SUNDAY, 17 AUGUST
Harry was going to miss this, he thought. He tossed the quaffle back at Ginny and dove to block Ron. The new Firebolt was definitely an improvement over the battered old Cleansweep or Shooting Stars. The heat of the day was building up, though and he could feel the sweat dripping down his back underneath his shirt. Harry dropped to the ground, wondering if he'd even have time for mucking about on brooms once he started his training at the Ministry.
"Let's go inside and get something to drink?"
Ginny and Ron dropped down beside him. George did a few lazy barrel rolls before joining them. Hermione closed her new seventh year transfiguration textbook and stood up from the chair she'd conjured for herself, banishing it behind her. Leaving their brooms propped against the garden wall (something Mrs Weasley would no doubt shout at her children for later), they filed inside behind Hermione, helping themselves to something cold before flopping down around the living room.
Harry squeezed himself in beside Hermione on the sofa, Ron on her other side. Ginny and George took up residence in a couple of the lumpy armchairs. Ron leaned around Hermione. "Don't suppose you're gonna tell us what was up with Snape yesterday? I could almost swear he was crying if I didn't know any better."
Harry hesitated and shrugged at him. "Just... having a bad day. Happens to everyone."
Ron looked skeptical. "A ' bad day '? Every day is a 'bad day' for him, I reckon. What was so different about yesterday?"
Harry felt annoyed, but knew there was some truth to Ron's statement. He was annoyed because there was some truth to Ron's statement, but didn't say so. Also, it wasn't any of his business. Harry hadn't told his friends the entire story, yet, and wasn't sure if he ever would. He had a feeling that Snape wouldn't appreciate the connection they had now becoming general knowledge, if nothing else.
"He's human like the rest of us, okay? Just drop it, will you?"
Ron looked prepared to say something else, but Hermione elbowed him before he got the words out.
George, however, was well out of jabbing distance. "Human, eh? Always thought he might be a vampire myself. Of course, I've seen him eat stuff with garlic in, so..."
Harry rolled his eyes. It was an old rumor, much discussed around the common room in years past and so utterly uncreative that he was surprised George had even brought it up. "He's not a vampire, George."
George grinned at him, raising his pumpkin juice like he were toasting the man. "'Course not, mate, just a man with a serious grudge against ears."
Harry definitely knew George was deliberately winding him up now, but his mild amusement didn't quite override his irritation. "He wasn't actually aiming for you , you know."
George just kept grinning at him while Ginny rolled her eyes.
"Fine, fine, so he's a bad shot. Bygones and all that. I'm happy for you, Harry, really I am. You've got messed up family all your own now to drive you spare. Cheers!"
Mr Weasley suddenly appeared in the door frame from the hallway. "Don't forget we've got an appointment at the Ministry tomorrow, Harry. I know you want your apparition license before September and their schedule's pretty packed right now, I'm not sure I could get you another slot in time if you miss it. Ron, yours is Thursday morning."
"Ooh, can I come too? Wouldn't want to miss ickle Harry splinching himself!"
Harry pulled a cushion from behind his back and threw it at George's head while Ron and Ginny tried to muffle their laughter. Hermione stood up, shaking her head, and walked off toward the kitchen.
MONDAY, 18 AUGUST
Minerva was back in her office again (she was finally beginning to think of it as truly hers now), going back through the stack of CVs and trying to force herself to make some sort of decision. She was out of time, simply put. This should have been handled and put to bed a week ago. September was coming on like a freight train and people needed to be hired and oriented and moved into their offices and classrooms.
She'd interviewed two of the candidates for Muggle Studies that morning and settled on her original choice, a Muggle-born witch from Argentina who had resettled in London a few years ago as her husband had wanted to be closer to his aging parents. She seemed bright and enthusiastic and had taught primary school for several years back in her native country. How well she'd do with older students was an unknown quantity, but Minerva felt reasonably confident that the woman would adapt.
She picked up the file for the St. Mungo's veteran applying for Potions master again, sighing. He really was about as good she was going to get, given what was available. She'd have a try at negotiating with the retired curse-breaker for Defense, though. They might be able to scrounge a bit of extra funds from the school's endowment, if it came to it, although not quite as much as the woman wanted.
She was about to give up for the day when there was a sharp knock on her door. She hadn't expected any visitors, but perhaps Filch or Hagrid...
"Come in."
At least she managed to contain her surprise when Severus Snape walked through the door, although she could not totally prevent a small, hesitant smile.
"Well, this is a bit of a surprise, I must confess. What can I do for you, Severus?"
The man seated himself in the visitor's chair across from her, pausing to glance around the room as though he were looking for something. He turned back to her a moment later.
"I have thought about... your offer. I suppose you may already have made other arrangements, but—"
"Which do you want, then? Potions or Defense? Although I suppose if you want Muggle Studies I will have to let Mrs Patiño-Williams know that her services won't be needed."
He stared down at his hands in his lap, shaking his head very slightly.
"Whatever you require..."
Minerva glanced back at the two stacks of parchment, her mind working swiftly. Ah, a solution presents itself .
"Both, then."
His head jerked up, looking at her in shock.
"But the courses overlap, Minerva, surely...? Am I to use a time-turner, or...?"
She laughed at his discomfiture and failed to feel even a shred of guilt at leaving him hanging.
"Sixth and Seventh years, Severus. N.E.W.T.s level material only. That ought to keep you from getting too bored, and cut down on your endless frustration with the younger students' classroom manners. And I know Albus found your own classroom antics amusing or something, but I will expect you to be civil."
Minerva gave him a pointed look, waiting for him to protest or deny, but he did not react. If anything, he still looked somewhat lost. Minerva sighed and continued, wondering how long this strangely compliant mood would last (probably only until the first cauldron exploded, she guessed).
"In any case, I'm afraid I am not terribly impressed with your potential replacements in either subject this year. I've pulled the two most likely candidates, but both have problems."
"Who will teach the lower forms, then?"
Minerva grabbed the two candidates she had, if not exactly favored, found the least distasteful, and tossed them toward her colleague (as he was once again, finally ). The curse-breaker's desired salary would be less burdensome as a part-time position if she were willing to accept it, and Severus could keep tabs on the St. Mungo's veteran if he slacked off on theory for the younger students, at least. He picked up the Defense candidate first, reading over each page carefully before handing it back to her.
"Seems... adequate. Not sure I approve of her requested salary, however. She does not seem to have taught in a school environment before, perhaps she does not understand that Hogwarts does not work like Gringotts?"
"I haven't a clue, to be honest. That point will have to be negotiated, as we cannot afford all that she wants, but if she's willing to work part time and take a more reasonable fee, well enough then. I will be speaking with her before the end of the week, so we shall see. If not, I'll pull another from the stack, although none of them are impressive."
He picked up the other stack of parchment. He read slowly for a moment, then quirked an eyebrow, his lip curling as he glanced through the remainder with impatience.
"Minerva, you know my opinion of this sort. You can't possibly think this young man is suitable? I do vaguely remember him, I think. Ravenclaw, finished about ten years ago, perhaps? He wasn't a poor student, but there was nothing at all exceptional about him, as far as I recall. That he has spent a few years churning out standard antidotes does not make him qualified to teach this subject."
"I won't argue with you, Severus. But if you'd like to look at the rest, I assure you that you will not find anyone better on offer at the moment. They are all like that this year. Mr. Wright seems the least odious of the lot, I'm afraid."
Severus glared at her over the edge of the parchment, unswayed by her argument. Minerva did not flinch under his stare.
"I had thought to give you oversight of his curriculum, if you don't mind the extra task. If you think he is neglecting any portion of it, you are welcome to correct him and I will support you fully."
"I suppose that will be... adequate."
Minerva conjured a second teacup and pushed the pot over toward him, in case he was planning on beating a swift retreat now that he'd agreed to return. She was getting tired of his habits of avoidance.
"I suppose this may be a personal question, but what changed your mind, exactly? I had gotten the impression that you were utterly bent on locking yourself away entirely."
Severus turned aside, looking at a spinning model of the heavens that had once belonged to Albus Dumbledore (which Minerva had taken out of storage and restored to its former place earlier that morning on some sentimental whim).
Minerva shook her head and scooped up the applications, putting the two she intended to interview onto one side of the desk and shoving the rest away in a drawer to respond to by post later.
"Well, keep your reasons to yourself, I suppose. But I am glad you are back, Severus, whatever swayed you."
Severus smiled at the celestial model. Not a sarcastic smile, or a sad one, or that weird little half-smile he had when he'd just said something he thought was clever.
"Harry told me to return. I am not sure why I listened."
Well, then. That is a surprise. But an oddly pleasing one, she thought.
"Because it was an imminently reasonable and sound suggestion, perhaps? I always said he was quite a bright boy, whatever you might have protested."
He snorted at the praise.
"I will concede that he is not a complete idiot, but I don't know that I would go that far. No, I think at the time he could have told me to dance a jig on the roof of Hagrid's hut and I might have at least considered the idea."
The man's smile evaporated. He reached over and gave an orb a flick with one finger, setting the entire model into motion.
"He's done something to me, Minerva. It is... deeply worrisome, in a way, but I do not know what to do about it."
Minerva hesitated for a moment, then stood, crossing the room to pull a book off of a side table where she'd been reading it a few days before.
"I've been debating on whether or not to show this to you, Severus, but I think it might be better if you knew. I had wondered about that spell Smethwyck had used on the two of you, remembered something I'd read many years ago. It took a few hours of digging through the restricted section in the Library last week, but I finally found something whose description matched what I witnessed at St Mungo's." She paused, her earlier irritation returning. "Smethyck's explanation, I'm afraid, was rather inadequate. I suspect he somewhat misled Harry, and the rest of us, to a degree, quite deliberately. I never did like the man, he is far too enthusiastic about experimenting on people."
She handed the book to him and returned to her seat behind the desk. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore was watching them from his frame, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
Severus opened the book to the page where she had tucked a leather bookmark. The script was a faded thin, looping handwriting in a style of language that dated it to about the mid 19 th century, perhaps. Half the page was covered in a complicated diagram with a rather ostentatious illuminated heading above.
A Communion of Souls
He dropped the book into his lap, shutting his eyes against a returning sense of panic. It's already done, there is no undoing it now. Just face it already.
He forced himself to continue reading. The description was couched in highly flowery, obtuse metaphor, drawing heavily on religious symbolism. The actual instructions were only slightly more practical. He wanted to throw the book across the room in frustration, but knew it wouldn't change anything. However he read it, one thing was clear – his soul and and the soul of Harry Potter had been re-attuned to one another quite thoroughly.
Donating a bit of his innate magic , indeed. It had the side effect of mingling two witches' or wizards' magical signatures and allowing damage to one to be ameliorated by the other's, but it wasn't even the primary intended purpose of the spell. Smethwyck hadn't "somewhat misled" Harry; he'd outright lied .
No wonder he couldn't stand in close proximity to the boy, now, without knowing intimately what he was feeling. It was like striking a tuning fork and bringing it alongside another of the same pitch – the one would always cause the other to sound in return.
There were uncomfortable similarities with what Harry had experienced with Voldemort and the horcrux that the child had carried for sixteen years, linking the two mind and psyche and soul. That Severus had been put in the Dark Lord's former place in his son's life, in even small measure, was not lost on him and it made his heart ache with an unexpected regret.
It was not the same , though, not by a long shot. It was not even dark magic, strictly speaking – no actual harm was done to either participant, although if forced upon the unwilling or unknowing, as Smethwyck had done, it was certainly highly unethical. He snapped the book shut and slammed it down on Minerva's desk, incensed.
"I should curse that man."
"You would not be the first in line."
"Am I correct in assuming there is no way to reverse this?"
"Not without doing great harm to the both of you. I did look for something, although I am not convinced it needs reversing. But from what I have come to understand, your souls would be essentially shredded from any attempt. You'd both end up like Voldemort or something even more diminished."
She smiled at him sadly but not unkindly.
"Severus, this is not the end of the world. The two of you were already more alike in some ways than either of you would probably ever care to admit. This... bond... between the two of you has already proved itself to be healing for the both of you, it seems. Perhaps you'd best be served by accepting it for what it is. I don't see that you have much choice, anyhow. Do try to make the best of it?"
She then smiled like a cat about to pounce.
"Of course, if you think it will make you feel better, by all means do find Smethwyck and hex him into jelly. Just let me know when you plan on going, I should like to watch."
"I told you Hogwarts had not seen the last of Severus Snape."
"Oh do shut up, Albus."
Bloody portrait.