January Fading

"The colonel is out," a tired Robertson's voice informed Minerva through her office's feeble fire. "Would you like to leave a message?"

"No," muttered the deputy headmistress, resentfully watching her last logs being eaten by flames – unnecessarily, as Lance Snape seemed to have disappeared to Africa once again, doing his job. "Yes," she then suddenly decided. "Tell him that it is going to be the first Wednesday of the month next week. And that I'll expect him for tea at precisely four o'clock in the afternoon."

"Pardon me, Professor," replied Robertson tiredly and his face came into view for a second, "I seem to remember your regular meetings have not been as regular as they used to for quite some time now."

"Yes," replied Minerva sourly. "Which is exactly the reason why I wish you to remind him of this month's first Wednesday. He has forgotten our meetings quite a bit too frequently as of late. Oh, and please let him know that his son just handed in an outstanding essay on python scale structure, will you?"

The Robertson confirmed and then vanished. Minerva rubbed her face, feeling a little tired all of a sudden. Luckily, the third years' essays were not due back until mid-February. She had taken an instant look at Severus's however, not daring to hope that he had averted his complete failure of the subject and the possibility of having to repeat the year. She had been suitably surprised, however. Not only had young Snape seemed to come up with a decent structure for a change, he had also apparently taken the time of supplying himself with a written permission for the restricted section of the library and borrowed the book she had suggested in class a week earlier for people particularly curious about the topic at hand.

Perhaps she had underestimated the boy after all.

Remedial lessons had come to a temporary stop. What with the beginning of the new year, Minerva had found herself spending more and more time at home trying to keep her mother from ripping off her uncle's head and to remain up-to-date on the most recent developments concerning his liaison with a Muggle girl…

A knock on the door pulled her out of her contemplations.

"Come in," she said sharply, snapping back into her teacher-mode. The person who entered was plump and wearing a big smile on her pink face. The room seemed to light up whenever Mandragora Sprout entered it, Minerva noticed, not indignantly, and pointed her friend to a chair before settling down herself again, quite thankfully that it was not a student who had decided to visit her with one or the other teenage problem tonight.

"Been trying to call your friend again?" the herbologist enquired.

"My particular friend, yes," Minerva replied darkly, rubbing her face. "It really frightens me to think that he has gone back to work already. I seem to remember him mentioning that he worked all weekend."

"Average job requirements," shrugged Professor Sprout lightly. "Don't you do weekends?"

"Yes, but that's different," replied her colleague sourly. "If you decide to become a teacher, you know and accept it's a full-time job right from the start. Particularly at Hogwarts."

"And as a soldier… you don't?" Mandy grinned.

"Well, I certainly see your point," sighed the deputy headmistress. "As usual. But I should still like to see him take a rest for once. He is making things more difficult than they would have to be. For himself AND his son."

"Severus is here at the moment, is he not?" her colleague wondered. Minerva stared at her for a full minute before realising what was wrong.

"Since when have the two of you been on first name terms? He is not in your house, I seem to recall?"

"I am not calling him that, obviously," assured her colleague hurriedly. "But I do think of my students as good friends. As I hope they do with me."

"You want them to call you Mandy?"

"I gave them my second name," said the Herbology witch proudly. "Thus I differentiate between good friends and people who are going to be good friends after school…"

"You let them call you Pomona?" Minerva cut in again, finding this rather hard to believe.

"Obviously not," replied the herbologist good-naturedly. "What would the examiners say? But I told them they can think of me as such."

"How do you maintain authority, I wonder…" Minerva muttered, not really expecting an answer.

"Respect," Mandy replied, nevertheless.

"Yes, and that," said her friend tiredly.

"I mean I show them some respect and they usually return the favour," Mandy explained.

"I know," said Minerva. "We have had this discussion before – or a similar one in any case."

"Yes, I remember. You were going on about my teaching methods."

"Well, I will reprimand every colleague who sends a bunch of first years through the dungeons unsupervised."

"They were looking for moping mosses," her friend replied sulkily. "But I appreciate that you are quite nitpicky when it comes to rules. I know you mean well. And I respect your decisions."

"Why, thank you, seeing as I am technically your superior…"

The conversation continued for a while, containing varying degrees of bickering. After a while, however, Mandy seemed to decide that they had now reached the moment most suitable for her to reveal her true motivation for climbing several staircases up to her colleague's office.

"Your uncle is quite happy, is he?"

Minerva sighed, took her glasses off and pretended to clean them, throwing a help-seeking look at her fireplace, which was still lit and filling the room with a deep, red-golden shimmer. "I assume he is," she replied.

"Has anyone been able to get anything out of Maude yet?" her friend enquired. "She was obliviated, was she?"

"She lost her memory," said Minerva quietly. "I don't know how. No one does. Uncle Angus has rented a small flat near the West coast and is trying to sort things out from there. Maude seems to recognise him. At least they are spending a great deal of time together, chatting and who knows what."

"I think that's wonderful and very romantic," Mandy remarked, following her colleague's gaze into the flames. They were sitting together for a while, neither of them speaking or, indeed, moving at all. Minerva felt unable to even try and digest everything that had happened before and during the holidays on top of her various essays and the matter of young Snape, which this time, she resolved, was not going to slip her mind as it had so many times before.

"You are thinking of your colonel," Mandy noted, as though having read her friend's mind. The deputy headmistress blinked and frowned.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Well, I know you've spent some time making up your mind about him," replied the herbologist slyly. "And you would. The matter is rather delicate."

"Yes," said Minerva darkly. "You'll imagine that I have no idea how to address it."

"You are going to talk to him?"

Disbelievingly, Minerva noticed how her best friend's face lit up at the idea of her mentioning young Snape's strange behaviour to his father. "No need to get this excited about the matter," she said sharply. "Do you think this is entertaining?"

"I must admit I do," said Mandy, politely trying to look suitably subdued. "And exciting, too, oh yes. I thought you were never going to make up your mind, to be honest. It's been some time, after all."

Minerva stared at her chubby friend in confusion and disbelief. They were not talking about the same thing. Could not be, she now remembered, since Mandy had not witnessed the situation in her office during young Snape's remedial lesson. For a second, she considered explaining what she had actually been referring to, but then changed her mind. It was not fair towards the boy to let the entire staff know his problems – if, indeed, there were problems of the kind Minerva anticipated.

"I am not going to ask him to marry me," she thus said sourly, assuming that this was what her colleague had in mind. The disappointment on Professor Sprout's face confirmed her assumption.

"And a shame it is," came a sudden voice from her fireplace, "as much as it was twenty years go."

In the same instant, Minerva's wand, safely stored away in the pockets of her robes, began vibrating to announce the arrival of a floo-comer.

"Lance," she said without turning, "it is polite to knock."

"I was under the impression," replied the colonel, stepping out of the fireplace, brushing some dust and ashes from the black trousers of his officer's uniform, "that you wished to see me."

Minerva turned. "And so I did," she said quietly. "It is good of you to take the time and come over. I was not sure whether Robertson would remember to pass my message on."

"He is trustworthy," the Snape replied. "And highly reliable."

"You know the problems I have with him," Minerva said darkly. "Mandy, if we could talk later…"

"Of course," her friend said quickly, raising from her seat, not without flashing the colonel a meaningful grin. "You will want to be a lone," she observed, edging a little closer to the seven foot man. "If not, however, well… you know where to find me."

The Snape started making excuses as to why it would be impossible for him to stop by the greenhouses after his conversation with the deputy headmistress, but Mandy did not wait for him to turn her down.

"I'll speak to you later," she said to Minerva and disappeared, closing the door behind her with a thud. The colonel frowned.

"Sit down," Minerva told him, pointing at the chair Mandy had just left. "I need to speak to you, as you have rightly guessed. Did you bring some time with you?"

"I have an hour," replied the colonel.

"You are not making your recruits run around in circles on the drill pitch in M'bwa in the middle of the night, surely?" the deputy headmistress enquired, throwing a doubtful look at a small clock on her desk.

"No," replied her opposite darkly. "But I shall have to be in bed by half past twelve."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "I don't assume someone is sending you?"

"I am sending myself," explained the Snape. "If I don't get at least four hours, I tend to lose concentration in dangerous situations."

"I take it there are no immediate threats to the wizarding empire at the moment, though?" his opposite enquired, her lips forming a thin smile.

"Just the drill at the moment," confirmed the soldier. "What is it you wish to speak to me about?"

Minerva gave the tall man a thoughtful look. Here he was, Lance Snape. Descendant of an old wizarding line. By pure accident also foster father to a son who had no idea that he had inherited his name (though the same as Lance's) from a Muggle not worth mentioning, and his physical features from a mother who had been too scared to even admit his presence. And now – a widower. Most certainly under the impression that the only person to blame for Virbia's death was he alone. What was she thinking, even considering the possibility that he was keeping up his father's habit of citing his sons to the office whenever he was in a bad mood…

"How is Severus?" Lance asked as Minerva made no indication that she was going to start speaking today.

"He is doing very well," the deputy headmistress replied, trying not to let her inner struggle show. "As I told Robertson to convey to you. Did he not?"

"He must have forgotten," Snape replied.

"He has handed in a remarkable essay on python scale structure," Minerva said smilingly. "Would you like to take a look?"

"Only if you think it appropriate," the soldier replied, his expression unchanging. Minerva sighed and got up.

"No need for such extreme politeness," she said softly. "I know you are interested. Of course I think it appropriate. Indeed, I think it necessary that you should hear and see some good news for a change. I shall give him an A, most probably, which would be a first for him – in Transfiguration at least." She started browsing the first years' essays, looking for the one with "Severus Snape" on top.

"I must say I consider myself surprised," said the boy's father now, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his massive chest. "He seemed to have severe difficulties particular with reptiles during the holidays. I cannot remember the exact topic he wrote about, but his Transfiguration work was not satisfying in the least."

"Oh, but this essay is," Minerva replied absently, browsing her papers. "Ah, here we go. 'On the structure of python scales' – his handwriting is much more legible on this one, too."

She handed the colonel a piece of parchment, which had several feet of detailed descriptions of scales on it, small, but not miniscule. The Snape read.

"I was going to talk to you about something rather important, by the way," Minerva began hesitantly while her partner in conversation was still scanning the essay. "I am just not very sure where to begin. It is something that occurred during the last remedial lesson I…"

She was interrupted by some restrained laughter and surprised muttering of her old friend. Lance, very clearly, was not listening at all, but deeply engrossed in his son's writing.

"Fantastic," he muttered, visibly amused. "It is rather witty, too. Look at this – 'it is possible to envisage the process backwards, of course, but the result would look bromeliad-like and naturally the resulting creature would not survive for two seconds'. It is too bad you will have to mark this as a digression. He does have a point."

Minerva did not reply. Her gaze was fixed at Lance's expression, which, for once, was not one of stern severity, but lined with small wrinkles around the eyes and his black beard. With a jolt in her stomach, Minerva realised that she had rarely ever seen him this happy.

"So," said the soldier, "what was it you were going to say? I am sorry, my son's wit distracted me a little there."

He was proud. He was bursting with pride for the boy he had always considered his only son. Minerva heaved a deep breath and then put the essay back where it belonged, using the opportunity to hide her worried face from him.

"Nothing, really," she said eventually. "To be honest, I was going to remind you of our meeting next week. My mother misses talking to you."

"I sincerely hope she is not the only one," said the soldier good-naturedly. "But I am afraid we shall have to postpone our meeting a little. Next Wednesday is the date of the generals' meeting in Central and I was invited in order to…" He broke off, seeming unsure whether to continue or not. Minerva had little trouble guessing, however.

"To further your career?" she guessed.

"Amongst other things," the Snape replied meekly, looking nevertheless genuinely pleased with himself. "You will understand, of course, that this is a matter of vital importance…"

Minerva nodded, regarding her old friend with familiar affection. "I understand."

They parted a little later, agreeing to contact each other about the meeting, both well aware that neither would take the first step.