Happy holiday, readers. Thanks for being patient with me. This chapter is extra long and will, it is to be hoped, be followed by others shortly. If you have the time, a review or two would be most welcomed. Enjoy! DN
The first snows fell the following week, frosting the late-fall flowers with a crystal encasement, clinging to the last leaves of the oaks and birches as they held on stubbornly in the icy wind. The lake was still unfrozen and would be for some time, but the rocks along the shore had become perilously slippery. Students bored in classes kept a watchful eye to catch the sight of a raven or a squirrel slipping off the glazed stones. In the best-case scenario, students were treated to the sight of a slimy tentacle snapping up and finishing off the unfortunate animal that slipped too close to the cold water.
Daylight had now became a precious commodity, with students and staff alike clustering in the courtyards despite the cold, scarves pulled up to chins, hats and boots drawn at last from trunks, and hot chocolate and cider in great demand. The chill in the halls and classrooms was met with winter robes and warming charms, only the common rooms, Great Hall, and the library having truly sufficient heat.
"It's a plot to keep us all studying as much as possible," posited Hannah Abbott, grumbling with the rest of the Hufflepuffs crowded uncharacteristically in the library.
"Won't matter, anyway," muttered Susan Bones after Madam Pince materialized to shush them. "The end-of-term exams are always designed to make you glad to leave."
Ron and Ginny nodded and even Hermione didn't object. But Harry was dreading the holidays this year, though he hadn't mentioned it to anyone. Despite his invitation to the Burrow, he had not accepted yet, still weighing the option of staying at school. A few students generally did, if their parents were traveling or some other circumstance prevented a family gathering. Knowing this was his last year in this place he loved so much, he wanted to get as much as he could. He imagined himself spending a good deal of time lying in, wandering, and generally goofing off. Until the image of Snape, commanding him to do something useful with his time or putting him to work in the Potions lab entered his mind. This possibility had much less appeal.
Whatever beneficent changes had overcome his godfather, he was still Snape. Harry had yet to identify even one time when the Headmaster had eased up on him relative to before. Indeed, there were fewer insults and fewer detentions, but his time outside of classes and Quidditch practice seemed relentlessly filled with homework and Potions research. He had expected more of his godfather's time outside class, more advice and guidance, more … something. Of course Severus Snape was not going to Transfigure into Sirius Black (what an insult it would be to suggest it to Snape), Harry knew. But still, he had expected a little more involvement of some kind. After all, why would Snape have accepted Harry's request for the relationship in the first place? He had nothing to gain and seemed to have little interest in him as an individual.
What was it that he wanted from Snape, anyway? He considered scheduling time with the Headmaster, but struggled to express even to himself just what it was he was seeking. Snape would have been irritated to have his time wasted with a general chat session, Harry supposed. He tried to picture Snape hanging around of an evening, telling stories over a couple of mugs of hot chocolate. He could only picture him reading, writing, grading, or brewing; doing something purposeful. The Snape he knew would never be idle, either in his person or his mind.
How would he explain why he wanted to stay over the holiday, as Snape would surely ask for, if not require, a good reason before granting permission. It seemed as though his life was moving too fast and too slowly at the same time. The gnawing sense of the boredom that his future held remained. And yet his years at Hogwarts were all too quickly coming to an end. The certainty and structure that he'd rebelled against now felt like a familiar rhythm, a reliable pattern. What lay beyond was uncharted and would require him to navigate independently, a prospect that was at once both thrilling and frightening. He could be his own man, make his own decisions, but for what? Deciding what kind of uniformly boring job to occupy, finding a dingy flat to rent, figuring out which unappetizing pizza to order. All of it held no appeal.
Even the thought of Ginny didn't cheer him. What could he offer her now, other than a future of mediocrity? He'd hardly looked to the future before, the present being nearly more than the Wizarding world could handle. Now he saw both of them with boring jobs, coming home tired in the evenings, each blaming the other for life's many disappointments, large and small. He cared very much for Ginny, but being a boring disappointment to her for a lifetime seemed more like a disservice to her every day. Perhaps it was better to end things now while she still had plenty of time to socialize with all the other guys in the 7th and 8th years. And college, which he had made efforts to avoid thinking about. She'd meet someone a lot more interesting there, while he wasn't even sure he'd apply.
With these thoughts in his mind and heaviness in his heart, he decided to schedule a meeting with his godfather and request to remain over the holidays and worked quickly to come up with a good cover story to keep Ron and Ginny from Stupefying him when he told them his plan.
Aurora Sinistra eyed her two intruders carefully. Professor Hunter was busy making the adjustments to the telescope that she'd recommended, her fine red woolen robe moving with the strong winds that were typical of the top of the astronomy tower this time of year. Sinistra admired her new colleague's fashion sense, as well as her obvious wealth, given that all of her robes, shoes, and hats seemed to be from this month's issue of Magical Mufti Monthly. Had she been about a foot and a half taller and perhaps got a better hairstyle, she might have been a model, albeit one with an "interesting" face.
She turned her side-long observation to the Headmaster sitting nearby, observing not the stars and planets, but the Potions Mistress. Having been a long-time colleague of Snape's, she could tell with no doubt that he was in deep. His deference to her, how he stood too near her when they walked in, how he rarely took his eyes off her, except when she was looking at him. Sinistra had noted the gradual changes over the past month; a lessening of his usual caustic sarcasm to a mere mild general irritation; a degree of patience in staff meetings that meant that ideas other than his own might now be heard and considered; and his taking some care for his personal grooming. Previously, she'd been able to tell what he or his students had been brewing for the past several days solely from the odor emanating from his clothing. That had been replaced by a subtle scent of soap and aromatic spices of some kind. His hair was more likely to be tied back than not and his teeth had seemed a bit less yellowed of late. Somehow, even his nose seemed shorter and straighter than before, but that must have been an effect of his changing his hair.
Here they were again, for their now-habitual Friday-evening star gaze. What opposites they were. Him tall, thin, dark, and silent. Her short, rounded, light in her coloring and constantly talking. Usually gregarious and talkative. Except here in the astronomy tower. Perhaps that was why he brought her here, as she became uncharacteristically quiet here which probably suited him more. Sinistra had found Hunter to be an unusually informed and able student of astronomy and got the impression that, in fact, it was Hunter who led them here, rather than Snape. Their visit had ostensibly been a practical one: Hunter needed to know when the optimal time for having her class brew Girding Potion would be, so that they might be strong enough to endure the holidays with their families. The doxy eggs required would be best taken at the conjunction of the moon and Mars. What Snape might be doing, other than spending time with Hunter, was not known to her.
Why are you so worried for Severus, Sinistra wondered to herself. He's an adult, he can handle himself. You would not want to be the object of his speculation about your personal life and you'd do well not to speculate about his. So said the mind. In her heart, she worried. In the many years she'd known him, he'd never had a romantic relationship to the extent that anyone knew. He was better known for being abrasive than attractive or even tolerant of others. He had been reasonably professional as Headmaster this year (in contrast to last year) and treated his colleagues with respect, but was certainly no one's notion of warm and approachable as Dumbledore had been. It seemed he had little experience with being pleasant to anyone, never mind to court a witch. How would he ever manage not to offend or bark at her? And for Hunter, she seemed like a delightful and sociable kind, making friends easily among the Hogwarts' staff and quickly becoming a student favorite. Being well-liked was not as important as being effective and seeing as many students as possible pass their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, she reminded herself. It remained to be seen if Professor Hunter could do both.
It's only a matter of time before he fouls things up, she thought. There could be no doubt that Severus would descend into obsessiveness or make some biting remark meant to be witty and Hunter would be ready to be done with him. What she saw in him was a matter of intense debate among the staff, who noted his talent. But tempered with his silent, solitary habits, his condescension to most of the students, and the nagging questions remaining from his time as a Death Eater, it was a recipe for heartbreak for him. At the end of her year here, Morgan Hunter would surely seek someone better-looking, with ambitions to match her own. And if Sinistra felt this way about her new friend, what might others who were less charitable than her be saying?
How to tell a friend about her lover's past? Sinistra had pondered this very notion for the past few weeks. There seemed to be no good answer. It wasn't a topic that had come up naturally in conversation. Even if it had, it was Snape's place to confess, despite the extensive coverage in the Daily Prophet. Not to mention the effect on her own job, should the Headmaster discover where the information originated. There simply was no good way to approach the subject. Perhaps she already knew and had reconciled herself to it? Improbable. But love can make people do strange things and in truth, Sinistra knew very little about her friend, other than what she herself had told her, little of which could be verified. She was a world-famous potions witch, that much was known. Otherwise, a mystery.
Sinistra said her good evenings as soon as was reasonable to do so, having the good sense to know when her presence was extraneous. Hunter finally heard the last of Sinistra's heels on the stones as she retreated down the stairs.
"There's Orion, the hunter, with the Seven Sisters near," she noted, pointing at the figures in the night. A cold wind swept through the clear, crisp night. Severus drew her closer and surrounded her with his cloak, despite the efficacy of her warming charm and her own cloak. She did not resist, but relaxed against him as his arms slid around her waist. "The sky in Sedona is different," she said, so quietly he had to strain to hear her.
She became silent then, resting, breathing, looking upwards. As much as he enjoyed hearing her voice, holding her in silence was far more preferable. No other place had this effect on her, improving his opinion of this place that held such painful memories for him otherwise. He considered how to begin telling her about Albus, Voldemort, the wars. Himself. But instead he held the silence and allowed it to grow, taking in her scent, softness of her hair on his cheek, the sound of her heartbeat, the rhythm of her breath. He wondered what she thought of, standing here so long and so still. He extinguished the idea of Legilimency as quickly as it entered his mind, knowing the result of that. Or he could simply ask, which he did.
"Sometime you can come with me to Sedona and I'll show you," she said, turning into his embrace.
Some time later, once even the warming charms weren't needed, they opted to return to the Headmaster's office before saying their final goodnights.
"Your coming with me to Sedona, I meant that," she said. Sensing hesitation on his part, she filled the space. "Is something wrong, Severus? You seem troubled by something."
Troubled? By the risk I place myself in getting close to you? By the knowledge of how fast you'd leave if you knew too much about my past? By the fear growing inside that you'd leave if you knew too much about my future? Wondering when you'll notice that some wizard like Parse Winder is far more attractive and better-positioned? He paused to consider the sheer number of wizards who were both more attractive and better-positioned than himself.
Snape's instinct was to be annoyed with himself, as he was generally skilled at hiding his emotions. But Morgan seemed to be keenly observant of his moods and unusually skilled at reading him. He knew denying the presence of inner turmoil was useless. In the previous few weeks of seeing one another socially, he had come to know that her assessments of his moods were accurate and that she was persistent in his talking about things he usually kept only to himself.
And strangely, he was beginning to appreciate having a peer with whom to discuss things (some things), another of his ongoing adjustments to a normal life, one in which he was no longer a double agent constantly placing himself in danger to serve the Greater Good. He opted to discuss a less sensitive issue that had been on his mind and leave the others for another time. He took the chair opposite hers in front of the fire, which had burned down, it now being late in the evening. He had wine and some fruit appear, knowing her taste for red wine with winter apples. He sat squarely there, drumming his fingers on the armrest.
"It's Janiss Ames, the new American student," he began slowly. "She was sent here with the claim that her abilities exceeded her teachers at the Salem Academy in Potions, the career that she wishes to pursue. I have seen nothing of this supposed talent in class. She has yet to successfully make a Potion during the class period, but seems perfectly competent, though undistinguished, during her detentions, of which she's now had six and the first term hasn't yet ended. That hardly puts her in equal rank with Weasley and Longbottom, but I had expected more with her background." He spoke more carefully now, choosing his words. "May I presume that Potions instruction in the US is, at least, relatively equivalent to that which you observe at Hogwarts?"
Hunter put down her glass and sat back contemplatively. She narrowed her eyes and took another moment to reply. "Yes, overall. While the Sedona School was regularly ranked above the Salem Academy in that category, their course of study is well-regarded. Taught by Priscilla Corey, who's well-known and well-respected. Now, her teaching approach is somewhat different from yours…"
"In what way?" Snape drawled, his eyes flashing a warning.
Hunter couldn't help but let out a laugh. "We are considerably more...egalitarian...in the States." Snape growled at this comment, but she continued as though she hadn't heard. "Students at her level, the advanced level, are typically taught to question and experiment, to see what happens if they change the formula or use novel ingredients." She paused to see what effect these words had on Snape, for whom the notion of allowing students to think independently was clearly novel.
"The Potion will fail," Snape stated flatly. "Wasting precious materials and time. Given that the formulas have been tested over the centuries, I cannot see the value."
"Every Potion will fail in different ways, but a few may be improvements," Hunter said evenly. "Even the best theory needs to be tested, just as we are doing with our collaboration." She heard a dismissive snort from Snape. She took a sip of her wine, savoring its warm color in the low light and the flavors of toasted oak and berries in it. "I've been thinking we should work on the formula for snake bites next."
"What species of snake were you thinking?" he asked idly, still staring into the embers.
"Slytherin."
She grinned as he now invited her to share his chair, which she was happy to do. "It may already be too late for you," he said darkly, nuzzling her ear and neck.
Hunter paused before continuing. "I wanted to bring you up to date on my speaking engagements."
Snape was pleased that she wasn't returning to the subject of his traveling with her to Sedona, as it allowed him more time to avoid making excuses for his never leaving the school. It was no surprise that she referred to her lectures in the plural. Interest in this most well-regarded Potion-maker had been as he expected before her arrival. Where to now, he wondered, as he enjoyed feeling of her relaxing in his arms. Perhaps Durmstrang? Borealis Hall? The Academy of Transylvania? No doubt, by the end of her time here, she would have made the rounds of all the relevant teaching institutions of Europe. His mind stumbled slightly as the words "end of her time here" took shape there.
"My most recent talks at the Ministry and Beauxbatons went well. Madame Maxime and her staff send you and the Hogwarts staff warm greetings," she said, as though he should be pleased at this.
A mere formality, collegial posturing. He was familiar with this part of academic practice. His former student, Bill Weasley, had married the Beauxbatons Triwizard Cup champion, Fleur Delacoeur, some years past. He worked with at the Ministry, while she wrote notable books on Transfiguration in French. No doubt a rip-off from British Witchcraft, he though with some degree of smugness.
"My next talk will be in Reykjavik, at Borealis Hall, in January, if that's OK."
Long nights and the aurora in Iceland in January.
"Yes, fine, of course," he intoned, waving his wand toward his calendar, which snapped into his hand, opened to the following month. "You'll need me to cover your classes, I take it? This will require some planning for our research potions, of course, as we had planned to complete an array of Veritaserum with the valerian replaced by your crystal powders…"
"No, I asked Pomona Sprout to cover my classes. The potions we were going to do in classes were primary herbal extracts. Mostly about what parts of Deadly Nightshade to use, what is waste, and what precautions to take during handling. She'll be good at that."
"I hope you've alerted Madam Pomfrey of this schedule? She will want to be prepared, and I'll make some additional antidote…" Deadly Nightshade, while somewhat dangerous, was nothing on the order of magnitude of scorpion venom. A few mishaps might serve to improve students' diligence and focus their attention. That pleasant thought further elevated his mood.
"Good idea, I will notify her in the morning," Hunter said. Snape could tell she had more to say, so he waited, knowing she was unlikely to require prompting.
"Severus, there is more that I need to ask you," she said, rising and returning to her own chair, yet maintaining her steady gaze.
Snape set aside the calendar and waited silently. Perhaps we needs more Nightshade? Are we out already? That seemed unlikely, as they had harvested an excellent and potent amount the evening of, well, the evening of the solstice. No mind, he'd be delighted to make a return to the forest with her of an evening, even a cold one, if there was anything that they needed.
Hunter hesitated. This was awkward to ask, given for how short a time they'd been seeing each other. But she'd made up her mind and she wasn't going to back down. That was not her style.
"The Headmaster of Borealis, Hakkan Andersson, asked me to invite you, as well. He'd like to have both of us there to discuss our work on New and Old World potions, as well as just to meet you in person. The news about the war traveled there, but of course they didn't get the full story." There, it was out of her mouth. She prepared for his reaction, which might range from delightful to distressing.
"I'll send Hakkan an owl and decline," said Snape evenly. He rose and returned to his desk, drawing out a parchment and quill. He quickly penned a short note, signing it with a simple SS.
As he proceeded to roll up the message and seal it, she continued uncomfortably. "Andersson was very keen on your being there, Severus. I'm not sure he actually was interested in having me lecture alone. I've taken the step of asking Madam Pomfrey if she might cover your classes on that day, to free your time, and she agreed."
Any rise in his mood brought on by thought of students' and Deadly Nightshade incidents was decidedly gone, replaced by testiness that she had been so forward as to ask Poppy about his classes before speaking with him. "I can't afford to be away from the school, Morgan. Andersson will be pleased with your expertise. If you need help with developing your lecture…"
Hunter cut him off. "I don't need help with a lecture, I've done hundreds of these, Severus."
"I didn't mean to imply…"
"Of course you didn't. My point is, you need to get out of here and represent the school more broadly, if you want Hogwarts to be world-class as you claim." She realized she had spoken much more harshly than she intended by the glare that had replaced the warmth in his face she'd seen earlier. She attempted to soften her approach. "No amount of parchment can replace presence, Severus. I hope you'll reconsider, both for the school and for me. Iceland is said to be very romantic in winter."
"I can't afford to be away from the school, Dr. Hunter, as I said," he replied, biting off each word, stepping out from behind his desk. "You will be an excellent ambassador. If Andersson requires an additional perspective on Old World portions, I can send word to Horace Slughorn, the Hogwarts Potions Master who preceded me. He certainly knows the Old World well enough and would be more than pleased to share a podium with you." Slughorn would be so delighted to meet such an eminent personality, he would probably Stun himself. Snape passed his hand over a drawer and a small card leapt from it which was embossed "Horace J. Slughorn, Potions Master Emeritus, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" with his address listed as a fashionable area near Diagon Alley in London.
The evening ended with less warmth in office with the fireplace than had been present in the icy winds of the astronomy tower. Hunter walked back to the Ravenclaw tower mulling over the progress in their relationship. What was behind Severus' reluctance to come with her anywhere? Was he embarrassed to be seen with her? It was reasonable not to be overly public with their seeing one another within the bounds of the school, but it was strange that he had never invited her for a afternoon, a dinner, or a drink in Hogsmeade. The holidays were coming shortly and she had pondered over the idea of inviting him to spend some time in London with her during the break. It would be nice to explore the magic of the city with Severus instead of all the official gatherings she's been to with Parse Winder, who never let her have a moment's peace before introducing her to another well-placed or well-heeled witch or wizard. But Severus had never even mentioned the upcoming holiday, leaving her to wonder if she should bring it up herself. His chilly reaction to a weekend at Borealis convinced her to give him a few days time before she broached the subject.
Snape marched down to his chambers, gritting his teeth over turn an otherwise pleasant evening had taken. Deciding to set those issues aside for the moment and to focus on something on which he felt a more firm foundation, he puzzled over Janiss Ames's transcripts and letters of referral again. Everything pointed to her success, not only in Potions, but in her other areas of study, as well. Morgan had confirmed that the Salem Academy had a reputation for excellence in Potions teaching (though second to her own institution) and that she knew the teachers there. A confrontation was in order.
"Where's Janiss?" Luna asked Seamus innocently at Study Hall the following Monday. With end-of-term exams coming soon, and more attention being paid to college applications, everyone was bearing down. The 7th and 8th years were writing long scrolls of parchment with essays on the influence of vessel size and composition on the brewing times and outcomes of potions.
Seamus looked at her in surprise. "I thought you heard everything. She's in detention with Snape."
Luna looked taken aback. "Really? I thought Professor Snape didn't give detentions anymore. No one's gotten one in weeks."
Seamus looked uncomfortable. Ron jumped in. "Well, he couldn't really NOT give her detention today. She called him an old bat and knocked her cauldron over, on purpose. Nearly fried Seamus's lab notebook, it did." Seamus didn't disagree. Ron did his best Snape impression, confident the Headmaster was now safely deep in the dungeon and not behind him. "I'll see you in detention, tonight, Miss Ames. Six o'clock sharp. And 20 points from Ravenclaw." Ron glared stonily. "For insolence."
Harry winced again, remembering the familiar chill in Snape's voice and thinking about how angry the younger Ravenclaws would be. Ravenclaw never lost house points, and certainly not for "insolence." He'd spent more than a few detentions with the Potions Master simply for fouling up a preparation; what would it be like for someone who'd insulted him in class?
"It was weird, she just said it out of nowhere. We were doing really well on the Potion, too, some kind of cleansing potion to restore beazors. And then I had to clean up her mess," Seamus said miserably. "I had thought being her lab partner would be great, her supposedly being good at Potions and all. Now I'd rather be with Pansy Parkinson than her. Don't know how I'll get a N.E.W.T. at this rate."
At this remark, they all shuddered to remember why they were in study hall in the first place and got back to reading, writing, and thinking. Hermione did a lot of thinking, too, but not about lessons. What WAS going on with the American student?
Six pm might as well have been midnight, with the sun having set more than an hour before. The chill of the outside air had thoroughly invaded the dungeons, making the always-forbidding atmosphere even more unwelcoming. The flames from student's brewing usually warmed the room, in addition to the presence of the students themselves. Neither of those was present now. Janiss arrived two minutes in advance, shamefaced and uncertain. The Headmaster greeter her stonily, pointing to a bench near the front of the classroom, closing the door quietly behind her.
"Miss Ames, I was under the impression that you wanted to further your Potions expertise," he began without preamble, standing over her as she sat. His voice was controlled and even, but his words acid. "I am thus far unimpressed with your efforts as well as with your attitude. While you make any number of errors in class, you seem to be perfectly capable of making the item in the evenings. Perhaps your American professors have not informed you that for the N.E.W.T. exams, you will have only one opportunity to make the requested Potion. The examiners from the Ministry will not be as forgiving as I am. Should you fail, it would reflect poorly on you, which would be appropriate, given what you have demonstrated so far. However, your performance also reflects upon this institution and upon me. Therefore, your failure to achieve a N.E.W.T. is a circumstance I will not tolerate. Furthermore, you've shown inexcusable disrespect in my class. Explain yourself."
The Headmaster's words chilled Janiss. She'd been in his detentions before, several times. The mood was never friendly, but strict. Set up the equipment, listen to his lecture on each and every ingredient, preparation, technique, method, and result, going back to the basics that she'd learned in her first three years. Then the clean-up, always without magic, always filthy, and usually a few other students' leftover mess to add to her own.
Tonight was different. There was no equipment out, no formula written on the board. He had not ordered her to begin work on anything at all. She saw no piles of cauldrons, smelled no lingering stench of potions gone bad.
Where to begin in this dangerous situation? Hogwarts students had told her fantastic tales of Professor Snape. It was rumored that the Headmaster had dueled a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in front of students (and won), poisoned Harry Potter in his fifth year, and had attempted to expel Ron Weasley almost yearly. Those were the rumors that had some substantiation. She'd also heard others far worse, that he had been a Death Eater, a murderer. She had regarded those rumors as utterly false. How could he be Headmaster here if they were true? She silently hoped that expulsion and the failure that would accompany that would not be her fate. She hadn't come here to fail. But if the other rumors were true, her fate might be worse. She made a mental note of the location of her wand and brought to mind several defensive spells.
"I don't know what to say, sir," she started. "First, I have made many of these, or at least versions of them, back home in the States, so I try to go a little further with the recipes in your class. The results sometimes come out differently, but you never test them to see if they even work." She heard a distinct snort of derision, but plowed ahead despite this. "When I'm here on my own, you offer more information about the formula, more theory, more background. I understand it better. In class, you barely get into that at all. You wave your wand at the board and we just follow instructions." She broke off.
Snape eyed her, still gritting his teeth at her brazen insults. Her criticisms did nothing to diminish his anger. He paced the room as she sat, sprawled carelessly her chair, looking at her quill, rolling it repeatedly in her fingers. He gave himself time to cool somewhat, weighing expulsion or some further punishment.
"Miss Ames, if you would like to decide how a Potions class is taught, I suggest that you apply yourself to your studies such that you might possibly get into university, then embark on a teaching career of your own. Recall your admission to university requires both N.E.W.T.s and the recommendation of your teachers. Until I receive some explanation as to your current behaviours, neither of those seem especially likely."
His words were icy, measured, further chilling Janiss. She could feel his glare boring into her as he paced around her. She worried when he got between her and the door. She'd taken this as far as was necessary. She might fail, but she would not do so without trying.
"I," she started. She sat up a little straighter and put her quill down next to her inkwell.
"Go on," he said.
Janiss hung her head and muttered. "Speak up," he demanded, his temper rising. She continued to look down and mutter. He stepped closer. "Either make yourself understood or pack your things for your return trip to the States," he said icily, leaning down to hear her.
She turned quickly and kissed him full on the mouth.
Snape jumped back, his wand drawn in an instant, crackles of energy sparking from it.
Janiss stared at him, the space breached, with no turning back. Her heart raced, hoping that she would not be jinxed or injured in some way, or worse. Down in the dungeon, the heavy wooden classroom door closed, who would hear her if she were jinxed? With her poor spell-casting and defensive skills, she didn't stand a chance against a far more skilled and possibly less restrained former Death Eater.
As if reading her thoughts, he said "Don't even think of drawing your wand against me, Miss Ames."
She began to collect her things, her hands shaking violently, knocking her book, quill, and inkpot on the floor where it smashed. "I'll clean that up," she started. The sound of smashing glass seemed to break the frozen moment, probably only a second but feeling like an hour as her heart raced and her fear grew.
Snape cut her off, his wand and voice startlingly steady. "You will leave this classroom and return to your dormitory, Miss Ames." He now pocketed his wand but remained fully prepared to respond. He snapped his fingers, and a house elf appeared. "Caron, escort Miss Ames directly back to the Ravenclaw common room and inform her Head of House that we will be having a discussion tomorrow after breakfast."
"Yes, Headmaster," the elf said, bowing low.
Janiss left her things behind and walked behind the elf, her legs barely holding her up as she walked unsteadily towards Ravenclaw.
Hermione was already eating breakfast by the time Harry and Ron appeared, still looking sleepy, though they had managed to dress and comb their hair. She was reading the Daily Prophet, as usual. "Oh my gosh, you guys. You have to read this before Snape confiscates the papers again." She folded back the pages to a story on Page 2.
"Are Love Potions Part of the Lesson Plans at Hogwarts?
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Headmaster Severus Snape yet again finds himself embroiled in yet another romantic tangle, two now in just the fall term. The photo clearly shows the Professor in obvious embrace with his student, Janiss Ames, a recent transfer from the Salem Academy in Boston."
Harry felt the blood draining from his hand as he held the paper. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, but there was Snape, standing over Janiss, their lips touching. Snape looked like he always did, testy and irritated, eyes narrowed with aggravation. Must have happened in detention, as he had seen Janiss clean up her things and walk out of the lesson that day. For her part, she looked like a swooning, love-struck teenager, eyes closed, lips parted. The contrast couldn't have been greater. Harry found it odd that this photo, unlike the previous one of Snape and Dr. Hunter, didn't move. He had grown so accustomed to the moving images in the paper, that now a still photo seemed odd. Was it pasted together like fraudulent photos in Muggle newspapers? While no big fan of the Prophet, given the stories they had printed about him in the past, Harry doubted that even they would stoop that low. He looked as close as possible, but couldn't see anything that looked like a patch or uneven place where images might have been placed together.
"The student, who transferred under the guise of receiving advanced coursework in Potions, her particular talent, seems to be getting instruction in other subjects, as well. Although she is considered of age, having turned 17 in May, the abuse of position by a teacher carries with it significant sanctions from the Ministry's Department of Magical Education.
Under ordinary circumstances, this might be handled with some amount of discretion on the part of the Ministry, but it is rumored that the Ministry of Magic is already none too happy with the results of the Professor's trial, despite the acquittal on most of the more serious charges. Those close to the case, which remains sealed for unknown reasons, believe that the good Professor may be handed the harshest sentence possible. This reporter will continue to follow this story as it develops.
Hermione spoke in a low voice across the table, just in case the Headmaster should appear at any moment. "This could be very serious. Professor Snape is on probation and the Ministry still isn't happy with him."
Harry munched his egg and sausage sandwich and asked "What is the Ministry on about? He was tried and sentenced. He was only convicted on minor charges, and yet he's on probation for practically forever. Any idea why?"
Luna piped up. "If you read the Quibbler, you'd know that the Ministry thought Professor Snape had a lot of money at Gringott's. But when they confiscated his fortune after his sentencing, it turned out he had nothing. They probably would have sentenced him more severely had they known in advance that taking him for everything he was worth would be so unsatisfying."
Harry pretended to be surprised by Snape's poverty, but he'd had it quantified before the Binding. So was the much-rumored Snape fortune always a fable, or had something else happened to the money? Perhaps he, Ron, and Hermione could investigate and get it back, if it had ever existed in the first place. And Luna would be the most likely person to know.
As casually as he could, Harry asked "Did he ever have anything, or was that all rumor, too?"
Luna regarded Harry quizzically. "You don't read much, do you? Snape made a fortune as a Death Eater when he was young, making and selling poisons and potions. At some point, he inherited his parent's house. And it's not like he's a big spender, as far as anyone could tell. I mean, have you ever seen him wearing any jewelry or even new clothes?"
Harry felt flat-footed. He hadn't really done a lot of reading and it hadn't occurred to him to ponder what Snape did with his free time or his money. Surely he did something with his time off, holidays, weekends? Thinking now, he couldn't remember Snape even going to Hogsmeade this year. Perhaps as Headmaster he could delegate this unpleasant duty to others.
He made up his mind to investigate further and see what had become of Snape's fortune. He needed to meet with his godfather to discuss staying at the school during the holidays, anyhow.