Hi All,
A lighter chapter this time to serve as silence before the storm. Please review if you like it.
Proper disclaimer because it's been a while: I don't own Harry Potter, I don't make money off it, it all belongs to Rowling, and I'm glad and grateful to play in her virtual sandbox.
Chapter 14. Sage
By the time September neared its end, the days fell into a monotonous order following the schedule, and Severus was at his wits' end struggling with his magic.
He was irritable and wound up every single moment be it night or day, and more tired by every disturbed morning when he didn't know what he woke for after a night he struggled through in his armchair. He hardly dared to sleep or otherwise lose his flimsy control, but without rest, he lost even that rapidly. If there was one thing to help, it was the rain. Its constant silent dropping, sounds, and scent carried a rare distraction that Severus learned to treasure in this near-madness.
He developed the habit of stepping out of the castle whenever he could, and watched the silent fall of rain, praying the sunny days would not return before he found anything else to calm him and help in his struggles. For the first time in fifteen years, he was behind with his potions for the Infirmary, but otherwise, he could conceal his hardships.
McGonagall gave up arguing with him entirely, a small blessing he thought would not keep after the Quidditch season began, but at least she seemed subdued around The Pink, too. Instead, she began to smile at him whenever they passed each other on the corridor, or they met anywhere the ministry-clown didn't see. He could only hope she would not attract attention with this sudden friendliness and felt awkward around the Gryffindor Head, thus raising the number of witches he tried to avoid in the castle to the dangerous amount of three!
It was an impossible task, and honestly, he couldn't even brag about partial results. For Umbridge was unavoidable, only Dumbledore's presence shielded anyone against her venom; McGonagall was never one to skip attention, and Sage Moody seemed to be everywhere!
She took part in every meal, collided with him on different thresholds, and even their schedules partly matched. They frequently changed out their students. Snape had students in his second class that she taught a complete hour before him, and vice versa three times a week. Dumbledore's frequently mentioned observation that young hearts felt strong translated to Snape as young minds speak aloud. He couldn't avoid the pictures and mental images his students conjured after their History of Magic lessons if he tried.
Truthfully, he didn't try very hard. Maybe curiosity killed the cat, but it also reminded him to keep an eye on those pictures to have a clue about her dealings apart of his Slytherins' obvious enthusiasm. She seemed to take about a week to turn even the Death Eaters' sons to her side, and somehow Hogwarts' new fashion became studying history. Snape was yet to understand how this was even possible, but his shadiest suspicions reared their ugly heads.
The fact she became part of the view in the park didn't help. Not once did his hard-gathered calm evaporate at the sight of her wandless training. Of course, her getting rumbled wouldn't shake the fragile status quo! She didn't answer to the two most powerful wizards! She was not in danger if she annoyed the Ministry or risk yet another stigma next to a previous trial as a Death Eater!
However, before September became part of the past, the day rose when Severus Snape had had enough. She might enchant raindrops and autumn leaves to dance for her, he did not have the personality to indulge in such childish games, but he would not suffer this self-denial anymore! He slipped back into the castle and didn't even slow before his lab. He put his wand on the working table and began his work without it.
Sweet relief!
His magic reacted to the slightest evocation and served his every whim like a grateful pet. He ignited the fire under the cauldron and called all ingredients he would need from the shelves of his storage without even thinking of an incantation. The throbbing of his magic, now finally let out, enveloped him and all his work. The fire levitated above his thick table, and the cauldron obediently rose and sank above it with the potion's needs. His knowledge and experience dictated the rhythm as the ingredients mixed themselves into the concoction. One by one, with perfect harmony with each other, the flames, and the cauldron, just like all the room now filled with the silent buzz of magic. The brew mixed itself by its sole need of being mixed, right and left, following the commanding experience of talent and years of endless practice. He only repented when he finally finished with all. He let the flames blow out, the cauldron sank on the table, and the vials find their ways back to the shelves. The symphony was over, and the medicine ready to use.
Severus portioned it with great regret. He regulated his magic, and now it obediently returned to that half-dozing state his schoolings taught it to serve. It felt for the first time like an actual loss.
Enjoying the sudden peace of mind, Severus entered the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff fifth years' class with an uncommonly silent closing of the door, freaking the gossiping Abbot-girl out. He couldn't even bother to get upset when Finch-Fletchley blew up his cauldron. His NEWT class was a reward at the end of his day, and finally, he managed to have a satisfying night's rest.
Days returned to resemble something akin to normal. He prepared the Wolfsbane in time to send it with Dumbledore. The old wizard's weekly visits to Grimmauld supplied the Order members at Hogwarts with the bits about the Order's achievements, mostly the reports on watching individual Death Eaters and Ministry gossip.
The Pink Menace's inspections were yet to hit him. However, Educational Decree No.23 had already come out. All the same for Severus Snape, for belatedly, he had his magic under control and enjoyed immensely re-establishing his daily practice in incantation-less explorations.
He never scolded himself for being selfish; even without that, after the first joy of solving his most pressing personal problem, a strange sense of dissatisfaction grew on him. The impression of the whole world stuck in the state of constant waiting didn't leave him, and for the life of him, he could not find its source.
After watching Sage's wandless practice – yet again – at the tail-end of the Forest, Severus was eager to reach his lab. The envy turned to a sense of competition. It was a quiet Friday afternoon, the last of the month, and all his classes finished; he was impatient for his own joy. He hastily locked the door behind him and let his magic free. The relief was imminent but less overwhelming with every attempt. Like it wanted even more.
Nevertheless, his magic escaped through his skin and enveloped the whole room. He didn't bother to get rid of his wand but didn't reach for it either. Severus commanded the flames to ignite under his favourite cauldron even before reaching the thick working table, and the symphony began. Consumed in his work, he did not hear the knocking, his wards fell silently and unnoticed, and Severus came aware of another's presence only when Sage Moody stepped into the room.
The scene left nothing for the imagination. The concoction already emitted its steam, and Severus' bare hands caressed the air beside it, compelling it to bow to his needs. The cauldron obediently danced up and down above the levitating flames with various vials waiting in the air.
CRASH.
Three vials fell on the floor, the fourth into the cauldron, which sank onto the flames before it all collapsed on the table. The steam changed colour, and he had only time to shout:
"Down!"
While both ducked, the explosion broke the cauldron apart, sending pieces to the walls, floor and furniture around them, while the unready brew burnt smelly patches into the floor and the top of his table.
Severus was the quicker to rise, livid and untamed, his magic racing and whirling through the room; it shut the door with such force he worried that the stone walls might crack around the edges. Remembering himself, Severus pulled his magic back before turning his ire on the witch. He wanted to see her frightened, he wanted to see her tremble, but she emerged gracefully from the floor, amusement, recognition, and a hint of guilt shining in her eyes.
"Oops" – she offered with a small smile. That smile was what undid him.
"Oops? That's all you have to say? Oops?!" She obviously failed to recognize the gravity of the situation. He didn't shout.
"My quarters are closed for a reason, Professor Moody; I would suggest you refrain from breaking in on me ever again unless you desire serious harm! And if you ever dare to talk about what you have just seen, I promise you," – his voice came just above a whisper with his threat – "that would be the last words you uttered in this world."
Her jaw dropped, and she gasped, her eyes rounded to as big as galleons, but she still did not look frightened, rather flabbergasted. She ran her fingers through her hair with frustration Severus could not fathom, and her struggle to rein in her first thoughts in reply was only too evident. Slowly she let her hands fall helplessly by her sides and sighed.
"Okay, that's it. I tried, I failed, and I tried again. Now I give up." – She turned to leave, but the latch seemed stuck.
She tried with force then pulled her wand, but Alohomora didn't work either. Severus watched with growing alarm her casting different spells to break his supposed wards. He knew he didn't add any.
"What did you cast on this?" – She turned, losing her patience, and her tone was as accusing as her stare. Her eyes were discomfortingly dark; Severus understood she was as closed in her occlumency as the door. He reached by her arm and tried the latch to no avail.
"Nothing" – he grumbled and pulled his wand. He tried all the counter-spells he regularly used, with no success. "This is useless. I cast no wards."
Her stare insisted on accusing him.
"Did you pull back before or after you closed the door?" She finally asked.
Her understanding on such a matter should not have come as a surprise.
"After" – he grudgingly admitted. "That was involuntary."
"Oh, boy…" – she sighed, rolling her eyes and stepped away from the door. Severus watched with some astonishment as she looked about his lab then found a place to sit down comfortably. "Seems we have to crack your mind for all the possible wards you know of and hope you didn't invent one in your haste. How much fury could possess you when you saw me?"
She didn't seem to require an answer, so Severus began to work on the door with forced patience. It took more than ten minutes for him to give up.
"Why ever did you come and break-in in the first place?!" He eventually turned and faced her with a shadow of his previous ire. "What could you possibly gather by breaking in when you had to know I was inside?"
She laughed up humourless and looked utterly defeated.
"I came to apologize."
This was Severus' turn to stare with wide-eyed astonishment.
"For what?"
His question seemed to annoy her.
"You can't stop it, can you?"
"Stop what?"
"Why, provoking me!"
With that, she reached a point where Severus lost all hope ever to understand her. Derangement must be a family trait of hers.
"You're delusional!" – He cried out. "You are the most annoying, disturbing, frustrating wretch of a witch I ever had the misfortune to encounter! You have no sense, no decency, nothing to- "
"How dare you?!" – She cut him. "For your information, it is you who cannot give a single sign of any abilities in human communication. I would never have wanted to disturb you and wouldn't be here by now if not for your mindless locks! You are arrogant, provoking, infuriating-"
"I think I could already catch your meaning, and I thank you if you stop right there!"
"You think?"
Severus let her stare into the air and tried to distract himself by tidying the mess. He was confident he could open the door if he calmed down, but her presence was quite counterproductive to this effort. He vanished the smelly patches from the floor and began to collect the pieces of his cauldron from around the room. The witch at least had the sense to let him be. He looked at the pieces of the hopeless pile of what used to be his favourite cauldron. No Reparo was sufficient to put this sorrowful mess together anymore; some of it must have evaporated or turned into dust.
"Damn it." He mumbled absently.
"I'm sorry." – Sage silently said. As much as he grimaced hearing it, the sentiment was not entirely unwelcome. "Was it a good one?"
"A double-seated, 17.5 inches, MESP certificated stannum of Birringer's." He told her, hiding his surprise she cared.
"Fuck, that's a Rolls Royce!" She exclaimed in shock.
"Precisely."
The witch sank into curious silence, and he Evanesco-ed away the pitiful ruins.
"All right," – she said with what seemed like a sudden decision, and Severus watched with disbelief as she unbuttoned and rolled up her robe's sleeves.
It was a peculiar sight. Her slender wrists and alabaster lower arms seemed to give sense to those overly long and bony fingers he kept calling ugly and disturbing whenever he felt tempted to like her. Severus silently wondered if revealing her upper arms would similarly help on her sharp elbows, for he had to admit that her shoulders seemed nicely rounded, which made cause for a measure of hope.
"What?" – She asked harshly when they realized at the same time that he was shamelessly ogling.
"I only wondered what could have possibly come to your mind."
"Well, it was partly my fault" – she stated as a matter of fact, not for a second hang upon his brows running up on her word "partly". "So I'll work it down. What did you brew?"
"You cannot possibly be good enough to work down a cauldron like that."
She chuckled. "Of course, and so couldn't you. I said partly. The brew?" She demanded.
"Only Deflating Draught, and I planned on more antidotes, maybe even an Invigoration Cocktail before dinner. Now I have to reschedule again and let Pomfrey bite my head off. Did you really have to interrupt me?"
Seeing her true contrition was something, but not enough to patch his favourite cauldron back together. He didn't regret his words, though; they were just. The witch got off only too easy.
"In my mind, it did not play out like this." She answered silently. "In my mind, we finally managed to talk. On your territory, with your comfort and rules. I would have apologized for whatever real or perceived harm I caused, and you might have come around and accepted my presence. Iris's mind is not a reliable source when it comes to you. And I meant no harm, you know."
Her full account of her purpose surprised him, but her eyes were still suspiciously dark with her occlumency shields.
"In your mind." Severus repeated.
"Yes, there" – she looked him in the eye defiantly. "D'you never dream?"
"Am I looking like someone who does?"
To his surprise, she found this amusing. "You certainly look like someone who does his utmost not to seem like he does. But it's all the same, is it? You will never come around. I am the one to mess up, you're the one who's rude, and that's just it forever, isn't it?"
They stood in silence on opposite sides of his thick table, eying each other, and Severus knew "that" was not just "it". Her mind was intriguing, her abilities seemed exceptional, and she knew wandless magic, thus could provide support or at least company in his endeavours, something he miserably lacked. His magic craved more freedom every day, and it was frightening. Dumbledore wouldn't help more, and the Dark Lord's "help" never seemed desirable. Would she help, or would she use him? It came down to the matter of trust again.
"You were the one to talk about hatred," - he reminded the witch. "I don't detest you."
She looked at him with surprise, and Severus regretted the wording, but she didn't ask if he overheard her and Dumbledore, only shook her head absently, and then risked a smile.
"So is it Deflating Draught or Invigoration Cocktail? Your choice."
He called two cauldrons to the table with a single move of his wand and pointed the witch towards his storage room.
"I'll do the Cocktails, and you may brew the Draught."
He watched with more than a hint of amusement as she first looked around. Every apprentice's first test was to choose the right ingredients. However, his surprise turned to irritation when she began to talk like she was inspecting his store-room.
"This place is kind-of well kept…"
Severus' brows shot up. Kind-of?
"Flutterby-bush berries in this season?" – He heard her incredulous voice.
"Of course"- he replied with as much arrogant smugness as he could pour into the short words. Unfortunately, she didn't react. Her next words hit home with their familiarity. "Not everyone can store monkshood, but this is not an awful attempt…" He only heard her silent amazement because his breath already caught. "Fuck, to pre-strain murtlap tentacles is actually cunning."
Yes. He knew it was. Listening in her explorations was far more than entertaining, especially when he heard her mumbled praise of his preserving salamander blood. It was objectively a challenging task to do right, and Severus would have sworn she whispered the word classy… He was pleased as punch. Although he wouldn't show it for the world, his only regret was her finishing too soon, and he failed to notice how much she grew in his esteem only by recognizing his undoubtedly congenial skills in storing problematic ingredients.
The awkwardness only followed when she saw him putting down his wand.
"Oh, no-no, I don't think you should try that!"
"Excuse me?"
"Well you obviously think you can do your wandless magic, but it would interfere with my wand… even if I… no, I wouldn't risk it."
"Do you really think your wandless practice went unnoticed?" – Severus pulled a knowing smile, but Sage suddenly looked very thoughtful.
"I don't think you are ready for that. I mean you're doing all right" – she quickly assured him when his brows ran together – "but how long do you do this? A year? It can't possibly be more. Our magic would combine, and with this whole big castle above us" – she chuckled – "sorry, I would rather not risk it."
Noting the unintended compliment on his less than three months' practice, Severus decided to take just a little offence.
"I hardly think you can judge what I am ready for." He said with a measure of honesty, for even he had no spur at this point what he was or wasn't ready for. Eventually, he obediently picked his wand back up, rejoicing that he had already learned two important facts, one, that his attempts were far from pathetic, and two, that two people's magic could combine.
They began to work with the classic method, both with wands in hands, and Severus noticed he was not the only one prying into the other cauldron. He wouldn't have minded if the praises flew on, but just then, she started to steer her brew, and he was horrified!
"The other way!" – He cried and would have left his own work if it was not imperative at the moment to keep it wobble on a steady flame.
Sage quickly reversed the motion before finishing the first circle, and the Draught kept its colour, but it was too late for Severus' mood. He silently fumed for a whole minute before she spoke up impatiently.
"Oh, give it out!"
"I just cannot fathom the idiocy of such an amateur mistake when you call yourself a potion-brewer!"
"I call myself a Potion Mistress," – she emphasized the word – "and it is your country's idiocy to drive everything in the wrong direction!"
"This is the right direction" – he didn't hesitate to point out, but her claim was valid enough to make him keep his peace when she rolled her eyes.
The two different brews got ready without any additional mishaps, and Severus did his considerable best to find fault with her result. He couldn't. If this wasn't enough surprise, he got more when Sage examined his Cocktail with a similarly critical eye. Eventually, neither said a word, only exchanged glances. It was adequate praise enough to quickly portion the cauldrons' contents.
"There's still some time before dinner. Shall we get to your antidotes?" Sage asked, and Severus found himself glad about the suggestion, but glancing at the storage shelves, he could only shake his head.
"Even you won't brew Brawn Downer Brew without arnica juice." At this point, he found needless to mention that he ran out of it when the vials crashed on her entre.
Sage stepped towards the storage when her shoe fouled on something hard and cracking. One of those vials that fell on the floor. She collected the shivers, then searched for more.
"I'm pretty sure there is some arnica in the Forest out there" – she mused absently, gathering the shreds of crystal and glass. "This is maybe not the best time to pick them, but… Ouch!"
She pulled her wand and vanished the glass tiles with a quick move by the time Severus got to her side. The glass cut deep in her palm, and he lifted her hand to examine her wound. He learned from his discomforting experience on the staircase and now avoided eye-contact, she still tensed and pulled her hand away, casting Episkey before he could tend to her wound. Severus could not account for the anger he suddenly felt.
"This was such a typical irresponsible, dumb and unnecessary foppery again! What do you think closing up a wound without proper cleaning?"
"My own blood sufficiently cleaned it; I doubt anything could remain with such a flow…" – she stepped away, cleaning her hand on her robe and putting her wand away. "Your arnica is more relevant, and I think I remember the spot where I saw them-"
"I will order my supplies. The Forest is called forbidden with reason."
"You cannot suggest a full-trained witch should avoid it!"
"It's safer for you to avoid it. A few days' hindrance won't hurt anyone, but-" he halted and tasted the word. Hindrance…
He wanted to hinder her progress to the room. He never aimed for the door to shut, he wanted her to slow down, time to slow down; he wanted no-one to witness.
Severus stepped aside from Sage and let his magic free focusing on the door. He recalled the feeling, the panic when she entered, and tried to relay that the feeling already passed. The latch clicked, and Severus pulled his magic back inside him, dulling it into the half-daze it usually sat.
"Thank you" – he heard the witch as she passed by him and walked out the door. It felt oddly abrupt, and first, he tried to find a way to cope with her sudden absence.
Then other thoughts demanded his attention. Did she come to apologize for something she wasn't sure she did? Did she try this hard to have them talk – for what? Dumbledore didn't encourage her for sure… Also, she was right, something always slipped out of control, like today, but in the meantime, something always happened. He could not name what, but something did.
Did she perceive this something as a somethingthat worth the effort? Why? And of all things, why an apology? He never anticipated one. Truth be told, he could have said something along the same lines, but Severus Snape was not convinced such things worked. Of course, he was familiar with the concept. Human exchange, something goes wrong, an apology is issued, accepted, and life goes on. He even liked this concept as much as the next wizard but never seen it actually work. There was not much of those who have ever deemed him worthy of an apology, and his attempts - well, his apologizing didn't particularly work out in the past.
Not that anything else did. So why did Sage's work out so fine even without even a serious reason? Because he felt it worked on him well enough.
Amidst the riot of thoughts, he startled when Chubby popped up with an offer to have a tray for dinner, which Severus refused in favour of the Great Hall and a chance to see a witch who didn't even bother to say a proper goodbye.
But she wasn't there. He kept his usual face of unapproachable rigidity, although Dumbledore shielded the staff from the Pink Peril again. Snape only was aware of the curious peeking from his House's table. His students had something on their minds. Something grave, for they didn't discuss it openly.
He put all his private musings aside and pulled on his Head of House persona like an old robe. Although the witch's absence still bothered him, he followed his sense of duty to Slytherin's Common Room shortly after dinner.
The quick cessation of the usual buzz verified his hunch. Snape was not a frequent guest here, but his students were happy he joined them upon his usual visits. This time the silence was curious, and the level of respect unusual. His NEWTs even stood up from their tables. The prefects hurried to welcome him and moved an armchair to the hearth, knowing his favourite spot.
Snape eyed them cautiously before he accepted the offered seat. The whole House gathered in the Common Room.
"What do I owe such a warm welcome? You make me feel like old Slughorn, and I doubt I could get used to such a peculiar feeling..."
The older boys, who knew about the former Head of Slytherin, politely laughed.
"Nothing like that, Professor…" The seventh-year Flint, Argus began, but his voice wavered, and he looked around like he tried to find help. Severus thought of his brother's days, obviously the boy was not any more prepared intellectually as Marcus used to show himself.
However not only the younger Flint brother, but most looked confused. Even Draco searched for something in the air, and his shadow, Parkinson, stepped behind him, secretly touching the boy's hand. Snape lost his patience.
"Come on, spit it out, or I will inspect all the quarters!"
"It was Korch, Sir." A well-built sixth-year boy with short blond hair volunteered to say. "Korch says… well, he made us believe…" – he licked the corner of his mouth and trailed away.
Snape looked for the fourth-year student in the crowd. Korch was silent and physically weak, but he liked him for his diligence. A rare trait in this House.
"Mr. Korch?"
The boy took a tentative step forward, or the crowd pushed him.
"I-I didn't make them b-believe it, Sir, I only told what I saw… I should have been in Charms class, but I fell on the corridor and-"
"That disgusting Weasley-girl cursed him" – Draco interjected. "Come on, Korch, tell him!"
Others joined his support with short words and nodding, and the fourth-year tried to straighten his shoulders.
"Sir, I… I saw you fly. Without a broom or actually anything. Just- fly."
The boy avoided his gaze as long as he could, but Snape's persistent stare from under his raised eyebrows did the job as always. When Korch finally looked up, he could see himself clear in his memory. He hasted down towards his lab after watching the rain in one recent afternoon, and in his single-minded effort and anticipation, he leaped in the air to descend on the floor only after opening the door. He never saw his student.
"It must have been a curse worth the girl's effort," – Snape offered with a half-smile, and a lot of his students broke into laughter with some relief. "I hope you managed to learn the spell, Mr. Korch?" He went on, keeping his features calm and open.
"I… I did, Professor…"
Now, the poor boy was babbling, and he could not help him when even more joined in the laugh. The only thing he could offer was a quick strict glance towards the loudest group, and fortunately, it yet proved enough. He hoped Korch would not get pulled to pieces after he left. Maybe that elf could see after him for a while… he made a mental note to ask him.
"Sir, it's… it's not only that…" – Flint and some other sixth and seventh years curiously stayed away from the mocking mob. "We knew it is dumb to believe, but…"
"Yes, Mr. Flint?" He asked in his slowest, most intimidating voice. The boy visibly wavered, but after looking at his mates, he seemed to persist.
"You are looking different… kind of… taller. Sir." He managed to say. "I don't know the word to describe… and also… you were right, Sir."
"Well, until Mr. Flint makes use of a dictionary, which you would all may find rewarding to do, let me just say: if me being right is the reason for such a change in your attitude, I wonder what could have possessed me in these last few years?"
The older boys looked down, and Flint didn't seem like he wanted to go on with his dubious praises. What could he mean or want at all?
"And for you, Mr. Flint, I will add, that contrary to the Ministry's evident belief, height has nothing to do with abilities…" - he pitied now Flint for the stares around him and changed course – "so even Mr. Norton may have some hope. Someday."
The small boy reddened but laughed with the others.
"Let's finish this up! In what obscure dealings of yours did I seem to be so right to earn your apparent appreciation? Mr. Avery?"
The choice was deliberate. If there was something worth to know here, his adversary's son was the most likely to reveal that.
"We tested Professor Moody" – the boy assessed. "She knows things. She calls all dark wizards in history a Dark Lord and tells their story whenever we ask. Even in front of others- like Gryffindors, or anyone. She tells how they emerged to power, how they gathered forces and how their followers helped them."
"She also tells what came to them after. Every mistake they made to cause their fall." – Jugson, his seventh-year NEWT, chimed in. "And she is a pure-blood. She doesn't judge. I wish now I'd taken HM for my last year."
Other seniors nodded thoughtfully, and the young Travers boy could not keep his place; his enthusiasm propelled him to the front.
"Professor, she knows some pretty nasty ancient spells. How do we get her to teach them?" An excited commotion followed his words. Not only the sons of Death Eaters, but everyone seemed to apply themselves.
Snape tried to figure a reason behind Sage's openness. It seemed to win all his Slytherins' favour, maybe even their trust.
"I suggest you only keep an open mind and listen. If you have her showing her knowledge already, and keep in mind, you only know her for a month, I see no reason why to risk progress with your eager haste." He finally replied. Looking at the faces around him, he felt something was still amiss. "What is it, Miss Parkinson? Don't you agree with your fellow students' observations?"
The girl peeked out from behind Draco's back.
"She's friends with McGonagall,"- she shared her thought shyly. "Close friends. I saw them by the greenhouses when Professor Sprout held some gathering there…"
A glance at Draco's eyes showed what kind of business she could have had there, and Severus could not help but be amused.
"She was talking about Sprout's herbs like she was into potions." – The Parkinson-girl finished.
For Severus, it sounded only like great fun. He considered the benefits of sharing and decided to fuel their curiosity.
"Professor Moody previously worked at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic as a potion mistress. I can attest to you that such habits die hard."
Young Nott jerked his head, and he looked at Draco with sudden understanding shining in his eyes. Indeed, he was the one to know the most about the French besides Lucius's son, but their understanding was silent, unlike Jugson's apprehension.
"Yes, Mr. Jugson?"
"Sir, we… we would not support someone endangering your place…"
Snape's eyebrows shot up with mild surprise as all his NEWTs and Nott, even most from the lower years, eagerly nodded. All those students, previously enchanted by the witch, were ready to deny their enthusiasm.
"Well, isn't this touching?" Snape had to smile. "Let me indulge in the joys of looking after my own cause, Mr. Jugson. Your worry is unnecessary."
He looked at each and every one of them in the face, and finally deciding that the students sufficiently calmed, he emerged from the armchair. "I believe there's nothing else for tonight…"
The crowd divided for him to walk comfortably out; only Lucius's son seemed still at odds with himself. He hoped the boy would wait until they might talk in private, but the mood in the common room eased Draco into chancing to call after him.
"Professor, my father…" All knew very well that these two words had too much weight in Slytherin House.
Snape halted.
"He said that your… abilities won the highest reward in the summer."
The boy struggled to speak without saying the forbidden words. He was yet to get proficient in his father's art, but certainly, it was not for the lack of trying. Snape slowly turned to face him.
"Your question, Mr. Malfoy?"
The boy's impudence began to waver under his gaze.
"It only came to my mind… by some reason… that once I heard the Dark Lord was adept in unsupported flight."
"Even Dumbledore admits that He-who-shall-not-be-named is the most powerful dark wizard of our time. His abilities are unmatched, Mr. Malfoy, as it is frequently reported in wordless magic, duelling, and unsupported flight."
"So…So do you attest to it, that such flight is a possibility, Sir?"
He could only smile as he saw the trap but smiled inwardly, not to encourage the boy. Although he nearly appreciated the effort, he could not humour him.
"Your father could also tell you, and so could Professor Moody, or as a matter of fact anyone else in our world, that such things as the unsupported flight are scientific nonsense, Mr. Malfoy. However, someone proficient in the Dark Arts with exceptional skill and power was reported to manage this impossible task through and through times. The Dark Lord proved himself to be proficient, but no one else can compare to his abilities, according to no other, but the Headmaster of your school."
An unfinished scroll caught his eye, left out on one of the tables.
"Mr. Norton, you might feel the need to add some words about the moonstones to this." – He noted seemingly absently and walked out of the room before any other question could arise.
Snape crossed the corridors to his private rooms and leaned on the inside of his door, scrubbing his face with both palms. How could he let this happen?
He thought through the whole conversation and believed he could silence the students' awareness of his peculiar ways, at least for now. As much as he regretted calling their attention, he knew he could not help it. It was an accident. A freaking, stupid mistake.
He had gotten away lightly; he hadn't exploded the castle or ruined the grounds. Although speaking of explosions, that was indeed one more matter he should address. A wonder both he and Sage had escaped the shreds of that detonating cauldron! He hadn't destroyed equipment since his apprenticeship. Well, not under use.
Severus walked up to his lab through the inner doors, not in the desire of meeting another soul that day. He wanted to make sure the houself tidied the place or tidy it himself. Speaking of the house elf, he owed Korch a bodyguard for making a fool of him-
Severus already opened his mouth to call for the elf when he had to halt dumbfounded, his legs rooted to the spot, only his heart raced as he stared at his thick worktable. A bunch of arnica in a tidy pile now waited for him innocently on the top.