Now from Severus's side…

Albus and Cybicles

Severus woke up Sunday morning after barely three hours of sleep. Not only had he had his customary nightmares left over from the war, but last night, Albus had been in there with the Death Eaters as well, riding rings around them on one of those Muggle things with two wheels, cybicle or bicyble or whatever it's called. He also seemed to have infected everyone including the Dark Lord – especially the Dark Lord – with his twinkling affliction. Livid, scarlet, gleaming, twinkling eyes…

All in all, it was a very distressing night.

Surprisingly though, he had gone to bed that night in a decent mood, even after the day's debacle. He had felt satisfyingly productive, something he typically only felt after an undisturbed day of research and brewing. But yesterday, he had survived Muggle London, accomplished their stupid mission, and almost made Albus wet himself. It was certainly a productive day.

However, a large portion of the experience had been horrifyingly embarrassing; his ego was, without a doubt, battered and bruised.

Muggle London was a jungle. He had braved real jungles before – monkeys and man-guzzling toads and all – but this jungle had worse predators everywhere. Streets packed with crazed Muggles, honking cars, violent familiars on leashes (why would anyone choose dogs as familiars?), lights flashing red, yellow and green, those blasted cybicles! It felt as if everything had been closing in on him; he had never before felt so claustrophobic. If the Dark Lord hadn't been so averse to anything Muggle, he should have punished his minions by sending them to the urban Muggle world for a day.

And Granger. Granger had laughed at him! Hysterically! Him! The Severus Snape. Imposing black figure, billowing robes, silently appearing behind you when least expected, instilling fear in all hearts. That Severus Snape…

He could almost see tears in her eyes by the time she had calmed down. Everyone had been openly staring at them too; what a disgrace.

He must be losing his touch.

So, he had barked at her to restrain herself in his most fearsome voice. That voice had caused fellow Death Eaters to shake in their boots, but it only made Granger laugh almost hysterically again. He had to shut her up somehow, so he had gripped her shoulder tightly and hissed all the ways he could make her life hell for the duration of her teaching career. That had gotten her to shut up and look at him in terror.

He hadn't lost his touch after all, he thought with glee.

Granger had then explained, while looking down at her shoes – whether in fear or to hide her laughter he didn't care to know – that she had found everything they needed. She had even respectfully squeaked whether he would like her to give him a tour of Muggle London. That was met with a growled "No!". He'd had enough of the bloody sun.

So, they headed back to the Leaky Cauldron with her sticking very close to him. She would probably have held onto his wrist if he wasn't Severus Snape. She was right in not touching him; he would have severed her arm in his current state of mind.

And his current state of mind was not pleasant – that was an extreme understatement.

He had been raised to assist a lady with her bags, but this lady was Granger know-it-all, friend of idiot Potter, obstinate troublemaker behind that studious persona, who had made his life hell for seven years and the years as colleagues, and who had just laughed at him for a full seven minutes.

She deserved to hold the bags.

As they closed in on the castle, he had felt something shift beside him. It was a subtle change of magic in the air which he wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been a spy for years. When he chanced a glance, he saw that her face, previously stuck in an expression of a cornered mouse, had begun to morph into the expression of a livid lioness. It seemed like that ruthlessness which had led her to blackmail Rita Skeeter and ruin Umbridge the Toad was now resurfacing. And it was all directed towards Albus; it was a beautiful sight.

The two of them had somehow come to the same decision.

Attack Dumbledore it is.

They had stormed up to the gargoyle with icy anger that fueled each other's anger, they had shouted and thrown hexes at it together, and they had insulted Albus with pleasure. Then, they had stormed into his office and flung that anger at him.

Now, Granger. She had been fierce. Against her employer, no less.

They had been matched in anger and vengeance, whittling Albus' composure down to nothing. That was also a beautiful sight. He had even stuttered. Albus Dumbledore had stuttered. It felt like summer had come early.

The most satisfying part came next, when he had practically run out of the office. Severus had never seen something so hilarious before; he would be watching this memory in his pensieve for the rest of his life – a new source of happiness for his Patronus.

Sunday morning, however, was a different matter. Albus on a cybicle had reminded him of his humiliation in Muggle London and his extreme hate for the Headmaster.

During breakfast, Severus thought he only needed four cups of coffee. That should be perfect to get through the day. But then, Albus bloody Dumbledore pranced in, radiating his smiles and love all over the room. He unconsciously drank another cup of coffee.

Bugger.

Well, if Albus was going to radiate happiness, he was going to radiate something in retaliation. Fury. And fury needed to feed on something.

Too bad it missed the beard.

As Severus left, he saw Granger trying and failing to hold back her signature hysterical laughter at the Headmaster. That gained his appreciation too.

It felt good to finally have someone join him in his Albus-hating.