans of different floors when they were tapped. Exquisitely small letters spelled out the names of each of the castle's occupants, down to the last house elf. Harry Potter's name was finally found - at the top of the unused tower beyond the owlery.
Snape sighed irritably. It was going to be a long, cold walk up the tower's outside stairs. In the snow, no less. He hated snow. Inconsiderate brat.
"Shall we talk about your feelings for Harry Potter now, Severus?" Dumbledore asked in a considerate tone. Snape stared at him, stricken by the unexpected attack. Smiling gently, with just the tiniest glint of malice in his eyes, Dumbledore said only, "Wear a hat, my dear boy. It wouldn't do to catch a cold so soon after leaving Madam Pomfrey's excellent care."
As there was no answer to be made, Snape simply got up and left.