At 9:30 the following morning, Severus was in the staff room, settled into a chair, idly reading the Prophet as though he normally spent his mornings pouring over whatever drivel those excuses for reporters saw fit to include on the front page. Across the room, Minerva was similarly engaged, though her reading material of choice was a catalogue of dress robes, if the picture on the cover was any indication. That they were both in the same room where Tempora Vector was calmly finishing what must have been a scintillating article about the four-dimensional nature of matter was surely a coincidence, and it had, of course, nothing at all to do with that fact that Esther Sinastra was, in all likelihood, working her charms to extend her meeting with Headmistress Malfoy. That was the plan they had conjured last night—that they would each try to draw out their meetings by an extra half hour. The plan had nothing to do with plots against the Headmistress, of course; it was simply a matter of addressing all their concerns.

Severus had a folded parchment with enough 'concerns' listed on it to occupy any fool's time for the next four hours. And if Regalia Malfoy missed her lunch because of him... well, wouldn't that be a shame?

After the meeting with Fudge and Malfoy yesterday, the Hogwarts teachers had congregated in Minerva's office and exchanged opinions about the new Headmistress. Most of the staff was of the same impression of the woman—she was very young. It was quite difficult to move past that particular shock. Pomona had suggested, if somewhat hesitantly, that they had underestimated the woman's shrewdness, but the idea had been dismissed out of hand. Severus had been most vehement in his opposition to that nonsense. "Regalia Malfoy," he had told them in no uncertain terms, "is a beautiful young woman. But that is the extent of it. She is young, and she is beautiful, and she is a Malfoy. I don't think there is much to worry about from her."

And, the evidence so far supported his argument. That she was young and beautiful were without question; that she was a Malfoy, with all the baggage and clout that name carried, was never doubted. That there was nothing to worry about... Well. That remained to be seen, of course, but so far they had a fair indication of her. She was, of course, bright, and had been a step ahead of them at the meeting. And she'd been rather convincing with regards to the document she'd written for Fudge (of course, a puffskein could have convinced the staff of the benefit of signing that document. None of the staff, at least, was stupid.) After that meeting, though, they'd not seen hide nor hair of Regalia Malfoy for the rest of the evening. Which left them all plenty of time to plot.

The door suddenly banged open and in flounced Esther, her pretty features marred by a scowl. "You should all be thankful that I'm not as ruthless as some in this room," she announced, the direction of her gaze naming Severus as the accused. "I'm going to share my experience—don't try to extend your time with her unless you really want to talk to her longer. I just came out with another meeting scheduled for tomorrow, to 'discuss the topics we didn't address today'." Rolling her eyes, she fell gracelessly into a chair. "I think she's more cunning than you gave her credit for, Severus," she said after a moment. "I really think the purpose of these meetings is to wear down our defenses."

Severus snorted softly. "If that's all it takes to wear down your resolve, perhaps she is a bit much for you." He set aside his copy of the Prophet and finished off his tea, then stood, stretching languidly. "I suppose it's my turn then. If you ladies will excuse me," he sketched a bow to the room at large and slipped out into the corridor to make his way up to the tower that housed the Headmistress' office. A tower he had often visited Dumbledore in. He arrived at the gargoyle guardian and for a moment, he felt his throat go dry.

"Butter toffee," he murmured to the gargoyle, and knew he shouldn't have been surprised when it didn't move. "Lemon sherbet," he tried again. Once again, no result. "Cherry gumdrop."

"I take it Professor Dumbledore had something of a sweet tooth," came a voice behind him, and Severus found a moment of relief that he was not given to blushing. "Willow Warbler," she intoned to the gargoyle, and it began to move, twisting aside to reveal a spiral staircase. She gestured towards the stairs with a slender hand, and he stepped onto them, then she followed close behind. As the stairs began to move, Severus was acutely aware of how close she was, and how she smelled faintly of a warm, fresh scent.

Today, Malfoy was dressed in royal blue, and her blue-Grey eyes picked up the rich, sapphire hues of her robe. She wore her hair long, the ends curling about her shoulders and down her back, the sides pulled away from her face and secured with a pair of simple silver combs. A string of pearls graced her slender throat, and pearl teardrops dangled daintily from her ears, accentuating the fine contour of her jaw. She was a vision once again, he decided. Blue, it seemed, suited her as stunningly as the crimson had the day before.

Remember who she is, and remember who still holds her strings. Minerva's warning echoed in his ears, and he carefully blocked out her scent, and the velvety song of her voice, and the graceful line of her neck, and the gentle fullness of her lips. And more to the point, he chided himself, remember who you are. You are no one that a woman like her would look twice at, even if you were interested in capturing her attention.

The staircase came to a silent halt, and Severus stepped into the antechamber, his breath catching in his throat as he found himself hoping that she had not spent last evening turning it into a frilly tea parlor. He hadn't quite worked up the courage to look around when something suddenly swooped past his left ear, crying sharply "Love all! Love all! Trust all, love few!"

For a moment, Severus thought it was Peeves, but the swooping being was too solid to be the poltergeist. A moment later, a blur of crimson and azure swept past again, and came to a graceful perch on Malfoy's hand. "Tsk, Saidah," she murmured, rubbing the beak of what Severus now realized to be a brightly colored bird. "Love all, trust a few. Do wrong to none."

"Love wrong few!" the bird replied, and took flight again, leaving Malfoy to shake her head.

"Saidah is one of my more playful pets," she offered by way of explanation as the bird came to a perch on one of the bookshelves and settled in, casting a calculating look at Severus. He had the impression he was being weighed as surely as Fawkes had ever peered into his heart. "She's really quite intelligent, and a stunning mimic when she wants to be. But she likes some words better than others, and doesn't particularly care to keep Shakespearean quotes in tact."

A fluttering against his elbow made Severus flinch slightly, and then his eyes widened marginally at Malfoy's hand on his arm. "Come in, Professor Snape," she invited. "Have a seat." She indicated a comfortable-looking wingback chair which sat at an angle to a second, identical one. Both were upholstered in jade-green velvet, and between them, there sat a round table with a tray of tea. Severus sank into the proffered chair, watching Malfoy as she sat in the other one.

She reached for a thin folder on the table, and opened it in her lap, picking up her quill and dipping it into a small jar of ink. "Help yourself to tea, Professor Snape," she invited, writing as she spoke. "And tell me, would you prefer to begin this meeting as Professor Snape, Potions Master, or as Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin?" She moved a thick curl of pale golden hair over her shoulder and her quill paused.

How about Severus Snape, cow-eyed fool? he thought, forcing his eyes away from her hair. She was truly beautiful, and sitting so near a beautiful young woman served only to remind him how very empty his bed had been for a number of years. Pull yourself together, you dunderhead, he scolded himself. Minerva was right. "Let's begin with Potions Master," he said calmly. Far more calmly than he felt.

"Very well," she nodded, and picked a thick packet of parchment from that charmed folder. "I've been looking over the OWL results for potions for the last ten years, and I must say that your record is impressive, Professor. Every student has scored at least an 'Acceptable' in the past ten years, and an abnormally high number have even achieved 'Outstanding'. One might wonder what your secret is." She glanced up at him, a delicately arched eyebrow raised in question. He was clearly supposed to respond to that.

"I find that letting my students know what I expect of them is a distinctively effective approach," he replied smoothly, as though he was not aware that his customary speech to his Fifth Year students, laced with vague, implied threats, was enough to frighten the little buggers into passing their OWLs.

"Indeed," she replied, somewhat distantly. Her quill was writing at a steady pace. "But surely expectations alone do not produce such results."

What are you after, Malfoy? "I expect a great deal from my students, Headmistress, and they are well aware of it. I teach as though they live up to my expectations. They either meet my high standards, or they fail, and failure is not an option for many of them. Students will achieve what they are told to achieve, provided it is reasonable." He had hardly anticipated discussing his teaching philosophy with the Headmistress, but if that was what she wished, far be it from him to deny her the pleasure.

"And on what criteria do you base your standards?" she asked, looking up at him, her head tilted to one side.

"It is based largely on fifteen years of experience, Headmistress," he replied wryly, a gentle reminder that he'd likely already been teaching when she bought her first wand. "Experience, and careful observation and record-keeping. There are always a few students who could achieve more, and a few I know will be left behind if I do not prod them along like cattle, but by and large, all Fourth Year students will be in the same place, particularly since I have such direct control over what they learned in First, Second and Third Year. And given that I exceed the Ministry's demands for the curriculum and for the OWLs, I have never been questioned about my methods."

Her lips curved briefly into a smile, and he knew she'd caught the barb. It obviously did not impress her, though, as she made no comment regarding it. "Very well, then. I have also been looking over the accident reports that have been filed in the past ten years," she began, placing the packet of parchment she'd been holding back into the folder, and removing another thick packet. He cringed inwardly, already beginning his defense. Potion-making was a dangerous subject, and the only reason there were so many accident reports was that he was more fastidious about the filing of them than most of his colleagues were. He knew for a fact that Flitwick did not file all his accident reports, yet Severus dutifully filled out a report every time Longbottom melted his cauldron.

"A significant number of incidents," she was saying, "but few real injuries."

"Accidents are unavoidable, Headmistress," he replied stiffly, "particularly when one is working with forty children and twenty cauldrons at a time. Injuries, however, can generally be prevented, or minimized, with prior preparation."

"Certainly," she nodded, peering at one report which seemed particularly interesting to her. "Prior preparation such as keeping antidotes on hand, I presume?"

He was at a decided disadvantage, not knowing exactly what she was referring to. "I keep antidotes ready for all the potions we brew," he replied cautiously, "as well as antidotes for the most common mistakes. And some for the more dangerous mistakes I have seen. It would be impossible to be prepared for all eventualities, though."

"Of course."

He was quiet for a long moment, waiting for her to say more, but she merely sat there, her quill scritching softly against parchment. "I can honestly say I have never been caught unprepared in the same way twice, though," he offered, his brow creasing slightly as he watched her quill. What was she writing? He was growing increasingly nervous. After the Troll and her reports, Severus could only imagine what nonsense this puppet was penning about him. He suddenly wished he'd taken a few more minutes with his appearance this morning. He would never be attractive, by any stretch of the imagination, but he could do something about the state of his hair when he put himself to the task.

After a long silence, her quill finally stopped moving and she replaced the parchment into the folder once more, and withdrew more. Severus nearly groaned in frustration, wondering how much parchment was in that folder.

"I have also been studying your past reviews, Professor Snape," she began, and he grimaced. He might as well hand in his resignation now. "Professor Dumbledore spoke highly of you." She glanced up at him, and he determinedly schooled his expression to a mild look of surprise, keeping his mouth shut firmly. "Professor Umbridge, on the other hand, saw fit to place you on probation."

Severus' lips tightened, and he resisted the impulse to retort that Professor Umbridge was a conniving little troll, and one who with the mental capacity of a gnat. He kept carefully quiet.

After a long pause, Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "This is the part where you're supposed to tell me what happened and why her actions were unjustified."

"I am certain, Headmistress, that Professor Umbridge felt quite justified in her ruling," he answered acerbically.

"Then what did you do to deserve such a harsh reprimand?"

Had he been able to see himself in a mirror just then, Severus would have seen eyes narrowed to focus on the Headmistress with beady onyx intensity. "I had the audacity to have failed to anticipate her need for a controlled potion which requires a month to brew," he replied in a clipped, icy tone.

Malfoy made a noise that would have sounded suspiciously like a snort had it not come from such a beautiful woman. "So, in other words, she was being her usual, pleasant, petulant self?" she asked, and Severus blinked. "Don't worry, Professor. There is no love lost between Dolores Umbridge and myself."

He repressed the desire to make a commiserating comment; after all, he had no idea whether or not Malfoy was speaking the truth, but he thought it in his best interest to assume she was trying to bait him into making comments about the Troll. Yet, he was obviously expected to reply somehow. "I would be lying if I said I was always in agreement with her."

"And, what is your opinion of Professor Dumbledore's praise of you? Is it justified?"

"Some of it likely is," he replied, then mentally cursed himself for a fool. Why hadn't he just said that of course it was justified? "The Headmaster—Professor Dumbledore—was quite loyal to the entire staff," Severus offered by way of explanation. "He tended to laud us all, and, I suspect most of the praise is justified, though he often turned a blind eye and a deaf ear."

Malfoy nodded slowly. "Thank you for being so frank, Professor Snape," she said softly. "Though if Professor Dumbledore was loyal to the staff, I daresay the loyalty is returned."

"Quite." He knew he was treading on thin ice, but for the moment, he didn't precisely care. She placed the parchment back in the folder, and then put down her quill and placed the folder aside, folding her hands in her lap.

"Will you speak plainly with me, Professor?" she asked.

Normally, he would not have so much as hesitated, but this time, he did. "I will speak honestly," he replied after a moment, and vowed to himself that he would do just that.

"I suppose that I can tolerate honesty in lieu of openness," she replied. "But I would ask you to decline to answer rather than to mislead me, in that case."

"Very well," he replied, mentally rehearsing ways to gracefully decline.

"Is the staff going to sabotage the school in protest of my being here?" she asked bluntly.

"No," he replied, without pause. "We all care too much for the school and the students." This wasn't to say, of course, that they would not sabotage her. "We all have the school's best interests in mind. The school and the students."

"Then we have common ground, Professor Snape. But I sense resistance from the faculty."

"Was that a question?"

"An observation."

"Then you will forgive me for not responding."

She snorted again, and this time he was sure it was a snort. "Very well," she said, taking up her quill and folder again. "What needs have you in your classroom?"

He folded his arms and lifted an eyebrow. "None that I cannot see to myself," he replied.

"You have all the supplies you need?" she prodded. "No rickety shelves, no cauldrons in need of replacing?"

"The students supply their own cauldrons, Headmistress, and the bookshelves are in excellent repair, as students are not allowed to touch them."

"Scales?" she prompted. "Stools? Ingredients? Chalk?"

He shook his head firmly. "No, Headmistress. I see to my classes' needs myself. My standards are far too exacting to trust anyone else with the procuring of any supplies."

She nodded and her quill was flying across parchment again. "If you prefer it, then, I will see that a budget is approved for you. To at least help defray the costs you seem to be defraying on your own at the moment."

For the second time, he was stunned beyond speech. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Not at all," she replied, then looked up at him. "Believe it or not, Professor, I am on your side."

"Pardon me if I refrain from comment."

"Certainly," she replied, making another sweep of her quill. "Is there anything else I need to know?" she asked him, and he snorted softly.

"There is much you need to know, but I fear I will not be the one to tell you."

She laughed softly. "I'm sure you could teach me much more than I bargained for," she replied, and suddenly he remembered how stunningly beautiful she was. He'd managed to forget, to think of her simply as the Headmistress and he a teacher on her faculty. He'd been so caught up in their discussion, that he had momentarily forgotten that she was young, with a beautiful face and a cloud of silken hair that begged to be touched. He could almost imagine the feel of her hair in his hands, but the idea of touching that silken mane was almost blasphemy to his mind.

He looked pointedly away from her, and allowed his gaze to settle onto the emerald green bird perched on the shelf behind her. He idly wondered when the bird had moved; he certainly hadn't seen it fluttering past, and surely something so colorful would have caught his eye. Generally, almost anything caught his eye when it moved; Severus had senses long since honed to subtle changes by his years staring into a cauldron, watching for a reaction. He had an awareness of his environment that came from years of walking a fine line between service to Dumbledore and service to Voldemort.

He frowned slightly at the bird. Hadn't that bird been red before...? He glanced at the shelf where the bird had settled before, and realized with a start that the red and blue bird was still there, and had been joined by another large bird, this one blue with a brilliant golden breast and throat.

"Just how many birds do you have?" he asked suddenly, looking at Malfoy.

A smile still touched her lips. "Twenty-seven," she replied, and he thought his eyes might roll out of his head. "They're truly brilliant companions. Let's see... you've met Saidah... the green one up there," she pointed, "is Alejandro. The blue and gold one over there," she pointed again, "is Makan—he's a macaw. Erm..." she looked around the room as though searching for another and frowning slightly. "I don't know where Rohit is... and I don't see Teshi anywhere."

"You have twenty seven birds and they all have names?" Hagrid will love her.

"Of course they all have names," she replied, as though he'd shown surprise that the sky was blue. "How else could I keep up with them?"

"How indeed." More to the point, why do you have so many birds? "Do they all fly about freely?" he asked, glancing around, a hand instinctively moving to the top of his head to assure himself that there were no 'surprises' in his hair.

"Oh no," she replied, shaking her head. "Just the five. Most of the rest of them are parakeets and love birds. Very sweet little things, but in much greater need of protection. Would you like to meet them?"

Severus very nearly laughed at the thought. No, he didn't want to meet the birds. He didn't want anything to do with the birds. Those wretched owls swooping through the Great Hall were bad enough, and Fawkes was tolerable, but twenty-seven exotic birds? He had a sudden mental image of a flock invading the corridors and giving Peeves a run for his money. "Another time, perhaps," he replied aloud, thinking it best to keep his opinions of the birds to himself.

"Very well," she replied, her quill once again poised to write. "Then perhaps it is time for a conversation with Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin."


A/N:

Yukka-- hold that thought re: Lucius and Regalia. There is a side plot there, that I intend to weave in just a bit of. I seriously drew out a family tree so I could see their connection.

MA-- don't worry, I don't think Regalia is exactly what anyone is expecting. Incidentally, this story was inspired by real life. My supervisor retired over the summer, and she was VERY popular in our department, and we were all fiercely loyal to her. So, I think perhaps I'm letting office politics seep into this a good bit.

Sior-- lol. I'm sure you'll be able to find plenty to dislike.

Thanks all of you for the reviews. It was those reviews that made me decide to continue writing, because I'd shoved this one to the backburner. It's earned a more prominent spot in my priorities now, though.