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 9: Mordador for Mabon
He was supposed to be preparing for his seventh years' lesson first thing tomorrow, but Severus' mind wouldn't stop wandering. He looked up at Potter, who was studiously taking notes from 'The Potioneer's Guide to Plants,' an American publication from 1898 by one Thaddeus Thompson. Severus refused to let the book out of his sight, so Potter was forced to conduct his studies thereof in their scheduled evening sessions.
The apricorns had yielded nothing more valuable than excellent baked goods, but Potter had made some interesting notes on his own potions. The dreamless sleep was finished if not publishable, the ageing potions completed long ago but essentially worthless. However Potter had been tinkering with an eyesight restorative which he had hit a dead end with. Severus suspected the problem was with the Crab-apple seed in the third stage of brewing. It should quite obviously be a Mediterranean fruit, either fig or pomegranate. Hopefully old Thaddeus would set Potter on the right path.
Potter's hair was growing into his eyes, but it wasn't his place to tell the child this. Perhaps a subtly placed magazine on grooming spells? Or better yet, he could get one of the other Slytherins to help Potter out as a favour. Draco might even be of help-
Severus realised he had read the page twice and still hadn't the foggiest what it said. Scowling, he pushed the notes aside and let his mind drift, as it was wont to, to its latest fascination.
He was concerned about the new Defence Master. As far as his research had shown, Vitellmo Mordador hadn't existed before June that year. The man was a recluse, barely attending meetings and meals beyond the absolutely necessary. Severus knew, because he limited himself in the same way.
Yet Aurora and Rolanda had been tongue-wagging about him just yesterday during breakfast. Evidently Mordador was going out of his way to charm them, ingratiate himself among the less observant, less responsible staff.
His feelers out among his Slytherins had yielded equally unsatisfactory results. Severus wanted dirt on the man, reasons to turn his loathing upon him, some kind of justification for his suspicions. All he'd heard so far was that the man was a good teacher, fair but tolerating no non-sense.
Potter was right there. He might as well ask a source directly rather than depending on overheard second-hand gossip.
"What do you think of Professor Mordador? Does he teach well?"
Potter held up a finger in a universal gesture for 'wait,' something he wouldn't have dared to do and Severus would equally not have tolerated before the magic bound them into mutual tolerance bordering on affection. Finishing his sentence with a flourish, he set down his ridiculous quill before giving Severus his full attention. "The Slytherins like him. His core magic is dark- any darker and it'd be necromancer black. It appeals to most of the Slytherins, many of whom have been selectively bred for dark family magicks." Potter scrubbed a hand through his hair, frowning thoughtfully. "He teaches well, only ever casting light or grey while covering light, grey and dark offence and defence equally. He does not show bias but I can tell he is more fond of Slytherins. The Gryffs are too thick on average to notice his subtle jibes and disdain. Considering the alternatives, he is very good."
This was not much he hadn't already learned. His core being dark was interesting, though. Especially as he apparently did not struggle casting Light Magic with it. "I did not ask you what the Slytherins think. I am adept at gathering information from them without your help."
Potter shrugged and smirked. "Then you already know about the shift in the hierarchy towards a new king."
Severus did not know a thing thereabout. He thought furiously behind his frown. Bole had left, Mulciber was in seventh year but he had not made any moves the year before. The current Queen, a Nott bastard, had fought tooth and nail to get where she was and seemed to have no intention of passing on the mantle in her last year. Rogers, perhaps? Flint was too bad at politics, though he might make a brute force play this year. "Rogers or Flint?"
Harry smirked. It made him look predatory. "Master Snape, I thought you knew everything! I suppose you'll have to wait and see like everyone else."
No buggering way. Potter was not that suicidal. A second year as king? Preposterous. "They will tear you to shreds."
Potter's smirk widened to a full-blown grin. "One could almost think you care."
Severus growled. "Mister Potter, you are twelve. Tall for your age, and supremely magically skilled and powerful, yes. But enough to rule Slytherin? No."
"If you say so." The brat was infuriating. Even worse, Severus knew he would actually do it. Best to set some ground rules for when he inevitably faced opposition and moved to defend himself. He was under no illusion Potter couldn't out-duel the best seventh year one-on-one.
"No lethal force, magical or physical." Severus conceded. Because if someone attacked Potter as they were wont to and he finally fought back, it would end up ugly.
Potter smirked again.
"Nor psychological." Severus amended and watched as the smile fell. Please please please dear gods the boy couldn't be contemplating killing a fellow student.
"Alright," Potter begrudged. "No actions of mine will have direct or indirect lethal intent of any kind towards a fellow Hogwarts student during my ascent and reign as Slytherin's King."
It would do. "You never did say what you thought of Mordador." Severus purposefully changed the topic. Better to end on Potter's concession and count it as Severus' win. Not that he was keeping score. The boy was twelve, there was obviously no contest over superiority.
Potter scrunched his nose adorably in thought. Severus turned back to his notes meanwhile, not to seem too interested, and also because he should not be thinking his apprentice was adorable. "Professor Mordador is handling the workload incredibly well, considering his lack of time turner. It helps that the first and second years only have class once a week, but overall I find his competence suspicious."
"Not his dark magic?" No, of course having a competent teacher was the real reason to suspect. There had been a string of idiots stretching back to just after Severus' mother's time, even.
Potter scoffed. "Affiliation is not indicative of character. He obviously performs the cleansing rituals and is attuned to some gods, the lunar ones most probably. Brigid of Imbolc suits him best, all whitewashed and clean slated."
It was an interesting interpretation. Severus was most attuned to Samhain, of course, also of lunar energy. Minerva and Albus were both aligned with Midsummer, honouring solar gods. "What is your affinity?" Severus' mouth spoke before his brain could step in and remind him that this was a very personal question to ask.
Potter smiled in the way one does to humour a small child who does not know it is being frightfully rude. There were no fluttering parents to take responsibility and apologise for this faux-pas. "Professor Mordador must be hiding something behind the perfect mask." They were apparently going to pretend the last minute hadn't happened. Thank the gods. "Nobody can be truly unflawed hence he is pretending, and too good at it for me to figure out how much if any of his character is genuine. That scares me. He should be gloriously successful in politics or business, but we've never heard of him before now and instead he is here teaching for a pittance."
When put that way, it did seem suspicious. "I suspect Albus was too pleased over not having to hire Gilderoy Lockhart that he did not look too closely."
"Ah," Harry smiled grimly. "But no matter how closely you look at Professor Mordador, he remains perfect. Perfectly fake, but perfect nonetheless."
Severus would start watching him more. Perchance he would slip. Maybe with some luck he could find the cracks in the man's visage.
"Master, you really shouldn't."
Severus cringed thrice over at hearing the word Master directed at him when he had last directed it at the Dark Lord, at being told what to do by this child, and because apparently he was projecting his intentions so obviously that his apprentice could read them. "Mind your place, Mister Potter," he snapped back, hoping to restore some equilibrium.
Potter bowed low and remained there, silent.
Severus regarded him carefully. He was tall and gangly, hardly a muscle on him. His tan had receded in the past weeks and already he looked like he spent too much time indoors. "Get up," Severus ordered. The child stood. His eyes were rimmed dark, and now that he was looking properly it was clear that something was not quite right with him. "You adjust poorly to changes," he hypothesised at the exhaustion that hung around the child like a shroud.
Potter tilted his head to the side, then nodded slowly.
"What have you been doing these past three weeks? The vernal equinox is upon us and you already look in need of a break."
The boy shrugged.
"Stop shrugging in my presence." Severus was growing irritated. The child-. How could he possibly care so much for this impossible child?"
Potter swallowed thickly and started blinking heavily. Oh gods he was going to cry. That had come out of nowhere. Had his voice truly been so harsh?
Severus got up and strode forward, watched as despite looking ready to bolt the child stood his ground anyway. Potter was a Gryffindor at heart, this proved it. Severus forced his weary body to crouch before him. "Mister Potter," he gentled his voice and was greeted by a startled look in those too-green eyes. "Would you like to relocate this discussion to my rooms, or would that make it worse?"
Potter smirked despite the tears splashing down his face. "Sure." Brave, stupid child. "You couldn't hurt me if you tried." It came out sounding distinctly watery, but Severus took it as the banter it was meant to be and led the way through the door to his quarters.
Their vows said nothing about hurting him accidentally, of course.
Once in his quarters Severus withdrew to go through the familiar ritual of preparing tea, giving Potter the opportunity to compose himself again.
"I'm sorry, Master Snape. Do you know anything about a potion to speed up the process of puberty? This is awful. Not to mention degrading. I shouldn't have been crying about something so ridiculous." Those small hands clutched at the mug, knuckles white against black porcelain.
But the tears were gone and the playfulness back. Severus smirked internally; it was nice having the upper hand for once with Potter being the unbalanced one. "Puberty is an important process for your body to go through. It would be harmful to alter it artificially. Your brain is restructuring itself, getting rid of unnecessary information and forming stronger pathways. Let it be, and suffer quietly." He did not miss the look of alarm on Potter's face at the mention of forgetting.
Alarm ironed itself into a self depreciating smile. "I doubt my brain is anywhere near normal anyway, and I have the most important things written down. I'll be fine. Thank you, Master."
"Why do you insist on calling me that? It's abhorrent."
Potter caught himself mid-shrug and didn't know what to do with his shoulders. He lowered them in slow motion. "It's the Master-Apprentice bond at work. It doesn't do much beyond what we were already inclined to do, usually the strong ties to the Paterfamilias are passed over to the master. Remnants from the past. I didn't have a Paterfamilias, of course."
Severus thought for a moment. It was true, he would usually be much more hesitant to have a child in his quarters, but when Potter had been upset he hadn't thought twice of it. And he had been much more gentle than usual without it taking his usual gargantuan effort.
"It's important to distinguish myself to the other students as your apprentice, and this is a nice continuous reminder. It will be very helpful when you have me teaching proper."
Of course the boy was already five steps ahead. Always a Slytherin. Gryfferslyn? Slythendor? "Do you play chess, Mister Potter?"
He grinned, green eyes sparkling with mirth. "Would you believe me if I said Ronald Weasley taught me?"
Just when things had gone from impossible to normal, they reached impossible again. Severus rose and fetched his set from the corner. It was still set up from where he had been playing Albus several months back. He promptly set up the pieces anew.
Potter took black and they began to play.
The boy was already in check in ten minutes. Oddly enough, his tactics seemed to consist of doing something completely random all the time. "You must have had a master-apprentice bond in your time," Potter was saying, brow scrunched in thought as he manoeuvred himself out of check by sacrificing his bishop.
That had been a dumb move by all standards. Severus took shameless advantage, whether he was playing a twelve year old or not. He ignored the question; Potter apparently knew the answer for him. "But wait, I know the Dark Lord financed your potions mastery, so his mark must have overpowered the bond. And anyway you're too uncomfortable with the word 'Master' for the bond to be able to push you to use it."
The details the boy knew were astonishing. But it made Severus all the more smug when he got something totally wrong. He smiled to himself as he check-mated the black king.
"Alright, that was a poor showing on my part. In my defence, my previous chess partner and I only played suicide. Are you familiar with the rules?
Severus shook his head no.
"Every move you where you can legally capture a piece, you must. The king is a normal piece and once you reach stalemate the person with the least pieces wins."
It sounded utterly crazy. "That is not the point of chess."
Harry smiled radiantly. "There is no point to chess. But let's play another. I will try and remember the normal rules this time."
They played in thoughtful silence, until seemingly out of nowhere Potter check-mated him.
"Do I get anything for winning?" Potter began setting the pieces back to how they had been before, from the game with Albus.
"The privilege of remaining in my rooms a while longer," Severus acquiesced. He had not expected to be defeated. He wanted to think. And who memorised an entire chessboard before playing?
"You've been playing the Headmaster," Potter announced as he slid the last piece back into position. "And the outcome is yet unclear. But if you move your pawn here, you'll set him off balance and if all goes well you'll have mate in seven or eight moves."
What. Severus peered at his pieces. "Mister Potter, I was not aware you were so familiar with the Headmaster."
Potter grimaced. "Please may I go back to shrugging, Master Snape? It's a vital part of my self expression."
Perhaps he did most of the things he did just to amuse Severus. Or perhaps to amuse himself? The child did frequently behave as if he was the only one in on a particularly long-running joke. "You may," Severus decided. It was not his place to teach him decorum, and besides, Potter was wealthy enough to get away with acting however he liked. Such were the ways of the upper class in the United Kingdom, of which Potter was a member whether he flaunted it or not.
They sat in silence, both watching the chess pieces. Two adjacent white pawns had gotten into a heated argument, all the more interesting with the way Severus had spelled his set silent. He was still trying to figure out Potter's plan for how to beat Albus in this match.
"Who was your master anyway, Master Snape?" Potter finally broke the silence.
Severus smirked. His opening, finally. "I attended L'Institute Magriculeuse under Patrick Pastora."
Potter's face was beautifully incredulous. "No way. No fucking way. Pastora is a legend!" The boy began bouncing. "You studied under a real live legend. By the Gods no wonder you're so brilliant." Severus was bemused. This was even better than the reaction he had been imagining, although the last comment had been inadvertently offensive.
"I mean, Pastora only taught the best. What an honour. I know Patrick Pastora by one degree of separation. This is awesome." And promptly, Severus was appeased.
"You should not curse in front of your Professor, head of house, Master, whatever it is I am to you Mister Potter." And how strange of him to curse in American.
He shrugged, but Severus let it go. "My apologies, Master Snape. My excitement got the better of me there." He visibly calmed, though his eyes were sparkling still. "Are you still in touch? Could you get him to sign my copy of 'Les Potions par Patrick?'"
Oh Potter. If it means so much to you, I could even introduce you. But it would be better not to. Potter was brilliant, but he should be trained up a bit more. Not to brag per se, though definitely to make a better impression. Professor Pastora had always judged him hard for going to teach at Hogwarts, and if he had a potions genius to show for it he might be redeemed yet. "I will think about it," Severus lied. He had already thought about it. Once Potter had his mastery thesis drafted they would visit his old university in Beauxfort.
Severus looked at the child. Really looked, then sighed internally. Up close, he looked even worse. Actually, there had been a glamour before, though he was unsure at what point he had dropped it. He must be utterly exhausted; it was a feat of determination that he was still upright and not yawning his face off. What was Potter doing at night if it wasn't sleeping?
This was Slytherdor Potter, he reminded himself. When in doubt, he could just ask. "Tell me, Mister Potter, why are you not sleeping? Is it nightmares? Insomnia?" He contemplated another moment before adding his last hypothesis- stalking. "Or are you just spending too much time keeping tabs on your Defence professor?"
Potter smiled softly. "It's nice to know someone cares, Master. Thank you."
That had not answered anything, though now he had more questions about Potter's guardian. And that twitch had given him away- he had hit the nail on the head with his suspicions that Potter had been following Mordador around. "Mister Potter, you must come to me if your insomnia gets worse, and also come and let me know if it gets better."
Several contemplative minutes later, Potter slid to his feet. He stretched, his bones cricking despite his youth. "By your leave, Master, I'll head off to bed now."
Severus studied him carefully. "Actually go to bed. No more roaming the halls, no more spying on your professors."
A cheeky grin in reply. "Once I leave this room I will go directly to my bed and remain there until dawn."
Severus waved him off. "Good night, Mister Potter. We will speak more about your sleeping troubles another time."
Potter nodded. "Yes, sir."
Severus stared after the closed door after he left until he dozed off himself still sitting in his armchair.
xoxox
Mabon arrived only as a way to mark time's passage. There were more fruits than usual during a particularly lavish feast, but the less observant muggleborns could easily not notice the start of the rise of the Oak king.
Potter's usual flower message was still absent by curfew, causing Severus to feel suddenly ridden with guilt. It was his fault for having pried into his spiritual life. He had pried into his sex life, his daily life, his guardianship. All this he could justify with being Potter's concerned head of house, but asking after the only facet of privacy he had left had been crass. If only Potter didn't have such a diminishing effect on his brain-mouth filter! What's done is done, as Mrs. Evans used to say. Better to apologise and hope that would settle things.
Severus was not a coward per se, but he was aware of his own social incompetence. Therefore, the apology was issued via a single stasis-bespelled bluebell attached to Potter's dormitory door.
They were, after all, communicating in the language of flowers. At least this is what he consoled himself with as he helped Bathsheba gorge herself on plums. He'd need to wash her tomorrow; her soft mane and belly were now sticky mats.
Potter wore the bluebell-apology tucked in his hair instead of the ridiculous quill for the entire following day, which Severus found humiliating and Potter probably thought was funny.
That evening before he had decided to be flattered or bemused, he found Potter waiting outside his personal quarters after dinner. It was a Saturday, they shouldn't be seeing each other until Tuesday's Huffleclaw class.
The bluebell was gone, and the quill absent. "I thought," Potter began. His voice squeaked awkwardly as puberty was wont to kick in at the most inconvenient moments. He cleared his throat and repeated, "I thought you might fancy another game of chess, Master Snape?"
Severus merely nodded and let the young teen in. 'I'm sorry,' he had said, and now Potter was saying, 'I accept your apology,' without the words needing to be spoken. He preferred it that way, not wanting to acknowledge the possible awkwardness between them.
The chess game was played in contemplative silence, with their entire exchange having occurred in gestures, smiles, a single spontaneous laugh on Potter's behalf and a 'check mate' on Severus'. It was a surprisingly pleasant way to spend a Saturday night. Albus was always far too chatty and twinkly during their chess games; Potter was far better at being still.
The child took this moment to clear his throat, breaking their comfortable silence with the kind of intake of breath that precedes a long-considered speech.
"It's Lugh I'm closest to," Potter was charmingly succinct. "That which I have sown coming back unto me in the first harvest. It used to be Yule, but my affiliation changed when-" He swallowed thickly, and they were back to silence.
Severus studied his mug. He was an expert at waiting out silences until it was possible to sidle out of the room or his fellow mummer left. As they were in his rooms it would have to be the latter. He had all night.
"They say Light Magic and the solar godly days go hand in hand. Whereas Dark Magic is closer to the lunar. I don't know if it's true as a rule, but for me my affiliation changed when my core and casting shifted toward a darker magic."
Severus eyed the young teen curiously. There was no discernible dark taint in him. Nor was there light, actually. The usual visual glow when Potter cast was bland as cardboard and equally immemorable.
"Cast a spell, Mister Potter."
Potter charged a stunner on the tip of his wand, a light spell. A faint glow surrounded the young teen, professing his weak light allegiance.
"Now a neutral spell."
With a deft flick of the wand he dispelled his stunner and set a stirring rod across the room into perpetual motion. The stirring spell had been carefully crafted to have extremely neutral ambience, wherefore Potter's surrounding magic glowed faintly grey.
This was highly unusual. Most peoples' cores had an affiliation that developed in the formative years of learning magic. As a minor Potter's magic was normal, but as a Lord his Family Magic (or was it magicks?) should have given him an obvious adult settled core.
"Cast a dark spell, Mister Potter. Preferably one that will not send the Headmaster investigating."
He watched Potter's face go through several iterations of determined grimace; all differed minutely according to degrees of determination and distaste. He was impressed despite himself that Potter was making it in Slytherin at all with his poker face like a gossip magazine.
Brow finally set in grim determination, Potter swept his wand into a wide arc, followed by tracing what looked like runes in the air. His magic was light; this was merely a protective ward he was erecting. Perhaps that was a wise precaution before casting dark magic, had it not been Severus' rooms they were in. He had his own set of wards on the Slytherin part of the dungeons which bypassed Albus'. It wasn't that he spied on his students, not really. He just liked being informed about the minutia of their Dark Magic casting.
Then Potter cast his dark spell, some kind of animation spell on a statue on the mantle. It began galloping, drawing in great heaving breaths and frothing at the mouth.
This wouldn't have been so unusual had it not been a statue of a turtle.
Severus noticed none of this, because Potter's magic had suddenly expanded to engulf the boy. It was as if a small universe had erupted in his living space, and Potter was standing dead centre. Shimmering oily blackness was interrupted like dandruff by small flecks of unnatural white.
He waved his hand into the bubble surrounding his apprentice. The air was thick and lethargic, clinging to him even as he stepped away. The black oozed off his hand and back to Potter with disturbing personality. They worshipped Magic because she was sentient, but not to this extreme!
He shook his leg, which the animated turtle was butting against while purring. Undeterred, the thing began to mount his shoe.
Potter stopped his spell, causing his oil-slick magic to suck back into him like an elastic band. Severus could almost hear the accompanying squelch.
For want of something to do, he picked up the turtle and manually replaced it. Its face had frozen in a strange pant, which didn't detract whatsoever from its previous hideous beauty.
"That was different," he said calmly now that there were several more metres between them. Not even specialising in necromancy left such a dark magical aura.
Potter looked utterly defeated. Even his skin appeared to be drooping. "It didn't used to be like that, Master. But like I said, something happened and it changed into this mess. It's embarrassing."
Severus had nothing to say, but felt overcome with the urge to comfort. Proof of the master-apprentice bond, he was not disgusted as much as concerned with a side of mildly disturbed.
He went through the self-soothing ritual of making tea. This evening should have already been over; it was past curfew.
It must have been the combination of the grey-strong Potter Lordship clashing with the dark-insane Black Family Magick, he decided. There were reasons that the families with multiple titles passed these down to multiple heirs instead of risking bottling it all into one son. Or daughter, in the progressive houses and matriarchal lines.
They sipped their tea in silence. It scalded the roof of Severus' mouth, but he did not want to postpone until it had sufficiently cooled. Some things were so sacred, not even the most magical would dare to bespell them, and a cuppa was one such sacrosanct.
He was struggling to find the right words to say. Words were difficult, but the longer they went without speaking the more uncomfortable Severus was growing. It had been a show of absolute trust, and now he must reward this somehow. Potter had exposed himself in reluctant discomfort, so Severus must reciprocate his discomfort. "It is peculiar, but not unnatural." Was that the best he could come up with, addressed into a mug of earl grey? Get it together, Severus. "You should have multiple heirs to prevent your progeny from having similar difficulties." Oh bugger all, that had been awful. Gods, why couldn't Potter have been a Hufflepuff? Pomona was as comforting as marshmallows in thick, creamy hot chocolate.
He stood abruptly and went to kneel at his grate. A floo call to the kitchens could at least get them hot chocolates.
Potter smirked at him across the room, and when the elf procured the chocolates (One specials chocolate for the great Harry Potter, one dark chocolate for Master Snapeys) the child beamed brilliantly. His personal sun was back, radiating blissfulness with the same intensity he had been radiating unctuous black goo not twenty minutes before.
All it had taken was hot chocolate. Pomona was probably onto something.
Restored to his usual unslytherin eager, cheerful, at-peace-with-the-world-and-himself, Potter bid good-night and left his rooms to risk the walk to the common room after curfew unaccompanied.
It was only sitting alone, watching the dancing flames cast their warm glow across his worldly possessions that Severus realised that Potter hadn't cast any of those spells verbally. Which, for a twelve year old no matter how advanced and special, should have been utterly impossible.
There were brief moments of epiphany where he wondered if Potter hadn't been replaced by an adult imposter before the start of his schooling. But then his clairvoyance dissipated like smoke twisting away from an extinguished candle. After all, who would be so masochistic as to repeat seven years of school, no matter the benefits it would bring? Children were the most devilish, cruel, spiteful monsters and nobody in their right mind would expose themselves voluntarily.
Severus pushed himself to his feet and prepared himself for spending the rest of the night out, rushing. He tried to stop himself from thinking, dreading the inevitable moment his critical thoughts circled around to wondering what in Merlin's name he was doing at Hogwarts surrounded by children, those most monstrous devils.
He did not want to face the reality that he had nowhere else to go, that Albus had cocooned him in feelings of safety while wrapping him in acromantula silk to eventually suck the fermented juices from him like the ominous spider he was.
Not tonight.
On the way to his floo Severus swept Albus' side of the chess board to the floor, firmly deciding he would not play the man's games any more.
He walked farther down to The Yard this time, hoping to see unfamiliar faces who did not know him, could not judge him. He was tired to his bones tonight, and did not want to see the bottomless understanding behind Mark's glamoured eyelashes.
In the blizzard of cigarette smoke which stung his eyes, Severus quickly located a man who was drunk enough already that he was barely barely conscious. His mane of greasy golden hair reflected the sequinned disco-ball lights. He had a hyena laugh which Severus could still hear echoing in his mind as he penetrated the man's mouth in the purple-lit restroom. The room throbbed around him with none of the hoped-for relieving distraction.
Severus left the man slumped against a urinal as he tucked himself back into his pants and left. His buttons were all neatly done up again, but the usual relief thereof eluded him.
He swayed with the cocktail in his blood, then giggled to himself about the word 'cocktail', apparating directly beside his Spinner's End couch to sleep it off.
When he woke sufficiently to gather the wits to down a hangover potion, he revelled in the knowledge it was Sunday. The Dark Arts books surrounding him loomed in the dim light creeping in through the curtains, dust moats caught in their immemorial dance.
Sober now, he had the presence of mind to feel deeply ashamed for his act of sexual violence the night before. Gramps would be disappointed in the quiet sighing way of his.
Mark-
Severus did not want to think about Mark Nelson, Harry Potter or Albus Dumbledore. Nor Lucius Malfoy. They seemed to be the root of all his troubles of late.
Despite himself he could see in his mind's eye Potter's excitement as he bubbled over his latest cauldron exploits.
Mark's playful teasing mixed with deep understanding and unconditional acceptance.
Albus' generosity to let him teach, experiment and head his house however he liked, rather than rot in Azkaban for his war crimes.
Lucius' loud manse. His elegance and all he had done to teach Severus how to be a Slytherin.
Severus could ignore his problems, but he refused to run from them. With not inconsiderable effort he roused himself, convinced his shower to provide sufficient hot water for a quick wash and dressed himself in his teaching robes again.
Each button was an act of putting himself back together. By the time even his over-long cuffs were neatly in place, he felt like himself again. He flooed back to his rooms, had a small breakfast and began his rounds. Ensuring everything was in its place, everyone as they should be. Hogwarts surrounded him in the motherly embrace he had been denied during his childhood.
When he reached his final stop, the Slytherin common room, he found Potter had set up a blackboard and was hosting a Potions class. The boy looked up and smiled at him despite Severus' disillusionment, but he was used to such impossibilities from his apprentice. He took a seat near the back and let the comforting familiarity of potions wash over him, even if it was merely a study session about the interactions of fire-ingredients on acidic potions.
Potter was good at this, he realised quickly. The Slytherins from first years to some NEWT students huddled in a corner pretending with too much effort not to be paying attention were all leaning plantlike toward Potter's sunny enthusiasm.
The tension bled out of Severus' chest gradually until he realised the assembled tutees had once again devolved into their own cliques. The lesson was over. Potter took a seat at the same table as him, pulled out homework and ignored him steadfastly.
Severus basked in the strangely comforting atmosphere of the green common room until dinnertime interrupted with a frantic air of hungry expectation.
"Are you alright, Master?" Potter addressed him quietly once they were alone. "Only, I was wondering if you liked my lesson, Sir, and would give me permission to open it to other houses. I think especially the first and second years would benefit from understanding reactions and ingredients better. With your permission."
Severus nodded, let his disillusionment dribble off and nodded again in the visible spectrum. It made sense to teach the younger years about reactions. Nonetheless, Potter was twelve, and giving him his own little classes to teach would cause a series of heated debates in the staff room which Severus really didn't need right now.
"In January, when the first to third years are accustomed to deferring to you in classes, I will arrange for you to have a suitable room to host your little review sessions." He ignored his health having been asked after, and Potter ignored the lack of response thereabout. Potter was uncannily good at phrasing his concern in a way that did not make Severus feel pushed to acknowledge it.
"Go to dinner, Mister Potter."
"Only it you'll come with, Master Snape," The boy grinned cheekily, offering a hand to pull Severus to his feet.
It was the first casual touch initiated between them. Severus let it happen and walked them in silence to the Great Hall for the closing meal of this weekend of upheaval.
As he ate he considered his upcoming meeting with Mister and Miss Goyle in an attempt to find a better solution to the boy's learning difficulties.
It had begun with Vincent Crabbe's difficulties with the written word, funnily enough. His struggles to unjumble the letters made for atrocious essays, which Potter had brought to his awareness. There was a muggle diagnosable condition called dyslexia, he had explained after suffering through grading the third essay. They had soon found solutions for the boy to work with dictation quills, read-out-loud spells (invented for children's stories, but needs must), and a lot of hard work on the Hufflepuff-worthy Vincent Crabbe's behalf.
Seeing Crabbe with his dictation quill had given Severus the idea that young Goyle was struggling with some condition as well, not just stupid as he had first assumed. Together with his elder sister he was going to talk the boy through a muggle IQ test followed by some simple reading comprehension tasks.
As he was clueless to muggle pedagogy, he was hoping that something would jump out at him, or that Bellatrix Goyle would have some input about whether her brother had been dropped on his head too many times as a child. Something to explain the boy's difficulties so they could find a way for him to learn more easily.
Worst case scenario the boy was just dim, and he would have lost nothing more than a few hours of time. Best case scenario Goyle would outperform Longbottom in end of term testing, which he could rub under Mineva's nose for weeks.
Severus smirked over at Minerva as he stabbed into his pie, causing her to stare back catlike in concern.
He blanked his facial expression and returned to the excellent steak-and-kidney on his plate. Scheming should not be done when on display to the school at mealtimes, he chided himself mentally. You never knew who was watching and how they would interpret whatever they saw.