The Teachers Arrive

Hagrid had wanted to tell McGonagall about Snape's thrashing from Longbottom, but when Snape threatened to obliviate him, he'd backed off, not keen to have any magic interfere with his mind. "'Aven't got enough brain power as 'tis, Sev'rus, don' want to be messin' with it any other ways," Hagrid had said, hands raised to Snape's pointed wand, which trembled slightly.

"Nobody breathes a word about this, understood?" muttered Snape, making a tedious and aching ascent up the hill towards the castle. "What Longbottom does is his business, but McGonagall will not hear about this from me, or from you."

"Why are ye lettin' 'im get away with it?" Hagrid asked, confused. Snape declined to be carried, so Hagrid was having to walk with awkward, deliberate slowness.

Snape heaved a sigh before answering. "It was man to man. He was setting things to rights. It was between him and me, nothing to do with school business."

"But you're no traitor, Sev'rus!" exclaimed Hagrid, and Snape noted wryly that he didn't dispute the accusation of being a bully.

"His points of view are subjective, Hagrid, and his opinion. He's entitled to them."

"No' so that he can go beatin' yer up and hexin' yer!"

Snape's head was beginning to swim and it felt like a nosebleed might be imminent. He shook his head at Hagrid wearily. "Let's leave it be. I don't intend to pursue it." Then he left Hagrid at his hut and picked his way back up the hill to the front door of Hogwarts. It wasn't until he was about to enter that he realised he'd been silently shadowed by Fisk.

He spent the remainder of the day in his quarters, in a muscle-relaxant bath infused with a hematoma tincture, then took more Restoration Remedy, then an Episkey spell for his nosebleed, then simply lay on his bed attempting to get comfortable and rest, but the nagging pain in his shoulder and back made it almost impossible.

Feeling uncharacteristically sorry for himself, he made his way to his office where he kept his own stores of potions to see if there was anything that might help, and while he found a myriad of largely pointless cures for rare or ridiculous ailments, there was nothing practical for his current condition or, more pointedly, bruised ego.

Later, self-imprisoned in his quarters, McGonagall hailed him over the Floo, wanting to know if he was coming to dinner because she wanted to ask him about Neville Longbottom. "Not tonight," he replied dispiritedly over the rumbling of his empty stomach. "Bit tired. But I have spoken to Longbottom and he assures me he will be here tomorrow as originally planned."

"Oh! Oh I see. Well done, Severus, that's encouraging." A pause, in which her bafflement was obvious. "Are you sure you won't join me?"

"Thank you but I…I must decline."

And feeling as dejected as just about any time he could remember, he poured himself a large whisky, combined it with a slightly-more-than-recommended dose of Dreamless Sleep, and fell sound asleep in his armchair to a dull book, cold fireplace and a single, flickering candle.

It was Monday the fourteenth, and the teachers were arriving. The day dawned with a glorious sunrise, heraldic, as if acknowledging the significance of this event. Most of the teachers were Apparating from their various abodes and dwellings across the country, some were coming by Floo, and Hooch was, naturally, flying in on her latest edition broomstick.

They were due to arrive around 8am as the entire faculty and support staff were then to convene in the Great Hall for a morning tea staff meeting at 10:30am.

McGonagall had donned one of her favourite and most impressive outfits for the occasion, exchanging her hard-wearing and comfortable velvet green outer-robe for a pearl and black patterned damask number which contrasted imperially against her high-necked black top beneath and finished it with a pearl brooch. Of course, she wore her pointed hat and heeled boots as befitted a witch of her position. She stationed herself at the door of the Entrance Hall to greet people as they arrived. With her, at her side, was Snape. McGonagall said to him: "I will introduce you to those you haven't met, and for all the others wanting to know where you've been the last eight years, I suggest you have a patter."

And so, hiding the pain in his shoulder and back, Snape stood to McGonagall's right in the welcome party, with Hagrid next to him, as the teachers one by one arrived in the courtyard, variously lugging their cases, bags and trunks.

One of the first to arrive was the new DADA teacher, Professor Benedict Hellmann. He was accompanied by his wife, Marlene and two daughters: eleven year old daughter, Amelie and seven year old Meredith. They had Portkeyed over from Germany two weeks earlier (travel between nations being delightfully informal and uncomplicated in the Wizarding world) and had spent the fortnight having A Great British Holiday, before finding accommodation in Hogsmeade and making themselves at home, ironically just down the street from Slughorn.

Hellmann had been to Hogwarts several times earlier as part of the recruitment process, but it was the first introduction for his wife and daughter. Compared to their beloved Durmstrang castle, which was built in the medieval Bavarian Alps style, in perfect condition, striking and romantic in appearance, Hogwarts presented very much as the plain cousin. While Hellmann earnestly greeted McGonagall with a bow at the waist, Snape noticed his wife and daughters glancing about them with expressions so carefully neutral as to border on disdainful.

McGonagall turned to Snape and Hagrid and introduced the new Master of DADA. Hellman was tall, extremely upright, with pale, carefully combed back hair trimmed to within an inch of its life, clean shaven and he wore spectacles with gold wired frames. Snape put him in his late thirties. He was dressed in the typical professorly attire of wool suit and tie in muted colours with his academic robe atop.

Snape shook his hand and winced a little at the fierce grip he received in return. A solitary pronounced jerk of the arm and Hellman fixed Snape with a critical stare. "Ah, Professor Snape, at last – I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance. At Durmstrang we followed with interest your activities in the war. My networks also mentioned encounters with you under your pseudonym during your time in Europe. I believe we may know people in common." His English was immaculate and swift, but there was no mistaking the clipped Teutonic accent, the occasional consonant replacement. Snape elected not to comment on the apparent withheld intelligence by Durmstrang of his whereabouts post war. With German ingenuity, they obviously decided that particular information might have been useful to them.

"Indeed. We must make a time to chat further."

Snape then met his wife who was so formal and cool she made Narcissa look like the comedic lead in a Christmas panto. Lastly the daughter Amelie, who would be starting school at Hogwarts alongside Servius in first year. She took after her father for colouring and her mother in attitude. There was a clear, clinical intelligence in the pale blue eyes.

House elves then quickly attended to their bags and coats and took them through to the Great Hall.

Flitwick and Vector arrived next, looking similar to when Snape had last seen them, and welcomed him warmly. Snape gave them his patter when they enquired about his past, and they moved through to the Hall without fuss, knowing this procedure well.

Hooch arrived by broom, and then Aurora Sinistra via Floo. When Sinistra came over to greet him, she looked at him oddly and searched his face with a frown on her own. He thought it was because of his missing years, which she did remark on lightly, but no – there was something else – something that made concern and doubt and relief blend uncomfortably in her features. "Is everything alright, Professor?" he asked her when she lingered.

"Are you well, Severus?" she questioned, her look penetrating.

"You mean the snakebite -?"

"No, no - I mean…you were not well by the end of the..the you know. You had headaches. Do you still have headaches?"

It was his turn to frown, wondering what she knew. He didn't speak, but her smoothing brow and slight nod showed she'd registered his response in the affirmative. "Perhaps we could catch up?" she said cryptically, then headed off to the Hall.

Neville Longbottom came into view at the front door, silhouetted against the sunlight, and Snape immediately tensed, setting his expression and clasping his hands behind his back. But Longbottom was well in control. He bent to give McGonagall a light hug and a friendly peck on the cheek, handed his coat and bags with thanks to the elves who behaved like star-struck fans, and then said, "Thank you for your owl, Minerva, and I'm sorry if I behaved impulsively with my resignation. I'm glad to be here."

Minerva! Cheeky upstart, she'd been his Head of House and then his Headmistress! Snape was damned if he was going to be addressed by his first name. And what owl? Had she corresponded with him?

"Severus told me you met and sorted everything out," said McGonagall, beaming.

For the first time, Longbottom looked at Snape, and coolly holding his gaze, replied, "I think we have an understanding."

Hagrid coughed and spluttered loudly and Snape studiously ignored him.

"Something wrong with your shoulder…Professor?" asked Longbottom, not looking in the least concerned. "Not serious I hope."

"No," said Snape bluntly, and straightened up from the slight bend he'd assumed to take strain off his bruise. McGonagall watched the exchange, and, conscious of her waiting for evidence of a truce, Snape forced the corners of his mouth into a smile that better resembled a grimace. "Nothing that can't be…corrected…in time."

Longbottom had his hands in his trouser pockets and rocked with confidence on his heels. His grin was self-assured, every bit of him a Gryffindor. "Well. The dungeon hasn't been the same without a bat. I think this will be an interesting year."

"Neville!" admonished McGonagall with an affectionate tap of her wand. "Don't be calling him a bat, you're not a student now. Off with you, into the Hall with the others."

Snape glowered at him and refrained from watching as Longbottom, still smiling, ambled off to the Hall. He was smarting not only about the insult, but the Headmistress's rather indulgent and ineffectual scolding, thereby subtly communicating to Snape where the real power actually lay.

Agatha Froggonmore, the Transfiguration Master, followed Slughorn, who had gone immediately through to the Hall with a cheery wave. Froggonmore was tall and would have been stately if she didn't have such an obvious stoop. She had slightly frizzy red hair cut into a short 1920's bob that only seemed to emphasise her lined, horse-like face. Snape didn't think she looked in the slightest amphibian. She had bright, shrewd eyes that assessed Snape from head to toe when McGonagall introduced her.

"Yes. Professor. I've heard about you," her voice was startlingly deep for a woman, and her hand was enormous when he shook it. She didn't smile, but she wasn't unfriendly, just unusually focused.

"Agatha is studying in her spare time. She's aspiring to Warlock, isn't that right?" McGonagall informed him.

Froggonmore nodded. "I studied potions under Horace. I excelled."

"Ah. Very good," replied Snape, unsure what to do with this pronouncement.

"Where were you?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that -,"

"Where were you after the war?"

"Um, travelling. Travelling. The continent."

"What are you going to do about this castle?"

"Sorry?"

"All this confounding building? Bloody nuisance."

McGonagall leaned towards them. "We'll be talking about that in the staff meeting, Agatha. Everyone has gone through to the Hall."

An elf attempted to take Froggonmore's battered leather bag but she wrenched it back. "I'm the only one that touches this bag!" she barked, the elf jumping back in surprise. Then she loped off to the Hall.

"She's a little odd. But brilliant, simply brilliant," murmured McGonagall.

Sybil Trelawney, Bathsheda Babbling and Poppy Pomfrey arrived as a huddle and were soon on through to join the others. Then Diaphne came hurrying up the stairs.

"Morning Professor McGonagall," she said with a smile. "I haven't had a chance to thank you for offering me a place on the roll."

McGonagall took a second too long to answer and Snape realised she'd not yet quite committed Diaphne's name to memory. He stepped forward. "I enrolled Diaphne last week, Ma'am. Seventh year."

"My pleasure, Diaphne," said McGonagall quickly. "Madam Pomfrey was very complimentary about your abilities. I'm sure it would be nice to have them officially recognized."

"Yes Ma'am, thank you Ma'am." said Diaphne. With a perfunctory smile at Snape, she slipped through towards the Hall, not looking back.

"Minerva!" came a jovial voice from the door, and another stranger stood there. A round-faced, rather flushed plump woman with short brown hair, ill-fitting jeans and a great woolen jumper, walked up and slung a backpack off her shoulders with such a flourish that McGonagall was forced to step back. "How was your vacation?" the woman asked, and Snape detected an Afrikaans accent. "I went home, saw the family, fantastic!"

"Oh…I wish I could say the same but this old castle needs looking after. Welcome back to a new school year, all the same! Hentie, this is Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and the new Deputy. Severus, please meet Hentie Oosthuizen, she's our Muggle Studies teacher."

Beaming emphatically, Oosthuizen grabbed Snape's hand and pumped it. "Hey it's awesome to meet you Professor Snape." He flinched as his shoulder was wrenched slightly. "Man, sorry if I hurt you, I'm used to my brothers – they're all bigger than me." Then she moved on directly and launched into a massive hug with Hagrid. "Hey I missed you bad, eh, you old bear! I brought some things back for you from Africa! I tell you, we are going to thrash you in the rugby this year!"

Snape watched somewhat speechlessly as Oosthuizen and Hagrid fell into a hearty, happy confab and turned back to McGonagall. "That was unexpected," he murmured. "What's she like as a teacher?"

McGonagall raised a lenient brow. "We deliberately tried to get someone very different to Alecto Carrow. Happily, her personality complements Charity's textbook very well. You've probably spotted she's extraordinarily comfortable in Muggledom. She's been trying to teach Hagrid the rules of rugby. I must admit, he'd make short work of an opposing team."

"Then that's everyone, isn't it?" said Snape, having been ticking off the faculty on a mental checklist and feeling ready to go back to bed. And just then a broom came to land in the courtyard, which wasn't strictly allowed but the skill of the rider on this occasion meant the landing was perfectly controlled. A woman dismounted.

This woman now walking towards them was again a stranger. She was tall, slender and thirty-something with the indefinable, seductive allure of a Veela. She wore jodhpurs faultlessly, with a blouse with a deep v-neck and knee-high boots, and carried her broom in a way that turned it improbably into an object of intense sex appeal. Somehow she managed to remove a rucksack from her shoulders, hold the broom and walk up steps with complete aplomb. Snape stared.

"Headmistress," she said in honeyed tones, extending a gracious hand to McGonagall as she came through the door. "Lovely to be back."

"Welcome, Concetta, how nice to see you again. Did you have a good break?"

"Lovely, thank you. Rolanda and I explored Snowdonia and the Beacons by broom. It's beautiful there."

"Sounds delightful. Concetta, this is Professor Severus Snape, no doubt Rolanda has mentioned him. Severus, please meet Concetta Cropper, School Counsellor."

Snape was flustered. He in turn shook Cropper's hand and tried not to look directly at her but it was impossible. He couldn't tell if it were pheromones, her intense physical presence or the fact that she was a Counsellor that was unbalancing him, but not to look at her might give her reasons to try and analyse him, a prospect Snape found simultaneously terrifying and incredibly tempting.

"Yes. Rolanda told me about you when we got Minerva's letter. It all sounds like an amazing story, perhaps you can tell me all about it one day. It must have been very hard for you."

He nodded uncomfortably and offered a small, tight-lipped smile.

"It was lovely to meet you Professor. Do you mind if I call you Severus? I don't like to be too formal with my associates."

Snape merely looked at her, which she took as acceptance, then with a serene smile she handed her bag and broomstick to a house elf and sashayed her way to the Hall.

McGonagall, looking at Snape, who was looking back at the departing Cropper, gave a small laugh. "Yes. She does that."

"Is she a Veela?"

"No, actually. Terribly unfair."

Hagrid came over, shaking his great, shaggy head. "I lose me tongue every time."

"Rolanda?" queried Snape and McGonagall nodded her head sagely.

"Confirmed. At least three years."

"Hogwarts has a School Counsellor now?"

"Yes," replied McGonagall, looking worn out herself from the marathon of meeting, greeting and introductions. She closed the great front door. "When the school reopened after the war, we hired her on a temporary basis. The students and the staff were still deeply affected - grieving, displaced, anxious and afraid. Even if there is a winner and a loser in the war, people don't just shake hands afterwards like a game of Quidditch. The Slytherins had terrible trouble reintegrating into the school community. Concetta worked almost exclusively with them alone for several months. And we extended and extended her contract and eventually I decided to offer the role to her permanently. Wizarding counsellors are like hens teeth, we're very lucky to have her."

Slowly they crossed the floor of the Entrance Hall towards the Great Hall from where an animated buzz of chatty teachers could be heard.

"Does she have enough to keep busy?" asked Snape, wondering what a counsellor in a school did all day if they weren't teaching.

"She does career guidance as well. Works with special needs students. Does a very good job with First Years' orientation. Really, she's taken a load off the House Heads."

They entered the Hall. The four House tables had been shortened and rearranged into a square and the teachers were all seated, helping themselves to mounds of morning tea and beverages. When McGonagall entered, the faculty applauded, a sure sign that her leadership was extremely well received. She went to the empty seats on one side of the square and Snape sat at the empty seat beside her, thankful for this trifling indicator of his status and hoping that it wasn't lost on Longbottom.

She opened the meeting with announcements, including Slughorn's retirement, Hellmann's appointment and Snape's new position. After the requisite rounds of applause and congratulations, general business then ensued.

The condition of the castle was discussed, and the work on the Slytherin Common Room. The Kitchen Elves negotiation was explained. A warning that Drop Bears had escaped into the Forbidden Forest now only reinforced the strictly-out-of-bounds ruling. The Quidditch pitch was to be resurfaced, and the manufacturer's recall of last year's brooms meant that the teams and practice scheduled would be postponed until October. The rubble-pile needed better isolation measures. A large number of unidentified mer-type species had been found floating dead on the lake surface but causes hadn't been identified – strictly no swimming for the time being. The Board of Governors Annual Meeting would be to announce the posts after the last elections – McGonagall would be going to London to attend that.

"Right," said McGonagall a little later after everyone had enjoyed a breather and cup of tea. "I want to move to the next agenda item which is to reconfirm everyone's extracurricular roles. As I mentioned towards the end of last year, I had quite a few disappointed students coming to see me concerned that their particular club seemed to have dwindled away, and I want to ensure that doesn't happen again. I've got my Clubs and Committees Register here, so I'll work through the list.

"Sybil. Will you still be running the Harmony Club? Just nod if yes and I'll tick it off. Good. Bathsheba – Gobstones?"

"No, Minerva, I don't think so. It wasn't popular. Have you any clubs without a teacher?"

"The Chess Club? Binns' attendance was sporadic and the members were quite committed."

Babbling looked unconvinced.

"Horace, will you still be running the Slug Club now you're Emeritus?"

"Yes, yes of course."

"Argus, Castle Care seemed to dwindle away – I think only meeting every six months rather detracts from the motivation of the members."

"I only had two members!"

"There's plenty of gargoyle transfiguration they could be practicing," said McGonagall sternly, peering at him over her glasses. "Well let me know. Right, Hentie, Magical Arts seemed to be going strong. Continuing?"

"Oh definitely Ma'am."

"Neville, the Gardening Club had thirty members by the end of the year! What on earth were you growing? Carry on. Now Vector, the Otherworlds Club – I don't recommend using Vanishing Cabinets anymore, and the Centaurs have asked me specifically not to be asked for appearances again, otherwise it was going very well. Carry on. Book Club still going Irma? Good, good, and Filius, Choir and Music I trust? Excellent. Who am I missing?"

"Stargazers had twenty-two members by July," said Sinistra. "I'm carrying on."

Hagrid said, "Friends and Familiars is still going, but I'm not accepting tarantulas."

"I'll take the Chess Club," said Froggonmore, "If someone will take up Drama and Performing Arts? It's not my thing."

McGonagall looked around the table but nobody raised their hands. "I see. Maybe I can take that one. Otherwise it is up for adoption. Last one is the Dueling Club."

Snape was suddenly alert and about to offer his services when Hellmann raised his hand. "Yes. I am interested in that. I can run a Dueling Club."

Snape glared at him without speaking. McGonagall said, "Thank you Professor Hellmann, come and see me in a few days and I'll explain the rules for extra-curricular. And Severus, as Deputy you take on the Student Consultation Committee."

"The what?"

"The SCC. Once a month. Prefects and Student Heads. Just make sure they don't start asking for anything outlandish. Plus, I want a regular meeting with the builders and the MOM on progress of this rebuild. Please set that up."

Snape sat back, scowling, then remembered where he was, and that a Counsellor might be analyzing his expression, so evened out his features. Since when were students consulted? In the space of eight years, Hogwarts had become confrontingly modern and administrative. Was a time when Basilisks roamed the halls; Ogres would shamble in and ruin bathroom fixtures. Those were the days. And he should have been running the Dueling Club – clearly this Hellmann had points to prove. Then he smirked to himself at the idea of a Gardening Club and felt a little consoled.

"Now," said McGonagall, casting an important look to each around the table. "To the first day of term. As I wrote to you, the Express will deliver the students on Sunday 3rd September, and classes start the next day. We have but two weeks to get classrooms, lesson plans and supplies in order. The Slytherin Common room will need to be set up. We'll run the Sorting Hat ceremony as usual - ,"

"Ah," interrupted Hellmann, coughing to get attention. "This might be a good time to tell you that my daughter Amelie does not want to be, as you say, Sorted. We do not have this practice at Durmstrang. Perhaps we should make the Sorting Hat ceremony optional?"

"I beg your pardon?" said McGonagall, eyebrows so high they almost knocked her hat off, then seemed to remember that she was talking to a brand new member of staff and said, "I'm terribly sorry, Professor, but the Sorting Ceremony is a centuries old tradition."

Everyone turned to look at him.

"Well then if it can't be optional, I'm sure there must be exceptions. Students who didn't fit one of the four Houses?"

There was a reflective lull. None of the teachers could think of a single student that didn't end up being placed in a House. However they all knew of students who'd complained of finding the selection uncomfortable, and plenty of occasions when a student had been moved from one House to another.

Cropper spoke up in her smooth voice. "Minerva, it might be time for Hogwarts to challenge whether such narrow definitions are really appropriate for individuals at such formative and impressionable times in their lives. We might inadvertently be pressuring people into a confined set of behaviours and expectations when they should be allowed to explore all the different aspects of their personalities. I think we should be asking ourselves if perhaps the Sorting Hat isn't better relegated to a place of historical significance and exploring new, brave ways of helping students navigate a world away from home."

Silence.

"Eh?" said Hagrid.

Snape had been listening to the Counsellor when she first started speaking, but then he got distracted looking at her. Then he closed in again towards the end when he thought she'd said the Sorting Hat should remain on its shelf in the Headmaster's Office. While he'd had a fair number of newborn Slytherins balk at the decision when their House had been announced during the ceremony, he couldn't think of a single one who'd walked out the front door of Hogwarts at the end of their seventh year and regretted their allegiance, who'd questioned their allocation or who'd wished they'd been nominated for any other House. In fact, the opposite. Slytherins – of all the Houses, even Gryffindor – became almost feverish in their fidelity, their pride. It was partly cultivated by the 'Slytherins vs The World' standpoint they'd arrived at. The Slytherin school-tie network worked for its members long after they'd hung up their Quidditch uniforms.

"Well that's a fascinating proposal," said McGonagall stoically, seeming to find eye-contact with Cropper somewhat difficult. "Why don't we explore that idea…another day? Perhaps one for the SCC, Severus? How do the children feel about being in a House?"

Snape raised non-committal brows and nodded. He was certain the matter would never be raised again after this meeting, young Amelie notwithstanding. If he'd learned anything at all from being mired amongst adolescents for decades, it was that they couldn't bear being separated from the group, and Amelie would be hammering down the door of one or another House Common Room by night two.

Interestingly, the one teacher who fostered House devotion more than just about anyone else was Rolanda Hooch, the competitive spirit she relied on for the Quidditch Pitch bordered on hysterical. But she sat next to Cropper and stared heatedly at the table in front of her, the tips of her ears a flaming red, her jaw set. Cropper seemed utterly oblivious.

"But until such time as the Sorting Hat sings his song for the last time, I still require four Heads of Houses," continued McGonagall. "And I'm sad to say that I'm giving up my post with Gryffindor after thirty-six years. Och, I've been bleeding, sweating and crying scarlet and gold for all that time, and I will die with the flag in my coffin, for sure. But I'm handing the scarf over to Neville, because he has more lion in his heart than Godric himself. Make Gryffindor proud, Neville."

There was another round of applause as Neville Longbottom rose from his seat and came round to give McGonagall a handshake and genteel kiss on either cheek, and accept from her a Gryffindor scarf that was woven with gold thread. He wrapped it around his neck and then raised another round of applause from the group for McGonagall herself, who blushed effusively.

Snape watched all this with concealed cynicism. While he hadn't always loved being in the classroom in the past, he had been unremittingly passionate about his House and couldn't believe he wouldn't be gathering his serpents around him on his return. During his year as Headmaster, Slughorn had approached him several times with concerns about the toxicity coursing through Slytherin blood, the island-like separation of the House, the fear he held for the students who boasted of their supremacist views. Snape had listened and recognized the signs of Slytherin traits being warped and perverted by a self-imposed echo-chamber of evangelism and propaganda. They didn't have the maturity to know it for what it was, but they had the instincts of survivalists, a drive to dominate, and so embraced fully this apparent window in time to seek glory in the form they understood. Slytherins needed less justification for what they wanted, their character was driven to it, they would never remain down, they couldn't even if they wanted to. In their very DNA was the predisposition to rise to the surface. But they needed strong leadership to corral it, and when Snape learned of the canker eating at the core of his serpents, a cold heaviness rested on his heart. He had longed to swap places with Slughorn.

Snape had seen the way Longbottom had marshaled his schoolmates behind that aggravating Dumbledore's Army, and he didn't doubt that he had the wherewithal to make an excellent Gryffindor Head of House, in fact he supposed Longbottom would relish opportunities to prove his mettle in any way he could. Perhaps it was just as well Slughorn would continue at the helm.

McGonagall had finished her meeting. It was almost lunchtime and some irascible kitchen elves were ready to start magicking food up to the Great Hall, so there was a hubbub of activity as the meeting was drawn to a close and the staff cleared the tables to make room for the food. Hellmann made a big performance of drawing forth his wand and restoring the House tables to their original positions, and Snape noticed that his wand was black, like his own, probably also ebony. This irked him considerably.

As things were being organized and the teachers moved haphazardly like colliding molecules, Snape found that his path was intercepted by Diaphne. She glanced up at him in this accident of meetings, and offered an entirely genuine, entirely natural smile, the kind that reached her eyes with a touch of humour, the kind she used to give him when she'd tricked him or teased him, that signaled today she felt loving. And she moved on, giving the same smile to Longbottom behind him, who returned it. The whole incident had been mere moments in the execution, but in it, as if slowed to half-time, Snape watched her smile at Longbottom, and watched him lock eyes with her and give his own smile in return, ostensibly equally genuine and guileless, and Snape could almost see a connection being formed. Men understand the motives of other men, and what he saw from Longbottom was more than simple politeness: Longbottom's brain had processed in a fifth of a second that a pretty woman was noticing him, which he seized, acknowledged and returned with his own message of interest and availability should she be so inclined.

There hadn't been time for Diaphne to communicate a response, but there had been for Snape. After she'd moved on, and motivated by property rights he didn't actually own, he stopped in his tracks and glared at Longbottom. "She's a student," he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Diaphne. She's a student. Seventh year."

Longbottom's face had dropped all pretense of friendliness and approachability and assumed a cold, distant regard privately reserved for Snape. "I have no idea what you're talking about or why." And then he walked away.

"Severus?" He turned; was McGonagall, and she lightly touched his arm to usher him aside.

"I wasn't sure whether to mention Servius to all the staff, so I erred on the side of caution," she said in low tones. "Under the circumstances, it just didn't seem the sort of thing to announce without being prepared to answer a million questions. How would you like me to handle it?"

"I can handle it myself, Ma'am, thank you. I'll tell people when the time is appropriate."

"Very good. And I'll talk separately to the respective teachers about Diaphne doing her NEWTs. Otherwise, have I covered everything do you think?"

"I sincerely hope you don't have any more surprises."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm just starting to realise how much has changed in eight years. And I had no idea you were giving up the Head of House."

She smiled ruefully. "Sorry Severus. There were quite a few things I wanted to talk with you about at dinner last night. Still, you're in the picture now."

"Who is Heading up Hufflepuff since Pomona left? Is it Professor Froggonmore?"

"Oh no. She's solid blue Ravenclaw. It's Hentie actually, she asked me for role specifically even though she wasn't schooled here. She told me that in South Africa, badgers are renowned for being virtually invincible: that they steal food off lions, can survive snake venom and exploit birds for their own ends. Sometimes in the same day! She is busily re-branding that House and they've come out boxing under her leadership. This faculty is full of surprises, Severus. You'll see."

After a long and rowdy lunch, the teachers all dispersed to their various rooms and accommodations to unpack, and Snape went to his office to have a secret snifter of whisky having found the morning difficult and wearing. For the first time, he'd started to harbor doubts whether returning to Hogwarts had been such a wise idea. He felt out of step, he felt threatened, disconcerted, and all the changes of staff were unsettling. The old team, however, were welcoming and friendly, in particular Flitwick, who had engaged him in a lengthy conversation at lunch. They shared their impressions of Hellmann, and shared discreet opinions on Hellmann's abrupt nomination for the Dueling Club. "Should've been you," stated Flitwick stoutly, and Snape returned the homage, Flitwick being renowned for his dueling prowess.

In all, the morning had been jarring, and he had been struggling with sensitive eyes throughout. Nobody mentioned anything, but he resolved, having sat with his adjustable office chair almost parallel for twenty minutes and indulged in a second finger of whisky, to take matters in hand. The mystery of the missing witch's bottle had gone on long enough. If he was going to be fit to teach in mere days, he needed to find those memories.

Still stiff and sore, he went through to his classroom, then systematically and methodically took it apart. He opened and searched every cupboard, every desk, every drawer, every shelf and compartment he knew of. He even searched behind pictures on the walls, lifted rugs in case of hidden trapdoors, pulled books off their bookcase and took down and put back every single bottle, jar, canister, beaker, phial and flask in his storage cupboards. When he'd finished there, he did the same thing in the Brewing Chamber. This was simpler, being smaller with fewer places to put things. Despair starting to creep in when no witch's bottle eventuated, he commenced work in his office.

His miscellany of potion ingredients, displays and specimens took over an hour to examine and investigate, and all the while he entertained a slightly panicky thought that he might have just destroyed the bottle to begin with, that this search was entirely futile. Despite his best efforts, his mind couldn't help its natural inclination to try and remember where he'd put the bottle, and gradually the signs of the dreaded migraine began to materialize. He stopped his search to quickly consume a dose of the inhibitor potion, hoping to head it off at the pass, and was just about to test for loose bricks (a classic means of hiding loot in castles was to remove a brick, halve it, and hide things in the cavity behind) when Diaphne showed up.

"Professor?" she said in alarm at the door, finding his office in complete disarray. "What are you doing?"

"That blasted witch's bottle!" he shouted at her, his vexation having accumulated over the preceding hours and finding a sudden outlet at her arrival. "It wasn't in the archive, it's not in any dungeon rooms. Where is it? Where is it dammit?"

She hesitated and he took a shuddery breath and forced himself to calm down. "I'm sorry. I'm getting anxious in case it can't be found."

"Have you tried accio-ing it?"

It took effort to keep the derision off his face. Haltingly, he said, "Yes. I have tried that. Many times, in fact."

She sensed his scorn and frowned hard at him. "Fine. If you don't want my help. I've merely brought supplementary pain inhibitor."

He dropped his shoulders and hung his head in defeat. "It's been a long day. I'm sorry. Thank you."

She entered his room and held out the potion, which he took from her being gentle in his action.

"Poor Professor," she said, as was often her wont. She gazed with sorrow. "I wish I knew where the memories were."

No longer bothering to measure a dose, he took a swig of the draught, shaking his head as it went down. "Diaphne, think back, I know it was a while ago but think. Was there any clue at all during the ritual about where I may have put the witch's bottle?"

Diaphne absorbed his question then paused to reflect. "I held the bottle while Aunt siphoned your memories with her wand. She would draw them out and hover them over the neck, and the bottle would suck them in. I remember that."

"Were there a lot?"

"Yes. Hundreds. It took well over an hour."

Hundreds. No wonder his ruptured brain was hurting.

"I see. What happened to the bottle when she'd finished?"

"She put a stopper in it, then sealed it with candlewax. There were instructions!"

"Instructions?"

"Yes! She tied instructions to the bottle. You see, your memory of the ritual and everything about it would have gone, but you wrote instructions to yourself about where to put the bottle. She always made a point of telling people to put the memories somewhere safe."

"Then the instructions would still be with the bottle?"

"Yes, I suppose, I don't know."

He sighed heavily. "Well I found no sign of either. Was anyone else there? Who else might know? Or was it just you and the Wicce?"

"There was my sister Imogen. I can't remember if she was there the whole time. And the other woman, the teacher."

"What?" he barked, staring at her. "What teacher?"

"She's here – she's here today, she was at the meeting! The Astronomy teacher."

His mind went straight to Sinistra, the piercing look, the question about the headaches. "Yes. Aurora Sinistra. She asked me if I still had headaches…" he paused. "Why was she there?"

"I don't know. She said she knew you and…and Charity."

He sat down at his desk, his aching back and shoulder, the migraine wrestling for dominance over the potion and the news of Sinistra's involvement all overwhelming him suddenly.

"Are you alright?" asked Diaphne.

"Yes…I'll be alright. I have a migraine coming on…"

"Take the potion immediately and lie down in a dark room," she coaxed in a soft voice, then came up behind him and placed her cool hand on his forehead, shutting his eyes gently as she did so. "Everyone's busy, you'll achieve no more today. Look after yourself."

He allowed himself to be soothed and, later, she took him through to his rooms and laid him down, then brought him another dose of the potion before quietly departing and shutting his door behind her.

She was right. He achieved no more that day.