A/N: Sixth and Seventh year students studying advanced potions are lumped into the same class time because there are so few of them from each house. That's what I imagine, anyways.
LINE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN—Adjusting
.
The staff members sat in their normal places for Sunday's dinner, except Madam Pomfrey who was watching Sybill, and Firenze who never came to the Great Hall to eat.
Hermione and the others kept glancing at the staff table, bracing themselves, as were the teachers, for the return and reaction of the student body. Hermione was worried about Professor McGonagall and Sev—Professor Snape. Not to mention Professor Sinistra was younger than Luna!
Professor Dumbledore looked cheerful. Minerva's face held her usual no-nonsense stoicism, but she was stunning to look at. Her shining black hair sat pinned to her head like a crown. She, Severus, and Aurora sat in a row, white-haired Dumbledore on one end and platinum-haired Fleur on the other. Severus tried to keep up his haughty façade, but Hermione could tell he was uncomfortable. He didn't like people paying attention to him.
The normal-looking staff members glanced at their cursed colleagues. Hagrid kept fidgeting—and when the half-giant fidgeted, everyone noticed.
The doors flung open. Children crowded in.
Severus began a conversation with Minerva. Pomona covered her face and talked to Rolanda. Rolanda kept her chin raised, proud to show off her fit, young body.
Neville and Hermione watched the hall, waiting for someone to notice. The first was a Ravenclaw. The fifth-year nudged her friends and pointed to Dumbledore.
Astoria Greengrass was the first of the Slytherins. Professor Sinistra kept her face down.
Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs realized something was off at the same time. Students stood from their seats to get a better view of the staff table.
Dumbledore's benevolent smile made a few children look back to their food, but only for a moment.
"What's wrong with them?" Dennis Creevey asked, angling his camera towards Professor Vector. "Are those our professors?"
"What's going on?"
"Are they…younger?"
"Look how pretty Professor McGonagall is!"
"This is too bizarre!"
"How come Weasley, Hagrid, and Flitwick look the same?"
"Is that Professor Snape?" Girls were staring. The pitch of the crowd grew higher.
.
"Minerva, I want to leave," Severus muttered. He would not turn his face towards the chattering students.
"If you leave, it will just be worse."
"We have to sit it out," Aurora added.
Pomona leaned across Dumbledore and Flitwick. "This was a bad idea. They won't listen to us!"
"We need to show them our minds are still the same," Dumbledore said, the same annoying smile on his face.
Severus, Minerva, Pomona, and Filius looked to Aurora.
"I am perfectly capable of teaching a class," Professor Sinistra said through clenched teeth.
"I'm more concerned about Hooch," Snape muttered to McGonagall.
"She doesn't have that many classes," Minnie murmured back.
"Not to mention they're rather inconsequential," Aurora sniffed. "As long as none of the students fall off their brooms."
LINE
Monday
Hermione, Ron, and Ginny sat in the courtyard to watch the firsties practice flying. It was something of a disaster. No one had gotten hurt, physically—their eleven-year-old pride, however, might have lost some vivacity.
Rolanda had claimed "Quidditch is a taxing sport—one needs to be physically fit to stay on a broom" and then had the children race her around the courtyard. Those hoping to try-out for the Quidditch team next year ran the circuit several times but no one could best Hooch, who exercised daily but now had the energy of a much younger woman.
"Think we can beat her?" Ginny murmured to her brother.
Ron pulled his hat lower on his ears. "I don't think we should encourage her. She might keep this up all term."
.
Luna sat alone in the back corner of the room, watching her fellows take Transfiguration notes. The boys were being unusually attentive today. Her house was always observant, but now even the Hufflepuffs were stepping up their game, raising their hands at every question instead of deferring to the Ravenclaws.
Professor McGonagall bade them answer the questions at the end of the chapter. A Hufflepuff wizard asked, "How was your holiday, Professor?"
McGonagall turned from the blackboard. Setting the eraser down, she said, "It was interesting, to say the least. Thank you for asking."
"Anytime, Professor," the boy said with a grin. When the Transfiguration teacher resumed erasing her scribbles, the Hufflepuff and his friends bumped fists.
"What did you do for the break, Professor?" a Ravenclaw asked.
Minerva chuckled. Luna grinned in her corner; the professor kept her smiles to a minimum. It was nice to see them once in a while.
"I spent the holiday here, keeping the eighth-years' company." Her spry fingers rested on her chin. "I also flexed my creative muscles, as it were."
The class leaned forward, their eyes begging for more information. "Your…transfiguring creative muscles?" one girl prompted.
"No. The artistic ones," she chuckled.
Everyone looked at each other and shrugged.
.
Neville joined his friends at the Gryffindor table after a long first day of spring term. Students were still gawking at the Head Table. It was kind of a shock, Neville figured, seeing their professors look suddenly young.
Neville turned a Remembrall shade of red; he still couldn't get the first time he saw young McGonagall out of his mind. Even when she returned to normal he doubted he could look her in the eye. Which might put a crimp in his Herbology-apprentice plans, should he choose to further his study at Hogwarts.
"How goes it, Neville?" Lavender asked. She cut her steak into careful squares; Ron hacked away mouth-sized pieces.
"Well enough." He found a seat between Hermione and a fourth-year. "I found Professor Sprout crying today, though."
"What?" Hermione, Ginny, Lavender, and Ron exclaimed. The group of fourth-years eavesdropped—anything they could hear from the eighth-years might shed some light on what happened to their professors over the holiday.
"I guess a bunch of people kept asking what happened to her and it stressed her out."
"What did happen to her?" the fourth-years asked.
Ginny leaned back from the bench so she could see over Neville and Hermione. "Hey, mate, private conversation." Ginny motioned for the boys to turn back to their meals. They did so, grudgingly.
"This is all just batty," Lavender fretted. "I wonder how Sybill is doing."
Ron patted her hand. "Don't worry, love, Madam Pomfrey would let you know at the first sign of trouble."
"But she must be bored, up there with nothing to do in Madam Pomfrey's office," she pressed.
LINE
Tuesday
Hermione took her seat next to Luna in the Advanced Potions lab. Ron and Lavender set up behind them, Neville and Ginny in the row ahead.
"How do you think this is gonna go?" Ginny asked. She set all of her knives and stirring rods out on her table space.
"If the new seating arrangements are any indication, I think it's going to be hilarious," Ron chimed in.
A horde of girls had claimed the rows closest to Professor Snape's desk.
"He may be younger and fitter, but he's only ever really nice to the other professors. And 'Mione," Lavender said. "Those girls are hopeless."
Luna said, "He's been nice enough to me."
At precisely 3:00 PM, the class quieted and Professor Snape strode in, his robes billowing as they always had.
Every set of eyes followed the professor, some eyes trained a little lower on his back than usual. He raised his hand as he passed in front of the chalkboard—his legible scrawl appeared. Hermione did some quick math—they were to use the larger cauldrons for whatever they were making.
With a twist of his fingers he levitated a burning candle from the brass candelabra near his storage room. He set the candle in the middle of his desk, the wax sealing it in place.
He said, "Extra points will be given for aesthetic appeal." Then he sat down, scowling at the class until they began working.
So we're supplying Everlasting Candles for the whole school then, Hermione thought.
"Still a bit of a git," Ron muttered, frustrated with the lack of information. "How many are we gonna make?"
"Figure it out," Hermione hissed over her shoulder. "This is the advanced class, after all."
Clusters of whispers cropped up during the next thirty minutes. Professor Snape's glares only quieted one group at a time and never for very long. Halfway through the class period, he shoved himself from his desk to prowl between the rows of cauldrons.
Everyone turned to examine the young professor as he passed. The Ravenclaws were impressed; the Slytherins each had an air of pride to see their representative looking so good. And the bravest—or perhaps, the brashest—blushed and batted their eyelashes.
The giggling grew steadily louder and the professor's jaw clenched tighter.
Severus stopped behind Lavender and Ron. "Measure carefully, Mr Weasley."
Ron flinched before turning around. Professor Snape hadn't sneered—it was advice. "Er, yes sir."
A few more "Cut away from your body, not towards it" and "Read your instructions again before you add that" set female fingers purposely fumbling.
Luna chuckled; the professor had to stop every few metres to help a new student.
"He is going to blow his top soon," she whispered to Hermione.
Hermione bit her lip but couldn't let her focus wander. The wax was hot but would cool quickly once she dipped in the wicks.
A sixth-year stopped the professor, asking why his wax wouldn't work.
"Did you try the charm?" he asked, attempting to hide his exasperation.
"Oh. Sorry, sir." He looked down, afraid of rebuke. But the professor moved on to the next question—the sixth-year gave a relieved sigh.
Hermione molded her candles into a normal candle shape, since the one attempt she made at artistry resulted in a crooked mess. She Banished it before Severus could see it. Ginny snickered at her.
Luna's candles were the prettiest in the class; Hermione had always suspected Luna was something of an artist. Lavender's weren't too bad either.
Neville hissed, "Oy!" and jerked his head towards the front. "Someone's about to get it!"
The professor had his fists clenched at his sides. He stood, a black pillar, in the center of the room, glaring at a group of girls from the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.
"Perhaps," he said, his silken voice as quiet as Hermione's first day of Potions class eight years ago, "if you would stare at your cauldron and not at me, you would have realized the fire was not hot enough to melt the wax."
He put his palms flat against their table, leaning forward. All the girls in the row sucked in a breath.
"You have two minutes before the bell rings. I suggest you hurry up." He glared at the rest of the row. "All of you."
Severus flicked his wand at his storeroom. A stack of boxes hovered out of the door to land at everyone's feet. The final instructions written on the board were Carefully stack the candles in your box and Label it with your name, the number of candles, and the date.
Ron passed his quill around to the group. "This has been a pretty good Potions class, if I say so myself," he commented. Ginny scrawled her name and handed Ron's quill to Neville.
"It's not over yet," Lavender griped. The professor stood with his hand on the doorknob, his deep black eyes now crackling with a dangerous intensity at the teenagers. Everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their candles packed away and cauldrons Scourgified.
Professor Snape said, "It is unfortunate I have returned from the holiday to find my Advanced class replaced with bumbling idiots."
The bell rang but nobody moved.
"Twenty points from every house."
The class groaned and gasped and glared.
"Perhaps if you do better tomorrow you'll earn them back." Snape's eyes swept across the room but he didn't make eye-contact with anyone. He jerked open the door. "Get out."
The class herded into the hall. "I changed my mind," Ron grumbled to Neville. "Once a git, always a git."
Hermione hefted her heavy box into her arms even though her classmates had all left their candles at their desks. "Where would you like me to put this, sir?" she asked Professor Snape.
He looked half-scandalized. "Don't call me sir," he snapped, stalking out of the room.
Hermione left the box on his desk. She found him in his office, sitting in the student chair again. "So." Hermione put her hands on her hips. "How was your day?"
"As awful as any other day." He was glaring a hole through the back of his office.
"Your continual optimism always sets my heart aflutter."
"I don't want to set hearts aflutter—I'm here to teach."
Hermione shut the door. "From what I saw, you were doing both," she teased. And it was bloody annoying to watch those girls swoon over you.
"I haven't had this problem for ten years," he muttered, chin in his hand, one leg crossed over the other. "I loathe being so young and inept—not to mention being the youngest male on staff."
Hermione took the other student seat, trying not to laugh at Sevvie's "plight." "Yes, it must be horrid to be wanted by so many people."
"Hmph. I don't want to be wanted."
"Everyone wants to be wanted."
"Not by twelve-year-olds."
Hermione laughed. I'm not twelve-years-old—quiet, you!
He looked away, watched his fiddling hands. "Perhaps being liked isn't awful."
Hermione bit her tongue hard.
"I suppose the fervor will die down once I return to normal." He looked sad about it, despite having claimed being liked was unnecessary.
It's wrong of me to hope for that too. "Maybe."
He looked in her eyes. Hermione prayed he wasn't reading her mind. He asked, "How bad was my class today?"
"Now there's a question I never thought I'd hear."
He nearly groaned.
"I thought you handled the distractions tactfully."
"Tactfully, eh?"
"Very."
"Had I ever been tactful before?"
"Er…pass."
The stoic wizard laughed. "I apologize—I will stop my complaining."
"No, no, get it all out." She pulled her chair closer. "I'm here to listen."
"I would never listen to someone whinge about their popularity."
"But I would." She smiled and put her fists beneath her chin.
Hesitation was all over his young face.
"Go on," Hermione prodded. "What did you do today? What else happened?"
"The usual, I suppose."
Hermione's raised eyebrow intimated she was not pleased with that simple answer.
"I…caught Peeves taunting Mrs Norris. I Stunned him."
"And?"
"I really didn't do much else, aside from teach and run from…people."
"From witches."
"Children."
"Some of your students are adults," she laughed.
"Yes, about five of them."
Hermione wanted, badly, to change the subject. "Well, there's nothing I can do to convince you to stop being miserable."
"Can anyone take on such a task?" He had a jaunty, crooked grin.
"I'm trying my hardest," she teased.
"I can't fathom why." Severus mimicked her pose, put his chin on his palm.
How is it that boys could make disinterest look so good?
"Perhaps I like a challenge." They were so close Crookshanks wouldn't be able to squeeze between their noses.
"Your kindness is fascinating. But," he continued, withering, "I know it is undeserved."
In the space of four seconds, the playful, flirtatious air had been shot-putted out of the room.
"I wish you wouldn't think like that."
"Do you believe wishes come true?" His too-dark eyes were prying her open.
"Sometimes. But not because we wished for them."
"Just checking." The slightest trace of humour passed over his lips. Someone knocked on the door; the two straightened their postures. Minerva came in without Sev's reply.
The first thing she said was: "The students are all in a tizzy. They're breaking rules, thinking their heads of house are too dim-witted to catch them—not to mention they want to know what happened to us and where Sybill is." Minerva paced the room, her skirts swishing like a tail.
Severus perched on the edge of his desk so that Minerva would sit down and stop stomping around his office. Minerva ignored it.
"They were courteous to me, but rather rowdy with Septima—and did you hear about Pomona? She's in a right state. Rolanda's challenging every student she runs across to every sport she's ever heard of—except Quidditch, of course!"
Severus gave Hermione a deadpan look which she returned. While Minerva listed her grievances, 'Mione and Sev ran their silent commentary with their eyebrows.
They thought Minerva hadn't noticed; on a return circuit, she grabbed Sev by the ear.
"You're just as bad as them!" she chided, "not paying attention while I talk!"
"I'm sorry, did you say something? A harpy appears to have latched onto my ear."
She let go with a huff and sat down with a huff. Hermione laughed at their antics, wondering if this was how their interactions used to be, before she started Hogwarts.
Severus rubbed his ear. "Am I still in one piece?" he asked.
Minerva crossed her arms and legs. "You deserved it, young man."
Hermione watched them parry. Sev's lips curled around words so elegantly. Instead of the rigid posture in the potions lab, he looked comfortable, slouching on his desk and conversing with a colleague. Hermione liked looking at him, always had. Watching his long black cloak unfurl was fascinating, his lean legs striding with purpose.
One of his pale hands rubbed his neck where his scar used to be. Those thin fingers distracted Hermione until she heard a timid knock at the door.
Hermione chastised herself, and the knock gained confidence and volume. Minerva charmed the door open from her seat. Hermione giggled at the annoyed look Severus gave her.
Aurora Sinistra trembled in the doorway. She wrung her hands and one of her dainty feet tried to drill a hole in the floor.
"Professor Snape—"
"Severus."
"Severus," she corrected, stepping further into the room.
"What's wrong?" Minerva asked.
Aurora exploded into tears. "I can't do this!" She covered her face. The head of Slytherin jumped to his feet. "I can't—they're all horrid!"
"Try to compose yourself," Severus muttered, his hand on her shoulder.
Hermione was fascinated by the Slytherin interaction. Their methods of comforting were so formal.
Aurora sniffled in as much air as she could. Red sacs puffed up under her blue eyes. "I'm—I'm—sorry."
"No need to apologize." He led her to the only chair left in the room and bade her sit. "You need only tell me the problem. Calmly."
Professor Snape sat on the edge of his desk, across from Aurora and without invading any of her personal space. All of his attention was focused on his student/colleague.
"I—I—these students—they're so horrible!"
"True," Severus remarked. Hermione would have snorted, if Aurora wasn't still crying.
"What did they do?" Minerva asked.
"So many—all the—wizards—well, perhaps not all of them—"
"Were they being forward with you?" Severus's thin fingers dug into his arms.
Aurora nodded, covering her face again. Sad-pitched keening noises snuck between her fingers. She bent forward, almost double. "I'm s-so ashamed!"
Professor Snape knelt before his former student. "You've nothing to be ashamed of. You've done nothing wrong."
"I should have stopped them. I must have done something to attract their attentions—"
"It is not your fault you have a pretty face," Severus said. Aurora's tear-sparkled eyes looked up. Hermione lost all the air in her lungs. The two of them were face to face, reacting to one another like a rose to the sun. "The only thing you can change is your reaction to these nasty little children."
"But…Professor…"
"Severus."
"Severus…some of them are…older than me."
"So?"
Professor Sinistra had a silent epiphany, a moment of resignation. She gave a short nod. "Thank you, Professor."
"Severus," he reminded in good nature. He nearly smiled at her as she stood up, he still on one knee.
Hermione was jealous.
Aurora smiled over her shoulder as she left through the door. "I'll try to remember."
This was the first time Hermione wished she had been sorted into Slytherin. Just for one man, to have one man's full attention—bugger the fact nearly all her house-mates would have despised her.
Minerva asked, "You aren't going to help her?"
The Potions Master was confused. "I just did."
Hermione and Minerva traded looks—they did not understand the ways Slytherins communicated.
