A/N: In which Severus feels rather…odd.
Warnings: Chips, ladies and gents are not equal to potato crisps when Locale is equal to Hogwarts.
Chapter 17: Odd Feelings
Mornings had never been Severus' forte. Even with the promise of Bella's soft, warm skin and openly lascivious embrace, he always found it hard to peel off the blanket and stumble out of the comforting warmth of his bed. He lived in fear of Bella deciding his morning grumbles weren't worth staying in bed for, of course, just as he lived in fear of Bella deciding some things – well, many things about him weren't worth staying for, period.
This morning, Bella was very far away, and though Severus could practically feel his clock glowering down at him with strictest disapproval ticking through its antique wooden shell, he felt quite inclined to wrap himself more firmly in the blankets that now surrounded him. It had been like this for the past few days after returning to the school – this irritating, wrenching feeling of cool space where there should be none. Severus pulled his blankets in around himself, scowling at nothing, vowing, as he'd done for the past week, to have an extra half hour of warmth, to compensate himself for the warmth he couldn't currently have.
That was, until he remembered. Groaning, Severus turned over, beating savagely at his pillow. Gryffindor/Hufflepuff, at nine – what absolute fucking joy to have to see students so early in the morning –
Somehow, oddly, his irritation translated to tension, and tension translated into something entirely different. Something that would have been very, very welcome if Bella had currently not been languishing off in his home. Something that certainly wasn't very – welcome – now…fine, he was lying to himself.
Grimacing, Severus kicked groggily at the covers, feeling a flush run up his neck and chest as one of his hands went wandering to – er – deal with things.
The first lesson of the day was oddly disorientating. Perhaps it was the sheer fidgety nature of his foolish students, so early in the new term. Perhaps it was the way the windows seemed to close in on him, on them. Perhaps it was the bath lotion he'd stolen from Bella, the light, green smell that he couldn't help inadvertently trying to sniff every once in a while, without his stupid students notice.
In either case, thirty minutes into the double lesson, Severus was raring to be out. He paced the classroom more violently than usual, deducting more points than usual, snarling more than usual –
It was ridiculous, this feeling. Why on earth was he having it now, after those two interesting (wonderful) weeks soaked in quiet, passionate sex – sex with no little boy prematurely coming to understand why Mummy did that to Snape in the mornings…? Severus shook his head angrily, turning on a foolish-looking Gryffindor clearly about to stir her potion in the wrong direction for the third fucking time this lesson –
"Bell! You imbecile! Stop stirring before you kill us all!"
Now, ordinarily, that statement, delivered in the requisite scathing tone, would have stopped the little bint in her tracks. This time, however, it only made her stir faster, and quite suddenly stop stirring entirely, because her cauldron had disappeared. The whole class stopped stirring as one, shock coursing through every one of their puny little minds, but Severus' fevered, angry mind, most of all.
"Get out," he ordered, suddenly able to understand what on earth he'd done. And, as they all fled, even the abominable little Weasley shits didn't look back or dare to hang around, and despite the alarming thought of permanently wandlessly Vanishing a student's cauldron for the first time in three years, Severus could not but feel grateful that he was feared.
He sighed, walking over to his already messy desk and sinking into his chair. He could already tell it would be a long day, today.
Unfortunately, this was one of those days when Severus' somewhat pessimistic intuition was quite right. The sixth year Slytherin/Ravenclaw lesson that followed the disastrously abrupt Gryffindor/Hufflepuff one was just as awful in terms of student skill and the vague feelings of claustrophobia that kept trickling up and down Severus' spine while he strode around his classroom trying to keep order. By the time Severus finally dismissed them, he was more than ready for a glass of the brandy he kept hidden in his office for the worse days, and even more than ready to entertain the idea of registering for one of the deadly dull Potions conferences that were starting to pop up at this time of year, simply for the chance to leave Hogwarts and spend some time with Bella without generating more than the usual amount of suspicion.
Yes. Severus grimaced as he knocked back the last of the brandy, charming his breath fresh to hide the evidence of his inability to cope with his inauspicious return to teacherhood. And, of course, his separation from Bella. It was quite depressing to think back to how she generally tried to Floo home for lunch even on her busiest days in the shop, and even more depressing to think of the quiet evenings he'd spent edging his arm around her as inconspicuously as possible while Antares dozed or chattered away in front of the fire. Severus rubbed jerkily at his itchy nose and wondered how on earth it had come to that – longing for a place or person in this manner had never really been his style, even during the days of his various pathetic crushes on several girls in Hogwarts and beyond.
Well. There certainly wasn't much he could do, right now. Severus straightened abruptly from his slumped position leaning against the large desk in his office. Lunch, as one of the bolder elves had informed him today after he'd given in to his severe antipathy for even the thought of going to breakfast and being twinkled and stared at by all and sundry, was supposed to be some sort of warm, meaty pie. He liked those. His mood would improve a little, perhaps, once he had some warm food in him.
And he'd certainly stop itching to write a letter of registration to those fools organising this year's Concoction Convene.
Fifteen minutes later, Severus was busy extracting a somewhat crumpled piece of parchment and a Self-Inking quill, and trying to look like he scribbled hasty letters at lunch every day. As soon as he'd walked into the still relatively empty Great Hall and taken one look at Albus' forcedly jovial expression, Severus had given up and given in. This weekend was not one to be at Hogwarts and within easy reach of the Headmaster and whatever mood he was hiding under his ubiquitous beard – he could sense it.
Which was why Severus continued scribbling even when Albus turned in his direction and asked after his health a little too loudly.
"Fine, Headmaster," Severus said, his tone of voice purposely absent as he put the final touches to his deplorably messy letter. "Perhaps a little tired from some experimentation over the holiday, but…"
"Experimentation, Severus?" Albus' eyes sharpened with that dreaded curiosity, and Severus immediately realised that he'd been too absent, or been too forthcoming, and thus – "Oh, do come closer, my dear boy, and tell me all about them."
"Well," Severus said, a little desperately, "I've just remembered that I need to post this –"
"Oh, but no matter! If you'll but give it to me, I'll see that Fawkes takes it. He's been awfully restless this Christmas, you know – do him good to get out." And, without further ado, the letter was gently prised from Severus' hands as he reluctantly advanced to sit beside Albus, who, to his further horror, actually unfolded it and read it, making no pretence of asking Severus for permission. "The Concoction Convene, Severus? I didn't know you still subscribed to their newsletter."
Severus shrugged, helping himself to a slightly larger slice of pie than he normally would have allowed himself. These were special circumstances, if any – for goodness' sake, Severus had the strong feeling that he was in for an inquisition. A veritable grilling for gossip, done Albus-style.
"Well, then, I suppose you'll require leave for this weekend," Albus said grudgingly, refolding the letter with a gentle tap of his fingers. "Although it is rather late to be signing up with those awful people – aren't they as likely to refuse to honour your registration at this late hour?"
"Oh, I should think not," Severus said, now attacking his pie with a little more vigour than was probably necessary. One of the editors of Concoct It, the newsletter associated with the Convene, owed him for a rather nasty little vengeance potion – one of the older kind – that he'd requested some two years ago. It was part of the reason why he still 'subscribed' to the newsletter; that is, got it for free. Armundo was smart enough to know that Severus hadn't brewed the Designation Draught (such an innocent name for a potion that slowly dissected one's organs with every further betrayal of the designee) merely for the practice, as he'd intimated. Severus had never been one to pass up a chance to set another soul hell-bent on revenge on the right path – or, indeed, to pass up such an easy chance for blackmail.
"Well," Albus said, sighing a little as he returned (partially. Goodness knows what's in his stupid old head to ask me now) his attention to his own plate, "then you are planning to leave, say, Friday evening?"
"Afternoon," Severus insisted, trying not to sound strident, desperate, or insistent. As Albus knew very well, he had some of Friday afternoon free after a pesky third year Slytherin/Ravenclaw class. Severus, on his regular jaunts before Christmas, had taken care to leave well after supper so as not to incite suspicion. But it would be even more suspicious this time around if he did not insist on leaving as early as possible – the Convene, if he remembered rightly, was situated somewhere in Russia this year, and Portkeying or Apparating there was always a Herculean task that would strip precious time from the hours of (mediocre) talks, speeches and discussions. "I assume you are not going, yourself?"
"No," said, sighing lowly with just the inflection, which meant…he's depressed?
Severus blinked, and did not hear the further, irrelevant explanation the Headmaster went on to make. He'd know this old fool for long enough that he could easily recognise the signs of many of his common moods, one of which, funnily enough, was depression. Severus nodded to something Albus said that sounded like a question, and tried to make himself eat instead of thinking of the possible cause of his old friend's depression. If he knew Albus at all –
"…but I'm afraid I need you, this weekend," Albus was now saying, slowly, "Well, this week, at any rate. I performed an old ownership ritual during the holiday, and got very…unusual results." Severus dropped his fork. Merlin, not this obsession with Potter's trappings again – "The item I used for the ritual did not return, Severus."
At that, Severus could not help choking on his mouthful of pie. After an embarrassingly solicitous series of questions about his health, Albus went on, his tone a lot brighter than this awful subject warranted.
"Usually, in the past, when I performed the ritual, something always went wrong. One of the first owls I used went mad for a week – terribly distressing – and usually, the owls I used would simply return at dawn." Severus nodded slightly, dimly recognising what might have been the problem even now, when the remembrance of the first strange ritual Albus had had him brew a horribly complex Finding Philtre for had long faded from his mind. "This Christmas, I felt a draw, like once before, and I used the remnants of the Philtre you brewed for me – what, five years ago? I simply cannot remember, now – and tried to finish the ritual as usual. But –"
"You didn't?" Severus said, interrupting more out of impatience and a need to see his own blasted letter sent off sooner rather than later than out of any real supposition. But Albus nodded, slowly, and Severus felt his eyes widen – Albus, to his knowledge, had never left a ritual unfinished. And, in the case of that one –
"I believe I dosed off," Albus said carefully, paying more attention to the colourful mound of vegetables on his plate than to Severus' even more surprised expression.
"Dosed off," Severus repeated, unable to help himself. Albus Dumbledore for 'I blacked out and woke up with a killer headache', if he remembered correctly. Severus gave up any attempt at eating, then, laying his cutlery down with as controlled an expression as he possessed. Dosed off, indeed – Severus remembered inventing that, partly as a joke, as code for the times when he'd been too exhausted after another meeting with the enemy. And now – Albus used it. Albus.
Dosed off. What kind of ritual magic could accomplish such a thing? And, even more unbelievably, do so with Albus Dumbledore, of all people?
"Just so, Severus," Albus said, nodding again, avoiding Severus' now rather panicked eye. "Be that as it may, I do remember the stage of the ritual at which my weakness overcame me – the letter."
The letter? The letter, in that ritual, was possibly the least significant part of the entire thing. The point, in fact, at which past spell casters had chosen to suborn it, to deceive the old magic that underpinned it for their own gain. Severus closed his eyes, mind already racing, already drawing together past and present, already retrieving memories of similar rituals suborned, subverted, hideously misused. There could only be one answer, and it made bile rise in Severus' throat. "Headmaster, you cannot possibly think that –"
"Of course I do, Severus," Albus said, his tone sharpening a little for the first time in the conversation. "I would be a fool not to, as would you."
"If your theories are correct, then that item would be supremely useless to him," Severus insisted lowly, his voice tight with anger. With fear. In reality, he would rather think that the Dark Lord no longer existed than to suppose that he might not be as resourceful as he'd ever been in past times.
"I will need your help, Severus – I intend to try to perform it again. Perhaps to trace it to its source –"
"No." Severus did not bother looking up, then. This was the Headmaster at his most foolhardy – his most persuasive. To agree to such folly – good god, if the Dark Lord was behind this, it would be the very purpose of the whole thing to draw Albus out – "Use your sense, old man. If he subverted the ritual –"
"There are ways of ascertaining that, Severus," Albus said patiently, as if he'd not heard Severus' flat refusal. "There is a potion –"
"Until I see the ingredients and method with my own eyes, you are on your own, Headmaster," Severus said, rising swiftly. To stay here would mean listening further, would mean (Merlin forbid) being convinced. "If the potion you speak of involves blood or connecting strands of any sort, I will bid you a good weekend and be off on Friday afternoon. Am I understood?"
Albus sighed, nodding with only the slightest sign of reluctance. Which meant Severus would likely have to vet fifteen potions and their variations himself to suit the old bastard's purposes. Severus, leaning gracefully over his mentor and infuriating old friend, seized the now-forgotten letter that lay beside Albus' plate. "I will need that, thank you. Good afternoon, Headmaster."
And with that, Severus left the Great Hall as quickly as he could without breaking into an ungainly quickstep. If precedent was anything to go by, he'd need all the brandy he could get to survive the rest of the day.
It was sheer (evil) luck that Severus, on his way out from his next class (Mostly Hufflepuff/Slytherin. Enough said) for some fresh air and time away from the smell of the somewhat popular hair potion he'd been forcing the bored seventh years to try to synthesise without knowledge of the formula or its ingredients. The problem, apart from having to control the restive students of his house and stop the 'accidental' magical burns and mishaps from inciting yet more deep-seated enmity between the fiercely loyal Hufflepuffs and the irritatingly seditious Slytherins, was that Bella, like most witches he knew, often used that potion. By the end of the class, Severus had barely been able to stop himself deducting points from the makers of the potions that came closest to the original formula, and had not waited long to flee the horribly familiar-smelling dungeon classroom for the dank, thankfully sterile smell of the dungeons as a whole.
Restless and worrying compulsively about whether his letter to the Convene organisers had been sent or not – he'd only just managed to send a house elf with it to the Headmaster's office before the lesson, after a long argument with himself about the obvious advantage a phoenix would have over a school owl in speed – Severus found himself somewhat aimlessly patrolling the corridors, all with a view towards reaching the Headmaster's office and demanding proof that that ridiculous phoenix had actually delivered it. He'd just finished brooding on the third floor when the sound of footsteps drew him to the forbidden corridor – if he could have no peace, no idiot, sensation-craving student would be allowed to get their kicks from hanging about and trying to muster up the courage to break into the –
Quirrel.
"Why, S-s-severus," he said, laughing nervously. "Im-magine m-meeting you here –"
Severus' lip curled as he came to a halt, not five feet from the slightly trembling Quirrel, who looked as he always did – nervous, anxious, and scared as hell of mean old Severus Snape, all with a faint edge of smugness and rage that seemed to flare into being with every overheard snicker at Professor Quirrel's stutter, Professor Quirrel's teaching habits, Professor Quirrel's mysterious sojourn in Albania and beyond. Quirrel was contemptible, yes – he had been a rather indifferent, shyly pompous fool before his trip out into the wide wild world, and Severus had taken great pleasure in witnessing his broken nature on his return.
However, lately there had been that edge – that odd gleam in the man's nervous eye, so often averted from Severus' sharp gaze, the way that stutter seemed to worsen almost deliberately around Severus. And, even worse, the careful smile that had appeared on Quirrel's face when Antares' name had come up in the last big staff meeting along with those of the other apprentices. Severus remembered the feeling of having his own knowledge courted, his own excellence polished carefully by the older years who only seemed to notice him when he was achieving brief victory over Potter and Black and Pettigrew and Lupin – Severus grimaced, still feeling the sting of that defeat. The other three are dead or worse, and yet the werewolf remains…bastard, lucky bastard.
In any case, Severus remembered, and could see the signs. It was almost too easy, if one knew what to look for. The Impedimenta Hooch had barely remarked over when describing Antares' performance in the air to Severus, the Stinging Hexes the boy had let off against the troll with little to no hesitation, the Disarming Charm he'd used to ruthless effect in the same breath – all of these hallmarks of someone taking the time, the effort, to show Antares' quick eye and deft wand things that he could easily learn and enjoy learning.
Severus sneered at Quirrel now, disregarding the usual rules of propriety that constrained his behaviour towards the bastard around the students. There was no one to see this, and he meant it to count for something, anything –
"And I suppose you have a good reason for skulking about this corridor, Quirinus…?" Just the right inflection, the right amount of sharpness in one's tone, and there – genuinely quivering Quirrel.
"S-skulking, S-s-severus? What could m-make you th-think that?"
Severus restrained a nasty smile. For all his mysterious smugness, the man was so easy to destabilise, if one went about it the right way. "Why, the fact that I have seen you lingering here before. I suppose you believe yourself more fit to guard the Stone than all the protections Dumbledore imposed on it –"
"D-don't b-be ridiculous, Severus," Quirrel said hastily, cutting him off. "I r-really don't know why y-y-you are so s-suspicious of me –"
"Call it a habit," Severus sneered, turning away as Quirrel began to retreat. This was what he hated most about his encounters with Quirrel – he could do no more than threaten, and he had a feeling that Quirrel knew that very well. Then again, all Severus had done for years was threaten and, more often than not, deliver on the threat. Occasionally, he really did get through to Quirrel, which was cheering, considering that the man's mind was like a thick fog of uncertainty and deep-seated fear, both emotions laced through all his murky memories so thickly that it sickened Severus to peer into his mind for too long.
Severus, ignoring the fading sound of the stumble and shamble of Quirrel's terrified footsteps, finally relinquished his vague idea of going to Albus' office in favour of a rather more soothing alternative: a trip to the library. Even if he could in no way apply the fairly Dark curses and hexes found in the Restricted Section to Quirrel's twitchy person, it did tend to soothe him to imagine that he might. And besides, few places soothed his natural restlessness like the library did.
He reached there almost too quickly – one minute, he was striding along the corridors and dispensing random glares to passing students; the next, he was approaching the ajar doors of the library and quelling a group of giggling students as they emerged with a single look. As Severus entered the library, he was graced with the usual piercing stare from Irma, who was busy checking out books for the small knot of students surrounding her desk. Nodding shortly, Severus immediately turned, heading straight for the Restricted Section and cutting a swathe of unhappy silence as he threaded his way through the tables and around the bookshelves, pausing occasionally to reprimand or question troublemakers and those hapless students already in bad standing with him so early on in the winter term.
Once Severus ensconced in the ominous quiet of the Section, Severus went straight to the shelf with the darkest texts, not brushing against any of the shivering or vibrating books and giving a wide berth to one or two in particular, his movements smooth and easy from years of practice. He soon found the book he'd had in mind – Thye Divurtment of Deeleberayte Deiscoverie – and had it open to the well-worn page he required even before he reached one of the smaller tables in the Section.
An hour later saw Severus scribbling rapidly on another piece of parchment he'd Conjured in haste, noting down an idea for rearranging key elements in the Denudavi potion he'd come across on page 358 – he'd heard of the spell family, and had had the misfortune to see a known impostor literally stripped of her complex glamour in one of his first meetings of the Death Eaters. Severus, pausing, slammed the book shut – if his idea worked, the potion could be painted onto any organic surface with full transference of its suggestion ability instead of needing materials for the room or object being built to be steeped in the potion in complicated, precisely calculated sequences and time allotments. And that would mean that any Tom, Dick or Harry could purchase more powerful detectors and that the Ministry could commission special interrogation chambers with less of an emphasis on torture and more on simple Legilimency and disguise penetration.
Of course, everyone would quibble over the inherent Darkness of the spell family at first. But when people realised they could buy trust and absolute knowledge of their visitors' and acquaintances' lives…Severus chuckled to himself. A pity he would not be able to test such a thing on Quirrel – he'd never come across such a man for clumsy, yet somehow efficient concealment.
Rising stiffly from the table, Severus stuffed the parchment and quill away in his pockets, replacing the book on his way out of the Restricted Section, far too busy thinking to do more than sneer when he noticed that Granger girl's bushy head bent over something at one of the more secluded tables…next to Antares?
Blinking, Severus looked back. What on earth? He clearly remembered the girl's almost pathetic gratitude at being saved from the troll – somewhat understandable under the circumstances, yes – but he also remembered the clear look of discomfort Antares had exchanged with the Zabini boy as he too was hugged in turn. Changing direction with a sharp turn, Severus mulled over the idea in his mind, worrying at it like a sore tooth. He simply could not understand why Antares would willingly associate with Granger outside of class, even if it was in such a secluded corner of the library as this. From what Severus had deigned to notice, none of her peers seemed to like her, apart from Lupin and Weasley, whose friendship with her was almost certainly founded on mutual need for academic help and (mostly for Granger) social standing.
But Antares didn't have any need for Granger's freakishly perfect, overwritten, pompous essays – though his handwriting was still quite the trial to read, his reasoning was as sound as one could expect of an eleven-year-old apprentice, and he had a somewhat morbid turn of phrase that suited the study of Potions quite well. If anyone was in need of help, it was probably Granger – Severus pessimistically supposed about half of the drivel in her too-long essays was produced by the age-old practice of textbook regurgitation, a habit that so many brilliant or merely clever students found it hard to shake off especially if they came from Muggle backgrounds, and therefore had only a limited perspective of magic and its many facets and principles.
"Granger, is that Ars Decoctum you are reading?" Severus demanded sharply, looming over the obviously startled pair. Granger coloured and stammered a reply in the affirmative, but it was Antares' reaction that caught Severus' eye. In stead of the usual hostile or annoyed look that tended to express itself on the boy's thin face was a closed, fearful one – one that, come to think of it, Severus had seen last week. An expression that, if Severus thought even harder, the boy had been sporting intermittently over the latter half of the Christmas holiday, the presence of which had led Severus to quietly assent to Bella's somewhat silly theory of Antares' new secret. "Give it here, immediately. That will be three points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for removing a book from the Restricted Section without appropriate permission."
Granger gasped. "But I didn't! It was lying around in the Defence section, and –"
"A likely story," Severus hissed, cutting her off with no further ado. He knew, of course, of the few charms developed by enterprising students wishing to coax relatively stable books out of the Restricted Section without the necessary teacher approval required for fifth year and below – he'd developed one, himself, after all. But of greater interest was the nervous look on Antares' face as Severus prodded him and Granger to their feet. "Black, explain yourself – don't think I didn't see you sharing the book with Granger –"
"She did just find it, Professor," Antares said, blushing uncomfortably as Severus pushed them aside, running a strict eye over the two small scrolls of parchment that lay next to the fat copy of Ars Decoctum, both partly covered with childish scribbles. "I swear, sir – she wanted help with finding the Latin derivative of that potion you asked us to study, and you always talked of Ars as the definitive –"
"That does not excuse reading material that is not permitted to you, Mr. Black," Severus said, shutting the book with a heavy thud after noting the page – if Granger was really researching transformation potions for that easy assignment I set them, I'll eat my cloak – "Where did you say you found it?"
"He didn't find it, sir; I did," Granger volunteered tremulously, looking alarmed as Severus turned an impatient frown on her. "I was looking in the Defence section, and –"
"In order to find a book to aid you in discovering the derivative of a potion, Miss Granger?" Severus snorted. "That's another point from Gryffindor for telling such clumsy tales." Granger opened her mouth to protest, but was nudged rather sharply by the still strangely silent Antares. "And you, Black, see that you present yourself in my office at eight thirty this evening. I cannot help but wonder why you chose to go along with such paltry lies as Miss Granger saw fit to try to feed me – perhaps a little dialogue will be sufficient to reveal your reasons, foolish as they are."
"Yes, sir." Antares sounded a little sullen, but a lot more cowed than usual. Severus stifled the urge to take a look at his emotions, despite the acute feeling that the boy was hiding something. After a stern look in both of the students' directions, Severus hurried back to the Restricted Section, Ars Decoctum in tow, but not without a backward glance or two in the direction of Antares and Granger, who were now conversing in low, sharp whispers. Severus, gritting his teeth against his impatient curiosity, set the book down on the first table he found in the Restricted Section and set about following Antares as he broke away from Granger and set off clearly for the library exit. Despite the fact that Severus knew Antares would present himself in his office at the time he'd specified, he simply could not wait till then to ask the question uppermost in his mind.
Antares left the library quickly after retrieving his ragged schoolbag from under the table he'd shared with Granger, not stopping to browse the shelves or even chat to the small knot of Ravenclaw boys Severus had seen him and the Zabini boy speaking to on occasion. No – he simply slipped out of the library and began hastening in the general direction of the stairs that led to the dungeons. Severus caught up to him just as he was about to enter the stairwell, skirting his small form sharply and stepping deliberately into his path.
"Professor," Antares began, but Severus did not let him finish.
"You," he hissed, seizing hold of Antares' free arm and dragging him into the stairwell, "will explain to me why on earth you are wasting your time with that foolish –"
"She's not!" Antares protested, weakly. "She –"
" – is a mudblood. I would have thought that you, of all people –"
"Sir, with all due respect," Antares said, trying fruitlessly to wrestle free of Severus' grip, his bag thumping Severus uselessly in the side, "I'm half-and-half. Blood doesn't mean much except having pricks like Draco look down on you, for crying out loud. He's never beaten Granger in anything, or even me –"
"Still, it is highly unwise," Severus allowed, giving Antares a dark glare to stop him fidgeting uselessly as they descended the slightly creaking, mostly empty staircase. "Don't be a fool, boy – all your case for acceptance from your yearmates is bound up in your magical ability and your Quidditch ability. Surely you know that even that –"
But Antares was scowling at the floor, the slightly faraway look on his face signifying his lack of attention to what Severus was saying. "Acceptance, yeah, right –"
"Excuse me?" Severus snapped, halting abruptly. "Are you even paying attention to what I am saying?"
"All that stuff about acceptance is rot," Antares said thickly, scratching fiercely at his hair. "If my friends don't think I'm good enough for Slytherin in the first place –"
Severus sneered. "And why should they? You associate with Granger, you little fool –"
"And so what?" Antares shot back, eyes bright with anger. Severus stared at him, wondering what had brought this little fit on. Surely – "If ignoring advantages and useful friendships with people is what Slytherins do, then I'm bloody well in the wrong house –"
But now, Severus could hardly hear what the boy was saying, as the fragmented memory cycling behind those fierce eyes was far too compelling not to –
"Antares, please, you know how he is –"
"…how people call me names behind my back, and you won't tell me! If you tell anyone about my lessons, I'll –"
Antares laughed, nastily. "You're not even listening to me, are you?" He closed his eyes momentarily, jolting Severus out of his mind a little unpleasantly. "Is there anything else you wanted, Professor?"
"I hope," Severus said, immediately, "that your ridiculous affiliation with Professor Quirrel –"
"You've got to be joking," Antares breathed, eyes wide with more anger. "I can't believe –"
"If you remember our conversation at Christmas at all –"
"You tell me I'm not worthy of Slytherin, then tell me to stop sneaking around behind your back," Antares said, a little shakily. "Isn't that it?"
Severus rolled his eyes, praying for patience. Had nothing Bella said sunk into the boy's memory? Had he merely pretended to listen, or – "Antares, you simply cannot comprehend –"
But, suddenly – "Fine," Antares ground out, staring at the floor between them, resentment pouring off him in waves. Severus stared down at him, distrusting the little promise with every fibre of his being. The staircase suddenly began to move under them, filling the silence with grinding and creaking as it ground nearer and nearer to the door to what Severus thought might be the second floor. Just before it had carried them past it, it stopped, and the abrupt silence seemed to shake Antares out of some sort of trance.
"If I may be excused, Professor?" he said, practically hurling the words into Severus' frowning face. Severus thought of refusing as the boy adjusted his schoolbag on his shoulder it had been beginning to slip off with an angry movement and began to edge towards the door, but the door opened and admitted two sleepy-looking third years, and Severus decided that gaining peace of mind on the Quirrel issue as regarded Antares was not worth conducting business with the boy in such a public manner. So he followed the edgy Antares through the door with nary an extra glance in the direction of the frightened students, and cut in front of Antares again, stopping him with a hard look.
"We will discuss this matter later," Severus said, quietly. Firmly. Antares' eyes looked anywhere but at his face during the deliberate pause in his speech, and for a moment, Severus could not help but feel a little sorry for him. On one hand, Severus remembered the way he'd had to struggle to gain even his miniscule place in the order of things at Hogwarts, and remembered how well the teaching and tutoring from Lucius, Evan and others had stood him in those years.
Then again, he'd been a Death Eater at eighteen, largely because everyone that taught him had done the same thing. And despite the fact that there was no such radical group available for Antares to espouse these days, Bella would skin him alive if he did not do everything in his power to prevent the boy from becoming susceptible to the advances of such organisations.
So it fell to Severus to let go of Antares' arm, wondering a little dazedly when he'd taken hold of the boy again, and say a few words. "Not this evening, of course – I can tolerate only so much of you every day," he said, matter-of-factly, ignoring the way relief coursed over Antares' face. "Get out of my sight, boy. And think twice about associating with Gryffindors, if your status in my house is so important to you." Surprisingly, Antares gave a small, almost contrite nod, and stayed respectfully in one place as Severus turned away from him. And then, when Severus looked back, the boy was heading once more for the stairwell, a thoughtful, if still rather angry look on his face.
Severus sighed. There was only so much one could do.
Severus woke slowly, and, for a minute, did not quite remember where he was. Then the dank smell filtered into his nostrils, and his lidded eyes noted the slightly greasy white pillow. Bella had forcefully shod the pillows in his bedroom (their bedroom) at Spinner's End in soft beige – these pillows were white and a bit dirty. Not beige in the least.
For a long moment, Severus remained still, his mind slowly running through the events of last night. He'd been a little less depressed by the end of the day, in comparison to how depressed he'd been at the beginning of it, but not much. The situation with Quirrel now continued to cycle in his mind's eye, the apprehension and worry about what such a man as Quirrel could do if he obtained the Philosopher's Stone under all their noses wearing away at his natural urges. Soon enough, Severus felt he was awake enough to stand and drag his recalcitrant body into the bathroom to get ready to leave for breakfast – Quirrel needed an eye kept on him, and Severus had been far too remiss this week in making note of what meals the man attended or missed, and whether the man tried to speak to the other teachers that had participated in guarding the Stone.
The rapid shower woke him up admirably, and by the time Severus finally finished buttoning himself into one of his more comfortable sets of robes, he felt quite awake and ready to face the day, Quirrel or no Quirrel, depression or no depression.
Bella or no Bella, he added inwardly, firmly shutting the door on his familiar-smelling bathroom. To minimise his slight obsession with her smell, Severus had allowed himself to use Bella's preferred bath lotion, but had thought to prevent it from distracting him by spelling his hair to neutralise the smell. Whether it would work remained to be seen. Whether he needed it to work remained to be seen, too – if I remember correctly, I forgot to see if Albus sent the letter to the Concoction Convene in the first place, yesterday evening…
Severus passed the short time it took to reach the Great Hall in this way, trying to look critically at his – well, at this thing with Bella, and the way he was handling it by resorting to telling boldfaced lies to his employer, mentor and sometime confidant and friend all so he could get away from Hogwarts for a few days.
Unsurprisingly, he gave up as soon as he entered the Great Hall and saw Quirrel laughing nervously at something a slightly disconcerted Minerva was saying. There were far more important things afoot than his minor obsession with Bella – there had to be.
Severus approached the staff table cautiously, with a bored look on his face. He sat down with equal diffidence, carefully choosing a seat far enough from Quirrel that would allow him to observe the nervous fool at work without raising suspicion. Coincidentally, it was a lot nearer to Albus Dumbledore's seat than Severus usually went for. A sad necessity, of course. His need to avoid alerting the chatting Quirrel to his actions outweighed – oh dear.
"Morning, Severus – breakfast agreeing with you today?" Severus stifled a sigh, and forced the accompanying smidgens of concern from his face. Albus had that careful smile on his face again. It was maddening –
"I suppose you haven't dropped that ridiculous idea of retrying that useless little ritual?"
"Useless, Severus?" Albus said, deftly buttering another slice of toast as that irritating 'All Rituals Are Important' look came over his face. "That ritual is the most effective way of resolving guilt, and has been for ears –"
" – which is why you have continued to repeat it without success," Severus finished snidely. "After the first three failed attempts, I would have kept the stupid item and considered my debt paid."
"And that, my friend, is where we disagree," Albus said, with another forced smile. Severus restrained himself from rolling his eyes, and finally decided that he would stay the extra hours today, if only to keep the Headmaster from guilting himself into a stupor, or worse, retracing the ritual to its source and finding some sort of nebulous presence of the Dark Lord in place of ordinary magical disturbance or whatnot.
"Really, Severus," Filius piped up, from between them, "you mean to say you would not continue to pursue the ritual if it continued to fail? This is the Ritual of Returning we are discussing, I suppose…?"
Severus sighed, and prepared himself for yet another chiding, disguised as instruction.
After the rather boring breakfast ended, Severus felt no real inclination to hurry back to his classroom to confront the influx of frightened students that would be waiting in his classroom. However, as hanging about at the table in hopes of receiving a late reply from the organisers of the Concoction Convene (nothing had come during the usual morning owl rush) would be rather below his dignity, he was forced to leave the Great Hall as soon as he could bring himself to. The walk to his dungeons was oddly calming in the face of the highly irritating discussion with Dumbledore and Flitwick, which Severus found himself still cycling through his mind as he blasted open the door to his classroom and stalked in. It took reminding himself that he would be seeing Bella anyway to take his mind off the hours he would lose in watching over Dumbledore's next attempt on the Returning Ritual to get his mind back onto the lesson before him, as well as the equally salient knowledge that the Convene had not yet even given permission for him to present himself at the event, which he would need to leave school at all.
Mildly infuriated by it all, Severus snapped out a page reference for today's potion, an essentially harmless one for soothing burns. He knew very well that it was one that was dangerous in case of method misinterpretation, but also knew that holding the students in this class, the ever-dreadful Gryffindor/Slytherin assortment of first years, back because of Neville Lupin's ability to convert even non-volatile ingredients into flesh-eating potions would be counterproductive in the long run. So Severus wrote out extra ingredients and carefully described the steps for the potion and ordered everyone to shut their books and begin, and told himself that the stress of dealing with the usual results of this irritating bunch of students was all for their own good.
The ensuing class was, as always, mildly disastrous. For all the desperate instruction he was given by a perpetually scowling Antares, Neville never seemed to be able to grasp even the simplest concepts. Despite his misgivings and general frustration on the matter, Severus continued to put the idiot boy on the spot, forbidding that Antares' quick hands do all the work, partly in the hope that Neville would eventually get some basics into his thick head and partly because it was deeply pleasant to see that sick look on the little shit's face when he realised that he couldn't coast on through the lesson this time around.
'This time around' this time had resulted a spilled cauldron and some sort of wood-eating acid that Severus found oddly similar to an industrial-strength one he'd studied once for extra credit in his NEWTS a long time ago, and cost Gryffindor – "…ten points! If you must know, Lupin, this class is not for the express purpose of threatening the lives of your classmates. Next time, when Black is kind enough to instruct you, pay attention." Antares sighed almost audibly as he began to pick through the smoking ruins of the desk he'd shared with Neville in order to retrieve his cauldron, his unharmed bag and books being at the usual prudent distance.
Severus, satisfied to see that no silly tantrums were being thrown at the sight of the charred uselessness that now represented Antares' potion-making kit, continued to speak. "And do get out of my sight, all of you – I require five inches on the ingredients of today's potion and why they produce such a violent reaction as Lupin's little mess if carelessly combined. And that includes you, Lupin – your expertise will not be required clean up the result of your stupidity today, thank you. I'm more inclined to think you'd injure yourself in the process than do anything to help."
As the Slytherins in the class snickered, Neville scowled, first at his hastily bandaged hands and then at Antares' irritated face, and joined Weasley and Granger (who, probably out of sheer survival instinct, had chosen to associate with both boys) on his way out. Antares simply returned the scowls with a cool look and busied himself with salvaging some of his ingredients, not even responding to the almost sympathetic look Granger gave him as the she left with the other Gryffindors.
Perhaps he's finally come to his senses, Severus mused, placing a preservation charm on the submitted potion vials on his desk. Then again, the boy didn't seem to have come to an understanding with Zabini and the Davis girl, who he only made minimal eye contact with, though they waited for him to pack up his things and approach Severus briefly for the usual dull exchange on when and how his destroyed possessions would be replaced.
"Thank you, sir. Goodbye, sir," Antares droned, already halfway out the door. Severus sighed, shutting the slightly open door with a flick of his wand and flopping gracelessly back into his chair, tiredly reminding himself that he would need to collect another letter from the boy before he left. If he left.
Sighing again, he rose and began to assess the damage Lupin Junior's stupid mistakes had left behind.
Lunch was a much better meal than breakfast, as Severus, wholly uninterested in exposing himself to more censure from Flitwick yet again (the man always carried over their most volatile discussions to the next meal), found himself trooping up to the staff room with a pilfered plate of food in tow; the hot meal of fish and chips secured from a quick visit to the kitchens. Though the notice on the door about an impromptu staff meeting (for as many of the participants in the protection of the Stone as possible) that would quickly follow lunch meant that Severus would have to escape the room that much quicker, it was quiet, peaceful and nicely devoid of students, Dumbledore, Flitwick and Quirrel.
And, halfway through eating his fish, Severus' estimation of having lunch here went up by a sizeable amount. Analyzing his immediate reaction to the insistent pecking on the nearest window took much lower precedence than his immediate reaction to the sight of the gaudy blue seal Severus spotted on the letter as the window slid obligingly open with no direction from him whatsoever. Severus stopped smiling over the stiff parchment as soon as he realised he was doing so, but did not begrudge himself the display of his satisfaction (a fat chip or two, as well as a sliver of fried fish) to the grateful owl as it hovered nearby.
After receiving that, eating became more of a secondary activity than anything else, for Severus was far too busy perusing the schedule of activities he was supposed to be attending in Omsk and starting to feel like he would actually be attending – especially the talk on real concept duplication (possibly related to the prevalence of Crumple-Horned Snornacks in wizarding mythology), which was on Monday morning. Surely his Monday classes (mostly fourth year and sixth year groups) could withstand his absence without undue stress or syllabus disruption? If he remembered correctly, he'd been thinking of setting a research essay for the sixth years, and the fourth years were supposed to be doing something quite silly that didn't necessarily need his supervision.
Severus sat up a little straighter, unable to stop himself smiling again. Albus would owe him something for sacrificing precious hours at – ahem – the Convene. It wouldn't be entirely without precedent for him to suggest that the lazy bastard cover one or two of his classes in exchange for –
"Why, Severus! I didn't think you'd get the notice about the staff meeting…" Severus only marginally suppressed a yelp of surprise and consternation as – speak of the devil – the Headmaster gave him a batty smile. "Oh, sorry, Minerva; do come in." Severus directed a glare at the already re-rolling letter from the Convene, but his disgust was mostly reserved for himself. Gloating had always been a problem with him, albeit a well-managed one. Yet, despite his careful supervision, his glee still occasionally got the better of him.
"So this is where you are!" Flitwick exclaimed, bouncing around Albus and into a seat beside him. "I thought we'd never continue our discussion –"
"I'm afraid your discussion with Severus may have to wait, Filius," Albus said jovially, as Pomona, Quirrel and an unfamiliar-looking seventh year came in, shutting the door behind them. "As you may remember from our last little meeting, we agreed that Miss Lahiri here would help test some of our protections for the Stone as a part of her extra credit NEWT Project. Now –"
Severus partially tuned out, setting aside his plate and watching the reactions to the slightly abashed girl's hesitant narrative of how she'd had to be rescued from Hagrid's monstrosity and had not even gotten through the trapdoor to the chambers of the other protections in the first place. McGonagall and Flitwick exchanged a triumphant look, Pomona Sprout sighed and smiled reassuringly at Lahiri, and Quirrel looked a little more distressed than pleased.
"…for your help, Rani. I assume that the Reticum spell we cast on you is still functioning? And of course, you remember the date for its removal – yes. Off you go, then." Albus turned his attention back to the now fidgeting group of teachers as Lahiri made her exit behind him. "Now, is anyone still in favour of providing back-door solutions in case of circumvention?"
Silence ensued. Quirrel twitched violently, but probably dared not do more than shake his head along with Flitwick, Minerva and Pomona.
Albus beamed. "Well, then – the current alert system stands, then. Good day, everyone."
Rolling his eyes, Severus got slowly to his feet, impatiently tucking away the letter in one of his robe pockets while directing a significant look in the Headmaster's direction to signify his presence in the old man's office later today. Albus merely nodded in reply on his way out, already engaged in a conversation with Minerva and Filius, who had obviously (thankfully) forgotten whatever he'd been about to take up with Severus again. Severus sighed, looking around for his plate and levitating it onto the table where all of the refreshments were served during the normal staff meetings, knowing that the house elves would likely pick it up soon enough.
"That was a waste of a perfectly good fifteen minutes," Severus muttered, loud enough that Pomona, who was determinedly visiting said refreshment table to investigate the small plate of biscuits that had appeared there just as Albus ended the meeting. She chuckled, picking messily through the fragrant selection. "Why the Headmaster felt the need to have a seventh year tell us the protections on that overvalued bit of sandstone are unbeatable, I will never know."
"Besides, we're hardly protecting the Stone from students," Pomona grumbled, settling down on a comfortable sofa with her bounty. "I doubt he'd have bothered if it hadn't been Rani Lahiri's project – that girl could talk you into committing suicide for her benefit."
Severus raised his eyebrows in slight surprise. He'd never trusted the charming Lahiri girl after he'd discovered that she'd been behind a mass protest involving sixth years and below against random Potions testing, but had always known Pomona to support the Hufflepuff girl's sometimes inflammatory actions during staff meetings.
Pomona noticed his expression, and snorted. "Oh, Minerva's out of the room," she declared, waving a biscuit airily. "You know how she is about Rani. Anyway, in my opinion, Albus should have had one of us attempt to get past instead."
"Count me off the list of volunteers," Severus replied, sneering. Then, spotting Quirrel hanging around the door uncertainly, he couldn't resist. "What about you, Quirinius? Or would it be too nerve-wracking?"
"V-v-very f-funny, S-Severus," Quirrel stammered, looking a little more smug than he had a right to, considering the snide remark Severus had just sent his way. "W-we aren't a-a-all m-mind r-readers, I'll h-h-have you know."
Severus stiffened. "Excuse me?"
"I think he's referring to the fact that Legilimens are mythically able to sense intent and method from inanimate objects," Pomona said, smiling almost kindly. "That is all nonsense, don't you know?"
"D-d-dreadfully s-s-sorry, then," Quirrel said, shooting Severus a pointed glance. "Oh, l-l-look at the time…"
Pomona gasped, craning her head round to look at the timepiece on the wall behind Severus. "Oh, indeed! Goodness, I must be off." She rose immediately, spelling her remaining stash of biscuits into a paper bag and tucking it somewhere inside her dirty robes as she made for the door. "Good day, Severus – Quirinius –"
"G-Good d-day, P-P-Pomona," Quirrel said, leaning back to let her pass by him. He didn't even look in Severus' direction as he tried to sidle out the door, mumbling something over his shoulder.
Teeth grinding, Severus strode after him, decorum forgotten, and flicked a pale, insubstantial hand into being. It grabbed hold of Quirrel's arm and firmly tugged him back into the room past Severus, allowing him to slam the door to the staff room shut. "You must believe me very foolish," Severus hissed, "to let you leave after making such an interesting observation, Quirinius."
Quirrel's eyes were wide with fear and accusation despite the fact that the insubstantial hand had vanished, and the only thing he had to fear from Severus was the fact that his wand was already drawn. "I – I d-d-don't know w-what you're –"
"Spare me. Why don't you explain your little observation about my skills, instead?"
"S-s-skills?"
"You well know that unauthorised, unconsented use of Legilimency is illegal, Quirinius," Severus said, forcing calm into his tone. There was no need to display the sheer amount of anger that was now brewing within him, really – "So such a statement as yours implies –"
"N-nothing, if y-you d-d-don't use it i-i-illegally," Quirrel interrupted, the accusation on his face deepening, melding together with a determination that Severus really disliked the look of. "S-so –"
"And I suppose you have some sort of source or factual evidence secreted away in that disgusting turban of yours, silently incriminating away…?
More determination. A hint of smugness, even – what on earth was going on here? "I'll m-make n-no comment, S-Severus."
"Really. And I suppose your unimpeachable sources also came up with some sort of reason behind my illegal mining of their pitiful minds? Potions research I wish to duplicate, to make myself millions and thereby cheat them out of their honest, hard-earned congratulations? Yet another useless examination system that I wish to steal and patent for my personal use…?"
"J-jealousy!" Quirrel insisted, and Severus suddenly, quietly realised that his occasional incursions into Antares' stupid little head might have been counter-productive. Especially if the little berk had decided to spill all to his new Best Friend and Teacher – "J-j-just because a y-young b-boy wished to l-learn s-some –"
This must be headed off – immediately. "I assume we are speaking of that Black boy?"
Quirrel sputtered into silence, his nervous lack of speech belying the triumphant look in his eye. Severus almost smiled – finally, a way to resolve this sorry situation. And all in such an enjoyable way…
"He's told you of my opposition to his continuing to learn, so to speak, at your feet has he?" Severus sighed, not bothering to wait for an answer before continuing on. "Well, there's no problem here, then."
Quirrel blinked.
Inwardly rejoicing at the look of total surprise on Quirrel's face, Severus surged on. "Do be careful with him, of course. I was forced to take him shopping for his school things – the society Black mixes with leaves a great deal to be desired, and his taste in knowledge runs a little to the bizarre. The very bizarre." Feigning weariness, Severus went on, occasionally checking Quirrel's stupid face to see if the reaction he was going for was being produced. "Think very hard about how he knew what I used on him once – at his mother's behest, mind you – was Legilimency at all."
Quirrel twitched, and began to look strained.
"I don't suppose you've also noticed that he's formed a gang with the Zabini boy and the Davis girl in his year?" Severus continued, blatantly embellishing his tone (and the truth) as he went on. "Manageable now, of course – but it remains to be seen in the future. McGonagall didn't tell you about how they all ganged up on that Greengrass girl in their year, did she?" Quirrel mutely shook his head. "Interesting – she's usually so happy to pass on the bad news about Slytherins in general. But from what I heard, when I talked to Miss Greengrass, it was far more to do with her refusing to lend the Black boy her estranged sister's spell almanac for his personal consumption than to do with her sister's deplorable situation." Severus took a languid look at his watch-face, but wasn't quite absorbed in it enough to miss the look of consternation that passed across Quirrel's face. "So, there you have it – the whys and the wherefores on my foolish venture into that little idiot's mind. So, unless you have any other sources…"
Quirrel shook his head emphatically, consternation now replaced with the normal fear. Severus nodded briskly, levitating a biscuit over to him from the rather depleted plate on the refreshment table in the corner. "Well, then. Do try to understand the full picture before trying to threaten me again, Quirinius. Good day."
Biscuit in hand, Severus left the room, a smile trying its best to weasel its way out onto his face. The Quirrel-Antares Situation was halted, Albus would be indebted to him for a class or two, and he would be seeing Bella again, later this evening. To have solved all that during lunchtime was well worth being – he checked his watch again – five minutes late for that irritating Slytherin/Ravenclaw class. Which he had every intention of hurrying out the door as soon as possible, so he'd have time to Floo Bella with the good news.
After a whirlwind class full of accidents and one unnecessarily overwrought Ravenclaw bursting into tears at the vigorous tirade Severus felt obliged to dish out for the little brat's heinously slow stirring technique, Severus soon found himself alone with the mess from a hasty class and – most importantly – fifteen minutes with which to Floo Bella and clean up before ascending to Albus' office for the ritual and the careful manipulation of possibly Monday-freeing guilt and obligation on his employer's part.
Warding his office haphazardly to prevent eavesdropping, Severus threw a sizeable pinch of Floo Powder into the crackling flames and, as they turned green, stuck his head into them and called out: "Spinner's End!" Squashing a sudden urge to blindly Summon a brush to deal with his probably quite frazzled hair, Severus shut his eyes and bore the horrible sense of dislocation as he spun away towards his destination. Hopefully, Bella would be present.
Hopefully. "Bella?" Severus tried, his voice cracking as his eyes readjusted slowly to the new vantage point. "Bella? BELLA –"
"For goodness' sake –" Severus saw something move out of the corner of his eye, and repositioned his head accordingly as best as was possible. An unnecessary sense of relief filled him as he saw a familiar figure start into the living room from the kitchen. "Severus?" Bella began to hurry closer as soon as she caught sight of him. "Is there something –"
"Everything is fine," Severus said quickly, his eyes following Bella's fine form as she dropped to her knees before him. "I just –"
"Oh, dear – I better get back to the fish, then –" And, with that, she'd hurried to her feet and stormed from the room, putting impatient fingers to her hair, which was starting to loosen from a rough braid. Severus sighed, his heart sinking as Bella went out of sight. He supposed he'd have to be late for the irritatingly necessary meeting with the Headmaster, but – "Right, everything seems to be in order," Bella called out, her calm voice preceding her as she returned from the kitchen at a much slower pace. "Are you coming home this weekend, or…"
Severus flushed at the word 'home', and hoped hard that she didn't spot it. It was possible that she didn't, as Bella had just begun to loosen her braid, her gaze fixed on a spot far above his floating head as she carefully pulled her hair loose. But then her eyes returned to his, and her lips gave a sardonic twitch as he flushed even more under her scrutiny.
"I suppose that means yes…?"
"Yes," Severus snapped, fighting the hungry flush that seamed to be spreading down his neck now. "Not now – I have a meeting with the Headmaster. But perhaps this evening…"
"Mmm, perhaps," Bella said, her eyes darkening promisingly, and Severus sighed, conceding that he'd probably be late to the meeting with Albus, if out of sheer necessity of getting his body back under control. "How is Antares?"
Severus snorted, clearly remembering the boy's odd behaviour and the following confrontation with Quirrel, and began to explain, glad to have something other than the way even his nipples were taking notice of his false proximity to Bella.
A/N: Just a quick sigh and contemplation on how much I love writing about Severus, and about his fairly OCD ways and nefarious schemes and wanky behaviour. He's quite the horrid person, but isn't it infinitely more interesting to read about his nastiness :D?
Hopefully, all of that manoeuvring came out right in the end. This was an oddly complex chapter to write, because of how much I had to make sure was done. Thanks be to snornackcatcher, who kindly informed me of the regulation of the Floo Network as pertains to Hogwarts.
And everyone, the next chapter shall be named (as most of you already know, if you've been reading my LJ) Chapter 18: Obfuscation. Thrilling, eh? And oh, it's from Antares' POV.
