Chapter Two

Severus Snape had never liked surprises. It was not in his nature. After a life of avoiding anything unexpected, he would not soon start enjoying the vile shocks anytime soon. Thus, when McGonagall introduced, if such a word could be chosen, the two new professors who had been absent the night before, Snape did not like the feeling of shock that came over him. How could they have allowed it to happen? Surely even Minerva knew that those two were unacceptable as teachers.

"Professor, I would like to show you two of our newest members on staff, Professor Longbottom and Granger. A pair of more qualified teachers I have never seen. Mr. Longbottom teaches Herbology, and you could guess that Miss Granger is in charge of Muggle Studies."

Snape, not knowing what else to do, glared at the pair. Longbottom had gotten gangly in his year's absence, and Granger had apparently learned how to braid her hair so that its frizzy curls were not so evident, but otherwise, the two looked the same. He continued to glare through the entire meal, scaring a few students to his mild mirth. At least some things about the infernal school were the same. He listened to McGonagall fill the two new "professors" in on his situation as if he were out of earshot, though he knew that Minerva knew that he was not, in fact, outside of hearing them. He did not like the way they chuckled all the time. It wasn't hard to recognize that Minerva had found a pet in Granger and a sort of son in Longbottom. It was sickening.

"I think I'll turn in for the night, Headmistress," he said to Minerva haughtily.

"You didn't say the magic word, Professor," she retorted, never looking up from her pudding. Anger boiled over in Severus.

"I am not a child, Minerva! I should be allowed to leave dinner when I want! And this ridiculous list of rules! If I had a wand, Minerva," he said, lowering his voice threateningly.

"Petrificus Totalus." Oh, Merlin help him, he had been turned into a mannequin. Swaying stiffly on his completely useless feet, he fell backwards in one graceful arc, his head hitting the back of a chair as he hit the ground. All went black.

- - - -

"I can't help but call this the worst day of my life," he told the portrait of a centaur that hung on the wall in his otherwise barren washroom. The centaur nodded sagely, not really listening to the ravings of the ridiculous man before him. His head was wrapped in white gauze, contrasting starkly with his lank, black hair, and his robes were mussed and stained. "How could they let a know-it-all and a buffoon teach here?" he pondered, and then went back to staring at the painting.

"Perhaps not the worst day, considering the life I've led," he amended, and then returned to his bedroom to curl disconsolately beneath the blankets. He intentionally avoided looking at Clarence. Having forgotten that he was there, Snape was now embarrassed that he had spoken to a painting.

"Talking to painting of horses now, Severus?" an incorporeal voice said. He jumped, and the centaur from the painting voiced a complaint. "So sorry. Centaur. There's only one horse's rear end in here."

Looking to his once-empty grate, Snape discovered that it had a face floating in pinkish flame. "McGonagall, this is an intrusion of privacy that I must protest against."

"No, it's not. You're a prisoner. Any protestation will go ignored. But I have decided upon the way in which your twenty hours of service to the school will be spent. It has a dual purpose, as I am sure you will see when I tell you." There was a pregnant pause.

"Are you going to tell me or not?"

"Oh, yes, yes, quite. Well, I have decided that you will help Professors Longbottom and Granger in the unpacking and arranging of their classrooms. Poor dears, their rooms were in complete shambles after the attack, and haven't been straightened since. So you will help to remedy that, and you will do it with a smile on your face," she said. Snape glared. "Or as close to a smile as you get. Anyway, you'll start tomorrow. It's a bit of a punishment for Neville's rather tactless remarks and Miss Granger's unauthorized use of a curse on a prisoner. Oh, and Clarence will be allowed to take a post outside the door, if he wishes. Don't want to wear the poor thing out with the prattle of teachers. If Longbottom or Miss Granger injure you, they have to answer to me. Goodnight, Severus."

"Minerva," he simply said, glaring at her disembodied face. She disappeared once more, leaving his grate as cold as it ever was. "Something about being at the head of this school makes people go completely insane, I think," he told the centaur. The centaur did not bother to respond. Severus did not see Clarence staring at him pityingly.

- - - -

Severus pulled the blankets over himself and pondered the awful day he had had.

Apparently, Granger had been the one to put him in the body bind, and afterward, Neville had made some remarks, which Severus would have never suspected from a man who had once been such a timid, mousy, and weak boy. However, they all claimed that he had been called some things in his state of unconsciousness that made Madame Topia blush while she inspected the cut on his head.

To add insult to injury, when he had been wakened, the insolent little nurse had handed him a bottle of shampoo with a disapproving look on her face. Insolent wart of a woman, he decided. What was wrong with the old nurse, anyway? She asked lots of questions, but she never made any snide suggestion about his hygiene. He almost missed the old hag, in her strange white outfit and large hat. Almost.

And what was the good of a guard if he didn't protect his ward from deranged teachers?

He would complain to Minerva in the morning.

He would be teaching with a twit and a simpleton. Brilliant. He decided sleep was the best cure to this predicament, so he swallowed half a bottle of dreamless sleep potion.

- - - -

The next day he received a note via paper airplane that he was to begin his services to the school that night at seven. The evil woman was taking up two precious hours of his time. When was he ever to be expected to grade papers? Not that he had assigned any yet, but he would soon. The only reason he hesitated was the threat of the long chore of grading without aid of magic. The thought itself was daunting, much less the task. Not only that, but she skipped breakfast, so he could not complain about the futility of his useless Ministry protection. That was frustrating, though to a lower degree than his new punishment.

Classes that day quieted pleasantly at his entrance, simultaneously opening their books and flipping pages in neat unison. That, unfortunately, ended his list of improvements. The Granger girl was glaring at him over her porridge at breakfast, and that Longbottom would not stop pointing and sniggering beside Hagrid whenever he entered the room. Minerva, the snide, sneaky wench, never missed an opportunity to turn her twinkling, laughing eyes on him during her passing inspections through all the departments. He felt like telling her how wide her posterior really was.

And then, of course, there was the incident in his rooms that had made her rather irate. He nearly chuckled, but then the repercussions rankled through his mind again and the laughter died before passing his throat.

In a fit of temper, he had… reorganized his quarters. 'Completely trashed' would be a more apt phrase, perhaps, but the verbiage was relative. Clarence had been on a coffee break, thinking the professor to be safely tucked into his quarters, making lesson plans. When a meek little house elf apparated down, he had once again let his temper shine through and kicked the scrawny creature. But that was all irrelevant. What mattered was the punishment. She placed his use of house elves on an undefined hiatus until he learned to control his temper, but she also withheld Clarence's rights to coffee breaks. A small bit of reconciliation. After she walked out of the door, she cackled maniacally; Severus was certain of this, though the spells around his door made it impossible to hear much of anything.

The suspension of elf use meant if he wanted tea, he had to make it himself. He would have to clean his quarters himself, clean his own clothing, and make his own bed. Curse that woman. She claimed it was not her fault that he had such an ill temper, but it was. She was a vindictive, evil, obese, old, wrinkly, cruel witch, and she enjoyed seeing him suffer; therefore, it was not his fault, but hers.

Thoughts of revenge were temporarily stalled by a glance at the clock, revealing his lateness for the scheduled "services." Well, that muggle born could wait, as could the baboon in the Herbology building. Unfortunately, the plan to amble to their rooms lacked fruition, mainly because the magic compelled him to practically run.

He was first expected in the Herbology with "Professor Longbottom." Refraining from laughing at the thought of the timid, meek student becoming a teacher, Severus entered the room with a swish of his cloak. Clarence posted himself at the door. The surroundings of the room surprised him. When Sprout taught, the room had been full of flowers. Though she liked the other plants, Professor Pomona Sprout had had an affinity for flowers in particular, and a short venture through her office meant a bout of sneezes for the rest of the day. Longbottom seemed to have different tastes, however. The room was filled with strange, vile-looking plants, dirt covered the floor, and Longbottom was leaning back precariously on two legs of a spindly chair, a book in his hands.

"You were expecting me," Snape offered. Longbottom jumped in surprise, sending the teetering chair to the floor, the Herbology professor along with it, and his book high into the air. The book landed at Severus' feet, so he bent and picked it up as Neville struggled to regain an upright position. His hand brushed a plant that ejaculated sickly pus all over Longbottom, further distracting him as Severus read the title: The Alchemist and the Hag: an Enchanted Encounters Novel by Fifi Lafolle

"Yes, I was expecting you. I need help cleaning this place up," Longbottom replied crossly. Snape was shocked. Where had the timid lad gone who had stuttered into his class, always unprepared and harried? "It is shocking, isn't it? I guess fighting Voldemort changed us all," Neville said, obviously guessing Snape's thoughts. "You are far less threatening than the Carrows and all of those Death Eaters and the giants and the spiders."

Snape looked at the dirty floor, remembering his time as headmaster. Not a good time. He chanced a glance at Neville's face, noting a few white scars around his mouth and eyebrows. The Carrow siblings had been viscous, but he had been unable to stop them without compromising his position in the Dark Lord's favor.

The work he performed at Neville's side was tedious and aggravating without his wand. Longbottom did earn an inch of respect, though, but not enough for Snape to change his opinion of the former student. How he longed for his wand! A few simple things could be done without it, but they were tricks unless done on accident, and of what use was accidental magic?

After an hour of sweeping up dirt, dusting and rearranging plants, and watching uselessly as Longbottom patched up holes, scorings, and cracks in the walls and ceilings, he reported to the Muggle Studies wing.

The Granger girl was already at work in her adjoining office, a room into which Severus had rarely ventured. Now it was rather densely filled with books, giving the room a pleasantly musty smell and the air a feeling of thickness. Other than the books, the room was fairly organized, despite various holes and scorch marks on the walls, and overturned furniture. She had obviously been working since she had inherited the rooms.

She was wearing rather worn muggle clothes, though still tasteful, and her hair was once again braided neatly. The braid was lengthy, something he had never noticed before, and the rather pleasant shade of chestnut. When she turned from the desk, he noted with surprise the spectacles perched on her narrow nose.

"Miss Granger," he said with a nod.

"Ah, yes, Professor, do come in," she offered in an overly polite tone. He was used to such tones by this time, as it was a common way of dealing with him amongst the members of the Order and sympathizers to them. "I suppose you can start shelving those books on that table," she told him, deftly charming the bulky shelf into the corner. "I would like them to be in alphabetical order by author if possible." It was a tedious chore, but it blessedly required a little thought and kept his hands busy, as his mind was feeling quite exhausted.

After about half an hour of sorting, he found the witch by his side, her hands deftly placing the tomes in piles according to the way he had been doing it.

"Why don't you just cast a spell?" he asked, wondering that a talented witch such as

herself would waste time doing work manually.

"I… I wasn't aware there was a spell for sorting books," she said, obviously surprised that he had taken the incentive to start a conversation.

"Indeed," he said scathingly, pausing to let the slur on her ability sink in. "It's simple, really. You are familiar with the Banishing Charm?" She nodded, the slightest smile flitting onto her bemused face. "It is the same theory, but with a slight alteration." He explained the spell for a moment longer, and then watched as she performed it to perfection. It was almost like being able to cast the spell himself. His hands itched for a wand. He watched her thin hands wrap around the wooden stick. And then he felt as though he could see into his future, and desolation swept over him. Suddenly, he no longer felt greedy, but tired. And he felt old, so very old.

"Professor?" He heard, but he didn't pay any attention, distracted by his revelation. "Perhaps you should sit down, sir; you don't look well," she said, and he tried to pull himself out of it.

"No, I'm fine," he growled, shrugging off her concern. She continued to look at him oddly, but said nothing and continued to put her texts onto the shelves using that valuable little wand that he would never be able to touch. He hated Hermione Granger that moment. But then he cleared his mind of the befuddled emotions and returned to the room in which he sat.

"Anything else you require, Miss Granger?"

"No, Professor, I think that will be all. You can leave if you like." He did like. He liked very much. Turning on his heel, he headed for the door almost happily, ready to sink into bed and sleep. Unfortunately, when he touched the doorknob, he felt all of the magical energy in his body drain away to nothing. How was it possible? He pulled away his hand and evaluated his body. Now he felt even more tired, but he could feel his power blessedly rejuvenating. At least it wasn't permanent. He tested it again, with the same results, and then decided further experimentation was not necessary.

"Professor?" Hermione said upon seeing him reenter the room. "Are... are you quite sure you're not ill?" she asked when she saw his pale face.

"I am fine," he assured her, gasping a little. He was so tired…. He woke up in an armchair, not remembering having fallen asleep. "What time is it?" he asked Hermione, whose face floated into view.

"Nearly ten. I think you should leave, sir, and go to the Hospital Wing," suggested she, concern grudgingly etched across her face. It was a young, pleasant face, but there was age in her eyes, and the bright light of intelligence.

"Quite so. But not the Hospital Wing. My rooms. Minerva will personally perform the Cruciatus on me if I'm not in bed when the clock strikes ten."

"I don't know that you'll make the dungeons by yourself, sir. I could assist—"

"Nonsense. I can and I shall. Until next time, Miss Granger," he said, getting up rather quickly. Just as quickly, he fell back into the seat. "I got up too quickly; that is all," he insisted, blocking her cries of protest. Upon repeating this performance, he decided to let the foul creature escort him to his quarters.

It was a gruesome trip, supported by the girl's shoulders half the way. At one point she had the presence of mind to conjure him a cane, something he had been desperately in need of since the snakebite but had refused to buy on the grounds that he was too young to use a walking stick.

"That will be all, Miss Granger," he imperiously sneered at the defenceless young girl. She looked flabbergasted for a moment, but then huffed and left him to himself. As quickly as he could, he limped to his wardrobe, threw on pyjamas, and leapt into his bed, just half a minute before the bells in the great clock tower chimed out ten times.

- - - -

The next day, Severus taught his classes with a keen sense of restlessness. He had been getting too much sleep, and it made him grumpy. Well, grumpier. It was hard not being able to deduct points. He did fill out a few of the written complaints that McGonagall was supposed to look over and consider, and that was slightly satisfying, but not effective.

He tried to skip meals, but naturally it didn't work. He felt that awful draining sensation, then shot out the door like a bat let loose, Clarence calmly trailing him like some fictional villain. The next few days were dull and tiresome. He was rather bored with life in general, sick of his dense students and mealtime conversation that seemed chosen to annoy him.

So many of the teachers were sympathetic to the Order it made him sick. All they seemed to talk about was Harry Potter's miraculous revival, the spectacular fall of the Dark Lord, and the astounding turn of events. It was because of Severus Snape that the events had turned, but did anyone mention that? Not that he wanted them to, but it would be more welcome than listening to long soliloquies about Potter's wit, cunning, and his amazing self-sacrifice. Nothing about Severus Snape nearly dying, oh, no. But there was one pleasant result of the lack of appreciation of the Potions master. No one spoke to him about his memories. Potter seemed to have only told a select few, or perhaps none at all. The arrogant boy might have finally learned something about the tact of withholding information.

There was also an alarming pattern of discussing personal relationships at the table. He knew all about everyone's fiancés and spouses, who was dating whom and how well it was going, and the plans of famous couples. Once again Potter was a favourite, with his little affair with Ginevra Weasley. Severus nearly gagged at the thought. Granger had plans to marry the youngest Weasley boy, too, but she had the sense to be reluctant to speak about it. Longbottom seemed to have the dating patterns of the Floo Network: in one day and out the next. The frivolous affairs of teachers were quite beneath him, though, and so he usually stared intently at his soup and avoided the eyes of the others, not wanting entrance into their conversations.

And then, the day rolled around that he had to return to his duties as a prisoner. Neville's classroom seemed even more dirt-covered and full of slimy, clingy plants. Clarence lingered at the end of the corridor, apparently planning to stay there. Severus walked to the door alone. When he reported to Granger's rooms, she answered the door in a bathrobe.

"Oh, I completely forgot!" she exclaimed. He glimpsed pale skin and yellow satin beneath her woolen bathrobe. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I'm finished with the organizing and cleaning. I have nothing for you to do. I should have told Professor McGonagall, but I forgot. Lesson plans and Ron," she stopped and her eyes widened, then she looked at her feet with a blush. He was curious for a moment, but then decided to spare her the embarrassment, for the moment, of discussing her fiancé, and returned to the topic at hand.

"Well, as much as I would love to return to my quarters, Miss Granger, I find that it is impossible, due to my status as prisoner. I'm afraid my whereabouts at all times are regulated, and if you don't let me inside at this moment, I think I might pass out on your threshold." It was true. That terrible draining feeling had heightened as she had spoken, and a single glance at his paling face showed her that he was not lying. She quickly stepped to the side and allowed him to pass.

It was embarrassing, honestly. At the drop of a hat, he was completely incapacitated. He longed to escape from under Minerva's thumb. Granger rushed about, entering her office and returning to the classroom with a cup of tea in hand.

"Here you go, Professor, have some tea. When can you go back? You can wait in here if you like. I was just writing some letters and finishing up my lesson plans for next month."

"You do your lesson plans by the month?"

"Well, yes."

Severus did nothing but snort into the steaming cup of tea. She looked abashed, but turned to her desk and dipped a quill with great deliberation, purposely not looking in his direction.

"There is nothing wrong with being prepared," she burst, finally breaking the silence.

"There is something wrong with being a pompous twit, however," he mumbled.

"I don't need this!" she cried. "You are a bitter man with a head full of awful things, and I don't have to put up with this condescension! You chose the wrong side, and I chose the right one. It's your fault, not mine, so stop being such a complete arse!"

Snape did nothing, only staring at the swirling milk in his tea, and tried to suppress the memory of waking up from death with Hermione leaning over him. He attempted to forget the yellow satin and her thin hands dipping the quill in the inkwell.

"A-are you all right?" she stammered, standing. "You look pale, Professor."

"I think I ought to go, now," he muttered, standing.

"Are you sure?"

"I should think so, Miss Granger. Perhaps… Perhaps you should conjure that walking stick again, though." It almost hurt to ask for it, but he had to admit that he needed it once again.

"I forgot they broke your wand," she murmured, looking at her own before she gave it a wave. The stick appeared more thin and elegant than last time. She handed it over and he began to hobble out, feeling insurmountably older than thirty-seven.

"Wait!" she called as he touched the doorknob. He turned slightly. "There are other ways, you know. Many witches and wizards don't realize that muggles have been telling us what to do all along. Maybe not powerful, but possibly effective, I think."

"What are you talking about?"

"Ever heard of the Lord of the Rings? Tennyson's epic poems? Macbeth, even." She seemed to be in another world, and then he realized that she was: the muggle world.

"No," he responded slowly.

"Muggles don't know about us now, but at one time they did. They like to come up with theories, you know, about magic. Staffs that channel magic, rings of power, stones, even words that hold power over objects. They like the idea of magic, even though they can't handle it in reality. And who's to say all of them are wrong?"

"I still don't see how you can think this is relevant to me. Minerva would shut me down the moment she thought I was up to something, not to mention neither of us know anything about wand lore or the most intricate and complex forms of magical channeling." She looked down. "You do know something about magical channeling?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. His face returned to a more passé expression. "Wand lore." The look of surprise returned to his face. "Ollivander and I correspond. After he helped Harry with the Elder Wand issue, I realized how little I knew about wands, so… now I have enough letters on the topic that I could literally write a book."

Severus Snape was unable to comment. By some means, this girl had managed to surpass nearly all of the wizards in the world in knowledge and magical ability, and was furthermore divulging into him that she knew about a highly secretive facet of the magical world that only about ten wizards had ever known at one time.

"It's almost ten," she told him, breaking his train of thought.

"Oh," he said, still a bit shocked. "Of course. Goodnight, Miss Granger."

"Goodnight, Professor."

He had a lot to think about as he lay in bed that night.