A/N: No, HP is not mine.

Welcome Norv, good you joined! Please review

Chapter 13. An Ordinary Week

The first week was mostly about bringing the students back to discipline as usual. Monday began reining in the fourth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, while fifth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins needed a strong reminder on their upcoming OWLs.

Potter seemed even more impudent than he remembered, but Severus also noticed the boy looked paler than he should. Both signs of the matchless godfatherly care he couldn't stop hearing about all summer for sure! With the target of his annoyance already chosen, Snape was only glad about not having to see the brat twice a week after his presumably miserable OWLs. As talented as the boy could have been, he completely lacked diligence and all kind of attention to detail whatsoever.

It would be easier to look after him without a constant reminder about the origins of his conceit or to look into those very green eyes only to find accusation and dullness there. The brat had no right for those eyes, at least not until the boy could fill them with life and sense… Now he had a faint intuition this might not be the case if Potter looked into any other direction but at him, but the thought would have needed him to sink into memories he was really unenthusiastic to explore.

Having a gap after lunchbreak, Severus decided to climb the stairs to the Teachers' Room and acquire the September edition of Potion's Quarterly. Sinistra joined him for a quiet half-hour. She must have also decided to skip lunch. The only talk she needed was a polite request about his whereabouts during breakfast, and when he replied he enjoyed the peace of solitude, she remarked on the peace of the summer.

Truthfully Severus evaded the Great Hall with reasons Sinistra could do well without. First, he had not a single idea how to behave around Beauxbaton after their short exchange last night on the staircase, and second, because he happened to wake up with his magic pulsating about him and needed all his considerable focus to rule it back inside him. The fact that it freaked the hell out of him did not especially help. It was literally miraculous how years of training evaporated in two months of nearly constant practice, and his magic seemed to miss its freedom even after a day of neglecting it.

With renewed determination to divert his thoughts, Severus attacked the untidy bunch of Gryffindor - Slytherin first-years, only to have his final escape from the day doing an inventory of the Infirmary's supplies with Madame Pomfrey. They were short of Pepper-ups as always and some antidotes for last year's most popular hexes and jinxes - nothing extraordinary, but enough for a diversion.

Of course, Dumbledore had to walk in on them to ask for Wolfsbane "for a friend," so Severus rescheduled the potions with Poppy and could only promise all within six weeks, far too long for the mediwitch to be content with his efforts.

Anyway, he found himself irritable, more than usual even without the everyday nuisances, and in the evening he tried his occlumency meditations to tame his magic with moderate success. The only creature undoubtedly satisfied with him must have been that new house-elf.

Chubby popped in- and out sharp as the Hogwarts Express and understood his every need without any training at all. It was curious, but Severus thought, with him already keeping meticulous order in his lab and quarters, sleeping in his armchair and consuming only sandwiches, the elf must have had the time of his life.

Tuesday passed much the same, except his magic did not wake him. It only shoved most furniture on the right side of his living room, as Severus realized in the morning without being able to make any sense of it.

The second-year students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff at least provided a small sense of success; Annabella Venefica was a natural talent, and teaching her was well worth the effort. Obviously, Severus made sure the girl didn't have the faintest idea about his respect for her abilities. No Ravenclaw ever profited from that house's inherent intellectual arrogance, so he made her work hard for his one-word praises. Still, Miss Venefica never disappointed.

The fourth-year Gryffindor-Slytherin combo was entirely another matter. The Weasley girl might have a touch of talent, but she was wild with a desire to prove herself, a suicidal combination in a potions lab. Snape rewarded her efforts with a chance to wash cauldrons at the end of the week. Later he heard her celebrated for achieving the first Snape-detention of the year. He long knew that was a thing, so he would never give it to real troublemakers. Also, playing along meant he could not pass her on to Filch.

A well-deserved solitude in the lunch-break, another first-year class, this time the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and finally he could get to some real work with his NEWT students. After some peppering remarks, Snape made sure they would provide at least some of the needed supplies for the Infirmary by the end of the following week. The NEWT preparation class was a double, so he hardly had time in his own lab before dinner. Severus quickly decided his absence was justified by him working on the potions for Poppy and thought to order a tray with sandwiches again, but Chubby came dutifully before he could even summon him.

Following the schedule hang upon the Teachers' Room wall, he readied himself for a long night about the corridors. Tuesdays, it was his place to guard the peace and to teach some respect for the curfew. As a habit, he began on the seventh floor. He looked along every corridors as he ascended the main stairs. He took a slow turn on the seventh floor, peeked up the stairs leading to the Astronomy Tower, and looked behind all the tapestries and into every passageway before he came a level lower. Another turn. Really Filch should find a way to keep this ugly old cat under control!

Fifth floor. The caretaker showed up as soon as he left the lateral stairs behind. Two grumbled greetings.

One thing he came to like about Filch, even as a student, was his lack of need for socializing without reason. The old man had caught him a dozen times at parts of the castle where even the ghosts never frequented. Argus Filch was the only one who never asked what he was doing there. Either he was practising something or only wished for some time undisturbed; his place of choice must have been evident for someone who watched and saw. Yet Filch was the only one who never even asked him about his reasons. Also, he was the only one among the adults who hated the Marauders viciously.

One more slow turn, he heard hurried footsteps from a side corridor, and the door to the Ravenclaw common room closed just as he got close enough to see. That was clever, he admitted with a nod from a once nighttime wanderer to another. Maybe only his Slytherin NEWT students understood, and Severus would have bet even not all of them that he never had any respect for someone he could catch. Those rule-breakers he could not easily catch and proved they had a good reason were an entirely different category in his mind. A Slytherin should never get caught, and the other houses just did not have the necessary traits to try.

Fourth floor. He could hear the distinct noise as a piece of chalk repeatedly met a blackboard. Peeves was too absorbed in his nasty work to give him notice. Snape considered the situation. Even a second-year could vanish those obscenities, and it was against Umbridge. If he stopped the poltergeist, who knows where it might end up later? Better safe than sorry, at least he knew where the trouble was, and Peeves seemed sufficiently occupied for the night. He let him be.

Third floor, a slow turn, tapestries, side-staircase, passageways. He had a gut feeling there was something he missed. One more turn then. Snape looked in every corner, peeked behind every suit of armour, folded every tapestry aside. Got you!

"Miss Fawcett, hurry back to your common room and fifteen points from Ravenclaw." His gaze stopped at the girl's damaged collar. "Reparo," – he mumbled with some disgust. "Make it twenty. And twenty-five from Hufflepuff. Don't you hurry, Mr. Prout!"

Snape waited until the startled girl's steps faded on the corridor before he turned to his prey: "Mr. Prout, you are a seventh-year student. What's more, you're in my NEWT class. A piece of advice: Exercise some patience for one short year, and you will spare all three of us the trouble of a scandal. Fail this test, and you studied potions in vain. Did I express myself clearly?"

The boy swallowed before he nodded several times. "Yes, Sir."

"Good." –Snape stepped closer. "Now, one more thing, Mr. Prout. Please pay attention to the fact that I know exactly the amount of milfoil and snakeroot in my storage and the Infirmary storage. I will not overlook an ounce of loss of them. Do you still understand me?"

"Y-Yes, Professor," Prout uttered, his voice now shaking, showing that he indeed understood the implications. At least he had the decency to be ashamed.

Snape stepped back. "Go to your common room Mr. Prout, and do not delay, unless you crave detention."

The boy nodded with reddened cheeks and hurried away. Severus slowly descended to the second floor, fuming about the idiocy of that kid. The girl was only in her sixth year; she wouldn't leave Hogwarts behind when Mr. Prout did. What was the boy thinking? Honestly, quite obvious, but even if he thought of it, what did it say about Prout to make his thoughts a reality out on a corridor? And all that on the first week, what would the two be up to after a few months?

A turn on the second floor, Dumbledore's office was here, so the least likely to catch peace-breakers. Everything was quiet. Severus decided to leave by the side staircase that connected the second floor straight with the Entrance Hall, led on to the dungeons, and stepped behind the tapestry. He hadn't taken two steps when distant voices came from the floor he just left behind. He turned without a sound.

"…oh, no, she never wanted me to get into such trouble, but I couldn't stay, Papa would never let me be." – Sage Moody's voice hit him, and he was ready to eavesdrop in an instant. "Do you think we can convince her?" – She asked someone.

"If your cousin is working for Voldemort, our powers in conviction digress, my dear." –Dumbledore replied. "We may hope, though, that our Severus finds some creative way again to deflect his attention."

Severus struggled to stay calm and quiet. He never thought Dumbledore would offer his services so freely, even less that he did not care how he "deflected the Dark Lord's attentions" or with what personal cost… Not that he didn't do favours for "friends" every month if needed, but usually he thought the Headmaster first bothered to ask. This was disconcerting.

"Oh, but Albus, he detests me!" – The witch moaned. "I know it is my fault, but…"

"I seriously doubt he detests you," – Dumbledore cut in, obviously amused. "But even if he did, why would you mind that? I know you were brought up to set aside the opinion of others, and I'm sure Alastor would approve if you two would never even spoke again."

"But Albus!"'

"No, no, my dear, you have all my support, and I trust you can talk with your cousin Iris, and hamper her plans masterfully. You don't have to talk to Severus anymore, not even about the task you have in common. I will ask him to keep an eye on the matter…"

In this disquieting experience, Severus' brows ran together. Did Beauxbaton actually want to stay away from him this much? Why would Dumbledore be so supportive in that? He also felt a strange pang of irritation hearing the witch's voice so whiney. It was one thing to enjoy her discomfort himself, but he could not like that someone else caused her such anguish. Whatever Iris was up to, he knew he would do his best to deflect any harm. Let Dumbledore play his games as he wished, but he despised the fact he would be set up for what he was ready to do.

The steps stopped somewhere left of the hidden staircase.

"No, Albus, you misunderstand! Please don't talk to him; he already does so much. I promised to aid him, not the other way around!" – Her voice sounded passionate in her attempt to convince. "I'm only uncertain how to be of use when every time we talk, things seem to spiral out of control. It all seems so plausible when he is around, but never later. And I admit he is annoying. Not because I don't trust him, it's only his demeanour… Sometimes I feel it would be so much easier to hex him than to talk. But I guess I would sooner claw his cheeks until the blood returns to them!" – She added with a constrained chuckle. "No, don't give a mind to what I say; it's only hard to understand the man, that's all."

"Perhaps he doesn't need your understanding, my dear," – the Headmaster offered thoughtfully. "He has his own story and has never been one to crack open without effort. I would suggest you don't even try."

"But-"

"Now, come, wish me good night. Merlin knows, I haven't had the pleasure for long."

"Oh, Albus, I missed you too. I remember when you visited Papa and told us stories, those were lovely evenings. Sleep well! And don't give mind to what I said, I must be just tired. Please don't talk to him!"

"If this is so important to you, I won't. Yet." – Dumbledore replied, and after a few seconds, a door opened and closed left from the tapestry.

Severus held his breath while the Headmaster's steps passed before him.

"Canary Cream" – he heard from the other side of the corridor, then the sound of the gargoyle jumping aside and back, and eerie quiet, just like in his mind.

He walked a turn in the dungeons, then saw about the Great Hall, the Hufflepuff quarters, the kitchen… finally, he found himself in the Entrance Hall with a bizarre mix of feelings and without a coherent thought to explain them. He decided to walk around the lake or at least have some fresh air and try to tidy up this mess.

The common saying about eavesdroppers only partially matched his experience; actually, the witch was adamant about helping him, such as she said to his face. He felt relief she had proved her intentions genuine, even behind his back. But why would he annoy her? Disturbing little wench like her cousin! Except she was not, and her cousin bothered her greatly. Severus had heard nothing about that during the last three times he'd visited the Dark Lord. What could that mean?

Dumbledore was an entirely different case. As much as he always knew the Headmaster a schemer, he trusted him. Hearing that he'd advised the witch against ever talking to Severus again hit a chord. Was this the first time? Minerva seemed to try to connect lately in her own way. What had stopped her in the past decade? Was he so undeserving, so filthy, and a sinner that everyone should keep a distance and not even try to "crack him open" for understanding?

Oh, he knew his sins! He only thought of those too much if it was possible and not the penitence he'd earned too well. He deserved no friends. He once had one and treated her badly. Very badly. And caused her death. Severus looked into the lake and absently tried to measure its depth. Maybe Dumbledore was right, and he deserved no friends. He was dangerous and impure. Why, even now, he had to hide his hands into fists if he didn't want his unused magic flash sparkles between his fingers! He acted irresponsibly, and now he could consider himself lucky if he managed to not blow up the castle with his untamed magic he struggled to rule.

Knowing Dumbledore's opinion felt miserably bad, but eventually, Severus accepted the Headmaster was just. This didn't mean he could not still be of use or try to right a part of the wrong he's done. "Nothing ever changes" – he lied to himself with a sigh in an uncommon moment of self-pity. However, there was one thing he was absolutely sure standing by the lake: He did not detest the witch. It would have been certainly easier if he did, but after diving into her scented, humming mind, it was impossible.

And so came Wednesday with heavy rains. The dungeons were dark with a shimmering green light seeping through the lake. It felt like the world was in a constant state of waiting. Waiting for the winter, waiting for the rain to cease, waiting for the end of the first week, anything… waiting. The daily practice he skipped now caused a perpetual throbbing of his recently freed magic under his skin. He diverted his attention by examining the Daily Prophet by his breakfast tray, but nothing extraordinary had occurred.

The second-year students of Slytherin and Gryffindor could not add value to his day either. He was glad to leave the below-levels behind for the Teacher's Room before lunch but almost turned back from the door when he took in the scene inside.

Flitwick sat in his usual chair, piled up high with pillows, with a book on his lap he had obviously given up trying to read... On the other side of the table, which held a tawdry teapot and matching cup, the Pink witch ate her biscuits from a plate painted with kittens playing yarn-balls. The witch chewed on her biscuit with her little finger carefully lifted and eyed the professor of charms like one of her abhorrent kittens with its ball.

"Severus, welcome!" – The tiny wizard screamed with relief. "How do you do this morning?

Worse by the second, he managed not to answer. Instead, he attempted to hide behind the Potions Quarterly, mumbling something like a greeting. Umbridge could have none of it.

"We were discussing goblins," – she trilled – "such an interesting topic, don't you agree?

"I am no expert." Snape dryly replied from behind the paper.

"And none of us should be,"- the witch pointed out. "Nevertheless, the issue of inferior magical species is interesting and politically appropriate and significant." She gazed about the room. Severus wondered what she could have been looking for. "Do you have your own traditions, Flitwick? Like… can you eat. the. same?" She spoke deliberately slow like she was addressing a foreigner.

"My traditions are exactly the same as yours, although I doubt we have a similar taste!" Flitwick screamed in outrage. "I am a wizard such as anyone else!"

"Surely not like anyone else," – the Pink Peril pushed on. "Professor Snape, would you please stand by Flitwick's chair? Just for a second to present an example. I would so like to check…"

"I doubt height has much to do about abilities, but I never felt the need to research. You may search for applicable material in the library on the first floor." – Severus replied, not even moving his paper. He felt the weight of the witch's measuring gaze even without looking up.

"You are decidedly uncooperative," Pinky concluded. "The Ministry believes the students have the right to receive education on the highest standards from impeccable teachers."

Severus lowered his paper. "Are the standards of impeccability already available, or shall we await for a detailed description?"

The Pink Menace graced them with her unnaturally wide smile. "I am to judge impeccability."

Severus lamented about her toad-ish characteristics for a better half of a minute. Those conflicted with her pinkness. Can a toad be pink? Or a pink cat called a toad? What if an ugly pink cat and a toad reproduced together? Nonsense. Maybe she was an Animagus turning into a toad. A pink toad. Only to simplify the registration procedure for the precious Ministry of Magic, of course. She would never bother Fudge or anyone else as a matter of fact; how could she possibly be a bother? The dirty meowing wide-mouthed toad! That must be it. An Animagus with a form of a pink toad and with an unusual fancy for yarn… Now he was ready to offer a tight smile.

"What a relief!"

Flitwick stared at him in shock, but at least the Pink Toad fell silent for full five minutes, and Severus could return to the article he tried to read.

"I find these journals are useless in an educational facility." – Umbridge eventually found a new target for her remarks.

It was hard not to look confused, and Flitwick's jaw drop did not help at all.

"…beg your pardon?"

"These journals," – she gestured on his paper and several other periodicals on the table. Transfiguration Today, Antropomorphing Studies, Hexing Periodical, and other contemporary studies lay by one of the corners. "An educational institution should work on preserving tradition and keep up subordinacy instead of encouraging wild and unproven ways of so-called development."

Severus took a deep breath.

"You are right; this study lacks the right documentation of the reviewed results, although I wouldn't go as far as to qualify its attempt wild, but certainly unproven this way. However, I always laboured under the misconception this was an editorial fail rather than an institutional decline. It must be only a difference in approach."

Umbridge stared at him oafishly, so Severus grabbed the opportunity to make his escape and put the Quarterly back on the pile.

"Oh, well, Silverton never had the patience for details even as a student," – he sighed. "Although he developed some skills since I had him in my NEWT class, Filius, don't you think?"

"Me? What?" The charms professor seemed so out of place he suddenly pitied him.

"It's hard to gather thoughts condemned to the inside. The rain seems to calm; I need to straighten my long bones. Filius, what do you think?"

"I find it a brilliant idea!" – Flitwick hurried to agree and jumped off his pile of pillows.

"If you'll excuse us…" – he offered out of sheer habit and made his way to the door when Umbridge stopped both of them with a question.

"Are you only reading then to monitor your students' progress?"

"Of course," – Snape replied without blinking.

"McGonagall tried to put her outrageously liberal ideas across me."

"You will find, I have never been accused of having a liberal idea." – Snape assured her and finally got through the door.

"Severus, how could you do this?" – Flitwick questioned him in an accusing tone when they got far enough from the Teachers' Room.

"Do what exactly?"

"Converse with such a hag!"

Severus halted. How? When did he do anything else? It was hard to recall a conversation with no second meaning or an underlying danger of stating what he was not supposed to.

"We are to put up with her for an entire year. Her views are better known than to become exposed to some unknown surprise."

"And an unwelcome one, I am sure," Flitwick added with a sigh. "Well, have a good walk, with your long bones,"- he chuckled, relieved. "I have already arrived." – He gestured on his classroom door.

Severus walked down to the Entrance Hall but had to stop just outside the oak door if he did not want to get soaked. Contradicting his recent lie, the rain did not calm a bit. About that lie… he might have saved Flitwick from some additional nuisance today, but perhaps he might not be able tomorrow. It was clear that Umbridge already targeted his colleagues, and Minerva did not pass her tests. He should talk to her before he lost his last chance here when Albus was going to get sacked, for talking about liberal education in a school led by Albus Dumbledore was as good as declaring intentions. Again.

Severus used the rare moment of quiet to inhale the scent of the fresh rain. When did rain become his metaphor of calm? He decided to give up the solitude with a heavy sigh and turned to cross the door, only to collide with Sage Moody on the threshold. She gasped, he grumbled, and both hurried on—Severus towards the fourth-years off Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw to keep them on their toes.

That day's NEWT preparation was packed with his remarks on the importance of experimenting and pushing the limits of the art. It satisfied his rebellious feelings somewhat, and Severus could safely join the common dinner at the Head Table.

McGonagall was there indeed, but it was impossible to address her. Umbridge led the conversation again, of course.

"I would not suggest you even try to diminish the consequences of such behaviour," – the Pink Peril threatened Minerva on a tone Severus felt no need to ask if he missed anything at all. "Revolutionary thoughts can be influential even when professed by a mere liar."

"I do not dispute your right to put Potter in detention, Dolores; I only point out that he is neither a revolutionist, nor a rebel, only a child with no political experience, agenda, or purpose."

"Well, you may give him credit until he becomes one, but I will not do the same."

Pinky's voice seemed to fade in his attention, focusing on piecing together the information. So Potter already confronted the only person he should have avoided. That kid really had no sense of self-preservation! How could Minerva let him attract this Pink Horror's attention? At least she stood her place now, but what might the cost be?

"You are obviously partial; he is in your house! We should rely on the opinion of his other teachers."

Severus felt the attention turning on him and quickly put a spoonful of hot soup into his mouth. The attention held… dammit.

"I will be the last to contradict when Potter's called a pathetic idiot; in my class, he is mediocre at best."

Minerva was dissatisfied, Pomona fumbled with her spoon, and few seemed to notice he did not answer the question, but Severus was reluctant to call even the kid a liar for probably stating the obvious. Not before he had to. Sage Moody turned her curious glance on him, and Severus quickly got back to his soup.

"Idiocy is no excuse to profess such falsehood," – Umbridge went on without being troubled by the inconvenience of others having thoughts around the table. "He tried to influence his fellow students into believing that You-Know-Who has returned. Such audacity and an open flouting of the Ministry's directives cannot go unnoticed! If he has mental problems, you should have sent him to St. Mungo's. Otherwise, I will have to reveal all his supporters in this pathetic misconception."

The Pink Peril straightened her back and took a reining look over the Head Table. Severus used the short pause to steal a glance at McGonagall. She had begun to show some sign of alarm, but he had no way to help her. His thoughts began to seethe. Would that brat still be such a prized idiot if he understood the consequences of his acts, or did he truly never care about anything or anyone else outside of his own precious self? Surely his father's genes… Seriously, what had possessed Lily to even look at such a conceited, mindless twit? There were hundreds of handsome bigmouths and tens of rich purebloods with less-inbred faces, why this useless, senseless … Guilt came in as a clocklike train, and the whole train of thought rushed on to nowhere on the well-kept rails of practice.

"I always found that children at this age are unaware of what they might imply." Sage Moody's voice sounded smooth. "Most of them have no purpose in whatever they say, just give in to the impulse of the moment or their hormones."

"You're suggesting he didn't mean what he said!" – Minerva jumped on the opportunity. "I find this very much possible. Considering his age."

"Then he needs to face the consequences for his own good." Umbridge closed the case. "No one is to contradict the Ministry." –She announced to the table. "Not even a child." She glanced around in a challenging way, but no one seemed to feel the desire to contradict her.

The dinner proceeded with some additional remarks on Scientific Periodicals' uselessness in the Teachers' Room after Pomona tried to engage Minerva in a conversation she intended to be lighter. Severus could not possibly talk to anyone unnoticed, so he walked back to his quarters, resigned to give up his solitude – eventually this point had to come, he already knew it – and take part in the meals.

The rain persisted on Thursday. The enchanted ceiling was heavy with rainclouds, and Minerva did not come down to breakfast. Severus chewed on his piece of toast discontentedly. Wilhelmina and Sinistra were consumed in their own world of discussions and could not offer company. The Daily Prophet had nothing interesting to share, just pages and pages with the façade of news. With a swish of blue skirts, Sage Moody arrived and sat two chairs down from him. Her robe looked dampened, and her hair still wet. Severus would have bet she had been out in the rain.

"Beauxbaton," – he tried a semi-polite greeting.

"Severus," – she replied, forcing a timid smile.

He could not recall her ever pronouncing his name since they got introduced. Maybe not even then. It felt peculiar.

"No cheesy remarks now?" – He tried to tease but regretted it immediately when she averted her eyes.

The arrival of The Pink cut any possible conversation, and all had to resign themselves to listen to yet another thorough explanation of the Ministry's educational policy. Severus escaped to his NEWT class as soon as he could.

Being certain what a visit to the Teacher's Room would hold for him, he used his time to watch the rain instead before giving himself to the medicine-brewing for the Infirmary. He needed the calm the silent rain could offer against the restlessness he felt more and more every day.

Only those short two months of the summer were enough to make Severus miss his own schedule and his training. He grew into the habit of his daily practice, and now the energetic throbbing of his magic felt like a muscle sore with neglect and wished for use. He also wanted to push himself on, but after that last night at Spinner's End, he understood the dangers of letting his magic roam.

He still had frequent surprises like his awakening magic trying to call for attention. His living room reordered, a coffee table pushed away, piles of scrolls levitating above his desk by the time he woke in the mornings, to mention only the most common ones. Falling asleep in the solitude of his bedroom was also a luxury he could not enjoy. The persistent second pulse of his magic felt like it wanted to break its way out, and he watched the ceiling anxiously at nights before he gave up and diverted his attention with a book to repeatedly fall asleep in his armchair.

After last night's conversations at the dinner, where he subdued all his emotions exceptionally hard, he woke with his hands trembling with magic. He understood its desire to shoot out wild like a force of nature. It was astonishing how years of taming crashed under such a short time of contrary practice. Severus inhaled the scent of the rain and wet earth.

He knew he could no way report to the Dark Lord in such a state, and the time he should need to do so was always closer than he expected. Dumbledore might not talk to him about Iris' renewed machinations, but those hurt Beauxbaton, and she now belonged here. It was enough to keep an eye on Iris voluntarily. Also, the Piggy-Pink Menace proved to be more efficient in her dealings than he expected. Not even talking about his issues with Avery, whose son kept keeping a strange eye on him from his fourth-year place by the Slytherin table and in the common room. He knew he had made an enemy even without this transparent ogling… He entered that barrel to make the perpetrator show his hand. Who could have thought the perpetrator was not even in the vicinity? And if all these were not enough, there was always the precious son of Potter to unleash hell with a single move when most were occupied, eliminating ongoing risks.

A new surge of magic shot through him, luring sparks to his fingers' ends, beckoning him to use it before it used him. A bad idea – he tried to argue, but the surge soon turned a persistent throb, and Severus had to clench his hands into fists to rule in the sparks and the temptation.

He glanced towards the Forbidden Forest and thought of another wood. He released something there, which he could not master ever since, but his rare but wistful daydreams kept revolving around those trees and adventures. What would it be like to go back and leave this mess behind? What could have become of that wolf? Would it be easier to practice there in solitude? Of course, not without equipment this time…

With a bitter swallow and a shake of his head, Severus dismissed the thought. He would never go back; he knew he would stay and struggle through the fate he had called upon himself. A daydream is just a daydream, however nice it felt, ultimately, it only evoke sorrow. He closed his eyes and made a concentrated effort to silence and order his magic, at least for a while.

When he looked towards the Forest again, he saw a slender figure out in the rain. It was easy to recognize the well-known swish of a Beauxbatons-blue skirt. She entertained herself charming the raindrops to dance gracefully about her. Severus could have sworn she was laughing, although it was too far away to be seen or heard. He watched her innocent game for a while, observing that she chose a spot by the tail-end of the Forest, far enough from the castle, on the side of the Teacher's Room where no windows to give a view. She had every reason to believe herself alone.

A new surge of untamed magic shook him in all his body, this time breaking most of the barriers he had built against his unwanted thoughts. The dissatisfied throbbing felt physical as it rushed through his veins with pure, animalistic envy. She used no wand!

The classroom door shut behind Snape like a small detonation. Fifth-year Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw. The Abbot-girl kept gossiping, and Finch-Fletchley blew up another cauldron. Should he draw calmness from the fact that nothing seemed to change with these kids at all?

He probably looked disturbed enough for his NEWTs to keep to themselves all class long without him needing to grumble. Well, needless is not pointless anyway, so he looked hostile to his heart's content and snarled whenever he felt like it. Nothing worse than their master would do if any of them ever got an apprenticeship. If.

He went dutifully to take part in the common dinner. This time Dumbledore's presence shielded most of The Pink's machinations. The old Headmaster played a strange kind of tag with the witch, which was a game of the intellect for him, and a war for her. The rest of the teachers enjoyed the rare opportunity to take part in sensible, albeit whispered conversations. Severus did not.

Without his notice, a strange sense of darkness enveloped him, which also gave the impression of power and inaccessibility. He did catch the Headmaster's frequent glances and picked up on his House table's curiosity. Perhaps another visit to the common room was in order. But first, Minerva. He could not let her destroy his last hope around here if things went bad, and he had no illusions they would.

When the old witch emerged from the table, Severus soon excused himself too, and followed her in unspoken agreement to her office, only speaking up after the door closed.

"You are playing a hazardous game, and I will not be able to help you!"

McGonagall looked sufficiently taken aback. "Well, good evening to you too," – she gestured for him to take a seat. "I presume you mean my resistance to this new idiocy."

"I wish it were idiotic, however, it's actually not too much to call it well-thought-out, and I am sure you know that by now. Potter made you vulnerable to…" Piggy-Pink…Pinky…Pink… "this woman's machinations, and I am not yet ready to be void of your company. Especially not if the true cause of her presence is to drive away the Headmaster."

"As much as your concern is amiable, and I guess this was the closest I will ever get you to talk affectionately, I can assure you I have already talked to Mr. Potter, and I have no reason to think that he would ever overlook…"

"Minerva, for the sake of all good, that boy is a permanent threat; when will you acknowledge it?"

"You misunderstand the situation. It is Harry who lives in permanent threat. After that Dementor-attack in the summer, no wonder, if he's a bit worked up. Look at it in this way: after all those horrors he had to live through…"

"This is not about his so-called lost childhood, as you keep complaining about it!" – Snape cut her again, losing the rest of his patience. "It is not even about Potter, although you could defend him better too if you just listened this once to me. Don't you remember who sent this harpy?"

"Of course." McGonagall's lips pushed into a dangerously thin line. "She's the materialization of Fudge's persecution complex."

Snape nodded. "And? Minerva, please, you must remember when you said you began to think about us as possible friends. Would you please think?"

After a few seconds, her eyes grew wide.

"Precisely." Snape nodded again. "So what do you think her attacking the periodicals may achieve?"

"Well…"

"Minerva, I was a Death Eater, I know you know it, and I know what kind of test that was. Whether Lucius' hand is in her dealings or not, you failed that test, already establishing yourself as a liberal thinker in full support of Albus Dumbledore against the Ministry if we arrive at a crossroad…"

"That is nothing short of the truth!" McGonagall lost her patience now but in the most dangerous way possible. Her shoulders straightened, and voice lowered. Snape did not shy away.

"Especially if you feel this way, you should stop engaging her in mindless disputes!"

"Severus!" Her eyes dangerously narrowed on him, but her distrust only further angered him.

"After the Headmaster is removed - and have no illusions, Minerva, he will be removed; it is only a matter of time - you need to persevere as a voice of reason. I cannot be that voice. Flitwick is already threatened. Pomona doesn't have the courage. What fate would come to your favourite when those times come upon us? I need you to counteract me if I have to bow to their will, can't you understand that?!"

McGonagall searched his face for long moments. He had no idea how much he looked a fright. The power that began to shine behind his eyes painted his iris the darkest black, and his pale face seemed nearly green in his fury.

"You really do care." She silently assessed.

Severus looked back at her with a hint of disbelief. "Well, don't let anyone to know that," – he pulled his mouth into a small grimace and left her alone in her rooms.

And Friday came and went with a bunch of NEWT preparations and classes with a gap disturbing his schedule. Severus bowed to his newfound interest and watched the rain falling a few minutes before he devoted himself to the orders from the Infirmary. He commanded his focus despite what his dissatisfied magic prompted him to experience.

All periodicals miraculously vanished from the Teacher's Room, and only the adepts knew now Madam Pince guarded them as a sphinx. (Literally so, she gave them out only after thoroughly testing the requester.)

The Weasley girl washed the cauldrons diligently in the last two hours of the school week, and when she was finally off with the blessed curfew, Severus leaned back in his favourite armchair to figure a way to carry on his practice before his own magic drove him mad and without bringing down unwanted attention. Like the Ministry's provoking presence and the Dark Lord's return was not enough… Avoiding self-pity now seemed harder than usual.