Late Sunday night in Potomac was early Monday morning at Hogwarts, and the Trans-Atlantic Portkey ride dropped them on the lawn in front of the castle. Hard. Potter was the first to find his feet while Samuel wished the world would stop spinning.
Samuel was shocked by the efficiency with which Potter gained entrance to the Headmistress' office. He straightened his slacks and sport coat as he stepped off the staircase and noticed Minerva staring at him in confusion. Then began the revolting 'fawning over Potter' ritual. Samuel scowled at them both and settled into a chair, without waiting for an invitation.
By Samuel's reckoning, it must have been the wedding of the century-- though how the Weasleys would have funded such was a complete mystery. When the old tabby began discussing the flower girl, Samuel cleared his throat. "Potter, shall we dispense with the unpleasantness?" When Everyone's Favorite Groom blinked at him, Samuel prodded further. "The letter?"
John had been especially pleased when he finished this missive. Fidelius protected facts were doled out, one bite at a time, each carefully building on the last in a way that prevented the reader from skipping ahead. Minerva paused after reading a few sentences and scowled at the portrait of her predecessor. It didn't take long for that glare to be turned upon Samuel himself.
Potter stepped between them, and quietly assured her that Remus Lupin was to be taken very seriously, especially regarding the post script-- which must have been written after Samuel had seen the letter. Minerva's glare grew even darker as she snarled at them both, "Well played, Remus. Mr. Potter, use the suite we discussed, but I'm holding you accountable for this man's actions. Personally accountable." She narrowed her eyes. "Severus." Clearly it was both a greeting and a dismissal, because she turned her back on both of them and directed her ire to the painting behind her desk. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian... "
Samuel didn't want to hear any more. He followed right on Potter's heels down the stairs and through the halls to a hideous tapestry across from a well camouflaged door. "I didn't realize that congratulations were in order." Samuel shifted his jaw to the side and forced his face to relax. "May you lighten each other's load, and soothe each other's tears."
Potter smirked. "No wonder you never say anything nice. That's as 'girlie' as it gets."
Samuel scowled and snarled at the whelp. "Fine, I'll offer my father's sentiments. Burn her shoes and keep her in her place, boy, or she'll have you eating from her hand. But perhaps the more pressing question is why a new husband can spend so many nights on my couch? Honeymoon over, Mr. Potter?"
"What honeymoon? Amanda disappeared between the wedding and the reception. Does it please you to know that you're in the position to give us the most cherished wedding gift of all?"
"Antler chandelier has come back into vogue?"
"You're still a git."
Samuel allowed himself one last sneer, before he pushed past Potter and into the suite of rooms.
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Irritated from lack of sleep and Potter's complete disorganization, Samuel swept into the great hall in full Potions master's demeanor. They were thirty minutes late for breakfast, and he desperately needed some form of caffeine.
The table was unusually full for this early in August. Minerva and Trelawney, he'd expected. Sprout, Hagrid, and Filch caused no surprise. Slughorn could be busy brewing for the school year. Longbottom was a shock, and Tonks-- he just wasn't ready to face the woman.
If he was unprepared for the crowded table, they were astounded to see him. All conversations stopped mid-sentence. Longbottom blanched, and Trelawney's fork clattered as it struck he floor. "I see everyone has read the Prophet." Samuel snapped at the gaping fools. "Am I welcome at this table, or should I check my food for poison?"
Slughorn broke the silence. "Severus, it's good... er... well I'm glad to learn that we were mistaken." Hagrid stood quickly and Samuel barely ducked the intended bone crushing hug. After exchanging greetings of varying sincerity, he welcomed the isolation he found on the far side of Trelawney.
His gambit paid off until his cup was snatched from his fingers. "Sibyll, really!" He tried to take it back, but she fended him off with one hand, while pulling the cup close to her face.
She gasped dramatically and plunked the cup onto the table. "Severus..."
"Not the 'Grim' again, woman. You've already predicted my death, which will certainly come to pass eventually."
She stared him down his time. "Not the 'Grim', The Wolf... he brings death to your door."
"For Merlin's sake, Sibyll, keep up with current events. I'm not afraid of John Wolfe..." He realized his faux pas as he looked down a table of blank stares. "...Remus Lupin," he corrected.
"The leaves do not lie, Severus. You cannot escape your fate."
"Which fate would that be? Wolf, poison, betrayal, or fall... and will that be before or after I am named Headmaster of Hogwarts?" He stood and glared sharp icicles down the table before turning on his heel to leave.
"Professor Snape, I mean, Dr. Crane," Longbottom sputtered. "Tell Remus that I can do it."
Samuel felt his head begin to pound. "Glacier Lilies?" The nod was immediate. "Fine. Thank you." He even tried to make it sound sincere.
Back on the seventh floor, Samuel stared in amazement at the socks, shirts, and trousers scattered across the sitting room. Potter, swine keep a neater living space. He snorted and swept his wand across the mess. The clean room that resulted soothed his sense of order, and he moved into the bedroom that Potter had graciously offered to him.
He opened a book and stared at the wall. The stones were stacked in a mosaic-like pattern. They reminded him of John, shirtless in the Montana summer, arranging paving stones in a meandering path through the garden. Focus, old man. Yaxley's motivator...
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Samuel plodded forward through the subterranean halls, missing John. Stupid Potter-- after insisting that he contact the wolf, and allowing depressingly brief assurances by both that all was well-- ended the connection abruptly, citing the fast approaching hearing in London. Now his hands were shackled as he staggered at wand point to the farthest cells the Ministry housed.
Thinking of John right now would be a grave error. As he had taken pains to point out to Potter, Macnair was still a killer. Yaxley must have become quite dominant to have held the other wizard in check for nineteen days. Samuel couldn't afford to be distracted while facing him.
"That's far enough, Snape." I don't care if you can project your voice, Potter. You're still a whelp to me. The steel bars marking the face of the cell were overly dramatic. Prisoners were contained by the magic, not the structure. as he turned to the cell 'door', he caught his first glimpse of Ruben Yaxley. The last month had clearly not been kind. Closely shorn hair framed a fading black eye, newly crooked nose, and jagged teeth. If that man bites me, Potter, you will deeply regret it.
He was dressed in ragged army pants and a stained undershirt. If he'd been wearing a robe when he was captured, it had been taken away with his shoes when Potter demanded a suicide watch. As a result, Samuel was deprived of robe and shoes as well. Bloody fool. You should have confessed. Now, I'm going to make you pay for dragging me from my comfortable office. Under-educated eyes locked with Samuel's in astonishment.
Calm. Potions master. Death Eater. "Ruben, you've certainly looked better."