Hi All,
as you see the uploads are a little less frequent in the summer, but they will come, I promise :)
All reviews are more than welcome, please tell me your thoughts!
Of course, this is Rowling's world and I am only playing for fun.
Enjoy!
Chapter 24. Friendless
Severus woke with the feeling as if a piece of cotton was in his mouth, possibly soaked with acid, and with limbs that didn't want to wake up with him. He was grateful for the lake to dim the morning light in the dungeons like so many times before. Good old Salazar, that impish devil, must had had a thing for special potions or a strong drink too if he had chosen this part of the castle to wake up every morning!
"Professor Master not be angry, Chubby tried to wake him, Chubby came every hour since midnight–"
The elf had been talking for a while, but finally, his words broke through the numbness. Severus sat up and searched for his wand in vain. Then, with an impatient move of his hand, he cast tempus and relaxed in the knowledge that it was only past dawn. He noticed the elf was jumpier than other times but yet couldn't make sense of it.
Recalling he set out a sobering potion the night before, Severus walked over to his living room to grab it up and stumbled to the bathroom, put both palms on the wall, and waited.
It took about three minutes, but who counts? It had always been like that. He threw up on schedule, waited, did it again, then downed the sobering potion before he started his morning rituals.
By the time he emerged in his usual robe, he was more-or-less master of his faculties. Yet, when he looked at the elf, even the memories of the end of last day flooded his mind. Shite.
"Has she returned?"
"Yes, Professor-Master, just after midnight. Chubby came to tell right away as soon as Mistress Sage entered the gates."
"Was she all right?"
"Yes, Professor-Master… Master, Chubby worries, does Mistress Sage have reason not be all right? Chubby is happy to serve–"
"You did well, Chubby," – Severus sighed and hid his face in his palms. "I didn't, but you did."
After a few minutes of anxious dancing and feathering from one leg to the other Chubby carefully asked: "Professor Master wants Chubby to report what he saw in House now?"
"Students anxious, talks more, argues more than before" – the elf began on Severus' nod. "Evil One talked about gathering support. Sixth-year students heard her talk big plans. Evil One asked if they believed the same."
The words edged through his mind, and Snape raised his head with starting alarm.
"Who did she talk to?"
"Pritch girl and Higgs boy. Evil One held them after class. Boy and girl talked to fifth-years. Students thinks opportunity to harm boy-who-lived and circle. Students angry because Quidditch, and lots of things. Students plans big. Says if boy-who-lived gather friends secretly, they should too, and practice."
"Practice for what?" – Snape barked.
"Joining He-who-shall-not-be-named, Professor-Master. They believes Evil One is practice for later. Thinks she came school, so they cans prove."
"Did Malfoy talk them into this?"
"No, Professor-Master, but Malfoy-boy eager too. All thinks the same."
Now Snape began to lose patience. Whatever that harpy dared to devise, he knew his kids and not them all were into this madness! He told this to the elf too.
He vehemently nodded. "Not that madness, Professor-Master, this madness, in school, and practice. Bulstrode-girl believes in practice too, and she never wanted to join the Dark Lord."
Snape grimaced. "Of course not, her grandmother was Minister of Magic when this horror last time ended. If there's one among them who really wants to stand good with both sides, that is undoubtedly in her blood."
"Chubby thought we believes in no blood, Professor-Master, Sir."
"Figuratively, you bloody elf, don't– eh!" – Snape waved his hand as if to erase his words. "What's the big plan?"
"Evil One thinks Headmaster is gone for good. Believes no one dares to admit. Evil One wants new papers on wall and make school hers."
"Doesn't she have enough of it already?" – Severus rubbed his face and stifled a yawn, trying his utmost to focus. "What does she want with the kids?"
"She wants army in school, Professor-Master, talks of powers and order and taking points for defying Ministry."
"What the–"
The exchange had now reached a point he needed his coffee, and the house-elf readily disappeared to provide it.
Severus used the time to walk over his study and lift the curses from an enchanted drawer under his desk. Then, he took out the real documentations on the students' dealings in Slytherin, the one that kept score of the smaller mischiefs he was reluctant to add to their files. He also managed their political standings here in the last few months and all those tidbits that may or may not endear them to the Dark Lord if ever he had the chance to influence their choices.
It would have been so nice to walk over the common room and hold some heart-to-heart conversations about life to open up eyes and shut some mouths! Nice and suicidal. So he listened, noted, and waited. Severus leaned back on his chair with a sight when the elf popped up with a breakfast tray and a generous portion of hot coffee. Even its smell helped him function better. Severus had a healthy gulp of the coffee and ignored the tray.
"Now, elf, I want you to begin all over again and focus only on what you heard Evil One told them."
It didn't get better with the strong coffee and Severus opted to neglect the rest of the tray. That hysterical Pink Toad wanted to take over the school as soon as she could, presumably with another Ministerial Decree – In Absentia Dumbledore. Bloody Brilliant!
"Are you telling me she wants to use my students to cement her power?"
"Chubby thinks Evil One would use any students, but only Slytherins saw the upside…" – The elf softly said, trying to offer a consolatory smile biting the inside of his mouth and with flagging ears.
Severus stared in the air for long enough the house elf began his usual dance again, and long enough for Chubby to stop by worrying. "Professor-Master?"
Snape jerked his head abruptly. "I've been thinking, Chubby…."
When he didn't go on, the house elf risked asking again: "And does Professor-Master know what we do?"
"I'm hesitant between strangling and jugulation. Both have their merits, I tell you, Chubby, and both would have been justified months before now."
When he saw the elf's eyes widening with horror, he quickly added. "Figuratively speaking. If anything, I would poison her, you should know me as much by now… Still, one can dream…" – He shook his head and tried something looking at the elf, which he intended as an encouraging half-smile. Beauxbaton was better with those.
"We cannot stop her, Chubby." – Snape finally admitted. "No way in hell. But we can slow her down and we can look after those brats she lured to her side. I care not with what promises. Of course, if she gets to this, she will unleash hell, but, whatever they think, this is still a school, and even those who made some bad decisions should stay here unharmed."
"They? Professor-Master?"
"Never mind Chubby. This place has never been – ideal. Now help me go through the names and figure out what to expect!"
There was nothing good to expect. The glorious quartet around Malfoy completed with Montague, the seventh-year Warrington, and the sixth-year Fanny Pritch was ready to try their hands and as absurd as it sounded, Even Millicent Bulstrode. Snape wondered if he should write to her grandmother, but it would have been too obvious.
The real threat was the discussion all that evoked in the common room. Bulstrode maybe didn't take part in it, and maybe Zabini from the fifth year, Imogene Coleman and Caesar Green from the seventh year had proved themselves seriously convinced against the Death Eaters. However, the others had either pondered or already decided to take the Dark Mark or, at least, to join the Dark Lord some other way. It seemed hopeless.
He had three NEWTs from his seventh year, Jugson, Travers, and Green, two of them ready to take the Mark.
His sixth years were doomed with maybe two exceptions, Pritch and Richard Evergreen, who never decided on anything. Knowing that Flora Carrow was ready to join didn't really surprise him, as he also had his suspicions about Miles Bletchley and his attraction to dark curses. But to know that the up-until-now hesitant Adrian Pucey and Terence Higgs seemed to have decided was disturbing. Maybe there was a measure of hope, but it still meant three aspirants of his three sixth-year NEWTs. Dammit.
The fifth year was down the river with the influence of Nott and Malfoy, except for Bulstrode, Zabini and the older Greengrass girl. The small blessing that if the elf got it right, Montague and Theresa Davies were only contemplating. Yet.
The lower years only followed the pattern of their parents. Avery, of course, from the fourth year, Darius Besrow and Cameron Boyle from the third year, their parents were in the second circle. Graham Pritchard from the second year – wait a minute!
"Chubby, I can't believe you say tiny Mr. Norton lost his marbles too, he's a nearly Muggleborn with only one magical grandparent, for goodness' sake! I never had a problem with the little ninny; what's got into him now?"
"Chubby only knows Norton-boy is best friends with Pritchard-boy, Professor-Master, and Pritchard-boy says things–"
"Yes, I can imagine," – Severus sighed. "I thought his bestie was Miss Everscreech."
"She doesn't talk to Norton-boy for about a week, Sir."
Severus' brows ran together, and he had a heavy feeling pushing down his chest. He shouldn't empathize with that idiot; they had nothing in common – He tried to get rid of the thought by shaking his head.
"So we have the sad state of–"
"And Baldock-girl, Sir."
"Sadie Baldock won't turn twelve before the summer!"
"She said to Parkinson-girl she was waiting her turn since she met her great uncle in the summer." Then, on Snape's raised eyebrow, the elf gestured on the dossiers, and he read Macnair's name with disbelief. Blast it!
"This is getting serious, Chubby. I thought to plant the idea that the Dark Lord needs no children to serve him. Naturally, I will keep suggesting that, but we should figure out something to tell these brats too." – Severus hid the folder back into the enchanted drawer and applied his nasty curses in case someone was too nosy before he cast tempus again.
"I need to go up for breakfast," – he announced, already feeling his stomach flip by the thought. The sensation was oddly similar to his instincts signalling imminent danger, his blood ran wild, and he could taste the sweet under-taste of adrenalin on his tongue. She must be there by now; would she forgive?
"Professor-Master asked Chubby to report if student had fun, and…."
Severus halted. "And you didn't find it important enough to tell me sooner? Who was it, Chubby?"
The house-elf looked troubled. "Parkinson-girl suggested Pritch-girl practicing their aim." – The elf finally groaned out.
"Are you hurt?"
The elf shook his head with ears flopping around.
"Good. They will have their due. And next time, you are to begin with that!"
He only saw the house elf nodding from the corner of his eye as he gathered his teaching robe and hurried out of his quarters. He should apologize, and he would; he already promised himself.
Although, after sobering up, he now doubted he should perform it on his knees in the Entrance Hall, and he definitely would not hide his face into the folds of her robes, leaning in her lap – no matter how tempting the thought even now when he wasn't pissed anymore.
Severus's resolve lasted all the way up to the stairs leading to the Entrance Hall. It didn't break, turning to the narrow side-corridor passing the small private room and leading up to the kitchen. He was determined to do it even when he approached the backdoor of the Great Hall, where he could already see the Head Table.
Unfortunately, he was still not ready for her sight as soon as trying to cross the threshold, and Sage Moody stepped past him with a measured nod and a swish of a Beauxbatons-blue skirt under her black Hogwarts robe. She was evidently in a hurry, at least Severus thought that, watching her back quickly disappear from sight. He didn't even get to greet her.
The Pink reigned by the table, and he lost even the limited appetite he had thought he had.
Monday had no NEWTs, which could have been the only lighter spot in his schedule of eternal dumbness, but to present a measure of variety, this time his Slytherins bothered him nearly as much as Potter and his gang in Potions class.
Taking all advantage of the well-established Snape-persona he could, for starters, he separated Parkinson from Malfoy. The boy could make a decent brew with one hand tied behind his back, so his lack of assistance allowed him to catch the girl. It still took time. No hair fell in her brew, no talking back, no giggling like she had a penchant for performing lately. They neared the end of the double class when he saw her bracelets hanging above the cauldron.
"Miss Parkinson, be so good and stay behind after class."
After he privately prescribed the girl a whole week to spend her evenings with Filch, Snape was reasonably sure that Pansy Parkinson would spend sufficient time wondering what could have angered him. He was patient enough to wait out his chance to get to Miss Pritch, too, spending his recess out on the corridors. They might have tried to ready themselves to present competition to sweet Bellatrix, but he hoped they rethought their endeavours after this week.
Snape didn't punish his Slytherins outwardly and with too many words, but when he got to business, they all jerked their heads and usually had a way to discern his meaning. This time it was about not torturing house elves for fun, or as a matter of fact anybody, and he was more than ready to add any measure of further "argument" to make his point until they understood.
He got through his class of fourth-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and evaded lunch in the Great Hall, needing time to recuperate after his miscarried attempt in the morning. He used his disturbing gap to catch up with correcting essays.
For the Slytherin-Gryffindor first-years' greatest surprise, he criticized one of his own's work to an extent, daring to suggest that politics is too heavy a subject for a first-year student and should be avoided. Hence, one had time to focus on her studies.
Dinner at the Great Hall hadn't been inviting since the toad set foot into the castle, but this time it had the additional benefit and drawback to see Beauxbaton. He tried to walk her through the side corridor, mumbling about a need to talk, but she shortly told she was busy and asked for another time.
The flow of unmarked essays saved the evening from the need to think, and Severus tumbled in bed discouraged and discontented.
Tuesday began with the follow-up report from Chubby, but the elf had nothing much to relay. Pritch and Parkinson were guessing his intentions, but yet neither hit the Mark. Severus silently mused about the irony of them being punished for aim-practice.
A hateful breakfast, a witch in a blue skirt and great hurry, and Severus got to the second-year Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff combo. Annabella Venefica saved a measure of his sanity, earning twenty points for her brew in sheer gratitude. Slytherin-Gryffindor's fourth-years were mostly survivable, although still better than the lunch break.
He had no inclination to partake any food with the noise of pink croaking and the butterflies in his stomach. The witch escaped again; it was hard to believe that was unintentional.
An hour of babysitting the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw first years by their little cauldrons, and finally, he was able to get to his NEWT students.
Snape stood facing the door and leaned his back on his thick desk, watching his seventh-years filing in for their double preparations. First, the precise Hufflepuff, Gwendoline Hedgeflower. She put down her book bag and cleaned her worktable to ensure it was spotless and ready to use.
Then two of his Slytherins, Anthony Travers and Caesar Green. They seemed in good spirits and friendly with each other despite the house elf's report on their different approaches to politics. They made a perfunctory swipe through their desks, some silent jokes while they prepared their tools.
The Ravenclaw delegacy: Gregory Prout and Roger Davies. Snape would have been hard-pressed to tell which of them he liked less. Davies was a typical pretty-boy, the gander for two years' worth of geese, and the captain of his House's Quidditch team. However, Severus still couldn't wrap his head around his interest in Potions NEWTs besides knowing the subject to a reliable level of use. The boy was suffering from an utter lack of imagination. And Prout. Severus couldn't temper his discontented grimace. That boy was not all right. He couldn't explain it, but he was not, and their encounter above Miss Fawcett's torn collar in September only reinforced this feeling.
Finally ran in Tom Jugson, his Slytherin, his creation, his hope for Potioneers. This boy was good, nearly as good as Severus thought of himself at his age. But excitable and tardy. How did Héloïse put it? No one was perfect?
"Very considerate of you, Mr. Jugson, to eventually honour our humble class with your presence. Would you like us to wait out your preparations for work, or by chance, do you wish to change desks with Miss Hedgeflower?"
The Hufflepuff-girl already reached for her book bag to offer her perfect worktable, and Snape rolled his eyes in frustration while Jugson apologized and hurried to tidy up a place for his cauldron. This was something Snape demanded from all his NEWTs, not to take any other's cleaning or preparations granted, to spare them some months of being tossed around as future apprentices and usually made a fool by the older ones.
"Miss Hedgeflower, be so good and grow a spine if you can," – Snape hissed with annoyance, while Jugson spared a second to wink at the girl, so she wouldn't take their Professor too seriously. "While we are waiting, Mr. Travers, would you tell us the most famous poisons capable of mass destruction?"
All seemed taken aback, but Travers obediently listed whatever he remembered. Snape was fully aware no book they ever perused grouped poisons by this criteria, so he opened the challenge for all. Surprisingly, Miss Hedgeflower was most adept in reordering her knowledge.
"Now please run through the list again, Mr. Jugson, and complete it with the symptoms these poisons induce."
Jugson began with his face already wary, but enlisting the symptoms leading to different ways of inevitable deaths started to take a toll on him by the third poison he described.
"These are only words, Mr. Jugson; you shouldn't be afraid of them." – Snape murmured. "Mr. Travers, please help him out and don't miss out on any of the details!"
Twelve ways of dying with different speed and level of agony were described in their first half-an-hour, and all the six of his NEWTs gradually paled by the richness of detail he required.
"Not bad, but you are not even halfway through," – Snape went on with a smirk. "Now the antidotes, Mr. Green, if you please!"
The boy anxiously listed two out of twelve. Miss Hedgeflower knew three more, Jugson only one, Travers nil, and Snape suspected Davies had lost count about fifteen minutes ago. Prout was diligently making his notes, carefully avoiding eye contact so he wouldn't get called for an answer.
"Pathetic," – Snape summarised. "It might have escaped your notice, but in our turbulent era, such knowledge might be of importance. You are to write me three separate essays until Thursday morning. We will discuss them all.
"The first will list all poisons capable of mass destruction you know of, with a detailed description of their effects and the form of death they inflict. You will add the list of their antidotes, their mechanisms, their ingredients and your estimation of their best way of brewing.
"The second essay, you will write, will explain the difference between poisons capable of mass destruction and other poisons. I want you to explain, in rigorous detail, why only twelve magnificent brews were listed and not all poisons we could have mentioned. What makes the difference?" – Snape glanced on each and every head in front of him, busy scribbling up their homework, and hoped his message would deliver.
"Finally, in your third essay, you will tell how you would prevent or stop such a poison in effect? How would you distribute the antidote? When could you begin to try to heal the survivors - if there was any? What plan would you suggest to prevent such destruction as Potion-makers?"
"Excuse me, Sir," – Prout finally lifted his eyes – "Did you say Thursday morning for all the three essays?"
"I did, Mr. Prout. Is there a problem?"
"No, sir," – the three Slytherins were quick to interject through years of experience and routine in recognizing his moods.
It was almost ridiculous indeed how the three boys spoke up in unison. Maybe this was the reason Miss Hedgeflower couldn't suppress a smile. No one chuckled at his lessons, as a rule. This was the closest he would let anyone get. Unfortunately, Snape had no time to tell off the girl, for Davies thought to reinforce his housemate's complaint.
"Sir, excuse me, but if we want to prepare all this homework, we wouldn't have a minute to even think about anything else for day or night."
Snape walked close to the Ravenclaw and looked deep into his eyes. When he saw the boy regretted he spoke up, he stepped closer.
"This is the point, Mr. Davies – he rustled out. – This is exactly the point."
Severus watched his devastated NEWTs even in the Great Hall. After an additional hour to manage their ongoing brewing, Jugson and Hedgeflower didn't even waste time participating in the meal. The others hated him with a passion, he suspected, at the moment even Travers and Green. Let them! He quite circumspectly made his point; now it was up to them if to bother to understand what their lives might turn out if they took the Mark upon finishing school.
The other catch was the antidote question. There was no way under the sun to stop mass poisonings without significant loss of lives. They should face the probable quantity of lives they would take as potioneers if it came to that point. He had to brew the Draught of Devastation only once and still had no idea who might have had to drink it, but the possible targets alternated in his nightmares for more than a year. Actually, he was afraid after this day they might turn up again. This time it was a relief Beauxbaton wasn't anywhere in sight.
An hour spent reducing the mountain of essays on his desk to a smaller hill, and Severus geared up to perform his compulsory wandering through the castle.
The towers were silent, except the Astronomy tower, where he heard Peeves was busy having fun. Good, at least no students were snogging there.
Seventh-floor corridor. Was that a door slamming? Severus found himself between a tapestry of Barnaby the Barny and a long wall, questioning his senses.
Sixth floor. Filch only waved a hand, heading down on a side staircase. He nodded. There wouldn't be any more rule-breakers on the caretaker's route.
Fifth floor. His boots didn't make a sound rounding on the corner, and the Ravenclaw quarters' door came to view. Also, the face of a half-reluctant, half amazed Lisa Turpin, while the girl busied herself folding limb-by-limb out of an embrace. The boy looked too familiar even from behind.
"Mr. Prout, well met. May I hope you already perused all the literature concerning poisons, or are you hoping to find additional assistance in Miss Turpin's back pockets?"
The boy stiffened and let the fifth-year girl's shoulder go, silently cursing. Turpin yelped and fled to the common room, and Snape waited patiently for his NEWT to reluctantly turn.
"Language, Mr. Prout!" – Snape advised. "A fifth-year? Considering your skills, I understand your struggle, but your task was individual work. You will understand if I cannot promise full points on your expected work, or was your exchange not of a professional kind?"
Prout stared daggers but didn't dare to protest. Turpin hadn't reached the age of consent for an additional month or so.
"Let's chat, Mr. Prout!" – Snape offered in a mild tone. "How is Miss Fawcett lately?"
"Y-You have–" – the boy stammered. "That's not any of your business!"
"Sir."- Snape corrected calmly. "I suggest we keep to the honorifics, Mr. Prout; it is not any of your business, sir - I imagine you tried to say. Correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ten points for your neglect of basic courtesy. Fifty, for losing your temper, please understand it the way you choose. Five, for keeping a fifth-year out after curfew and detention with your Head of House at his earliest convenience, which you are to explain to him."
"Yes, sir"- Prout spat the word with honest hatred, which only strengthened Snape's resolve.
"Clear off, Mr. Prout!" – he finished in a similarly spiteful way.
Prout turned without a word and vanished into his House's common room. Snape silently seethed to the point of cursing under his breath. By all legal estimate, this boy was a man, and he obviously lacked the decency and even the common sense to allowed near any of his female peers. How the hell had he gotten this far with his dealings? He knew he'd caught him three times in three months, but how many escapades of his could have happened in secret? Snape calmed himself by swearing to have some words with Flitwick. This should be his task to solve!
Finding the Lovegood girl out by the library, after all, was a huge surprise, but he didn't become upset, unlike with the Weasley twins trying to get away with raiding the kitchen. Ten points, each. He knew it didn't matter for them at all but paid back some, for he was forced to accept them in his NEWT class. What a glorious day would be with them the morrow!
Snape descended to the dungeons with mixed feelings and was worn out. He tried his utmost with Beauxbaton, but the witch was quick and as furious as she could get. He rubbed his face and tried to stop pitying himself by attacking the pile of essays on his desk again. It was well past midnight when he took an additional turn on the corridors before he fell on his bed.
Breakfast was abysmal, with no appetite at all, but a lingering feeling of being a pathetic idiot when he caught himself before eagerly trying to greet his friend. He attempted to follow the witch again, but this time Beauxbaton was quick enough. He didn't even manage to stammer.
.
Slytherin-Gryffindor second years, he waited out the end of class and suggested to an astonished Mr. Norton that he should mend his friendships for the lack of those influenced his classwork and hoped for the best.
He survived the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw third-years and prayed to survive the lunch-break too. With a hint of masochism, Severus hurried out of the Great Hall when he saw Beauxbaton finishing her meal and waited. This time at least, she shortly greeted him before running away. His patience snapped without prelude.
"I could trip-jinx you, do you know that?" – he called after the witch on the narrow side-corridor behind the Hall.
Miraculously, she halted, even turned, but her expression was nothing he might have hoped for.
"Would you raise your wand on me?" – she challenged. This time There was no hint of playful bickering in her tone.
Severus glanced around, pushed himself forward from leaning on the wall, and cast a Muffliato around them. That seemed to surprise her.
"I don't need a wand," – he reminded her, attempting to sound playful.
"What do you want?" – she asked distrustfully.
Suddenly, it felt as if his lungs slid up to his throat and lodged there, no matter how hard Severus tried to swallow them somehow.
"… talk…" – he choked out.
"Well, that must feel new!"
"I-I'm sorry, Beauxbaton,…" - he glanced at her face "Sage–"
That choking sensation returned as soon as he uttered her name. He felt pathetic, realizing he stammered and tried his best to get through his insecurities.
"It-it was a mistake, I see what you are doing, but that… that is a mistake too, you shouldn't… You sailed off as there wasn't another day! I-I understand, but I cannot…" – he wanted to say he couldn't let her, but something told him that wouldn't be a good way to proceed. "I should have known better and–"
"Please stop!" – oddly, her voice was less hostile. "I'm far not ready to discuss it with you … I need you to let me be."
Now his lungs found their supposed place, only they felt empty of air.
"But – are we still friends?"
Sage stared at him with utter disbelief as if she didn't understand his words.
"I'm not ready to discuss that either."
She tried to turn away, but it was nonsense! Severus gasped for air in confusion.
"What on earth is that supposed to mean?!"
The witch turned back with fire in her eyes. "What? Well, it means I am angry, Severus! I am bloody angry, you nitwit, and until I want to hit you in the face more than once a day, I don't feel fit to talk to you. So you'll have to wait it out!"
Severus could feel as the rest of the blood left his face leaving nothing more but cold and a strange light-headedness in its wake.
"I will wait as long as you want…" – he relented and could only stare in her eyes. There was an odd look in those eyes, something soft he couldn't place but tried to savour.
"Dismiss your charm!" – she asked quietly.
Severus obeyed, and the witch was gone.
It wasn't the state of mind he planned to approach his sixth-year NEWTs with. Not even a state of mind, he felt ready for human company at all. Consequentially it became one of the most silent experiences of his teaching carrier at Hogwarts, only gesturing on the blackboard with his wand as he silently entered and just standing in the front while they began to brew.
Severus had no idea what his face seemed for his students, although he should have guessed by the fact even the twins worked in complete silence and focus.
By the middle of their double class, his demeanour slowly thawed to the place and task, to a level his mind began to process the presence of the students in the room. In the first row, his three Slytherins occupied the desks. Bletchley, Pucey, and Higgs. They hardly spared a glance to anyone or anything but the blackboard and their cauldrons.
In the second row, the Hufflepuff Giselda Owens worked close to the Ravenclaw Eddy Carmichael. Their skills matched in level, and everyone long knew how great friends they were. Severus swallowed against a lump in his throat. Gerda Karanasu, the once removed niece of Tulip he remembered from his early years of teaching, worked alone. The girl was a Hufflepuff with a Ravenclaw's sense but without that House's intellectual arrogance.
The other Ravenclaw, Marcus Belby, worked as close to the Gryffindor Weasley twins as he dared and kept sneaking glances at their work. Severus remembered how long he believed the boy was cheating before realizing he was only eager to better his peers and gloat over it.
This time Snape contemplated their options more than their skills. Karanasu was the easiest to predict. With her agreeable nature, she would sacrifice her talent first thing after finishing school. The variable was only the nature of the exchange. Would it be for love, safety, a bunch of kids or something else? Her fate would decide upon her choice. He had nothing he could do about her.
The nightmarish twins were so richly gifted, it would have even blown his mind were they not so utterly lazy! Not in the common way of lazy, not even near. They were quick in understanding, and, despite their reputation, both proved they actually read a lot. Also, counting the number of their dangerous delicacies, he could even say they weren't afraid of hard work. No. Their laziness lay in their lack of aspiration, the utter lack of desire to develop themselves. At least nowhere near their possible capacity. It was a shame to watch, but all their elders seemed helpless. Thus he didn't want anything to do with them, and with the small mercy of fate, he wouldn't need to.
Belby was the epitome of an arrogant Ravenclaw, to a level he would have been seriously worried if the boy was in his House. One word from the Dark Lord, one award from the Ministry, and this boy would be down the hill. Until he didn't hear his name at a gathering, he was not his problem. Still, he had cause enough to be wary.
Owens and Carmichael – he wondered if it helped them more if their names were not already practically entwined. Honestly, he had no experience to decide upon the merits of their situation. Since their third year, these two even breathed together and most probably would open an apothecary somewhere in the boondocks and happily reproduce for decades. None of his business. Their skills were good enough for their possible endeavours, no more but no less. Judging by the fact their other NEWT subject was Herbology, they most likely knew this as well.
Severus didn't start on the memory of his once similar dreams; those proved fleeting and unproductive enough not even to waste any thought about them now. Instead, he began to question if he could have really enjoyed it if those dreams had happened to come true… Hogwash, he would have been over the Moon!
Unlike the three menacing Slytherin "warriors," the hope of the new order under the Dark Lord re-emerged! Blast the delirious morons!
Miles Bletchley had a thing for the Dark Arts he couldn't condemn, but the boy was yet to see their essence, and Snape had to wonder if he ever would. The attraction to dark curses and hexes was not the Dark Arts. Actually, what Bletchley lacked was grasping the very concept of Art, for it was much more than a name to find his favourite reading material easier in a library or in some dirty shops at Knockturn, which sold second-hand books with dangerous contents.
Did the nerd really think he wouldn't recognize those? Hell, he wasn't an idiot, and Bletchley was yet a lightweight – should he teach him? It was extremely dangerous and now even counterproductive if he wanted to take the Mark! Good gracious, what an ox! Bletchley had no chance to see the irony of losing on tuition by turning to the devil to get it!
Not that he was the first fool to do so – he had to add.
Adrian Pucey was entirely different. A practical boy, doing what he needed to level up his station. He was a half-blood by his grandfather's marriage, far enough to be considered a good comrade and too close to live as an equal. Snape doubted Pucey already understood that. Being a decent flyer and playing Chaser must have been part of his plans, and most of his common room activities served for building up his network. The boy was a Slytherin through and through, the embodiment of all the wicked jokes against the House. If just once he thought it might hinder him, Pucey would back out and never took the Mark. That was something to work with.
Terence Higgs. He had to put in some energy to work this boy out. Mostly because his only supreme quality was his competitiveness. Actually, that wasn't true. Higgs also liked money. In his third year, he played Seeker for two seasons and didn't do a bad job of that. He never gave up a match, a race, a challenge – practically ever in his school years. This helped him to turn the table multiple times after his adversaries got tired of the game. And this was about far more than Quidditch! Thinking about it, the only thing Higgs ever gave up was his place as a Seeker to Malfoy, proving his greed was even greater than his desire to win. Interesting. Also useless.
Snape used to be sure that Higgs would join his uncle in business. Berty Higgs had good connections in the Ministry, especially the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creations and the Magical Law Enforcement. That uncle would be severely pissed off learning about his plans. Also, such connections would make young Higgs' joining look desirable for the Dark Lord. Finally, he had something here too.
By the time Snape finished silently evaluating his students, the double class had neared its end, and the cauldrons seemed ready for inspection too. When he slowly started his circle around the work desks, more than one of his students flinched on his sudden move.
To say Severus Snape walked into a huge surprise circling the classroom would have been a shameless distortion of the truth. It was closer to astonishment. Maybe even exceeded it.
One more careful around then, this time he stopped by each and every cauldron, examined, double-checked, and probed –
The work was flawless. The whole class proved their worth beyond question and unparalleled over the years.
Finally – finally he could call their attempts brewing, and even if it couldn't make his mood celebratory, it somehow warmed his chest.
The last round revisiting all the nine cauldrons – just to enjoy the rare moment, and Snape walked back to the front to look into the face of each and every one of these students. Then he nodded.
They beamed as idiots, but not one of them risked to cheer; the most daring was Fred Weasley's whoop, still less loudly than his average out on the corridors.
"Class dismissed" – was the first two words he uttered since he entered the room.
Oddly, all stayed, and as if a curious itch got to them, they fidgeted, glanced at each other, and eyed him anxiously. Snape was on the verge of asking if they wished for some kind of award when Adrian Pucey pulled a shoulder and reached in the air.
"Yes, Mr. Pucey?"
Pucey first peeked at Bletchley, Bletchley on Carmichael, who stepped closer to Miss Owens, and all boys nodded their secret agreement.
"Professor, we heard from Paul Garray that four years ago you held a special class for your NEWTs. Potion of choice. We hoped–"
"You seem to miss the meaning of "special," Mr. Pucey. That was an exceptional year with only four NEWT students, and all already in their seventh year."
Gerda Karanasu made a face looking at her housemate, Giselda Owens as if she said she told her. Pucey was justly annoyed by the lack of her proper support but swallowed his opinion and only glared daggers.
"Sir," – Bletchley joined in, curiously reinforcing the impression of his Slytherins having an agreement with the Hufflepuffs, which was baffling on its own accord. "We understand the difference and acknowledge the hardship. We discussed this… actually several times… and we have to try and politely a–"
"Do you have to, Mr. Bletchley? I wonder what makes this discussion in all our free time so inevitable. Miss Karanasu? You seem to have an opinion."
The girl forced herself to look into his eyes.
"We must have a means to defend ourselves, Professor. We wouldn't ask you if we didn't find it important, and we agreed to be ready to undertake any additional tasks you might deem necessary."
"Defend yourselves? Would you elaborate, Miss Karanasu?"
Unfortunately, the Hufflepuff courage had its limits, and she fell her eyes with her cheeks reddened. Miss Owens hurried to her aid.
"The seventh-years, Sir. The seventh-year NEWTs… they keep saying things…" – It seemed the other Hufflepuff used up her reserves of courage too.
For his greatest shock, George Weasley's hand lifted, fortuitously the boy began to speak before he could allow it, re-establishing the fragile order of the universe.
"It's about Prout, Sir. The guy is the biggest jerk in this castle, and there is serious competition."
"Which he easily won when threatened Giselda with Amortentia, then tried to make it up saying he was only bragging." – Fred Weasley finished his brother's thought.
Snape leaned back on his desk at this point. What the actual bloody hell was there going on with that horrible prick? Was he finally to catch him?
Marcus Belby joined in, lifting a hand only for the sake of appearance while he already spoke.
"We have to make it clear he has no Amortentia, Sir. I and Carmichael searched through all his stuff, not even the ingredients, Sir. But the point is–"
"A threat is a threat, Sir, and we could just… erm… - Higgs wisely thought it over before he incriminated himself with his former intention about the seventh-year – Fact is, he is a bragger talking to girls about making it in the summer, and when we asked him to stop, he began to mock all in our year as if we couldn't brew it."
"Sir, we cannot catch him on it, and to curse him to next week would go against the rules, I guess, but we could roast him for good," – Bletchley added.
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, seeing how quickly even his own Slytherins threw themselves into the argument. He also tried to hush his silent amusement after a vivid picture entered his mind. The Sorting Hat would probably do cartwheels knowing its wish was granted because if this was not cooperation among the Houses, he didn't know what that might be.
"Do you know what he said about his girlfriend?! That he brewed it in the summer to prove her the smell would remind her of him!" – George Weasley screeched, obviously misunderstanding his motion to dismissal.
"I bet it was trash, sewage and halitosis," – his twin added, but before Snape could berate them, Adrian Pucey turned back from the first row.
"Shut up, this won't help, I told you!"
"Sorry, Professor, it won't happen again." George Weasley apologized – miracles never cease!
"I honestly doubt that," – Snape grimly told him. "So you have no proof of anything untoward but had a rumpus with one of my seventh-year NEWTs and wish to put me in the pitiful place of being your judge."
More nodded than hesitated, but it seemed all class agreed.
"That boy is awful, Sir…" – Miss Karanasu's silent pleading caught his attention as much as his Slytherins' bloodthirst.
Pucey made a mistake when he tried to push him on: "We hoped if we studied very hard and did our bests, you might consider holding a special class around Christmas again, Professor. And our potion of choice is–"
"Amortentia, Mr. Pucey?" – Severus winced at the prospect of smelling that summer afternoon again. The heat and the dust, the last lindens blooming and… that was the first time the scent of her hair reached his nostrils… "The flow in your plan is it is your duty to study hard and do your best. Your private affairs–"
"Isn't Amortentia part of the NEWT preparations, Professor?"
Most of his students jumped and stared at the door. Severus didn't even need to look up to recognize the voice.
"It is, Headmaster."
"I am always astonished by the enthusiasm you evoke in your higher-level classes! A precious gift that rarely influences the younger."
Severus managed to swallow his snarl. He looked at his NEWTs.
"I forewarn you all; I will take your blabbering as a deal. If any of your works proves worse than what you achieved today, I will not be convinced to favour you."
The students seemed more pleased than he anticipated. Enthusiasm was not something he frequently saw in these classrooms. He heard nine "Yes, Professor!"-s and "Thank you, Sir!"-s and one of the Weasley's loud whoop before they finally left the room. A part of him was glad about their efforts.
"Isn't this what worth teaching?" – Dumbledore still stood in the door and positively radiated with amusement.
"If you say, Sir."
"I wondered if you would mind escorting me up to my office." - The Headmaster carried on now a tad more solemnly. "Oh, and Dolores implied her wish to rely on your assistance later."
"Would it be possible that she already spattered her Veritaserum?"
"I wouldn't find it too much out of character," – Dumbledore beamed. "Especially when the liquid proved surprisingly ineffective. A disappointment as always about famous potions to cite her. As I hear, even Miss Midgeon managed to fend it off. What do you have to say?"
"I am exactly as baffled as you are, Sir."
Dumbledore nodded his approval, and they climbed the stairs.
"Fizzing Whizbies."
Severus only asked after the office door safely closed behind them:
"Has your journey been effective, Sir?"
"Less than I hoped for, but more than I expected. I gathered a long list of Hepzbiah's collection. Would you like to see it?"
On Severus' nod, the Headmaster produced a scroll long enough to hit the floor when he held it up in his hands.
"You are not without options," – Severus noted.
"No, not anymore. I cannot say I am."
"Headmaster, I was hoping for your earlier return." – Severus admitted getting edgy of the pleasantries. "As much as Minerva hopes for your help with Sybill and Sprout mentioned…."
"Minerva already greeted me with her own list on the matters. Not much shorter than what you've just seen. What would you like to add, my boy?"
Severus took a long breath and started with the student issues.
"Potter's delusions finally reached their peak by organizing some illegal club or association. My students are gathering forces to back up Madame Umbridge's imminent rule. She lures them in like a female Bluebeard. The propensity to accept the Dark Lord's rule spreads in my House like dragon-pox, and I'm itching to boot out Mr. Prout for good."
"On what basis?" - Dumbledore jerked his head.
"Moral."
"Oh, that's a tricky one!" – the Headmaster lifted a mocking index finger with an amused smile. "I still have a feeling you began with the easier part."
"Maybe," – Severus reluctantly admitted, not rejoicing in the dismissal of his former list. "I ran into Lucius the other day. He was only too eager to enlighten me about the failure of our caretaker's journey. Headmaster, I can hardly believe you sent me after Hagrid to no avail, all I could achieve… I should have travelled back to support him, maybe best from a distance. I would have recognized Macnair, and whoever travelled with him, the Dark Lord dismissed me before I could hear the detailed report. Leaving him alone to fend for himself, especially after I–"
"Severus, Severus, I don't think your journey had no avail, my dear boy, you saved all of us of the Ministry's callous hands grabbing on this issue, and you presented Hagrid with a chance. To be more exact, you presented the giants with a chance to choose. That is obviously something."
"But they chose to serve the Dark Lord!"
"Not all of them," – Dumbledore glanced at him above his glasses, with a strange spark in his eyes. "I passed by our groundkeeper's hut on my way up to the castle, and luckily I could share a tea with Hagrid. As I hear not very different from your taste. He planted the seeds of doubt on his journey, which is probably the most one could possibly achieve. The Gurg decided to take Voldemort's part, but not all follow his decision. We are in a better position than we used to be twenty years ago."
"That is good, Sir," – Severus nodded with a sneer. "I would have loathed to kill Lennier for nothing."
"You cannot stomach it, either way, Severus, which proves your real worth."
The Headmaster waited for his response, but Severus had no inclination to continue the subject.
"About my long list of possibilities, I have to tell you that I already found some items of interest."
"Aren't we better wait for Sage Moody with that, Sir? You appointed us together to look into the matter," – Severus asked upon a sudden impulse.
The confusion didn't last on the old face for longer than a moment, but that was enough reason to proceed with caution before Dumbledore flashed his paternally smile.
"Oh, things change, Severus, I believe it is you and me to solve this riddle," – he smiled on his own joke – "and I am contemplating to initiate Harry too, if not soon, but obviously it would–"
Caution or not, this wasn't a development Severus could digest without a word.
"Would you rather take the boy's help over a trained witch's? She already sacrificed more for the cause than anyone should be pressed!"
"As did Harry, should I remind you," – Dumbledore said somberly. "And about those sacrifices…"- the old face changed as if the Headmaster pitied him. "You shouldn't believe the appearances. It doesn't suit you as a Slytherin."
"I cannot discern your meaning, Sir,"- Severus replied, trying to control his upper lips curling back on the insult. He worked hard to convince himself the Headmaster wanted him to understand the situation better. He couldn't know about his experiences, he couldn't know about what he learned…
"Oh, only a minor change of plans, I assure you. She is not even in the castle anyway," – Dumbledore went on. "I am yet to contact her, she-" – the Headmaster consulted his exceptional watch – "she must be already in London, I expect. Is there something perchance you would like to tell me about her?"
Severus quickly combed through his mind to decide upon what to share. The Headmaster was the most powerful wizard he could turn to; maybe he could put a stop to this madness without convincing the witch to hear him out.
"As I gather, she spends more time out of Hogwarts lately. This seems part of the task she undertook. I heard she released her family home to the Roux siblings in Paris to keep the promises she gave to the Order. I find it worrisome, Sir. Lucius keeps her linked to the Dark Lord, and he doesn't seem to expect her to survive. It is way too much she does when her initial job was only to keep her cousin at bay." Severus contemplated if he should add something. "She did a good job of that, Sir. I haven't heard about the witch for about two months. Maybe this convenience came with too high a price she needs to pay."
Dumbledore watched his face for long moments after he talked, and even when he replied, he seemed to closely observe Severus's features. Thanks to Héloïse, his Occlumency was intact without the need to adjust it.
"Severus, I appreciate your concern, but she knew what she signed up for. I doubt she felt she had much of a choice to tell the truth. Sage dear came from her own battlefield, with mistakes she already made and had to make up for them. We all knew at one point she would have to return to France to achieve as much as she may, and this part of her life has nothing to do with our war here."
"Sir, I beg to differ. She serves as an important part in this war if you ask the old pure-blood families' heirs, who try to advance on her family fortune, and even if you only looking at the Order, where she freely offered her services."
"My friend, Alastor, never had a great fortune. Surely, you misunderstand that. Her role is far not essential, my boy, and she knows that from the start" – the Headmaster mused. "Whatever transpired between you–"
"Nothing transpired between us!" – Severus spoke up without missing a beat. "I'm only trying to give voice to reason. She makes sacrifices no one should allow or demand, and all the while putting her life in danger without anyone of us backing her up!"
"Just like Remus, Mundungus, Sirius, Hestia, Arthur, Molly, or I accept your choice to mention whoever you'd like to. And yes, even Harry. We all are making our sacrifices, Severus. It is for the greater good. A sad but inevitable occurrence of war."
Severus could not account for the sudden frost he began to feel under his chest but had the impression he had better not investigate the issue before he could retire for the day. It seemed better to change direction.
"Am I not supposed to work with her trying to find the locket you mentioned, then?"
Dumbledore smiled good-naturedly.
"Why, of course, you may work together on that whenever you find the opportunity! I can see you must have already begun your quest. Have you found a way to get to it?"
Severus swallowed anxiously. The task was impossible. He hadn't even bothered to contemplate it further without additional information.
"There was not much to start upon, but-"
The Headmaster's yet curious glance suddenly came to life, showing almost exhilaration.
"I might have an idea where to look for that" – he began. "See, Severus, my journey took perhaps longer than I anticipated, but it couldn't be prolonged. I managed to talk to the old house-elf, charged for the sad end of Hepzibah Smith. I acquired his memories, which will sufficiently shorten our list of-"
Dumbledore fell silent upon seeing Severus clutching his hand on his left forearm.
"Now?" – he asked warily – "I can only hope our discussion-"
"I can conceal it," – Severus groaned out. He remembered Lucius's warning and had a distinct bad feeling about the call. "If you don't mind, Sir" – he gestured toward the door, standing up. "I will report as soon as I get back."
"Of course, Severus, of course. I'll wait for you up."