Dumbledore stood before Severus, eyes closed in contemplation. A pot of water sat boiling behind them both, for now silent. Severus was correcting papers severely, taking off for even the most innocent of mistakes. A melody began as the pot began to boil; scritch scritch blub hiss blub scritch. Then, the kettle began whistling off a sweet chirp and the headmaster flicked his wand. Two cups with tea bags appeared and the pot came to tip two steaming pools of warmth. A flowery aroma filled the dank study.

"I could have you fired, you know..." the elder began melodically, quite dispelling the severity of what had actually been said. The professor looked up.

"Yes, you could, but you won't. You still think I'm some sort of use to you. Even after..." He grimaced and looked back down at his work. "Even after what happened with the Potter brat. You think He's still around."

Dumbledore sat then, still sipping tea meditatively. The quill had been put down and the office filled with silence and the sound of water freezing into the walls. The headmaster's eyes locked with Severus'.

"It is quite outrageous, I know. I am the only one to think..." he trailed off purposefully. A moment's longer pause. "Why her, Severus?"

His face paled but he did not look away. Dumbledore held eye contact with menacing power.

"She's useful."

"I see...how was she? Was she worth it?"

"Headmaster," Snape spat, "I've work to do."

"Please be discrete, Severus. We don't need a whirlwind rumor disgracing our halls."

Snape made the minutest of nods, knuckles white, and Dumbledore retired to his own study.

I awoke from a sound; it was the sound of something breaking. I didn't know what it was, simply that it had the distinct sound of breaking bone and then was no more. Navy blue curtains obscured a bleak December sky. More clouds had rolled in and promised an equivalent, if not a worse, day than the previous. Ominous lightning forbade an obscene day. On my way to the Great Hall, quite early by my standards, I noticed Bill was not at his usual spot. I entered then expecting to see him eating a hearty breakfast in order to go study or some such poppycock. He was not there either. The only professor at the table was McGonagal, sipping tea and reading over the previous day's headlines. Hardly any food had yet been put out; there were scones, pumpkin juice, water and eggs. I sat down and helped myself to a glass of water. About twenty minutes later the typical early risers began to trickle in while bacon, pancakes, sausages and croissants appeared to greet them.

I ate nothing. I heard nothing. The low murmur of voices pervaded the hall but did not make it into my bubble. The ceiling was rolling grey and white, thunder and lightning dancing like dangerous playmates. Bill then entered, on Dumbledore's heels, whispering animatedly, furiously and with great purpose. Dumbledore appeared amused, but nodded politely at even intervals. Then He walked in, graceful, fierce and cold. Bill pointed with vehemence at Snape.

I saw, but did not care. Perhaps I paled slightly, knowing I was some burden on my only friend, but nothing that changed my demeanor. Flitwick seemed to notice my sulking, but was soon engrossed with Sprout about some interesting plant (I'm sure). I felt the icy wind hit my face and knew He was looking straight at me. A blush spread across my face as I pushed myself back from the table and left. Bill stormed after me out into the corridor, grabbed my arm so hard it hurt and spun me around to face him.

"Piroska!" His face was livid. "Did he hurt you? Did he insult you? Why are you so lifeless? Look at me!" His eyes were on fire.

"It was like a detention. It was cold. Maybe I caught something." There was no hesitation, but a slight shrug of my shoulder to prove I was apathetic about it.

"I don't believe you," he whispered, though his voice wavered.

"It wasn't even as bad as DADA second year. I'm fine. Did you get your exam back yet?" I shoved my book under my arm.

His eyes flickered and he nodded. He had gotten it before the professor had gone to breakfast. He'd done extraordinarily well. Bill was nowhere near satisfied, but accepted that I was not in harm's way. Sometimes, Gryffindor loyalty and trust was unfounded while Ravenclaw wit was impermeable. When had I grabbed a book? I blinked away my own question, scared at this blank in my memory. What else have I blocked...

That day I did not have Potions, but sat angrily with my NEWT Transfiguration homework. Twenty inches. No quoting. It was on Animagi. A small, scared first year approached me with a scrap of parchment.

He would make a good mouse, I thought to myself.

"A-are you M-Miss Oliver?" he stuttered.

I glared and inclined my head in the affirmative. He shoved the parchment, moist with sweat and crumpled, into my outstretched hand. The ink was blotched and hard to read, entire letters too blurry to decipher, but I knew the hand that wrote it.

My of**ce. S*t**day. W*'v* lots *o get t*.

Sev*rus

"We've lots to...get to..." I mouthed the words. The small boy was quivering in his place, apparently waiting for me. I looked up. "What is it? Why are you still here?"

"He-to say Prof. Snape-a-asked me to g-g-get a rep-p-p-p-"

"Stop stuttering. Yes, yes, don't be nervous around me. Here's a toffee. There's a boy. Hold on then..." I rummaged for an ugly scrap of parchment. To be snide or fearful? Hm...snide it is.

Do I need to bring towels? - Piri

I folded the note into eighths and thrust it at the boy, now chewing a toffee with a vaguely less worried look. He swallowed quickly and took off like a scurrying mouse into a cat's lair.

No, no. That's an awful simile. Severus is a snake. Let us not kid ourselves. There was nothing warm or fuzzy about the man.

I expected a reply immediately, but after a handful of hours, accepted he was done for the day. Or maybe he'd eaten his messenger...I wandered into this thought, packing my essay (three inches too short!) into my bag and trudging off to face my doom. I set myself. It was solid, but not solid enough. For the time, I'd forgotten about the silky man in the shadows. I had momentarily separated myself from that crushing fear and allowed myself a moment of ordinary.