A/N: It has been a while... apologies, I have been very busy. Here is the next little bit. As much as I would love to say I will be updating again soon-ish that probably won't be the case, as it has only been vaguely outlined so far. I have been mostly writing other stories (I have some GO ones in the works at the moment- if you would like to read them they will be posted on AO3, where I have the same username).
By the time he had apparated back to Hogwarts, Severus was ready for either a very strong cup of tea or an early night. Considering that he usually didn't get to bed until the early hours, that was saying something. It was just about dinner-time, though, so he collected everything that wasn't his with a weary wave of his wand and plodded up to the Great Hall.
Some annoying person, years in the past, had decided that having a table for professors up the front of the hall would provide the students with role models in dining etiquette. Any professor could have said that it didn't work that way. It just meant that all the teachers had to try to eat while simultaneously watching horrific manners.
Severus supposed that it might work well in conjunction with a diet plan, but it wasn't as if that were in any way necessary for him, or, really, any of the other teachers. Slughorn had retired years ago and though Pomona could be seen as a bit plump that was just how she was built.
"Severus!" Minerva exclaimed. "Did you get…"
Her voice lowered and she trailed off, seemingly not wanting to share any part of their plans with the rest of the table, or indeed the entire student body.
Nodding at her, Severus opened a compartment for her to catch a glimpse of midnight-blue fabric. When Filius, seated beside her, tried to lean over for a look he closed it promptly. The smaller man gave him a head tilt in acknowledgement of the futility of his interest.
"Good," she said. "Sorry, but it's Trelawney for you today. I was late too or I would have kept you a place."
Trelawney?
He shot her a betrayed look, and said, "What with her omniscient predictions of gloom, and the unfortunate masticating of the students, I fear I won't be eating very much today."
Filius shot him a look of commiseration. "That's the truth, isn't it? Perhaps Septima will swap—"
They all knew that would not be happening. But then again…
Bidding farewell to the pair, he made his way over to where Kettleburn was sitting. The scarred man was seated between Pomona, and Albus, which made his plan perhaps incrementally more likely to succeed.
"Back from London?" Kettleburn asked. "Did you get—"
Severus silently opened his briefcase and extracted three heavy sacks of animal feed, depositing them on the ground. Closing the compartment, he bowed slightly to the surprised man.
"One shipment of feed from Maximilian's, for you as requested."
There were a few moments, where Severus didn't move, leaving his hand on the closed briefcase. Kettleburn was still too, awkwardly, and after a bit placed his cutlery together on his plate.
"Well," he said with slight confusion, "Spose I'd best get these put away."
And Kettleburn toted the sacks away, muscles bulging from the strain.
Severus smirked, Pomona looked at him curiously, and Albus laughed. Severus then sat down in the vacated seat, and placed his briefcase on the floor. Tapping his wand to Kettleburn's abandoned plate made it vanish, and when a clean plate appeared he ladled casserole onto it.
"Did you—" Pomona seemed to be having trouble formulating her question. "Did you just get him to move so you could have his seat?"
At that Severus only quirked an eyebrow, but he could tell that Pomona understood when Albus nodded his head to the far end of the table, where there was an empty seat between Charity Burbage and Trelawney.
"Oh," Pomona said. Then, "Would you have tried that with me?"
"Would it have worked?" Severus asked.
He could tell by the flush on her cheeks that it would have. Severus didn't press the point though, merely spooning himself a bite of food.
"Very clever, Severus," Albus said. "Then again, I expect nothing less from you. And—well—though it may not be the best form to talk so of one in my employment, I must say I quite understand the impulse."
The rest of the evening meal passed in much the same manner as usual, and Kettleburn didn't return. After the students had been dismissed, Severus handed the chocolate coins to Dumbledore, who accepted with a grateful smile. He then offered to accompany Pomona to the greenhouses, as he carried her potting mix in his bag.
"There's no point in removing it, as the weightless charm works well," he said in a carefully nonchalant tone of voice.
She sent him a puzzled smile and accepted, but when they were partway there she spoke.
"I do know what you are doing, Severus."
He favoured her with a puzzled smile of his own.
"Don't bother—I get the point. I'll owe you a favour, my boy, and you won't have to deal with her next time either. You could have simply asked, you know."
His smile morphed into a rather wicked grin. "But where's the fun in that, now?"
Pomona shook her head faux-mournfully. "Slytherins," she said.
He helped her move the potting mix into its rightful place, and then turned to leave. Before he could, however, she surprised him with a brief hug.
"Remember," she said seriously. "You can always just ask. I don't mind being a friend to you, Severus. In fact, I quite enjoy it sometimes. Even if I can never really tell just what is going on in your mind."
On Tuesday evening, after dinner, Minerva and Severus met in their sewing room to properly begin.
"Very nice," Minerva approved. "You've got an eye for quality, Severus— this will be warm, and it's not flashy, either. You know, last year—"
"Last year you needed a spring cloak, and all you could find were in shades of mustard—I'm aware."
Severus had heard about this multiple times, and knew to cut in before she really got going. If undistracted, she could wax on about the detriment of suppliers trying to predict oncoming fashion.
The woman sniffed. "Well, yes."
She picked up what would be the lining, and stroked it—it was soft under the pads of her fingers. Even if Severus disliked what he considered to be extraneous speech, he could know quality when he found it.
When she looked up, he was shifting everything off their table, collecting the odds and ends that had accumulated there and moving them into a drawer. "I've had it washed already," Severus said, "so we can start properly. It did say it was no-shrink, but—"
Minerva shared a mischievous glance with him. She could see in her mind very clearly the occasion that he was remembering. That had certainly cured her of believing the claims on the labels. No shrink indeed! That beautiful autumn-patterned skirt had decided that it preferred to be a size four, thank you very much. They had both agreed that while some shrinkage was expected, on that occasion the fabric had gone above and beyond what was warranted. Semi-sentient, perhaps…
"Right." She considered the table with a slight tilt to her head, and spelled it with a tergio. "Lay it out, then."
The fabric settled gently over the polished wood like night falling in late summer: slowly and richly. Minerva smoothed it out with the touch of her light fingers; Severus gathered the tracing-paper patterns and some pins.
The soft rustle of the patterns as they were pinned in place was the only sound.
When it was ready to cut out, Minerva shooed him away. "Go find me some dressmaker's chalk."
She was the one with the enchanted scissors. Severus handed her the dressmaker's chalk and then settled down with the box of thread he'd found beside it. It was all hopelessly muddled- tangled, and in no discernable order. Really, it ought to be put back by colour...
The snick of Minerva's scissors and the swish of fabric lulled him. His eyes, drooping as his hands fumbled with the reels, gave up the fight and fell shut.
When Minerva glanced over at him, the corners of her mouth twitched up. After placing her cut and labelled fabric in a neat pile, she picked up her wand and summoned a blanket for him.