Due to popular request I'm reposting the old version of this fic for your enjoyment. I'll start posting a new version/complete rewrite late 2022.

Chapter 8: Book Two: And the Secrets

What followed was a rather frustrating two weeks of very little information whatsoever. Severus renewed his subscription to the Daily Prophet to be inundated with gems such as 'Norman Conspiracy revealed as Non-existent', 'Doge E and Doge ER Legal firm revealed to have been misfiling taxes', and 'Harry Potter revealed to shop at Flourish and Blotts'.

Despite the high concentration of revelations, the news was clear as mud. Specifically, no information about the situation with Sirius Black was forthcoming. Perhaps, Severus hoped but did not truly believe, Potter had taken his advice to make the matter disappear.

Even Lucius was mum, meaning he was getting sufficient information and his daily dose of backstabbing politics elsewhere.

Severus had to admit to himself, as they approached the last week of August and time flew in start of term preparations, he was worried about Potter.

He had seemed so exhausted after Ostara, oscillating between the kind of child who suspiciously dreaded the ends of term, and the one who regularly sneaked off of grounds -Severus wasn't stupid, and the students weren't half as clever and ward savvy as they thought- because being at Hogwarts drove him restless.

Was the child unwell? Was he still sexually active? Had he entered puberty yet? What were the side effects of ageing potions taken by minors?

And most importantly, why was Severus so obsessed with one Harry Potter?

But no, he reassured himself. It was only natural. He was one of his snakes, and he was to be his apprentice this year. Severus had never had an apprentice before, but he knew there were many kinds of bonds and contracts, all of them having in common that head space would be occupied henceforth with the young mind which was his charge to shape.

And perhaps, a small part of his mind was willing to admit, he was developing a fondness for the child. It hung around their interactions like the smell of a ripe cheese, palatable to the connoisseur and those of the right frame of mind, while mildly revolting to everyone else.

Something about Potter radiated affection and fondness so determinedly at Severus that he was incapable of not feeling a modicum thereof in return.

He had compiled intense plans for the apprenticeship based off his own Mastery preparations in France a decade past. Severus would go into this with a brilliant plan, as he identified strongly as a brilliant planner. There were flow charts, lesson plans, reading lists and brewing calendars.

If only Severus were half as good at following plans as he was at devising them, his life would not devolve so regularly into entropy and chaos.

xoxox

It was the twenty-ninth of August. The castle thrummed with anticipation like a young child who really needed to wee. The portraits' inhabitants were rushing about in a frantic whirl to catch up on the latest gossip, because they had yet to realise that every summer, every year when the students left, nothing happened.

With the professors taking up their lodgings once more, life was being breathed gradually into worn stones. The house elves awoke from their quasi-hibernation for an unparalleled cleaning spree. If Hogwarts had legs they'd be jiggling. As it was, her windows panes rattled merrily in their frames.

The staff meeting yesterday had been tedious and of precisely zero content, because Albus was presiding, and also because Albus had yet to realise that over the past twelve weeks just like every summer, every year when the students left, nothing happened. He had failed to mention relevant details such as what had happened to Flamel's stone, or who the new Defence professor would be. Pomona had enlightened him to the latter, at least, over a catch up game of poker in the Hufflepuff common room after tea.

Pomona liked to test the squishy chairs and cosy atmosphere, to ensure their consistency. She also made up for her lack of poker face by having more tells than could possibly all be equated with anything. Additionally, she could read Severus' mask like a book. They were playing for freedom from patrols of the lower floors, and it was beginning to look like Pomona would continue her four year streak of not having to walk a single nightly patrol. Alas, she was so nice about it that Severus was hard-pressed to resent her for it. Hufflepuffs.

Pomona made up for it in gossip, the only reason Severus consented to play with her at all. Additionally, the Hufflepuff common room had the best, squishiest arm chairs.

"Quirinus has left us again. He wrote me a letter from overseas in Portugal. Apparently he has fallen in love and intends to remain there."

Severus sighed. Yet another defence professor. Joy. "Charity is staying?"

"Aye. She is happier here, less lonely. You know how she struggled when her husband died. It is better we have her here."

Severus did not care about the life of the Muggle Studies Mistress. The woman was far too kindly and doting. It was unnerving, and he tried his best to stay out of her way. "And Defence? What fool is it this year?" At least it had been several years since a death in the position. That was bad publicity, and Albus struggled all the more with the staffing. Or rather, Minerva struggled and let Albus have the short list to decide from.

What would Hogwarts do without her Deputy?

"Two applicants. Gilderoy Lockhart," Severus barked a laugh. Lockhart had been a Ravenclaw a year above him and could aptly be described by the expression 'Dumber than rocks.' Pomona smiled wryly. "Yes, that was approximately my reaction as well. And another from the east. An '85 Durmstrang graduate by the name of Vitellmo Mordador. Albus will interview him, of course, but as it stands he has the position."

Severus nodded. "Anything is better than Lockhart. In fact, nothing would also be preferable to Lockhart."

"Have you read his books?"

Severus granted her an incredulous look. As if he would touch Lockhart's books with a metre-long stirring rod.

"Nevermind. They are well written and quite engaging."

"Lockhart may be able to write, but when he attended Hogwarts it was known among Slytherin that he could not cast. At all. His writing must be fiction."

"Well," she pursed her lips. It suited her face like a strangler fig in the Sahara, which is to say theoretically possible but flawed in execution. She used the opportunity to win another round. "Young Mister Lockhart always was an excellent writer. His essays were exemplary."

"His essays were the only reason he scraped his NEWTs."

She had nothing to say to that. Nonetheless Mordador could only be better.

"When will he be arriving? The new Defence Master?"

"September first, with the students. He said he would be taking the train in to get the Hogwarts experience." And it would give the other staff a lot less time to cross examine him. It was a clever play. Perhaps the man would be bearable indeed.

Severus played the last of his chips, transfigured beauties neatly monogrammed 'IOU' and subtitled 'corridor patrol'. To play the Hufflepuff was futile. He might as well get it over with.

Severus retreated to his dungeons later, checking the potions classrooms and performing perfunctory examinations of the stored ingredients to ensure their continued potency. His mind was elsewhere. Albus had just been by for a catch up game of chess, where he had finally deigned to explain to Severus about Master Vitellmo Aigan Mordador of Armenia. It was a week after Severus had found out himself and a month after he would have liked to find out. He had done his research by now, searching for records of the man's proficiency, history, published works, mastery thesis. There was nothing beyond OWL and NEWT equivalents from Durmstrang, which Severus knew could be faked rather easily.

Karkaroff, the coward, had returned Severus' queries uncommented. It meant he was busy, bored, or possibly guilty of letting Mordador buy his qualifications. It could also mean this was somehow the Dark Lord's work and Mordador the Dark Lord's agent, leaving Karkaroff too rightfully terrified to answer questions about him. Severus hoped it wasn't the latter. It the Dark Lord were to send instructions to him he would be overwhelmed by fear also. Fear for his own health in last place, fear for his future apprentice and the rest of his students being his first priorities. The Dark Lord had been powerful, terrible and out of his mind. And worst of all, Severus did not know where he stood.

Quirinus, Albus had explained, had only had a single year contract for fear of the apparent curse on the position. And infuriatingly Albus was saying nothing about the stone one way or another. Severus was pessimist and realist enough to know it had been stolen, though. There might as well have been a neon blinking sign saying 'steal me, valuable,' mounted in the third floor corridor on the right hand side. Potter had made it down their pitiful obstacle course, and the Weasley twins as well as countless others must have as well. The only protection of worth had been Albus', and some time and logical thought would have done away therewith easily enough.

For a long time Severus had been convinced Quirrell had been after the stone, and so his resignation was awful convenient. Then again who in their right mind would go back to teaching if they needn't? If Severus had the chance, he knew he would never go back. But in his heart he knew Quirrell was too stupid and too incompetent to ever manage stealing the stone. Logic in the average wizard could be measured in thimblefuls, and Quirrell was below average.

If he suspected anyone, it would be Potter. Somehow everything unexpected and impossible could always be linked back to Potter, however indirectly.

And as in this case where the link could not be made, it just meant that Potter had been especially careful in covering his tracks. If Severus were to steal a stone that granted unlimited wealth and immortality, he would make sure its disappearance couldn't be connected back to him, either.

Severus wished he was brave enough to ask the child. It would be a boon, to be able to experiment with the elixir of life. Perhaps it could be used to remove Dark Magic taints? The ritual cleansing after casting such magicks was tedious and painful, necessary though it was to prevent the caster from succumbing to Dark Insanity. And gold wouldn't hurt either. The things he could buy with all the gold he wanted! Lucius would have bought status symbols and useless rot. Severus knew what was important, though. With a good fake identity from the muggles he could escape Albus' clutches and move far away. South Africa perhaps. Or Canada might be a more suitable climate. Bathsheba would feel at home in New Zealand. A new name, a new place, some creature comforts and an unlimited budget to experiment with.

Perhaps Potter would come with him. Just to have someone to bounce ideas off of, someone to teach his passion to.

What was he thinking? Running away and taking Potter with him? He must have inhaled some vapours from the Draught of Calamity he had been brewing today. A pipe dream if ever there was one. Severus was the kind of man who went down with the ship, lifeboats be damned.

"-rus? Severus?"

He looked up sharply, slowly focusing on Minerva's face. It was uncomfortably close, but he did not scramble back. Instead he scowled at her, hoping she would understand the signal to keep her distance.

Minerva's face receded as she smartly manoeuvred the both of them into seats by his desk. "Are you alright, Severus? You had not responded to your name. I worry about you, always in these dungeons by yourself."

They really needed better ventilation down there, they both knew it. He had explained it to Albus so many times: yes the warm vapours could rise in the cool dungeons, and the windows set high on the walls helped. But what they really needed was an actual ventilation system, with fans and proper overhead ducts. And with warmer rooms in general the students wouldn't struggle so much, either.

"Severus," Minerva interrupted him gently. Perhaps she was right and he had been spending a little too much time by himself lately?

"Why should I not be perfectly alright? I enjoy having my peace and quiet. The school is much better without the children frequenting it."

Minerva scoffed. "You would grow mad from the solitude, if you aren't already. Just now, you were smiling to yourself. 'Tis a rare day that Severus Snape smiles."

He deepened his scowl just to spite her. "I will go out tonight, if you leave me alone now." Had he really been smiling to himself while thinking of a life with Potter? Unlikely. Surely it was the dream of no name, no face, just him and his peace and his potions. Yes. Definitely that.

"I came to inform you of Potter's NEWT results. The Ministry just sent over exam results of returning students yesterday but I had only now reached the P's."

The list was likely four students long, but the letter had been buried in the paperwork on her desk. What would Minerva do if she didn't have a school to run? More importantly, who would run Hogwarts? Albus with his many commitments and his hobby of not minding his own business certainly wouldn't.

"Only Potter's? Is he receiving special treatment from everyone, now? You could just as well have brought his results with the list of the others'."

"Of course, Severus. Shall I take them with me as I see myself out?" She gathered an envelope to her bosom and stood.

"You tease," he granted her a crooked smile. "Thank you, Minerva. Though I am sure of his O, it is better to be certain." He held out his hand, and when she refused he snatched it from her. An O, as expected. Six points marked wrong on the short answer questions, four bonus points for his brewing for a total of 98%. Severus frequently wondered how come the Wizarding world had illogical numbers for everything except exam marking. Probably the muggleborns' influence.

"What did he get?" Minerva had sat back down.

Severus raised a brow at her. "I know you looked."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And will you be taking him as apprentice? Because if you don't want him, I'll have him."

Severus dragged his mind out of the gutter. Minerva's question did not in any way present a dilemma; Potter was brilliant and definitely took away some workload. However up until now he hadn't had to teach the boy anything. As an apprentice the level would be much higher and it would not suffice to let him brew alone. But by the gods, teaching the truly gifted was one of the few things that made this farce of a job bearable. "Potter and I will swear the oaths September first. You can have Nickolas Nettle, he is decent at transfiguration and I am certain he will not be joining my NEWT class. Have him sit his NEWT at Yule."

She hummed. "The idea is not bad. I will discuss it with him. And there is another, Bartholomäus Ingrest."

"He will refuse. His parents have a store down Knockturn that they require his help to run. We are already fortunate they did not pull him out after finishing his OWLs. The limited scholarship fund let the boy have the chance, but there are strings attached."

"You are well informed. I thought he was one of Filius' Ravens?"

"Ingrest's parents are Slytherins, and he grew up with some of the crowd. He frequents my common room." He was also one of the main suppliers of banned goods in the school. Severus tolerated it, as long as the quality of his drugs was excellent and he refused to deal in child pornography and very dark artefacts. Severus secretly checked over his stock when he got it, just in case.

"I see."

'No, Minerva. You really don't, and it is better this way,' Severus did not reply. He looked around for something to occupy his attention while he waited for her to leave. Bathsheba took that as a summons, landing elegantly as always with a thump against his chair. Severus nonchalantly detached her claws from his hair and allowed her to settle in the crook of his arm for a belly rub.

"You have taken well to each other." Minerva failed to leave.

"She is my familiar."

They sat in silence for several minutes. Minerva had known him too long to be bothered by his manner. It was a boon, but when he wanted to get rid of her it was a curse.

The silence could not make either of them uncomfortable. Minerva was an extraordinary woman, and in his way he loved her. If only she did not dote on Albus so much, he could take her more into his confidence.

xoxox

It was only natural that Severus pay extra attention to Potter's well being when the students streamed into the Great Hall. Their arrival had been announced with the din of a low-flying plane, but instead of receding again it grew ever louder until the point was reached where it was impossible not to wonder just how they could be so damned noisy.

But Potter, his future apprentice, was the first he examined with any real scrutiny. It was only natural. He was the top of the list of Slytherins-to-be-concerned-about. The child had sprouted like a weed, now at least half a head above his male peers. James Potter hadn't been a tall man, nor Lily and her parents. Tuney Evans had been quite tall, though, so it must come from that part of the family.

Severus could tell the Slytherins were of several minds about Potter in the minuscule interactions at the table; who sat where, who talked over whom, who laughed at whose jokes. Who was being laughed about.

Approximately half of Slytherin house, he could tell, were showing respect and deference to Potter, a quarter still nurtured hate and loathing, while the rest remained ambivalent. And then there was Gregory Goyle, who as usual looked like he had no clue what was going on besides that food would be served soon, and that the boy was hungry. While his elder sister was cunning as the best of them, the Goyle heir was showing disappointingly little in terms of original thought or even overall comprehension. The Goyle patriarch Gregory Senior was a strong, clever man (in that order) who knew how to position himself to get ahead. It seemed he had passed on only his strength.

There was time yet for Gregory to come into his own. Vincent Crabbe and Draco had been helping him scrape by in exams, but something would have to change to ensure the boy made it into third year.

Potter was beginning his apprenticeship this year. Hopefully that would free up some time to help his struggling snakes further themselves.

After the feast, the announcements, his own speech to his house and a bit of warding he made judicious use of his teacher-issue time turner to summon Potter for a chat. If he put this off until tomorrow he knew it would be October before anything came of the pending apprenticeship.

"Mister Potter." Severus' lips twitched in what could be construed as a smile by somebody very good at reading micro expressions.

"Professor Snape," Potter beamed back. Up close he could now see the boy had acquired a tan. Perhaps he had been back in Brazil with his guardian? He looked well, and for this Severus was inexplicably glad.

"Your NEWT grade was satisfactory," he complimented, and the boy beamed impossibly brighter.

The silence between them grew, but it was not uncomfortable.

It was time to commit to this, Severus knew. Potter had provided no reason not to. With an internal sigh, he began. "I have drawn up the apprentice paperwork. It is the Hogwarts standard, as the other professors use for their protégés."

The boy helped himself and read carefully. He was taking notes, even, with his hair-quill.

"This is not the standard teaching allocation," Potter spoke absently.

Severus jolted, only now realising he had been watching the boy intently for just under ten minutes. "I only have one apprentice," he defended himself, mimicking the nonchalant tone. How could Potter know the standard, anyway?

"Do I get my own time turner, or will you be taking me back with yours so I can attend my own classes alongside teaching yours?"

Nowhere in the documents was any mention of time turner use. "Who said anything about a time turner?"

Potter tapped a clause. "The duties of the apprenticeship will not interfere with the apprentice's ability to attend their mandatory classes," he quoted. With efficient movements, he busied himself signing in the many spaces. "Besides, it's obvious you have a time turner. There aren't enough hours in a forty-hour work week for you to manage your teaching duties, let alone the active role you take as head of house on top of your brewing for the infirmary and your right to a personal life. I'm not daft."

The boy was indeed not daft. "Well reasoned. I will take you back personally after each class you assist in teaching."

Potter winced. "Would you like me to get my own time turner next year, to save the hours on yours?"

What was he on about? "Time turners are illegal for children to use, and severely restricted for adults." How did Potter intend to get one for himself, and why only next year? "Besides, you will be expected to save me more work than you cost me, so you may rest assured I will not allow you to become a burden." Internally he smirked. Potter would be taking over increasing portions of his own workload until only practical teaching remained for Severus, and even then he would have assistance.

Potter smirked back, proving that Severus' occlumency was airtight. "So if, say, a bright young student were to try and take all the electives, in addition to pursuing his potions mastery...?"

That was surprisingly brilliant. Or not so surprisingly, considering the brilliance of the boy sitting before him. "Such circumstances could lead to exceptions being made for said student," Severus spoke slowly, thinking. "However, you cannot honestly be considering it. Muggle Studies? Divination? What is for all intents and purposes a minor time machine for the sole purpose of a child attending classes?"

Potter shrugged, though there was relief hidden in the ironed creases of his brow. "You have a time machine for teaching classes," he replied, but with his tone saying the point had been ceded.

Perusing the signed contract, Severus hummed. "In addition to the standard contract, we will also be performing a minor bonding ritual."

Potter's eyebrows shot up, but he remained quiet. The quill was tucked neatly behind his ear.

"We will speak the oaths in a ritual room with no third party magic on us. I have prepared by writing the vows on muggle paper," he handed it over, together with a muggle pencil to appease the boy's need to scribble notes in the margins of everything, ever. "Tomorrow we will meet before breakfast, showered without magical soaps and dressed in unspelled clothes, to perform the bonding. This will only involve kneeling, clasping hands and speaking words. Then we can change and attend breakfast."

Potter had read the vows twice by now, crossing out several lines and rewriting them. "I need twenty-one hours before the potion I have taken leaves my system. Other than that, I propose replacing the set time allocation of five years to allow for me attaining my mastery earlier, and all mentions of my age are unnecessary due to my magical status as Lord Potter and Lord regent Black."

Severus had known from their correspondence, and it made sense, of course. He was the last Potter. And after some time with old family trees he had finally understood the Black part as well. When Paterfamilias Arcturus had died in '84 and Draco had not received even the heir title it had proven that Sirius Black had assigned the inheritance elsewhere. But now the entire school would constantly be unknowingly snubbing the child, shite, the Lord technically by not addressing him by his proper titles. How had Potter and his guardian imagined this working out?

When had the names Potter and Black become those of his cherished apprentice, rather than reminders that made his gut clench painfully?

Cherished? He had been the boy's Master for barely twenty minutes now.

Apparently even the signed apprenticeship confirmation was enough to minutely shift his thoughts towards fondness for the young man.

"I agree to your changes. We will meet in two days before breakfast. Are you sure you fully understand how to be without magical influences for when we meet in the room?" Upon the boy's nod, he rose to his feet. "Good," he spoke, a hint of warmth bleeding into his tone. "Dismissed."

Scampering to gather his belongings, Potter performed a deep bow and rushed from the room.

Severus sat down again, sealing his door and craving a fag. He took several deep, measured breaths in an attempt to calm his thoughts again.

He was fond of Potter.

Lord Potter-Black.

It had been a good move, making the boy his apprentice. He thanked the gods the hat had placed him in Slytherin.

And now, which potions did he know which had a run time of more than twenty-two hours, determinable with such accuracy?

xoxox

The next days passed in the exhausting haze of too little time and too many facets demanding his attention. Severus had hardly been awake during their bonding ritual, only properly realising its occurrence after his morning coffee.

There was a niggling in the back of his head, a concern and fondness for his apprentice now given its very own corner of his mindto reside in. Perhaps this was for the best, considering. Thoughts about Potter had crept all over his mind with the determination of a slug after lettuce, apparent mainly in retrospect by the sechant slime trails left behind. And it was reassuring, that they could not hurt or betray each other consciously or purposefully. Severus had seen only good in Potter so far, he was a Potter nonetheless. Old wounds had healed over but the Marauders had left their fair share of scars.

His first act as master to his apprentice was during the second year Slyther-Gryff potions class. Severus immediately dumped the first year summer assignments and a well of red ink onto the desk beside the Longbottom disaster. Potter, being the clever child he was, did not require further instructions. He took his assigned seat without aplomb and got to work. At one point during the lesson he fetched several reference books from the shelf by the ingredients cupboard.

The remainder of the class took to their seating arrangement well. Severus had changed around Finnegan with Brown, due to the prior's tendency towards pyromania. Severus didn't know how he had managed to turn a porlack-based unguent into a minor explosive during his practical exam last term. He'd even examined his memories of the event in his pensieve to try understand. The most spectacular reaction (which Crabbe had demonstrated) that should have been possible was for the cauldron contents to grow suddenly and solidify in a frozen foamy mass. It should have been harmless, exactly the reason Severus had chosen it.

With Longbottom neutralised it was Finnegan he had to keep an eye on in this class.

Longbottom's streak of unexploded cauldrons had almost reached its first anniversary. Potter would keep it that way.

The rest of the seating plan stayed the same, which Severus was glad for. He detested changes in his environment. Children, unpredictable-spontaneous-chaos-rabble by nature were the opposing force to his desire for consistency and routine. At least when they sat in the same way he could delude himself that he was in control of this classroom.

It was a marvel the students had not yet realised how much they outnumbered him. If they truly wanted to, they could rise in anarcheous discord.

But they hadn't yet, and as long as Severus kept up his tyrannical control in his classrooms they would hopefully remain too terrified to try anything funny.

An emboldened student was a mischievous one, and in a classroom full of toxins and potential explosives it was best they live in fear of him than he in fear for their collective lives.

The lesson was theoretical until the last half-hour in which they were to brew a classical Dillaneous base that was usable in most depressant draughts. Potter set aside his grading to watch Longbottom more attentively.

Severus had to stop Nott from using fresh rather than dried juniper berries, which he shouldn't have been able to get his hands on anyway. By the time Nott was sorted Potter was already across the room showing Weasley how to stir without sloshing violence.

It seemed his apprentice had stepped into his new role as teaching assistant without hesitating. Weasley looked mildly constipated, but this was as far as Severus could tell his default expression. It was related, he was sure, to the amount of food the boy consumed during every single meal. Ronald Weasley's bottomless stomach was evidently a significant contributing factor towards his family's poverty. But his stirring was no longer as spasmodic, so it appeared Potter had done his self-assigned job well and Weasley had scraped enough brains together to listen.

The remainder of class passed wonderfully without incident, allowing Severus to release them five minutes ahead of schedule. Potter was standing at the foot of his desk when the rest of the students had all made off.

"Mister Potter," he acknowledged.

"Master Snape."

It never failed to astound him how Potter always had a smile for him. "I expect equal competence from you this afternoon and on Friday when the first years have their first class. You will come to my office at the end of the lesson, where I will take you the hour back with me."

Potter nodded. Severus did not insult him by asking if he understood. He tapped his own teaching schedule, the clean un-annotated one not containing unflattering notes and comments about the students therein, and handed it over.

"First and second year classes only when brewing, yes?" Potter's wand was out, already tapping the squares to colour-code.

"As well as third years starting next week. The first week of lessons is theory only."

More colour-coding followed, though Severus could not determine any logical colour-correlations. What made first year Raven-Huffs and fourth year Slyther-Gryffs particularly cobalt? They should have nothing in common.

"Explain your system of colours, Mister Potter," he demanded because he knew it was going to bother him, and Potter would not mind him asking.

"Based on my relationships and personal feelings on the people in those classes."

That would have made sense if it weren't the first Thursday of term. He couldn't possibly have formed feelings and relationships about the first years yet.

Potter did not need to make sense. He only needed to assist during practical lessons with the youngsters who had the least idea what they were doing.

Severus just wished he knew what was going on inside that brilliant impossible mind sometimes. "Tuesday and Thursday evenings you will meet me in my classroom to further your knowledge in potions and eventually work toward your mastery." Severus had found several recipes already to test with the apricorns. "Beginning tonight. Bring anything potions-related you have from your summer break."

A smirk and a bow accompanied the, 'Yes master.'

He dismissed Potter. He was too charming and cheeky for his own good.

xoxox

"And how is it going with your new apprentice?" Minerva pulled him over to gossip after the futile second fortnightly staff meeting of the new term had finally ended.

The following vital conclusions had been reached while Severus rearranged a test for his fourth years: Some children were incorrigible bullies, some were pants at successful social interaction, and some had no desire to be penned up in classrooms when they could be doing pretty much anything else. This was the same set of conclusions reached at every staff meeting besides the first and last of the school year. The students' names changed, that was all.

Severus was well aware of his snakes' deficiencies without having them pointed out to him, thank you very much, and was there was nothing that happened in the snake pit he wasn't aware of long before the other professors. He was likely already taking steps to correct their issues.

Pomona and Flitwick had joined them with more tea, trapping Severus in an unfortunate group huddle. They must resemble their own whispering students in that moment, wrapped up in a world of other people's drama.

"Mister Potter is doing well, although it has only been just over two weeks. He knew about our time turner use already, and does not seem to be experiencing jet-lag from the five extra hours a week."

Pomona hummed. "Well, he seems to me to be looking a little green around the gills. You keep him indoors too much, and don't feed him enough chocolate." She patted her rotund belly glibly. "I have no problems of that sort, of course. Though I've been having some trouble with Timeria Gavin. She's taken to grading like a duck to tap dancing."

"You must give her a table with criteria for that," Flitwick interjected excitedly. Flitwick only had two modus operandi: excited and asleep. "I do all my grading with tables to ensure consistency. Every checked box can be totalled to determine a fair grade."

Severus used a similar system, augmented with scathing comments and liberal red ink to indicate mistakes. His students' essays were without exception full of mistakes. Even Potter had spelling errors and formatting issues, though Severus suspected he wrote the date wrong only to annoy him.

"All I'm saying is, if you want a seventh year rather than a puny second year I'd be happy to trade Miss Gavin for Mister Potter." Pomona winked.

The thought left him feeling suddenly bereft, his stomach skating on the edge of some deep, unpleasant pit. "Potter is mine," he very near hissed. The one good thing he had, this creation of Lily's womb full of bright light and dancing joy. One of the rare children who despite everything was legitimately happy to just be.

Not that adults were better at being unconditionally happy. Flitwick seemed to take offence at this unvoiced thought, ready to defend happy people everywhere. "He is a good boy, and he has plenty of time to follow his own interests. Let's not go putting claims on him just yet."

"Pomona, ducks do not tap dance," Minerva added sternly. Severus suspected she had very much missed the point of their conversation.

Severus also felt he had missed the point of this entire evening. The tests weren't going to write themselves, and it wouldn't do for the students to be prepared for class when he wasn't.

"I have paperwork to finish still," he excused himself, extricating himself from the overstuffed wing chair.

"Severus, we d'ent mean to offend," Minerva's voice scolded.

He forced his face into a polite smile and lowered his head in a bow to equals. "I am not offended, merely tired and busy. Good night."

They echoed their replies to his turned back as he left for his office. If he put another hour of work into it he would be finished with all four versions of the test and be able to turn in for the night.