There were far too many people in this room, Severus thought, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. It never did alleviate the tension headaches any interaction with Dumbledore inevitably spawned.
Far too many stupid people, he amended, listening to Cornelius Fudge and whatever the fuck his name was, Lord Ainsley, complaining about Síomha's blatant rejection of the 'honour' which was being put in a bloody impossible political position and burning her Order of Merlin medal in the Chief Warlock's face.
Director Scrimgeour — Her Excellency, at the moment, though Severus was quite certain he wasn't alone in still thinking of her in her brief reprisal of her role as Director of the DLE — was far less angry about the offence, but no less angry in general, watching the three men blither on with an increasingly infuriated expression; Dumbledore was attempting to play peacemaker, making the argument that there was really nothing else Síomha could possibly have done. Either she insulted them by rejecting the invitation or she betrayed her cause by accepting it, and no one had truly thought that the young sorceress was going to betray her cause, had they? It wasn't a crime to burn one's Order of Merlin medal. What were they going to do? Attempt to retaliate against the Gaels and start a bloody civil war over the insult of one hot-headed young witch? Be reasonable, gentlemen. The very idea was ludicrous.
"No one gives a fuck about your stupid Order!" the new Chief Warlock finally interrupted, the attention of everyone in the room instantly focused on her. Fudge actually looked as though he intended to respond, but she preempted him with a glare. "You, Ainsley, were a bloody fool to propose Miss Síomha as a candidate for your Order in the first place, and you, Fudge, were an idiot to believe that this ceremony would be anything less than a political disaster. Why the hell are we talking about the bloody Order of Merlin when someone just attempted to assassinate a foreign dignitary at—"
Scrimgeour's furious tirade didn't end there, but Severus was distracted from it by Minerva slipping into the room behind him. "Severus!"
"What is it, Minerva?" he asked quietly, a low murmur far less likely to garner attention than her hissed whisper, though admittedly no one was paying them any mind anyway.
"You're needed in the Great Hall."
"Define needed." Because he might not care to be cooped up in this farce of an attempt at diplomatic regrouping, but Dumbledore had demanded his presence, presumably in order to comment later on the likely fallout from whatever strategy they settled on. He certainly had no intention of interrupting Erin bloody Scrimgeour to ask who had suggested that the Order offer an invitation to Síomha in the first place. Not that she hadn't earned it, by all accounts, but whoever had done so must have foreseen the likely consequences of the invitation — that it would be rejected, and spectacularly at that, had been practically inevitable. Knowing which factions were actively attempting to manipulate the Nationalists into starting an actual war with the British would be far more useful than whinging about the fact that there were muggles at the ceremony to have curses thrown at them in the first place, as Ainsley had begun to do.
Severus was quite certain that, in this case, Mister Cavan had been targeted due to his association with Síomha, rather than because he was a muggle politician, but that didn't change the fact that he had been attacked, and it did not seem unreasonable to suspect that the same person or persons who had instigated this entire mess might also be involved in its escalation today. It could, of course, be a matter of an unrelated, opportunistic attempt on the Tánaiste's life for the unspeakable offence of being a muggle at Hogwarts, but anyone who believed that Ciarán Ó (something impronounceably Gaelic) would fail to muster a defence against a single explosive incendiary curse, cast from dozens of metres away, completely openly, was not only stupid but might actually be brain-dead. And since persons who have been kissed by dementors are incapable of casting any magic at all, Severus suspected that the curse had actually been intended to inflame tensions, rather than to immolate the Irish politician (or blow his bloody head off...or both).
Nevertheless, leaving without the Headmaster's permission to attend to any matter less urgent than students attempting to murder each other in the Great Hall would likely be severely frowned upon.
"Certain of your students — and their parents — have taken exception to Mister Éanna's lack of concern and apologia on behalf of his people."
And Severus had made it very clear that he didn't want Minerva, or anyone else, interceding in any conflicts between his apprentice and his Slytherins — any such intervention would likely only lead to an escalation of the students' attacks once the professor in question moved on, patting themselves on the back for protecting the poor, helpless 'spaz'. (Severus rather detested the attitude his colleagues held toward Éanna, which was hardly better than the vast majority of the student body.) He much preferred that Bellatrix or the Weasley girl involve themselves, if only because they were far less likely to refrain from hexing the obnoxious little shites. The staff might take points or assign detentions, but those were hardly the sort of consequences which would deter future taunting.
If, on the other hand, Bellatrix did something uniquely horrible to someone for making themselves a nuisance to one of the few people in the castle whose company she actually enjoyed — melding their wand hand into their gluteus maximus, for instance, though Severus suspected that the McLaggan boy had drawn her attention by harassing the fourth and fifth-year muggleborn girls, annoying Miss Granger rather than Éanna — word would get around, and that would serve to curb the behaviour of anyone with the least degree of self-preservation. (How the girl could possibly be surprised that her attempts to antagonise the idiot children who had staged that cowardly attack on her last spring had gone nowhere was beyond Severus.)
In this case, though, Black (or Weasley) intervening on Éanna's behalf would likely only escalate the situation, especially after that little show the Blacks had put on in the wake of Síomha's rather dramatic rejection of the 'honour' of joining Ainsley's little club and the Irish delegation's abrupt departure from the stands. Severus wasn't familiar with the song they'd projected via illusion and amplifying charm into the stunned silence (they'd clearly been entertaining themselves with music only the two of them could hear while they waited for the tedious political speeches to wind down), but it hadn't been well-received by the majority of the audience. Severus had actually found the noisy, shouted mess (fuck you, I won't do what you tell me, repeated over and over) to be surprisingly catchy, but it had been interpreted (correctly, he suspected) as a declaration of support for the Gaelic cause. (Ironically, Severus thought it might actually have served to help defuse the situation — several of the more hide-bound old farts were so very appalled at the behaviour of the young Lord Black and his heir that it distracted from their outrage at Síomha's insult.)
"They're beginning to draw a crowd, and a very tense one at that."
"Very well," he murmured, shooing Minerva back toward the door and sidling after her. That bastard Crouch threw a disapproving look at him — not unlike the one he'd put on when he noticed that Severus was there in the first place — but Dumbledore, who was asking Director Bones for an update on the hunt for the culprit, didn't seem to notice.
"Slow down, Severus," Minerva complained, struggling to keep up and simultaneously maintain her usual air of dignity.
"I was under the impression that time is of the essence, Minerva."
"It is, but I want to present a united front..."
Fine. He shortened his stride ever so slightly. "Who, precisely, thought that they would take it upon themselves to scapegoat my apprentice?"
"The Rowle boy, for one. Miss Parkinson—" Dareus would likely be put out with his cousin for involving herself, he had been keeping his head very conspicuously down since taking over his father's position at the head of House Parkinson in the wake of the World Cup. "—Miss Bletchley and her elder brother. Arthur Roth. I believe they were the instigators."
Wonderful. Roth and Myles Bletchley weren't even students anymore. They must have come up for the Task. "And?" he prompted her. "If you felt it necessary to present a united front, there are non-Slytherins involved."
Minerva huffed at him. "Miss Brown and her father. Malcom McLaggan—" Who was likely here to address the issue of his son being in hospital for the foreseeable future rather than the Tournament, and already furious that there was nothing to be done for Cormac. (At least until they surgically removed the hand from the buttock, which was a procedure Poppy was not going to perform in the school hospital wing.) "Miss Chang and Miss Edgecomb. Miss Wilkins and her father—" Who had a bone to pick with the Blacks over their refusal to apologise for killing his brother at the World Cup. "—they were only peripherally involved when I left the Hall."
"Very well. Would you like to do the talking, or shall I?"
"Well, Éanna is your teaching assistant..."
The Great Hall was utter chaos. There were far too many people here as well, tensions running high after the rather abrupt conclusion of the Order of Merlin ceremony. Those who had arrived later were, by and large, more excited about the Tournament (some annoyed by its delay), and there was a distinct strain of delighted outrage in the air: Síomha was rather well known, after all, and insulting the British to their faces so blatantly was simply scandalous. The Prophet would probably be milking it for headlines for a week. The delegations from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were notably absent — Severus assumed because they had the option, and liked to be able to hear themselves think. There were hundreds of conversations competing to be heard, small children running about and getting underfoot, students threading their way through the crowd looking for their friends or families— Generally speaking, madness.
Severus was slightly shocked that Éanna hadn't taken one look at the Hall and fled.
Or perhaps he had — the conflict which was still in the process of developing was centered near the doors which led out into the Entrance Hall. It wasn't out of the question that he'd been caught out there and backed into a metaphorical corner, much as Bellatrix appeared to have been backed into a literal corner by Andromeda on the opposite end of the Hall. The wave of interest in the goings-on near the main doors was spreading relatively quickly, more heads turning, people gravitating in that direction, but it hadn't yet reached them.
Minerva had led Severus to the door which opened onto the dais which raised the Head Table a few inches above the students'. This gave him an excellent vantage point from which to assess the situation, while simultaneously putting him at the furthest possible point from his miserable apprentice and the furious Weasley girl.
In the few minutes it had presumably taken for Minerva to fetch him, 'beginning to draw a crowd' had become 'had drawn a crowd'. Though, the entire room was more or less crowd, which meant that there were a significant number of individuals attempting to make their way away from the sides which had formed in opposition to each other, as a much greater number pressed in closer to see what was happening. It seemed that Éanna and Miss Weasley had initially been accosted by the Bletchleys and then caught the attention of several members of Ars Brittania, with more people subsequently joining in on both sides — not necessarily along the lines one might expect, if this were only about the Gaels.
Amos Diggory, for example, was a staunch member of Ars Brittania, but currently standing with the pro-Gaelic Independence lot, because he apparently couldn't bring himself to stand alongside a Parkinson (Dareus, who did indeed look annoyed, had nevertheless chosen to support his idiot cousin) or a Wilkins or a Rowle. And Molly Weasley appeared to be on the Ars Brittania side, though Severus would be willing to bet that her interest was mostly in dragging her daughter away by the ear and shouting at her until she went hoarse for making a scene. She was currently shouting at one of her twins, who had placed themselves on either side of their baby sister like bloody bodyguards...in much the same way Vincent and Gregory were looming behind Pansy.
Fortunately, it seemed Black (whom Severus didn't see in the Hall and who, if the Fates were kind, would remain elsewhere) was as yet unaware of the brewing storm, because he would certainly be inclined to support his "not-apprentice" and his appearance would almost certainly provoke Wilkins into throwing a hex, which would see the mess devolve into a bloody riot within seconds. It was, however, only a matter of time until the bloody animal sniffed out the conflict and showed up to make everything worse, so Severus had better get over there first. He turned on his heel, glowering at nothing in particular — Minerva had pressed on into the crowd while Severus stopped to get his bearings, but the quickest route to the opposite side of the Hall, at the moment, was to go around — and immediately heard someone — an annoyingly amused someone — say, "Ooh, look, he went all determined and serious! Lighten up, Sevvy-poo! You're such a downer! Sit down and have a drink, you look like you could use one."
Angel Black — lounging around the far end of the table with Selwyn and Flamel (Shirazi) and a bottle of wine, watching the developing conflict as though it were intended simply to entertain them — gave him a positively shit-eating grin. He hadn't noticed the three of them when he entered, which suggested they'd been deliberately hiding themselves.
Four of them, he noticed belatedly — Ashe was there too, sitting on Selwyn's other side. Ashe had been spending an unwarranted amount of time in the Miskatonite's company lately, a development Severus found concerning, to say the least. Annoyingly, he didn't think there was anything he could do about it. Ashe was a grown woman, older than himself by a couple decades, and was fully capable of making her own choices, no matter how ill-advised they might be. He doubted she would take well his suggestion that she should probably avoid someone so obviously dangerous...especially since she also spent a fair amount of time in his company, and there were many who might very well say similar things about him.
Regardless of the fact that Selwyn was the single most terrifying mind mage Severus had ever met. Including Riddle. That she was much more personable really wasn't much of an improvement.
"Ladies, Ashe," he said curtly, doing his level best to ignore Sevvy-poo (in his experience, reacting only encouraged such obnoxious behaviour) and giving them a collective, perfunctory bow. "Unfortunately, my presence is required elsewhere. I was just leaving."
"If elsewhere is on the other side of the Hall to ruin the show—"
"Oh, leave off, Angie," Selwyn said, obviously exasperated.
The black mage opened her mouth to object, but Flamel cut her off. "If that little standoff erupts into violence, Angel, I doubt we'll get to the Task today at all. And I know you want to watch Lyra fight the little Cæciné."
"Ugh, fine! Go convince everyone to continue being boring," the girl said, waving him off.
He gave the three of them another short bow, traded exasperated glances with Ashe, and fled — making a mental note to find someone to entertain the Avatar of the Dark, because he could foresee nothing good coming of her boredom. Someone most likely being Bellatrix, because there were vanishingly few people around who—
Someone fell into step with him, slipping an arm around his waist. He was so focused on the situation in the Great Hall that he didn't see her coming, and startled rather badly before he recognised her mind.
"Sickle for your thoughts, Professor," she said, blinking up at him with wide blue eyes, golden curls framing the lovely young face she'd chosen to go with—
"Nymphadora, what the hell are you wearing? And why are you here?"
"Why, my uniform, sir. Would you like to check whether my skirt meets regulations? If it's too short—"
It was too short. Far, far too short. And half of the buttons on her blouse had come undone — he would say she'd deliberately unbuttoned it, but it was just as likely they'd simply lost their battle with her...improbably curvaceous form. The only part of her costume which in any way resembled the Hogwarts uniform was the black outer robe she'd shrugged on over it, presumably to avoid drawing more attention than a bloody veela— And he had no time to spare for her games at the moment. Which was a pity, because it had been weeks since she'd dropped by to visit, he'd very much prefer to spend the next hour or two catching up rather than putting out political fires. (And possibly literal ones — at this point, he wasn't ruling it out.) "Knock it off, Dora," he snapped.
She let him go. "Woah, what crawled up your arse and died?"
Better. Still terribly distracting, both the incongruous crassness and the pouty little moue she gave him along with the question, but better. "Síomha ní Ailbhe spit in the collective eye of the Wizengamot by burning her bloody Order of Merlin medal rather than letting Scrimgeour put it on her; someone threw a potentially lethal curse at the Tánaiste of the muggle Republic of Ireland, presumably to further inflame tensions between the Gaelic nationalists and the British nationalists as well as between the muggles and our government; my Gaelic apprentice is being harassed by said British nationalists, who are on the verge of throwing hexes in the Great Hall — I need to defuse the situation before your clumsy canine cousin shows up and sparks it off coming to the aid of his apprentice — and the Avatar of the Dark is bored," he rattled off, steering them around a corner.
"An Avatar of the everloving Dark is at Hogwarts, and that wasn't the first thing on your list?"
"Yes, well, she's been here since Samhain and hasn't eaten anyone yet, so the impending brawl is more pressing. If you want to help, you can go introduce yourself and entertain her."
"Entertain her? How? Fucking torture someone to death?"
"No, with your sparkling wit and unparallelled conversational skill."
"Was that sarcastic? Do you actually want me to torture someone? Because that's what you just implied, you realise. Why don't you just let the brawl happen?"
"Because I don't want a civil war breaking out at Hogwarts, and especially not when the bloody Queen is in residence!" he snapped, dropping his voice to a low whisper.
"The Queen is in residence? Christ, how many people did Lyra invite to this thing?"
"Too many. Get Babbling and Flamel to fill you in— I mean Shirazi."
"I have no idea what you're talking about anymore."
"There are two metamorphs and an Avatar of the Dark sitting at the High Table." They were magically powerful enough Dora should be able to feel them from a distance, but Ashe wouldn't register. "They may be invisible. Go introduce yourself and ask the metamorphs to explain what the fuck is going on around here, because I do not have time, Dora, I really don't."
She was about to ask him why the Avatar of the Dark would be interested in meeting her in the first place. Severus really wasn't inclined to wait for her to do so aloud. They were almost at the main doors of the Hall. "Why would—"
"She's your cousin. She reminds me of Bellatrix, but less mature and more existentially terrifying. You'll probably like her. Go!" He stopped abruptly, spinning her around by the elbow to face back the way they'd come. "Use the professors' entrance, it's a bloody nightmare in there. And button up your bloody blouse unless you're planning on entertaining the Dark by shagging her!"
"Maybe I will. We'll have an invisible orgy on the High Table — be jealous." She rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek, then skipped off before he could remind her that there were people around, damn it!
Including, he realised, Sirius Black, who was now sauntering in his direction, smirking like a fool. Which was admittedly better than sauntering into the Great Hall and starting a civil war, but not by much.
"Well, well, well," he chuckled. "Will wonders never cease! Severus Snape is finally getting laid!"
"Piss off, Black."
"Seriously, was that Meda's Dora, or the Astronomy professor? Because if it's Dora, I want to meet her, and if it's the Astronomy professor, I was thinking of entirely the wrong girl when Little Bella said Aurora Sinistra's the professor, now."
"Dora," he said shortly, doing his level best to kill the conversation, without explaining that he had something important to do, because Black would almost certainly invite himself along. He seemed to have decided at some point that they were now friends. "If you'd like to meet her, she's going to introduce herself to Angelos."
The idiot shuddered. "You did tell her what Angel is."
That wasn't quite a question, but Severus decided to answer it anyway, in the interests of getting rid of the dog. "Yes. Bored. Dora kindly volunteered to entertain her. I'm sure you're perfectly welcome to go join the family reunion."
Black snorted, trying not to laugh. "I'll find her later. And Aurora's the titchy little Slytherin with the big glasses, right? Brunette, would've been a fourth-year when we were in seventh? Always had her nose in a book?"
"Yes, Black. Go away, I have things to do."
"Like what?"
"Like anything other than talk to you."
"Your scorn, it wounds me!" he declared, clutching dramatically at his chest, though he couldn't quite keep a straight face.
"Andromeda was looking for you in the Hall," Severus informed him. "Bellatrix escaped, which means it's your turn to be reamed for your little performance earlier."
"Ah, noted. If she asks, I went up to Gryffindor to be nostalgic over the view from the Commons or something," he said, before glancing furtively around as though his cousin might be right behind him, and ducking into a secret passage hidden behind a tapestry. Probably not to go be nostalgic about the Gryffindor Common Room...though it was possible he had, simply because he assumed that the place he'd stated he was going would be the last place anyone would look for him.
In any case, so long as he wasn't in the Great Hall, Severus didn't care. He had far more important problems to worry about at the moment. He took a moment to compose himself into the very picture of cold fury, then pushed a wave of power through the doorway ahead of himself, a general compulsion to shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down, most often used on unruly third-years.
The effect on the students was instantaneous, every one of their jaws snapping shut so quickly he heard at least two sets of teeth click. The former Death Eaters in the scrum were nearly as thoroughly unnerved. This was one of many aspects of Severus's teaching persona which had been borrowed from the Dark Lord or Bellatrix — whatever else Severus might have to say about him, Riddle had known how to make an entrance and arrest the attention of his audience.
"What," he asked, using a silent, wandless amplifying charm to ensure that his furious hiss, hardly more audible than a whisper, carried to all of them, "is the meaning of this?" He didn't let them answer, leaning into the compulsion to make them hesitate, injecting a subtle note of shame into it — yes, you are embarrassing yourselves, your houses and Britain at large. "Miss Weasley, please escort Éanna to his quarters. You have my permission to hex anyone who gets in your way. Madam Weasley, kindly do not speak when I am speaking."
Molly's shrill objection cut off abruptly. She glared at him, utterly furious but unable to overcome the silencing charm he pressed on her while he was still actively sustaining it. How DARE you! she practically shouted at him, fingers twitching toward her wand. He crushed the impulse to hex him, lest she set off the bloody riot. You have NO right—
"Thank you," he said, purely for the benefit of the peanut gallery, still quietly. Dangerously. "And I have the right to silence you, to order your children about right in front of you, because this is Hogwarts. I am a senior professor, acting as a representative of the school, with the knowledge and support of the Deputy Headmistress." He nodded at Minerva, who had made her way out of the crowd on the other side of them, and was now glaring down her nose at the lot of them with a thin-lipped expression of fury. "As the Headmaster is currently indisposed, attending to matters far more important than any of you—" He let his eyes flick from one furious face to the next, not bothering to hide his own scorn and disdain for them. "—I think you will find that our authority at the moment is absolute. Especially when it comes to maintaining discipline, peace, and decorum inside these walls.
"I do not care about your personal feuds, your vendettas, who allegedly killed whose brother fifteen years ago, or how offended you are over Dame Síomha's insult to the Order of Merlin, or the notion that the Gaels have the right to govern themselves. You will not assault, threaten, taunt, or otherwise make nuisances of yourselves to any member of the staff or student body of this school while you enjoy the hospitality of the Castle. Including my apprentice, who has no interest in the matter of Gaelic Independence, regardless of the position certain members of his clan may or may not unofficially hold. I am quite certain that none of you would like to be held accountable for the actions of some member of your House or other.
"Yes, including you, Diggory. And you, Lintz," he added, as those two thought self-righteously that they weren't ashamed of their families, unlike some Death Eater scum they could name. He might have to go back a generation or two, but there were skeletons in the closet of every House. Lintz's father, Severus knew, had been a Grindelwaldian battlemage who had turned coat like a coward when he was captured, which was disgraceful for multiple reasons. Diggory he was less familiar with, but he seemed to recall rumours that the man's mother had been involved in an indiscretion involving a Knockturn Alley whore, a rather absurd amount of Fairy Dust, and a puffskein, just two years ago. (Diggory flushed when he was reminded of the incident, though he apparently didn't know whether the allegations were true himself. He didn't want to.) "No, in fact, I have not overstepped in using legilimency to suppress incipient violence in the presence of a considerable number of minors, any of whom might become casualties of said violence, were it to erupt, and yes, McLaggan, I will tell that to the Aurors with a straight face.
"My students will report to the Common Room in fifteen minutes to explain your disgraceful behaviour. That goes for you, too — Roth, Bletchley, Parkinson. If you are under the impression that having left school means I no longer hold any vestige of authority over you, I will remind you that, no longer being my students, there is no conflict of interest in challenging you to a public honour duel and beating your arses bloody in front of your peers. Go!"
They left without complaint, though he did catch a few poisonous glares and some muttering between the three young men, wondering what the hell he was planning to do to them. (He hadn't decided, yet.) The Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw students also withdrew into the crowd, with the exception of Lavender Brown, who stayed at her father's side.
"And you." He turned to the so-called adults who had involved themselves. "Avery. Wilkins. Brown. Strike. Diggory. Weasley. Carpenter. You step foot in this school, and suddenly you're all fifteen years old again? The Truce holds. If you violate it, I will hold you accountable. Personally and publicly. Regardless of which side you were or were alleged to be on. If you cannot hold a civil conversation, I expect you to act like the adults you purport to be, and avoid each other for the remainder of the day — is that understood?"
He let them go to respond, garnering sullen murmurs from Wilkins, Strike, and Carpenter, who slunk away with their tails tucked firmly between their legs. Molly Weasley immediately threatened to tell the Headmaster on him for silencing her, apparently forgetting that Minerva was standing right behind her. She cleared her throat very pointedly. "I will not abide violence in this Hall, Miss Prewett! Severus is acting within the bounds of his authority, at my request—"
She continued to lecture Weasley and Diggory, but Severus stopped listening, because Brown got shirty, stepping into his space to prod at his chest with a pointed finger — which might have been more intimidating if he weren't two inches shorter than Severus — and attempting to pull rank: "I am a sitting member of the Wizengamot, you jumped-up little worm! I will not be treated—"
"If you act like a child, I will treat you like a child, Brown. We are not in the Wizengamot Hall at the moment, and as such, I will show you precisely as much respect as you have earned. Which is to say, none. Is my directive understood? Or will you be taking your leave?" Brown simply gaped at him, apparently uncertain what to do when faced with someone who so blatantly refused to acknowledge his authority. "Either you will agree to keep the peace while you are on Hogwarts grounds, or I will eject you from the grounds. Whichever you prefer."
"You're not nearly as untouchable as you think you are, Snape!" he blustered. "You'd best hope you don't meet me outside the wards, or you'll be made to answer for your impertinence!"
Severus's eyes tipped up to the cloudless ceiling, entirely of their own accord. "Consider me ever so intimidated. You are excused, Brown."
The man stuttered and spluttered, desperate to maintain some semblance of authority in front of his daughter. Severus slipped the idea into her head to take his hand and gently pull him away, leaving only Avery, who sneered at him. "Nice impression. Going to ask us to kiss the hem of your robes, next?"
Severus raised an eyebrow at him. "Whyever would I defile my robes in such a way?"
"You self-important little shite," the man hissed. "You come in here, pretending to be the bloody Dark Lord, expecting us all to jump to your tune—"
"Come now, Avery," Severus said, in a smooth, pleasant tone which was deliberately reminiscent of de Mort before he'd begun to lose his bloody mind. "If I were impersonating the Dark Lord, I would force you to pluck out your own eye for your insubordination — or excise your Mark, perhaps." He'd actually done that, once. Not that removing the tattoo made a bloody difference to the magic anchored in their souls, he'd just been making a point. One of their spies had betrayed them, only a month or two after Severus had been Marked. De Mort — before he'd gone mad, mind — had made an example of him, forcing him to flay himself, starting with the Mark he was unworthy of bearing. In front of the entire Court. Severus still occasionally had nightmares wherein he was forced to do the same for his betrayal. "As I'm not, I only require your word that you will keep the peace, after which we can go back to happily ignoring each other's existence."
"Fine. I'll keep the peace. But I'm watching you, Snape." He stalked away, losing himself in the crowd, who were beginning to turn back to their own conversations now that the potentially entertaining conflict appeared to have entirely unraveled.
Minerva, who had managed to run off Weasley and Diggory, thanked him for his help — Severus suspected she hadn't caught much of his exchange with Avery, which was probably for the best — and vanished as well, muttering something about needing a drink. Severus shared her sentiment, but suspected that he would need his wits about him for the remainder of the day (...probably until June, actually. Bugger!) and so could not go drink himself into oblivion and forget about the Triwizard Tournament, and the impending civil war, and the fact that there was an Avatar of the Dark in his school— He should go find Dora, apologise for giving her the brush-off and throwing her at her evil 'cousin'. He should probably also check on Éanna, but he strongly suspected that his apprentice would not welcome more attention at the moment. And in any case, he still had students to discipline.
Nyberg, the Runes Professor from Durmstrang, fell into step beside him as he left the Hall. "Impressive," he murmured, clearly amused.
"Beg pardon?"
"You do intrigue me, Severus Snape. I am generally very good at reading people, but I find you to be...an enigma of sorts. You were a spy, yes? Like Igor? Whose side were you really on, back in the War? I confess, I couldn't tell, when you were speaking to your former comrades."
"That is the idea," Severus said, trying not to sound too suspicious of the question. "Though I think you'll find that a good spy is always on the winning side."
Nyberg chuckled. "So, you are with your Headmaster, then. Firmly encamped in the Light."
"It would hardly do to claim otherwise in the current political atmosphere. I will admit I do not think it likely that the Dark Lord will return any time soon, if ever — Lady Malfoy's recent ploy to remove his people from all positions of power was a master-stroke—" Though sadly one which did not extend to removing Severus from his teaching position. "—and will make it far more difficult for him, should he attempt to make his return here in Britain — but while his Mark persists, which it does, the War is not over. And the Dark Lord should never be underestimated," Severus informed him, carefully not giving any indication of having taken a side.
"And so the true answer is still both and neither." The Durmstranger nodded. "I suspect Igor will be neither pleased nor surprised to hear it. An enigma indeed."
Severus gave the Dane a noncommittal hum. "If you'll excuse me, Sigurd, I have a disciplinary matter to address with several of my students."
"Of course, of course. I'm sure we'll speak again later, Severus."
He gave Severus a perfunctory nod, moving back in the direction of the Great Hall, leaving Severus shaking his head slightly as he headed toward Slytherin. There was something bloody odd about that man. Not necessarily threatening, just...odd.
In any case, he had more important concerns at the moment, he thought, putting the strange encounter out of his mind. It was probably just that omniglots were all bloody weird. Ashe, Bellatrix, the other Bellatrix, even BJ Crouch had been a bit of an odd duck...