"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Severus," Dumbledore said, pouring the tea from his hideously patterned teapot and grabbing the biscuit tin as it made a break for freedom. Snape noted he was still wearing the flowery bonnet from his Christmas cracker.
"I had a choice? It's a little late to tell me that now." Snape said, lingering over his choice of biscuit just to watch the half-sentient container cringe.
"Severus," Dumbledore said steadily, surveying him grimly through his half-moon glasses. The rare sight of Dumbledore being serious usually heralded danger, but it was just a little hard to feel the appropriate sense of dread when he wore a flowery bonnet.
Snape sighed. No teasing? No seemingly gentle but in actuality, terribly underhanded remarks? Not even a weak pretence at scatter-brained eccentricity? Clearly he'd overstepped a mark somewhere.
He ran through the long list of unspoken rules he'd broken with great glee since the holidays had begun. He'd driven a Hufflepuff or two to mental breakdown, but the Headmaster cared very little for 'Puffs. He'd taken an exorbitant amount of points from Gryffindor for singing Christmas carols in the halls. He'd given Slytherin an exorbitant amount of points just for being at Hogwarts for the holidays. He didn't think he'd murdered anybody, whether accidental or not. He was pretty sure nobody had seen him curse the stairs leading to the Gryffindor tower to melt and reform over someone's feet if they were wearing a 'Weasley jumper'. He certainly hadn't been seen anywhere near Weasley's rat when it was found struggling to prevent itself being hanged by its own tail.
"Severus, I know you do not like young Mr. Potter, but your conduct in this instance is appalling."
Snape fixed his gaze quite firmly on his custard cream, knowing that if he met The Eyes he was doomed. With a capital, curly, Dumbledoresque 'D'.
That narrowed it down a little. What had he done to Potter lately? He'd cursed him to break into song (there may or may not have been a truly terrible rendition of 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow' at some point) whenever he saw a suit of armour. He'd used Legilimency on him, but that had been an exercise in pointlessness given that he didn't think much. He'd taken points from him for scowling. He'd changed his name to 'Rosalind', but that was an improvement anyway, and nobody of importance had noticed until earlier that morning. He might have charmed his robes to flash green and silver whenever he said 'Slytherin' 'Malfoy' or 'Snape', and given that Christmas season was complaining season, they'd been near permanently in the green. He may have slipped him a hair-raising potion at some point. And then there was the incident with the unicorn hair net that had been very complicated and time-consuming to set up, but worth it for Dunce's repeated and helpless attempts to escape…
"I have had several – explosively worded letters from James about your little… prank regarding his name."
Ah, so that was what the Howlers had been for. Pity Snape had destroyed them the moment the owls had dropped them.
"Does he think he has the monopoly on them?" Snape said irritably, the biscuit rapidly becoming a fine scattering of crumbs across Dumbledore's desk.
Must not look into its eyes…
"It was very cruel, Severus," Dumbledore said, ignoring the question. Snape muttered several extremely painful alternatives he would have been far more pleased to try if it weren't against both school regulations and wizarding law, before pointing out, sotto voce, that Potter and Black's pranks had hardly been rainbows and kittens, and had, on occasion, been quite murderous, for which they had never been penalised.
Dumbledore ignored him. Snape was not terribly surprised.
"It would also be greatly appreciated by many members of staff, I'm sure, if you did not have your pictures developed."
Snape had thought Minerva far too drunk to notice he'd caught her being kissed by Hagrid and blushing like a schoolgirl. And of course, Snape had been collecting blackmail pictures of Dumbeldore from the moment he received the camera. What else, exactly, had the irritating man expected of him? You need a hobby, Severus. Here, Severus. I'm sure photography will be the perfect hobby for you, and so apt.
He made a show of handing over the camera with extreme reluctance, and made quite sure to have firm Occlumency barriers in place. Just in case. True, he had several copies of the negatives hidden away in various places, but you could never be quite sure with Dumbledore, who was trickier than a Rubik cube.
"Now, Severus about the Mirror…"
Snape felt his blackened heart sink to his boots as Dumbledore explained the Mirror was not – as Snape and all the other teachers had foolishly believed – surrounded by the many and varied protections they had expended so much time and effort on but instead was hidden away in one of the unused rooms waiting for Dunce to discover it and be fed yet another hint.
Sometimes Snape suspected Dumbledore read far too many detective novels for his own good.
Snape was particularly fond of midnight patrol. As part-bat, it was natural for him to be awake at all hours anyway, and as a vindictive and cruel human being, he relished the opportunity to scare students witless. If they were out of bounds at midnight, well, they deserved it, didn't they, the little rule-breaking monsters.
"Professor!"
Snape whirled around, a delicious sense of anticipation flooding through him at the note of fury in Filch's voice. Students out of bed. Oh yes, his luck was good tonight.
"Students out of bed in the Restricted Section," Filch said crisply. Snape bared his teeth in a manner that might, with considerable effort, be said to resemble a smile.
"They can't have gone far," he said. Filch's look of glee could have given a dragon a heart attack. McGonagall had once said that Snape and Filch on midnight patrol reminded her very strongly of a pair of hounds on the hunt. Perhaps a pair of Cu Sith.
"Left," Snape barked, slipping into his role as Filch's hunting partner with ease. Filch nodded and peeled away down the left corridor, while Snape turned right. Mirror of Erised time.
Please, please, please it be the Dunce, he prayed as he flung the door open (half of him gloomily pointing out that midnight forays into the Restricted Section were more likely to come from his Potter). He surveyed the room for a long moment, unable to process what his eyes were trying to beat into his brain with all the subtlety of rampaging Hippogriff.
Empty. He frowned. And yet… dust on the floor… recently disturbed. Footprints going in, but none leading out. So the boy was somewhere in the room, and couldn't possibly know invisibility charms… The implications sent a cold shiver of fear down his back. Potter's form of payback was to give the boy an invisibility cloak. Oh. Oh Voldemort on a soapbox. His life was ruined.
He stumbled out of the room and contemplated the magical impossibility of casting the Avada Kedavra curse on himself. It was unfortunate the strength of will and magic could not be mustered – it would be quick, instead of the slow, crushing inevitability of the Dunce driving him to his early grave. It would definitely be far less mortifying. Plus, he would no longer be required to attend faculty meetings. Perhaps he should simply beat his brains out against the wall?
No, no, that wouldn't do at all… Severus Snape, world's youngest Potions Master, Death Eater, greasy git extraordinaire, defeated by a brick wall?
No. Just no.
There was always Caesar's choice, he mused. Sadly, he would be limited to the 'dagger' half the option – there was absolutely no way he was going to put up with the mortification of having his obituary state that he'd died of poison.
Damage limitation then – kill the Dunce before he made suicide appear the most attractive option. Yes. A Perfect solution. Except… no, best not. Not just yet – if Dunce died, Harry would forced out into the open as the true 'Boy Who Lived' (if he ever found out just who was responsible for that sobriquet he'd teach them all what a competent Death Eater could do), and Snape's job would become so immensely difficult.
He sighed mournfully. He'd best make quite sure that Dumbledore knew Dunce had seen the Mirror and it could now be moved. It would be just like him to let himself waste away in front of a piece of glass.
He had to admit, he was also somewhat curious as to what the boy saw in the Mirror. Supposed saviour of the world and all that. Probably saw himself playing Quidditch for England, irritating boy.
"Being crowned king of wizardkind?!"