A SLEEPING DRAGON
This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.
A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers.
"Here are the first years," Charlie Weasley smiled, gesturing at a jostling noisy crowd of eleven-year-olds.
Snape nodded and let his eyes roam slowly over the new students. No Weasleys, save the cheerful Care of Magical Creatures professor who stood before him. For the second glorious year, no Potters, Grangers, Longbottoms or Lovegoods. That was a good start though doubtless this group would contain some that were almost as aggravating.
"Settle down," his icy whisper cut through the chatter. "I am Professor Snape, Deputy Headmaster, Potions-Master and Head of Slytherin."
"From the cards?" one tremulous voice piped up.
Snape was number three in the Special Edition; Voldemort's Vanquishers white chocolate set, behind Potter and Dumbledore of course. Apparently, they were outselling regular Chocolate Frogs three to two and looked set to be a permanent addition to the range. That wasn't the sort of fame he'd wished for.
He scowled at the freckle-faced brunette until she bit her lip and lowered her head. It took about a second; the girl would probably be a Gryffindor, he thought sourly. A Hufflepuff would have dropped her eyes immediately; a Ravenclaw would have made a quiet comment to a neighbour instead of a public announcement while a Slytherin would have scorned to act impressed unless she knew he was amenable to flattery.
"Silence!" he hissed. "I will brook no interruptions. You will wait here until I return for you. Each of you will shortly be sorted into your house and take your seat at the appropriate table. Then the Sorting Feast will begin. Hogwarts has four houses, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Four houses, four elements, four seasons –" he paused. "Four corners of the world, four points of a compass; is it possible to do without any one of them?" Slytherin would not be reviled for the misdeeds of some of its past members, not if he could help it.
"Within these walls, your housemates will be your new family, with whom you will share classes, dormitories and common rooms. You will earn or lose house points according to your behaviour, deportment –" His eyes rested meaningly on smudged faces and crumpled robes; the more alert began to straighten themselves immediately and nudge their slower neighbours. "And achievements. At the end of each year, the House Cup is awarded to the house with the most points. See that you do your best to make it your own."
He whirled around, letting his cloak swirl behind him, and entered the Great Hall. From her seat of honour as the new Headmistress, Minerva nodded at him. He nodded back and returned to the waiting first years.
"Come," he told them. "When I call your name, sit on the stool and place the hat on your head. All eyes will be upon you so carry yourselves well."
He waited with his charges through the Sorting Hat's usual inane ditty.
This school was founded by four friends,
Together, yet apart.
Each house reflects its founder,
Each banner tells their heart.
"Gryffindor's ground is red as fire,
His deeds both brave and bold,
A reckless roaring lion
Whose heart grows never cold."
Snape gave an inward snort. That empty-headed old rag was as one-eyed as if it was Godric himself singing and not just his antiquated headgear. A more accurate line would have been "Hearts too bold and brave … that haste them to their grave".
As changeable as water,
The green of Slytherin,
The cunning of the serpent
That sheds each year its skin.
The snort became a sneer. Typical Gryffindor mentality to turn Slytherin's greatest assets, cool reflection and the capacity to grow and change, into defects! He wondered, as he always did at the Welcoming feast, why Salazar had ceded the sorting into Godric's control. At least the school motto was pure Slytherin. Never tickle a sleeping dragon; there was sound sense in that proposition and it was as far from the Gryffindor mentality as one could well go.
A yellow field for Hufflepuff,
The bounteous, generous soil,
As patient as the badger,
As unafraid of toil.
That was fair comment, at any rate. The quiet house was as necessary and under-appreciated as the ground they walked over, the earth that fed them.
And banner blue for Ravenclaw,
The rushing air and sky,
Far-seeing as the eagle,
Their questing thoughts as high.
Which is to say, he interpreted to himself, that their focus on abstract thought is as insubstantial and seemingly pointless as the air – and as vital as breathing.
So put me on. I'll tell you
Where your head says you belong,
Then once again, I'll wait in peace
Till it's time for next year's song.
Hundreds of cheerful voices resumed their chattering. Snape raised his chin and let his cold black eyes roam the entire room, quieting every student they fell on. When the rumble died to a whisper, he pulled the list of names from his pocket and began.
"Ackersley, Leda." A willowy girl with long dark braids detached herself from two giggly friends and took her place on the stool. The Hat took its time.
"Slytherin."
"Asprey, Roland." A rosy-cheeked ragamuffin with yellow curls this time. As soon as the Hat touched his head it yelled its decision.
"Gryffindor."
It was different standing here instead of sitting at the High Table through the process; for one thing, there was no one to compare predictions with. Finally the last child "Yelen, Maryanna" was sorted into Hufflepuff and he was free to take his seat by Minerva.
"How many years did you endure that?" he muttered.
"Too many," she answered before rising to give the traditional speech. Once that was over and the tables loaded with food, the gossip could begin.
"What's the latest from Ricky?" Octavia Vector asked her nearest neighbour as he served himself some steak and kidney pie. "Are they together?"
Roger Davies frowned and sighed.
"Luna says it's off again. For good this time she thinks."
"No chance of a reconciliation?" Octavia piled five sausages on top of her plateful of mashed potato and gravy.
"I guess there's always a chance," he shrugged, spearing a steamed carrot and inspecting it as he spoke, "but Luna thinks not. Pity. I rather liked Hermione and she's certainly been helpful with straightening out our situation. She did a lot of the research, you know, for those Quibbler articles that helped change the rules."
It was about time that Hogwarts allowed staff to marry and live on the premises or even for those without house responsibilities to share cottages in Hogsmeade with their spouses. Apparently, in the Muggle world this had been the norm for some decades. Trust Hermione Granger to know that. In fact, trust her to know just about anything on any topic. She was just as much a collector of knowledge as school legend had always described her.
He'd married Luna in a handfasting almost a month ago, but she wasn't at the feast tonight as she'd preferred the outside accommodation option. Her father had handed her control of the magazine while he took an extended fact-finding trip looking for Mongolian Blue-tongued Kappas and she didn't care to make the trek out from the school to the nearest Apparition point every morning. The convenience of Hogsmeade living made up for missing some meals together. As Flying Instructor, Roger wasn't obligated to turn up to the Great Hall every day.
"Ginny told me the same," Charlie added, taking the pie plate from Roger's hand. "She thinks Hermione is quite resolved against him now and she's pretty determined. Once she makes up her mind, she doesn't easily change it."
He was too tactful to elaborate further. Ricky was Roger's best friend and had stood as witness at his handfasting. Better not bring up his jealous rages every time Hermione spoke to or about another man.
Ginny, flitting in and out of London for her job of Third Junior Undersecretary for the Minister of International Relations, was a frequent and copious correspondent and had been ever since the age of twelve. She said it was because she knew where he kept his brain. In her last letter, she'd written that the first hint of trouble had been at the Valentine's Day Ball over six months ago, but it had sounded so ridiculous and blown over so quickly no one had worried at the time. How could Ricky be jealous of Snape, of all people, who'd never looked at a Gryffindor except to find fault, Ginny asked?
Unfortunately, Octavia had heard rumours and her sense of humour tended to be unsubtle and rollicking. She leant forward to talk across the table.
"What do you say, Snape?" she cackled. "Care for a crack, now young Hermione has cut loose? Rather a pretty girl she turned out to be, didn't she?"
Snape didn't look up from the chops he was cutting. She elbowed Roger, who winced and inched his chair away, and asked again.
"Eh, Snape? Hermione Granger's heart is broken. Who should patch it up again?"
The Deputy Head gave her a blistering black-eyed glare.
"The romantic problems of my ex-students leave me quite unmoved," he snarled. "No doubt she'll find another dupe soon enough."
The other professors were used to his sour demeanour and quick temper. Only Amory gave him a quick glance under shuttered lashes, which he followed up by changing the topic to the tried-and-true distraction of which house would win the Quidditch this year. No one else suspected anything, but then they hadn't visited Snape in his chambers the night after the handfasting.
The dour Potions-Master had been at the celebration, of course. The marriage of a fellow-professor was a social obligation that even he could not skip though he'd retreated to solitude at the earliest opportunity.
He'd soon noticed that one rose bush in a far corner of the grounds had dark burgundy stains on a few of its leaves. It seemed to be infected with Downy Mildew, a rather unpleasant discovery for a gardener, but for a Potions-Master a welcome opportunity to experiment with substitutions in rose leaf-based potions. No need to ask for samples; the leaves needed to be removed entirely anyhow or the whole bush would be blighted.
He'd been turning an affected leaf over to examine the underside for the downy fungus, when Hermione Granger had stumbled onto him.
"Oh," she'd breathed, stepping back. He recognised her voice without turning around and wondered why she sounded near tears at what should be a joyous occasion for her. She was a friend of both bride and groom. "It's you."
"Once again I bow to your superior knowledge," he'd sniped. "No doubt it was necessary to inform me of that fact in case I was unaware of it."
He'd known without looking that she was biting her lip.
"Please don't," she'd muttered. "I don't want to cross swords with you today. I've just had the most ridiculous argument with Ricky." Her voice had wavered and fallen.
Unbidden, his heart had leapt. He'd squelched it and her ruthlessly.
"Surely that's no business of mine."
She'd laughed then, a sad bitter laugh.
Only because he's jealous – of you," she explained her voice dripping with disbelief. "How could he think? I told him he was being ridiculous but he just went on and on –"
Even now, remembering it, his chest squeezed flat and his throat burned. She'd had no idea, of course. Little know-nothing, Know-it-all Gryffindor. His hand had clenched around the stem, snapping it off. Later, he'd noticed the leaf in his pocket and wondered how it had got there. At the time, he'd just concentrated on getting enough air to breathe.
It had taken long seconds before he could speak. He hadn't looked at her.
"Should I be flattered at your assumption that I'm a neuter?" he'd whispered at last. "Should I be pleased that your only interest in my feelings is using them to settle an argument with your friends?"
He'd heard her gasp. He'd had no need to turn to see the dismay on her expressive face; it had been there in his mind's eye as he'd stared unseeing at the roses. He hadn't turned. Breathing had been enough effort.
"I didn't mean – I didn't mean anything like that," she'd faltered. "I'm sorry."
"Gryffindors are always sorry," he'd told her with a very creditable affectation of calm. "It's much more useful to be careful."
She'd been silent for all of ten seconds before she'd exploded.
"You'll never forgive me for being a Gryffindor, will you?" Her voice was thin and brittle as over-boiled sugar.
"For being reckless, tactless, bull-headed and insensitive?" he'd sneered.
She'd stamped her foot then. He'd heard it, a dull thud on the grass behind him.
"How dare you call me insensitive?" she'd cried, her voice breaking on the last word. She'd sniffed and added, "What are you? Tell me, did you promise yourself a treat every time you reduced a student to tears or were their tears treat enough for you?"
And she'd been gone before he could think of anything to say. He still couldn't think of anything to say.
A/N: "Teachers' spouses in boarding schools" - I found a web-site that mentioned Housemasters having their spouses on school premises. I extrapolated that other teachers don't need to live in.
"Mongolian Blue-tongued Kappas" - A nod to PoA where Snape says Kappas live in Mongolia whereas apparently the textbook places them in Japan.
"Over-boiled sugar" - If you've ever made toffee you might know that the higher the temperature it reaches the harder and more brittle the result.
