By Fire, From Ash

by genegonewilder

Young adult Severus is finding it difficult to adjust to life post-war, in part due to the fact that the rumors about his Death Eater status seem to have spread far and wide, but also because his own self-loathing outweighs anything anyone could throw at him. With his new teaching position at Hogwarts, he hopes to just move on, but a woman stands as a blazing reminder of his past.

5. Playing With Fire

"I got a feeling I can't lose
I got a sympathetic noose
Cause I don't know how to lean on
I don't know how to be freed from"

B.R.M.C. - Sympathetic Noose

_—***—_

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Chapter 5 – Playing With Fire

"My, between Slughorn's party and the excellent Halloween staff meeting we had yesterday, I was thinking of throwing a fun little shindig myself for Chirstmas!"

"No!" "No."

Flitwick blinked in surprise at this simultaneous negative reaction from his fellow professors.

Severus wondered if he would ever get to have a normal conversation with the man, who still seemed to be the only staff member at least attempting communication with him. Apart from, of course, Freya, who was currently pretending to cough after having exclaimed so loudly that the nearest students headed for breakfast had turned to look around the Entrance Hall for the source. The three teachers were tucked behind the marble staircase near the dungeon entrance, thankfully out of sight.

"Ahem, um," Freya attempted to smile through the odd reaction from both of them, "you know, I would love to, but I—err—already have plans. What a shame. But I hope the party goes well!"

"And I will have to check my schedule before I consider it," Severus added quickly, though he had no schedule and his only thoughts were that parties should be forever canceled until further notice.

"Oh, well, certainly," Flitwick said, a bit put out. "Well then, I had better head in to breakfast before Pomona gets all the jam. Are you two...?"

"We're waiting for someone, just be a minute," Freya replied with a dismissive smile.

The pair of them were left to their sentry as Flitwick stepped away with a small wave, and then both settled in to eye the lessening crowd of students as they mingled by.

"I feel bad... I would have loved to go to a Flitwick party," Freya said.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have lied then."

"I didn't! I really do have plans."

"That was you telling the truth? You're awful at it."

"I just panicked," she said with a sigh. "What about you? You could still go on your own, or perhaps I could get back in time..." She looked up at him encouragingly and he answered her with an icy side-eye.

"Freya," he said with dangerous sweetness, "if you ever invite me to so much as a tea party, I will interpret it as an attempt on my life."

She nodded and raised a thumbs-up. "Duly noted. If I ever want to off you, I'll send you a fancy invite to a Gobstones party as a warning, so we can duel it out with proper class."

He let out a quiet scoff and furrowed his brow as his eyes went back towards the passersby. "You talk as if you would stand a chance in a duel."

Now she cast him a cool sideways glance. "Severus, the scariest thing I've seen you do with something in your hand is torture a muffin with a breadknife."

He bristled and turned towards her, but was momentarily distracted from coming up with a biting rebuttal by the confusing notion that something was wrong with his muffin slicing skills. "Perhaps you would be willing to test that theory out?"

"If the opportunity arises, perhaps I... WELLS!"

This time he jumped along with the rest of the sleepy moseying entrance hall occupants at the sudden shout, though for him it was more due to the loud interruption of their particular conversation topic. She really needed to stop sneaking up on him and making any loud exclamations if his twitchy wand hand was ever going to calm down. They bickered around the topic of dueling enough that one day he really would repeat his first night at the school.

Of the startled people looking around with the distinct expression of remembering that their name was not 'Wells' and then moving along, the Slytherin quidditch team that had just pushed through the great oak front doors was not among them. They all looked to Wells, who was being beckoned to the very far side of the hall by an irate looking Freya, and loudly jeered him as he tried to walk as swiftly towards the two professors as he could with his head down.

"Oh, you've tracked mud..." She sighed in exasperation. "That's fine, I'll go have your teammates handle it; they seem to be in a lively mood. Your Head of House needs to have a word with you."

The remaining pair stood watching Freya as she left to go tell off the muddy team, who ceased taunting their teammate at once when they saw her coming. Wells turned back towards his professor with the look of having had the last laugh in that situation, then seemed to remember that he was the one being singled out for a talking to as his eyes met Severus's stony stare.

"Professor—we were just—I know you didn't schedule us for this morning, but the first match is coming up and—"

"I do not care," he said with slow measured indifference cutting across his student's hasty explanations, "what you do for practice." He paused for effect while the boy, mouth now clamped shut, seemed by the look of his widening eyes to be piecing together what this was about. He would have to wait before the true topic was jumped on, however. "But speaking of... I trust you are all prepared?"

Wells looked to have swallowed down his momentary alarm, relaxing at once into eager anticipation to talk about quidditch. "Yes sir, we're definitely going to crush Gryffindor, no sweat. Well—it will probably be raining, so, more likely we'll be freezing but-"

"Wonderful," Severus commented with only half of his attention on the future of the first quidditch match of the season. "So, you are all dedicated and focused on winning, are you?"

The boy blinked in confusion at the conflicting tone of this conversation, but nodded along.

"And you won't be doing anything that will perhaps... get you barred from playing in the game?"

His eyes went back to wide panic at once and he spluttered, "What? But, Professor, you can't- you want to win as bad as—"

"Yes," he once again stifled the much too quick for so early in the morning protests with his stern voice, "I would enjoy a win. But I cannot do much to help you if you are getting caught," he dropped his tone one level with each proceeding word until it was a dangerously low hiss, "in the middle of the night, halfway across the castle, by another teacher."

Wells reeled himself in at once, closing up like a shopkeeper that had just seen a group of Death Eaters walk by. He held his tongue in uncomfortable silence before realizing he was being pressured to speak his defensive piece first. "I... but... Professor Fawkes just sent me back to the dorm last night. She didn't even punish me."

"Indeed. She was polite enough to provide me with the opportunity to decide on a punishment for my own student." His black eyes glanced across the hall to where the woman was shooing the mostly cleaned up Slytherin team in for breakfast, though she didn't follow them and he wondered for a second where she was going. His focus needed to be on Wells for now though. Clearing his voice to a more casual indifference, he carefully laid out his next words. "But I would first like to hear what you think would be apt."

"Me?"

"Yes. You. What do you think your punishment should be?"

"I... I don't... err..."

Severus held in his compounding sigh as he waited to pass his own judgement. It had been irritating enough being confronted by Freya before he had even left his office for the morning, but she had set the task to him not just to dole out punishment, but to try and figure out what exactly the boy had even been doing in the first place, as she had only caught him on what looked like a return visit back towards the dungeons. He just needed the boy to slip up and offer any kind of information as to his actions. They both knew he wasn't likely to admit to them upfront, but he wasn't privy to just how little they knew, which was their advantage. The fact that his expression currently looked to be on the side of believing he really might be deserving of sitting out from the quidditch match did not bode well.

"It—it wasn't anything that bad, so... so maybe just... some House points or—"

"And you expect me to happily take points from my own House for this?"

"No! Just—I didn't do anything, sir, I swear, please don't kick me off the team—"

"Didn't do anything?" He repeated with incredulity, as if he had any idea what it was Wells was rebuking, which he hadn't the foggiest—but it worked.

"I... I... Well, at least I didn't damage it! I just... jinxed it a bit. But it wasn't meant to hurt anyone, I thought they would be able to fight it off easy, see, and..."

Severus let the boy trail off as his mind tried to piece together the jumbled nonsense, and slowly it clicked into place. Filch had been raving to Flitwick earlier about making the enchantments less feisty on the suits of armor for next year's Halloween, as one had come at him at the crack of dawn trying to lob his arm off with its dull sword. A suit of armor that he had specifically noted was stood in the hall the Gryffindors would take to get to breakfast in the morning. Well, that was that mystery sorted then, as the suit had already been dealt with. The more seasoned professors had certainly been right about one thing, the first true Halloween night as a teacher had been an experience, and now the morning after was proving to be just as eventful.

Wells was grimacing up at him with his head bowed, apparently out of ideas for his own punishment and waiting to hear what his professor would decide. But Severus imagined the scene of Filch sword fighting a suit of armor with a broom and allowed a taut smirk to appear on his face. "I believe... a stern talking to will do for now," he let Wells have a moment of hope before his demeanor dropped once more, "but do not embarrass me by getting caught repeating this event. And believe me, you will be caught so long as Professor Fawkes is at this school. So, I advise you: do not try it."

The boy nodded his understanding that he was getting off by a very slim margin, and scurried away to get his breakfast in.

Severus watched him go, finally letting out his sigh. He still felt an unrelenting tiredness in his bones from Slughorn's party nearly two weeks ago, and he just wanted nothing else exciting to happen for at least till after winter break. It was a feeble thing to hope for though, he knew. Even without a holiday of mischief, the Slytherins were getting bolder with their outright pranks. But he didn't have it in him to punish them, especially not Wells. He wasn't sure how to handle him exactly, but harsh disciplinary action, as far as he was concerned from his own experience, would only push him further away and into more trouble. It was an odd edge to teeter, but for now, this would suffice.

Much more gratifying than his confused thoughts, was where he suddenly noticed Freya to be at the moment as he made to follow into the Great Hall but stopped before fully rounding the marble staircase. On the other side, her eyes glancing towards him, was Freya, with her back to the wall and the Gryffindor Prefect, Adamson, posing distinctly as Severus could remember seeing half a dozen boys mimic through his years. His mood perked up with malicious glee at the look on Freya's face as she smiled painfully, diverting her eyes from both him and the boy that was speaking to her. With no one else left in the hall, Severus made no effort to hide as he doubled back around the staircase, creeping closer through the shadowy alcove until he could hear, hoping for an entertaining catastrophe.

"...and so, um, with my N.E.W.T.s coming this year, I was thinking it would be good if I could get some... some extra tutoring perhaps, and—"

"Mr. Adamson. Your grades are excellent," Freya said, her voice unnaturally chipper to the point of sounding icy. Severus's chest shook with silent amusement. It was delightful to be so correct about something that was undoubtedly causing the woman a great deal of irritation. He was sure she knew he was lurking nearby, and hoped she was already imagining how smug he was going to sound over breakfast after this.

"Thank you, Professor Fawkes, really. But, well, I was... I bet I would learn even... Um, well, maybe we could just hang out without studying, b-because actually I—"

"Detention," came a very odd sounding high pitched voice that could only be Freya but sounded more like McGonagall when she was too enraged for speech.

"B-but... I—"

"Detention, Adamson! I don't want to hear it, just—detention!"

There was a pause in which Severus, grimacing at the audible discomfort of the scene despite his silent laughter, waited to hear whether or not Adamson was going to step even further over that line.

"W... with you? Alone?"

"No, not with me!"

He had hoped Freya's shout would cover up the snort that had just escaped him, but as he heard swiftly tapping footsteps coming nearer, he realized even covering his mouth wouldn't save him from being called out on this one. Tucking his hands behind his back and straightening up, he forced his derisive grin down a notch, but he couldn't quite keep the full 'I-told-you-so' look off his face. Long red hair swished over her shoulder as she rounded the corner on him so fast that she skidded to a halt, looking thoroughly incensed.

"With him!"

His eyebrows raised at her jabbing finger, feeling like he was being given detention now, too. Adamson, looking bewildered as he followed behind her, appeared even more distressed when he saw the hidden person. "Professor Snape? I have to have detention with him?"

"Hello, Mr. Adamson," Severus said in a smoothly unaffected voice, "I hope you are having a fine morning to—"

"Three days! With him! In the dungeons! And you'll be having a meeting with McGonagall later- and if you try to talk me after class or in the halls one more time, I'm raising your detentions to a week, and- I'll have you sit in the headmaster's office while you write a letter to your parents explaining this to them yourself! And keep your hands off my door handles!"

"Professor Fawkes," Severus said with warning, for while her fingers looked to be waving around pinched together in punctuation of her words, they too closely reminded him that she could snap her fingers and roast the crestfallen-looking student's hair off as punishment just as easily as write him a full year's worth of detentions—and she seemed plenty angry enough to do so. "I am certain whatever Adamson has done will be dealt with accordingly. But perhaps you should take a walk to cool-" She turned on him just as he had reached out a hand to lead her shoulder away and he snapped his mouth shut at the look in her eye.

"Do not touch me. I will—Ooo—" She took a deep breath like she was preparing to launch into round two, but then merely let it out in a seething stream of air and said with finality, "Go eat an apple, Adamson!" And she turned on her heel to march off in the direction opposite the Great Hall, leaving the poor boy to probably forever look at apples in a different light.

Severus watched her go before turning towards the boy with menacing delight. "Ah. Well then... I will see you later tonight for detention. And bring a change of shoes. It will be messy." He turned away from the look of confused horror and followed after the stomping woman, deciding he would rather sustain himself on chaotic energy this morning rather than muffins.

When his longer strides caught up to her, she shot a furious glance in his direction, but he merely peeked back with mock innocence, matching her pace down a long empty hall at the front of the school. Once they were out of earshot from any sound bouncing back towards the breakfast-goers, she exploded again.

"I cannot believe—I am a professor, for crying out loud! The absolute nerve of—well, just the—the stones of that boy!"

"Perhaps Gryffindor should have earned a few points for such bravery—"

"Severus, I will—" He turned his head to take in her seething fury, holding up her pinched fingers again, but she merely sucked in air through her teeth and jabbed as if she were precisely placing an invisible pin over his face to shut him up. "I am not in the mood."

He nodded once, pursing his lips to keep from looking altogether too pleased with this scenario, but finding this task extremely difficult. He wasn't sure if it was just the triumph of his prediction that the prefect would indeed go too far one day coming true, or having one up on her because of this, or just that it was extremely comical to see her looking mad enough to burn down an entire wing of the school—and not having the cause be himself. Either way, he was fine to quietly tag along, basking in the free entertainment.

"And he just," Freya continued, seeming to have found more to rant about, "he would just—linger around after classes to chat! Like I was a student! Did you see the way he had me cornered against the wall? As if I was some girl he was asking to the graduation dance or something."

"Do you think he will still try and ask you come time?" Severus turned with mild interest, and she twitched an eye at him, looking far from amused. He suppressed his quiet laugh, looking on ahead down the hall to hide his own malevolent amusement. "Can you really blame the boy though? You're quite—..." His mouth hung open silently on his next few words, and then snapped shut as his aloofness dissipated abruptly.

"I'm quite what?"

He kept his eyes fixed down the hall, pressing his tongue against his teeth for a moment. "You're... quite short."

"Short?"

He had to stop as she stopped, though his legs were more reluctant. When he turned to look at her, he kept his face impassively cool, no longer fighting back a grin as he quickly looked her over. Although appearing just as incensed as she had when she had first cornered him in his hiding place, hands on her hips and a small angry crease between her brows, she still looked every bit as she normally did. The morning light from the large front windows cast a pale blue glow on everything and only stood to highlight the red shine of her hair that framed her face and accentuated the gold of her eyes. He averted his eyes out the window towards the grounds.

"Yes," he said indifferently, "you're very... short. It probably confuses the older boys into thinking you're younger and approachable, since they're taller than you." His head snapped to attention as she suddenly marched straight up to him, much too close. "What- Don't use me to measure-" But she was already swiping her hand from the crown of her head to about his chin, though this was more to do with the fact that his chin was raised as he leaned away from her, and it looked like she was cheating by cutting across at an inclining angle.

"I'm not even that short! I'm just average!"

"Yes—alright—fine," he relented, finally having to back up as she got close enough under his nose that he caught a whiff of sweet-smelling fragrance.

Freya seemed unsatisfied with his response though, as she was still standing with her hand on her head, squinting at him from afar and making odd little salutes, muttering to herself, "Not short..." She finally seemed to let it go, alerting back to her more pressing issue as she stopped trying to stand up too straight and carried on walking, at a more casual pace. "And that's no excuse! I just—I've never even given any indication—and yet—what gives him the gall?"

Severus followed in step with her at added distance, trying to avoid giving her room to get close to him again. He wasn't about to let this momentary interruption ruin his fun after giving up his breakfast time though, and he felt particularly more inclined to stoke the fire once more. "Ah, the gall to approach the princess herself?"

"Shut," she swatted at him but he easily side stepped away, "up, Severus! I do not need your help to angrily rant right now, thanks so much!"

Smirking, he settled back in to listen to the sounds of an annoying person being unable to take what she dished out plenty of herself. She went on indignantly about having seen two wizarding wars, and died countless times, only to be so disrespected as to become the subject of some schoolboy crush just because of, apparently, her height. Which was particularly hilarious to him because he had made the comparison to himself of the oddity that was imagining her in a war. She was much too ridiculous and light-humored to fit the image, and her current comical display perfectly exemplified this. Much in the way the Adamson boy must have thought, it was hard for him to imagine her as anything other than a bastion of open warmth and lightheartedness—even when she acted mad enough to snap a fire onto the head of anyone who may not be so swayed by these things as to hold back from ribbing her.

She went on so long that they had nearly walked far enough to give him cause to wonder if he might be late for his morning class, but he was currently too busy enjoying her suggestions for detentions.

"And the slugs—how poisonous are they exactly?"

"Quite poisonous, Freya, I assure you," he said absently, staring down a hall as they passed. An idea was slowly forming in his mind with regards to detentions, though not about which horrible thing to have a student do. It was a scheme that would take careful planning and mean doing something he might not be prepared for though, and he was still mulling it over.

"Good. Excellent..."

Pulled from his thoughts as the mental image that he was about to find a particularly diabolical look on her face came to mind, he turned to her and snorted softly when the reality perfectly matched up to his imagining. Her squinted eyes looked up at the small sound, and he evened his mouth out into a straight line at once, only to feel the corners tug again immediately as he stared at her murderously pouting face, finding she looked about as terrifying as a disgruntled cat.

"You're just having so much fun with this, aren't you?"

"Yes," he admitted with no remorse, "would you like me to have the boy fetch the slugs himself, from the Forest?"

She shuddered as if this suggestion was actually something to fear. "No, that's too much... Can you even do that...? Actually, yes, do it," she said in sudden conclusion, with a wicked look in her eye.

It seemed as if her fiery rage had subsided and she was in a more fiendishly simmering stage that he hoped would not reignite if he openly laughed at her, because he couldn't hold back while witnessing this out of character Freya who supported his harsh plans while still coming off as soft as a shortbread cookie at the same time. Thankfully openly laughing for him was still a mostly soundless thing. "My," he said with feigned shock and reproach, "what will the other honorable staff think of this evilness from their dearly beloved Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

But she was no longer looking deep in conniving thought; she was staring at him with a look of pleasant bewilderment. "Do you... always laugh like that?"

He blinked, his face falling to a defensive frown at once. "Like what?"

"I..." She peered at him with interest, the corners of her mouth curling slowly, but she seemed to second guess herself, shaking her head as she finished her thought simply with, "No, it's nothing." Her pace slowed as she drifted into a moment of pensive silence, then said rather abruptly before cutting herself off again, "How have you been feel-" She pressed her fingers over her lips in an attempt to smooth her unfinished question away, but his frown had already deepened into a scowl.

If he was being honest, he had been feeling a confusing mix of vast blank lows, and oddly bright highs; but even more importantly he had no room to feel exploratory towards the source of either of these. He already knew what the answer was, and it wasn't something he could do anything about. Short of putting himself into a magically induced coma every night, he doubted there was any way he could block out the phoenix song that had vividly returned to his dreams since that recent night, accompanied by much darker things than he cared to dive into in the peaceful light of day. He felt condemned to, for the foreseeable future at least, ride out whatever uncomfortable emotions came his way like a justifiable retribution. But he could at the very least try to avoid directly acknowledging the night in particular that this had started after one particular party, and certainly dodge his mind away from any of the inconvenient details. No, he didn't much at all feel curious about phoenix lore lately, and was deeply enjoying the monotony of daily work life to bury everything under a blanket of business.

"Err... So, do you... think Albus would be mad if you dangled Adamson over a fire?"

He shot a sardonic grin at her, seeing she was trying to make up for ruining the mood, but entirely uninterested if she was now just faking it. Still, hearing her talk like this for his sake was, in its own way, endearingly corrupt. "I think he would be more shocked when I tell him that it was your idea."

The corners of her mouth turned up. "Pinning the blame on me, eh? Well, I suppose I am the evilest of the honorable staff, as you say..." She sized him up, then, with a mischievous smile, side stepped closer to him to speak in a lower voice, "But you take the honor of most conscientious Death Eater on staff." His face twitched at the audacity of her words, glancing all around them, but she was laughing off his alarm. "Aw, c'mon, Sev, don't worry—"

"Don't call me that," he snapped with sudden viciousness.

She blinked rapidly up at him, her smile instantly fading from her face. "I... Oh, sorry, ex-Death Eater, of course—"

"Not that—don't say my name like that, as if we're friends," he said with distaste for the word, stepping further away from her look of sudden shock. "We're not. I... I have class." And he hurried to take the next turn down a hallway that would lead him in a wide circle back around to the entrance hall, feeling as if he was running from more than just the woman's words.

By lunchtime, he didn't have much in the way of energy to keep up his hostility, and both him and Freya were busy making up for having skipped breakfast anyhow. She didn't comment on nor force unwanted attention to the earlier incident, as was often her routine now anytime an incident occurred, and he accepted this favor as part of an unspoken agreement for peace between them. She appeared to be nearly as inclined to forgo awkward conversations now as he was, apart from her minor slip-ups where she showed her annoying concern. If she was irritated at his lack of compliance with heart-to-heart mushy talk, it only came out in her enthusiasm to keep up their mutual bickering, an enthusiasm which he shared. She may have previously had the upper hand here, but he knew her well enough by now to give back in equal measure, and it made it much more enjoyable. He also knew that, while she remained abnormally quiet for the rest of the day and the following few after it, that she had an endless supply of bounciness to fall back on and would eventually return to her usual jolly self, with no change necessary from him—which was good, because he had no inclination to rescind his statement. Seeing as her physical presence couldn't be contained, it was imperative that he kept her at a mental distance. She could follow him around all she wanted, and even be enjoyably entertaining at times, but he would never accept her as a friend knowing why it was that she stuck so close in the first place. She was only there on orders as Dumbledore's pet, and that much would never change in his mind.

By the day of the first quidditch match of the year she was already wearing her normal expression of placid happiness at whatever private thought was in that head of hers as she caught Severus's eye and changed direction towards him and the small crowd gathered around him near the entrance to the dungeons.

"Nearly ready for the match then?"

The Slytherin quidditch team looked around to see her arrive, then gave a resounding cheer of energetic enthusiasm in reply, to which she leaned away blinking as the loud noise seemed to impact her with unseen physical force.

"They're a bit eager," Severus said, wearing a tight grin that showed his short patience for the rowdy team, but still trying to maintain an encouraging stance.

"Just a bit," she agreed, amused. Her face stretched to one of grim sympathy when a particularly strong gust of wind pelted the high windows with a spattering sound that made them all look up. "Perhaps you shouldn't be so enthusiastic to go catch a cold in the rain though."

"Aw, that's nothing—" "My flying gloves are lined with mink—" "Wait, you're coming, too, right, Professor Fawkes?" "Idiot, she's probably supporting Gryffindor—" "No she isn't, she's on Slytherin's side—right, Professor?"

Freya stood with her mouth open, unable to get a word in edgewise until the entire team was staring at her with questioning looks and she suddenly seemed to not have anything to reply with. It had been Wells who had last spoke, and he was casting the most hopeful look her way.

"I—… Err, actually, I don't much care for," she paused, self-consciously tugging at her hair as she tried to mutter the last word unnoticeably to the ground, "quidditch..."

This received loud protests from the Slytherin team, who appeared to be taking this as a cop-out answer from yet another non-Head of House teacher who would be supporting Gryffindor. Severus, who had been quietly watching this unfold to see her reaction, finally cut in himself, though with a much calmer tone as he didn't really care what her quidditch preferences were. "How odd, I could have sworn you told me once before that you loved to fly."

She tittered with false hilarity at his secret joke, casting him a warning glance. "Yes, well, that doesn't mean I like team sports."

He raised a brow, going further into double meanings with the same cool air. "No? I would have assumed you would be extremely loyal to one side in particular."

Her forced smile seemed to harden just slightly. "Actually, I don't find it very interesting to choose any side in meaningless games."

Wells suddenly cut in the middle of this, oblivious to his teacher's underlying conversation and apparently not convinced of Freya's detachment either. "But- you're always hanging around Professor Snape, surely you'll support us, right?"

Both professors looked back at him with such looks that he seemed to immediately doubt his convictions. But the boy's disheartened face looked to have an impact on Freya, and her expression softened to an apologetic wince, like she might genuinely feel bad for letting him down. They were her students, too, after all, and Severus knew her to be the type to feel bad for slighting the feelings even of a team she didn't support. He narrowed his eyes.

"Perhaps," he said smoothly, "you just won't admit where your loyalties lie in front of us? Going to sneak off to the Gryffindor stands once you've wished us luck?"

"No! Of course not," she piped up, warily eyeing the looks the team was giving her. "I... I would support Slytherin, of course... if I was even going to go... and I did come over to wish you all luck, really..."

There was a disgruntled murmur of thanks from the team in response, evidently not at all impressed with her weak assurances.

"I can't believe," Severus went on, continuing his prodding, "that you would disappoint such a passionate team over a bit of rain." He was well aware why she was avoiding it, but he felt especially annoyed with her attitude of trying to play both sides. Putting the pressure on her stubborn fence-sitting was only appropriate if she was going to back herself into a corner making claims she couldn't support. He kept his eyes fixed to hers with a challenging expression as another gust pelted against the glass behind him.

"It's... It's more than a bit—" Before she could even protest, the Slytherin team cut her off.

"Just get an umbrella!" "You're a teacher, surely you know a spell or something?" "All the other teachers are so unfairly bias!" "Professor, I stayed up till midnight working on your werewolf essay between practice! Please?"

Freya seemed to diminish under the onslaught of pressure, the placating smile she was trying to assuage them with turning into more of a grimace, but she still wouldn't budge from her wishy-washy stance. "I'm... sorry but, I haven't got an umbrella, actually, so—"

Severus was on it before she could even finish her sentence, taking his wand out in one hand and conjuring a simple wrapped-up black umbrella in the other. He held it out with a curt smile, relishing using her own brand of obnoxious helpfulness against her.

She scrunched up her face, squinting at the offering as if checking it for any faults she could throw out to save her from taking it. "Ehm... It's not a very big one, though, is it? Collins!"

Both professors' heads snapped towards the boy who had just let out an immature snicker, and Collins coughed over his laughter as half of his teammates snorted along with him and the others rolled their eyes with groans. The oldest and most embarrassed looking of them, the captain, ushered the whole team into motion under the building look of offense in the professor's eyes, and scampered off towards the front door with an apology, though it was mostly drowned out by shouts from the rest of the team that they had better both show up in the stands.

"I feel sorry for the girls on that team," Freya muttered with reproach as the sounds of Slytherin mirth died away, and a few more early watchers followed behind them to get seats, all bundled up to their chins against the freezing rain.

Severus had half a mind to agree, as he look down at the umbrella in his hands as if it had been made vulgar, but he had seen the team in action during practice once before. "They're Slytherin girls, they'll be fine." His eyes slid back to Freya, who looked like she would have been perfectly capable of jinxing any boy who annoyed her enough as well—if she had been a student and not a teacher, unable to get away with such. "And you? You're really going to let down such... pleasant students after you claimed you would support them?"

She cast him a withering look, stepping closer to speak with more privacy and dropping her voice to a low taunting sweetness. "No offense meant, but... you wizarding lot look dead stupid flying around on brooms. I'd rather just take off on my own for a day, and it wouldn't be on one where it looks like the whole lake is falling from the sky."

He casually passed the umbrella to his other hand, as if highlighting its loss of purpose to accentuate his words. "What a shame. I am sure they will be devasted to not have a professor cheering for them in the stands."

Her eyebrows slowly raised as she picked up on his wording, and suddenly her jaw dropped. "Wait... Severus! You absolute sneak—you said all that and you're just going to go hole up in the library or something now, aren't you?"

He allowed the corners of his lips to spread in a coy grin. "I was planning to, yes. But that shouldn't prevent you from supporting your favorite House," he said with sarcastic emphasis, holding out the umbrella and popping it open in her direction, making her take a step back. Holding it upright, he made a show of inspecting the size of its protective range comparable to her, then determined, "I am sure you won't get that wet."

Her eyes took in the held aloft umbrella with supreme apprehension, making no move to take the extended favor. Then some sort of thought dawned on her face that made his grin turn upside down. His eyes went from his own hand, clasped to the little handle, to his pocket on the same side where he had safely returned his wand, and to her face, which was looking more and more like she was concocting wicked detention-level ideas on the spot; but he couldn't react fast enough. This was mostly due to the fact that her sudden movement involved grasping his out stretched arm into place as she stepped forward and turned on her heel into his side with a swish of robes.

"Well, let's both not disappoint them, then. We can go together," she said with devilish delight, looking up at him from an abnormally close distance even as he tried to pry his arm out of her grip; but her hands held tight to the crook of his elbow in a show of more strength than he had anticipated. Apparently flying on her own two wings all around Great Britain had benefits besides not looking like a clown riding a cleaning instrument.

"Get—off—me—" He tried several more times to pull his arm free, but froze his movements when they attracted the attention of passing students, who looked extremely interested in why two professors were standing under an umbrella in the entrance hall together and arm wrestling at the same time. Freya gave a polite little wave, not lifting her arm, and they moved on, casting concerned looks over their shoulders.

"What's the matter, Severus? We're just colleagues sharing an umbrella against the rain—nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Only one of them was likely to have the ability to breathe fire, but in that moment, he felt he might like to give it a go if it would keep her honeyed voice at least ten meters away from him. "I am not-" he began, about to swear up and down that he would hex her off him if she didn't move, but then deciding there was a worse fate for the woman that didn't involve having to jostle his arm loose from its socket anymore. "You want to go to the match? Fine then. Let's go," and he yanked this time in the direction of the doors, only momentarily regretting leaving the safety from view of their alcove, as people would be able to stare openly now—but at least his meaning seemed to have taken effect, as he felt a strain against his forward momentum. He glanced down, sneering in success at her wide eyes taking in the pelting rain outside.

"Err—hold on—"

"No, Freya, let's go—"

"I don't—Um—"

"Let's go have a fun time supporting our students. Come on now, people will stare if you—"

"Severus, this is not funny, I am not actually going out there—"

But it was indeed hilarious to beat her at her own game to such a degree that she was whispering to him in urgent squeaky tones as he half dragged her to the door and pushed it open with his shoulder, looking down at her with malicious triumph as the bitter wind gushed in behind him, and said, "I certainly hope this umbrella is big enough for two."

However much he had thought his plan of counterattack made sense at the time—which, to be fair, he hadn't been thinking far beyond how to immediately get back at her for trying to pull such a stunt—as the pair of them made their way awkwardly across the grounds to the pitch, he was weighing the cost-benefit of this situation with a heavy hand. In particular, metaphorically, with his hand on the arm which was being clung to so tightly that he was trying his best not to look down and see exactly where it was his elbow was being pressed into. His eyes were fixed straight ahead through the rain, which out here looked more like sleet, obscuring the distant views if one tried to look too far away.

"I hate you," came a mutinous voice at his side, though it sounded muffled as if the woman was undoubtedly clenching her teeth, "I hate this, I hate quidditch—" her voice sloped into a higher octave as the wind kicked up the rain into a sideways gust, "—and I hate—the bloody—rain."

Severus jerked his arm feebly in a resigned attempt to shake off how close she had just leaned into his side. The least she could do was not cause him to lose his footing, but apparently she was compelled to vie for the most opportune positioning out of the rain beyond even reason, because she kept fighting him every step of the way. "Will you stop that? Trust me, I hate this more than you can imagine."

"Sure of that, are you?" she scoffed. "I am—" she lowered her voice to a steely hiss so that no one nearby would hear, "—a phoenix, out in the effing rain—and meanwhile at least you have a personal heater, so don't complain."

His lip curled in disgust. It wasn't exactly that she was wrong, so much that it was something he was trying very hard to ignore, determined not to appreciate any minuscule part of this situation, no matter how much the right side of his body currently felt vastly more comfortable than his left. "Personally," he hissed back, "I would rather freeze to death."

"Oh, now there's a much more fun idea than going to a match in the rain."

"With you? Absolutely."

"You're such a—"

But whatever she was going to call him was cut off as a group of students, walking at a swifter pace than their uncoordinated gait, came to a close enough distance that she held back her words, leaving him to wonder the rest of the way towards the stands. The moment he was close enough to make a wide step towards the door leading up one tower, he pulled the umbrella away and angled ahead of her, blocking the pathway long enough to let her get rained on for a second before she shoved him through, swearing in a voice that he wasn't sure the students ahead of them hadn't heard. They were excitedly climbing the stairs ahead though, and soon it was just the two of them left behind inside the tower. Before he could finish climbing the last flight, he was tugged back by his cloak to the dim landing, with only a small window down below and slats of light from the wood floor of the stands above providing an apt gloomy atmosphere to compliment the stormy look on Freya's face as she dragged him aside to have a word. Without even getting one word out, however, rain dripped from overhead, and she irritably adjusted their secluded talking spot to a dryer corner of the stairwell.

"You had better hold that umbrella steady during the match, or you're going to end up on the toasty side of warm," she threatened in a low voice. She was huddling closer to him to keep their conversation private from the tapping feet above, but he was more concerned with preserving their distance to recover from the past few minutes than her secrecy.

"Speaking of keeping warm..." He took out his wand and, using her momentary distraction as she was attempting to quickly put her hair into a protective braid, he conjured an oversized scarf around her neck. He smirked as she glared up at him, her hands and hair now all trapped beneath rough wool patterned in vivid green and silver. "You should be aware which stands you're in."

"I honestly do not," she made a particularly tight fold in the end of her braid out of agitation, "care a bit about your stupid House rivalry. All I wanted to do was wish you and your team luck and have a quick word in private—speaking of which," she finished messing with her hair and adjusted her new scarf, which she was accepting with more grace than he would have liked to see, before continuing, "all I wanted to ask you was how the final detention with... you-know-who went last night."

All the irritation he was feeling from the day's events so far was promptly forgotten as he blinked back at her with a blank expression. "You could at least just call him Adamson instead of... that," he finally said.

"I'll settle for 'Gryffindor Perv' if you promise to take the blame if I get caught saying it."

"Deal. And it went..."

His eyes lost focus for a second as he remembered how last night had actually gone, and it was nearly as stupefying as the conjured mental image of him giving detention to an entirely different 'you-know-who', as the certified Gryffindor Pervert had blurted out half-way through the hour an accusatory, "Are you and Professor Fawkes dating?" which had earned him two extra hours of every foul task Severus could come up with before his anger was finally sated.

"...fine," he finished, keeping his expression solid, "nothing out of the ordinary. Though I believe he may have had to write home for an extra pair of shoes."

Judging by the fiendishly fulfilled grin that split her face, Freya was fine with this. "Excellent. Perhaps he'll have a harder time following me around in just his socks."

He conceded a slight smirk at this, and for a moment, with her garbed in Slytherin colors and sharing in conspiratorial expressions beneath the House's own quidditch stands, he almost felt inclined to believe she would have been a good fit to be sorted into the same lot as him. Almost. At the very least, she pulled off green better than he would have thought. But his mind was wandering towards different things entirely than House rivalries, and this seemed as opportune a culmination of his thoughts over the past week as any to bring up what was on his mind.

"Actually... I was wondering," he began with slight trepidation, watching her face as she reacted to this change in tone, "would you consider that... a favor? And would you be willing to repay it in a similar manner?"

Her eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms, appearing to assume he was about to leverage this to the highest degree, but he kept his expression perfectly calm.

"By 'similar manner', I assume you mean me taking one of your detentions? Go on..."

"Correct. But I was thinking more along the lines of... not a punishment, per se, but..." He sighed, casting a glance at the wall separating them and the quidditch pitch itself, where it sounded as if the crowd was still waiting for the starting whistle below the sound of rain. "Perhaps you noticed how much Wells was looking for attention? It's... a delicate matter, but unfortunately he lost his father recently."

He kept his eyes on the weatherworn wood, taking in her expression without looking directly at it. Apparently she believed him well enough, because she immediately softened her stance. "Oh, how awful... I must have missed it in the papers—unless, it wasn't—?"

"I'm not sure that his family would have allowed the attention. No one is really meant to know," he said smoothly, and she nodded with quiet reverence.

So far, this was going exactly as he had expected. If she agreed, his plan to pawn off his rebellious emotionally unstable student onto someone more apt to handle this would go off without a hitch, and then it would be the problem of someone who actually wanted to meddle in the personal affairs of everyone and try to fix them. He hadn't been entirely confident in handing off his student so easily, feeling a bit protective of him despite not knowing what to do himself, but if she was willing to keep up her sunshiny act even to support Slytherin when her own natural colors were a perfect Gryffindor red and gold, well, she probably wouldn't discipline the boy any harder than he would. She was, at the very least, better at handling waterworks and sympathy than he was. But she didn't need to know the exact truthful details of the boy's personal life—just some made up story to turn up the pity would do.

"Severus, you know I—"

A high-pitched noise was muffled behind the sudden thundering of standing feet above them, but it wasn't the commotion that had caused the woman to let out a muffled scream. He himself had to wipe away the cold droplets of water that had just fallen from above onto his head as people stood up in excitement; apparently the players had come onto the field. As he smoothed a hand over his hair though, it was apparent who had gotten the most collected rainwater doused on them, choosing a most unfortunate corner to stand in. He let out a snort at Freya's unmoving stance, frozen in place by her disgruntlement and looking, he thought, like a wet cat.

"I—hate—quidditch—" She had a few more choice words to say that were luckily drowned out by the sound of a whistle and cheers from the crowd as she shook out her hair, doing nothing to remove the water that had already soaked into place. "Ugh—and now we're even missing it."

"Here," he said, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice as he took pity on her and pulled out his wand, "hold still."

The same strong grip that had held onto his elbow latched onto his wrist with a quickness he hadn't been expecting in reaction to the harmless raising of his wand. His smile faded as she held his gaze, momentarily looking like she expected him to hex all of her hair off, but something in his forming frown must have made her change her mind. She blinked and looked away, lowering her hand to cross her arms again, still looking like she very much did not want to be messed with in the slightest. It was frustrating that she was so cavalier about his own personal space, but she held her boundaries to such high standards. Just because he had thrown one spell at her before didn't mean she needed to be so defensive. He forced his hand to move with extreme delicacy as he cast the spell to siphon the water out from her hair, watching it return to a dry sheen and feeling more than a bit regretful for bothering to help.

"Gee, you're so kind," she muttered, and he could hardly make out her sarcastic sounding words with her head tilted down, voice muffled by the scarf. From the small bit of her cheeks that he could see when he glanced down, he suddenly doubted whether she had just been defensive from an attack. As he finished up and repocketed his wand, he took a good step backward. She pulled the fabric away from her mouth and spoke with more sincerity, "But, as I was saying... and really, that is a kind thought if he's having trouble and acting out because of that... I'm just not sure what good I can do, but—I'll certainly try if it's something you think is a good idea. I trust your judgement."

He hadn't been expecting that level of sincerity and he wasn't at all sure what to say back. He merely stared silently at her as she offered up a hopeful smile, looking somewhat confused herself.

"Err... One question though. How exactly are you going to give him detention out of the blue?"

That, at least, he could answer, with a wry grin of his own. "He's a Slytherin with paternal issues interested in the Dark Arts. He'll get himself into trouble again in no time."

She pursed her lips against her laughter at the odd imposed description. "If you say so. But other than detentions... we had better go be proper professors and support him in this stupid—thrilling game or whatever."

"Yes. We should."

"And please hold the umbrella steady this time."

"Freya, it's very windy, I can't make promises—"

"Oh, shut up, that's it, I'm enchanting it in place the second we sit down."

But although she did indeed enchant the umbrella to hold its place in the air at their seat in the back-row corner of the small stands, and although it was her who was seated not on the edge of the bench, but on his right, with more leniency to move over, she still wound up huddled just close enough to his side that his right shoulder was teased with warmth while his left verged on shivering. He felt oddly put together as two mismatched pieces, and kept having to catch himself from leaning more favorably to one side, though Freya seemed not to notice. His previously self-imposed rule of never sitting next to her anywhere that she could get so close him came to mind more than once, and he wished phoenixes' solitary nature would extend to keeping physically away from people as well. Though, by his observation, it did—only not where he was concerned. There was nothing to compare his experiences to, and she did avoid crowds and dodge around people who got too close, even when he did it; except with him, and maybe it was just the situations he had been privy to seeing, but he always seemed to get a second chance and eventual pass. And, more conflicting, she would get close to him without a problem.

He was glancing at her from his peripheral vision, when he caught a glimpse of her blowing onto her hands and felt the remnants of the hot puff of air as it diminished before it could warm him up, too, but he had to quickly cast his eyes away as she looked over to him.

"Cold yet?" she whispered as she leaned into his shoulder, causing him to lean a fraction away.

"Perfectly fine," he said, eyes on the match.

"Ah, I see," she leaned in even further, putting a hand over her mouth to keep her words from traveling to the row in front of them, "keeping warm with the fuzzy thought of supporting your students? What a wonderful caring professor you are." He tore his gaze away from the game to take in the mocking golden glint in her eyes, but even as he made to return it with an equal taunt, her expression softened to one of honest admiration and he kept his mouth shut, rolling his eyes back out to the pitch. He felt her shoulder shake against his with silent laughter, and then lurch forward as she suddenly called out. His confusion at her out-of-the-blue interest in quidditch cleared as he caught sight of the player flying passed, slowing down to wave back, and he was elbowed hard into returning the gesture, though much more self-consciously. Between the unmistakable, even from this distance, glow of pride from Wells before he continued on his flight path, and the enthusiasm radiating (quite literally) off of Freya as she beamed at him as if they had just been waved at by some celebrity pro player, the cold rain that continued on even after the game couldn't quite seem to settle into him any deeper than the outer most layer of his clothes.

The trek back to the castle was markedly different from their arrival. With Slytherins running past to share their congratulations via quick remarks to their Head of House, and Freya giving a fanatical play-by-play of their performance, there was no time even to bicker. Despite whatever she had said before about wizard flying methods, the atmosphere of excitement after a win on a close match seemed infectious, and Severus wasn't sure he would have even been able to coax her into an argument if he tried; not that he was interested to at the moment, smugly enjoying his first victory in his new position as he was. Plus she needed both hands to accurately depict the maneuvers she was explaining, which meant his arm was free to hold the umbrella without her grasp, though she did still occasionally rest her hand there as if making sure he was still listening. Even the wind was absent, the chilly storm dying down to a light drizzle that was so tame in comparison that even Freya held out a hand to feel the last of the drops before they entered into the cozy castle, warmed by the braziers in the hall.

All in all, his earlier plans for the day of being a recluse in the library went unmissed.

Unfortunately the pure peace of the day did not carry through the night, and deep into the late hours, he was awoken with a start to find that his prophetic words had come true sooner than he would have thought possible. Apparently he had understated the ability of an angsty teenage boy to get into trouble.

The careless thoughts he had gone to bed with, that the Slytherins would be sated after celebrating a win and surely would not do anything on this night, were dashed similarly to how his brain felt being startled awake at the sound of the alarm he had enchanted the dungeon stairs with as a precaution. It had been about a week since Wells had snuck out for Halloween, and Severus had almost given up placing and replacing the spell each night given that it had been quite silent every time—which was how he now found the hallway when he finally pulled on his robes to check the area. The perpetrators had hopefully booked it back to their dormitory at the noise, as they should have. He would have to wait till morning to single out the guilty faces before they headed out to breakfast, but he already had a feeling he knew exactly where to look first.

"I didn't do anything, Professor, I swear."

Severus moved not a single inch of his frosty stare, but he had no need to, as Wells's composure slowly disintegrated with each passing second as the rest of the students of their House filed out of the dungeons behind him, and he looked to be able to feel their eyes on his back. Severus raised his brows a tiny fraction and the boy tried again.

"Well... we were just... celebrating really late into the night, that's all—sir," he added hastily, nearly forgetting his manners seemingly from the concentration it required to lie so poorly.

Severus merely made a sharp motion with his head that his student should follow, and set off up the stairs with Wells silently keeping pace behind him. It wasn't until they were climbing the staircase to the second floor when the boy spoke up again, sounding suddenly worried.

"Where are... Professor, you're not taking me to the headmaster's office, are you?"

"Not the headmaster, no," he replied briskly, letting the yet unknown destination hang in the air. There wasn't much longer to wait though, and when they arrived at the office door, Wells merely looked confused. Severus watched this expression mingle with something else as he knocked on the door, and when there was no answer after a few seconds, not even a sound to be heard from inside, Wells spoke up again, uncertainly this time.

"Err, sir... I don't think Professor Fawkes is at the school, actually..."

The cool air of authority he held chipped just a bit as his eyes locked onto the boy's. "What?"

"It's just... Sorry, err," Wells uncomfortably shifted on his feet and looked away, muttering the next bit mostly to himself, "I guess there's no way I'm getting out of this, is there...? Well, it's just, you said last time as long as Professor Fawkes is at the castle, I'll get caught—I guess I'll get caught anyway, though, huh... But—I saw her leave late last night, that's why I thought it was... well..."

He didn't need to finish his confession for the rest to be easy enough to piece together, but still Severus didn't answer him, staring unseeing as he tried to make sense of the more puzzling mystery that had suddenly been presented.

Before he could make headway, they both looked up at the sound of an interior door creaking, and then the one they were standing in front of bursting open to show a frazzled looking Freya, most definitely accounted for and not missing. He noted, however, that she looked distinctly like someone who had just woken up, particularly that she was just pulling on her second shoe, hopping on one foot before standing up straight and trying her best to pass off her appearance.

"Ah... Good morning? To what do I owe—oh. Ohh, come in," she said with understanding as she looked between Wells and Severus, giving him a meaningful look and a nod, which he returned with a distrustful frown, more concerned now with what else was going on beyond his own plans.

It would have to wait until another time, as presently they all edged into the Defense Against the Dark Arts office—and edged in they did, at least in the case of Severus and Wells, both of them hanging back at the door to take in the sight of the room before daring to step another foot.

The small square room had been enchanted in some way to allow a high ceiling with skylights, and from the floor up to these, the place looked more like an outdoor zoo. Plants varying from tiny potted desk ones to full grown small trees took up much of the room and offered much of the trepidation to the newest occupants, as it was hard to tell at first what exactly was lurking behind every leaf. One thing was clear, there were carefully naturalized looking cages and terrariums, set up to be displayed as organically as possible, no doubt, but coming across more as hidden traps if one didn't watch where they stepped close to. Their occupants were all out of sight at the moment, but he was certain living creatures were in fact housed here; or what passed for living among creatures of a Dark nature. As his eyes adjusted to the onslaught of things to look at it in all directions, he noted that the largest tree, with a proportionally sized glass structure around most of it, contained the only viewable thing, though it was not Dark at all, just an ordinary extremely large tarantula—but below it, in a larger set up, there was one ten times its size. Both of the spiders sat unmoving, but he was certain they were alive, and almost certain at least one of them was a species that shouldn't be what he thought it was. He tore his eyes away back to Freya, who was fluttering about her desk, putting things away and hoisting off, to his further astonishment, what looked like a small muggle television out of sight beneath the wooden desk. It being well before breakfast time, he curbed his curiosity from inspecting the room any further, having taken in too many things already for his morning brain to handle and still having classes to reserve energy for.

He wished the woman just had normal boring ugly furniture like he had always been imagining.

"Please, do sit," Freya said brightly, all chipper despite her sleepy blinking as she gestured to two plain wooden chairs in front of her desk and took her own seat as well. Wells hurried to sit down in the only normal looking corner of the room first, as she was just opening a tin of treats and offered him one. "I have a feeling I know why you've been brought here, Mr. Wells," she said with a smile that didn't seem at all like the wrongdoing she was picturing could be very harmful. He was starting to wonder if she was being too nice to the boy, who shouldn't be looking so pleased with himself given his situation.

"Sneaking out after hours," Severus said, cutting to the chase, "again."

Freya shook her head with amused exasperation. "Really, how did you even have enough energy to be running around at night after yesterday's quidditch match? Just take the win and go to sleep."

Wells's boyish face, munching on his little cookie and going for a second from the tin, looked not the least bit sheepish for his actions—until his Head of House delivered what punishment he had been thinking of. The boy took no more cookies the rest of the short time in the office as his three days' worth of detentions were set up, even when Freya offered them with her most cheery grin, which stayed plastered to her face even several minutes later when she was following Severus down to breakfast, having sent Wells along ahead of them.

"You know, I was thinking about it after yesterday, and having a detention student to help me take care of things might be rather—"

"Where were you last night?" he cut in without caring about his rudeness.

She didn't seem to mind much either, judging by how undamaged her smile was. He recognized the impassive wall that was put up behind her eyes though, a particular expression he had not seen from her in some time, and knew she would not be answering him. All the same, the reluctance to answer was a tell in and of itself. It must be something of importance if it was worth keeping from him. If she really had left the castle grounds entirely, then there were only two reasons that he could think of that would leave her with a tinge of dark circles under her eyes, and both may have manifested another source to garner information from.

Over breakfast, she tried to keep up polite conversation between her yawning, but he was ignoring her—save for when he saw that she had tried to sneakily fill her goblet with wine instead of tea, and he had just as sneakily aimed his wand to turn it into water before she could take a sip ("Severus, you're an actual devil, you know that right?"). It wasn't long before what he was waiting for arrived, and he snatched up the Daily Prophet, scanning its pages for any deaths, harrowing life-threatening events, or particularly dangerous arrests. But there was nothing, and as he shot a narrowed glance in her direction, it was apparent from how she was ignoring his blatant attempts for information that the paper would not contain any. Out of ideas, he threw it back down on the table and finished his meal, determining not to let her get to him. 'Just phoenix things' or 'just Order things'—whatever it was, he didn't want to hear the annoying placating tone she would use to gently snub him out of the conversation if he was to lower himself to asking twice. Apparently, he just wasn't privy to such information.

The following morning, he discovered that, apparently, there was much information that he had been deemed unworthy of receiving beyond this.

He had even less of a desire to pursue it this time, but it turned out Freya would not let his scathing looks and nonresponses over breakfast go.

"Why won't you talk to me?" she said, as she followed him straight down the dungeon stairs, to his considerable annoyance.

He had left the Great Hall early, not even finishing his toast, so there was still plenty of time before classes for her to pester him unless he worked very hard to drive her off, which he certainly felt in the mood to do. Much of his silence was due to the fact that he couldn't even properly form his simmering rage into coherent thoughts, but she must at least be able to piece together the series of events—or she should, if she had half a brain and any sense of others around her, which he was currently doubting very much based on what had transpired last night.

"Need I spell it out for you?" It was the greatest amount of words he had spoken all morning, and she looked mildly surprised as he stopped his gait in the middle of the hall to round on her. "Just what did you think would happen if you blew off detention with a boy who has been sneaking out at night?"

Her mouth opened to reply, but it was a moment before she seemed to catch up to speed. "Again? Does that boy ever sleep? You've checked him for signs of vampirism, right?" When he returned her lighthearted expression with one of disgust, her face fell into a defensive frown. "But... surely you caught him, and no one was hurt, right?"

He scoffed a humorless laugh, thinking of Wells's voice as he had told him last night that Freya had canceled their detention with only a note, delivered an hour before by another student. He had wondered how the boy would handle the detention and if it would make him resent her as a teacher, but judging by the face he had made as he relayed that he had been ditched, he was sure however much he had not enjoyed being given a punishment, what he had been feeling in that moment was abandonment.

"Sure," he said with bitterness, turning away from her to keep walking down the hall towards his office, "no one was hurt. If that's all you care about."

"Severus!" She jogged up to his side in earnest, but he wouldn't even turn to look at her. "I couldn't do anything, I... I have other responsibilities."

"All I asked you to do was one thing."

"And I wanted to do it!"

"That's the problem with wanting to help everyone, isn't it? You can't. You just start messing things up."

"That's not fair, I just... I had to go immediately-"

"Right, because your job is more important than mine." He finally turned his harsh gaze back onto her, and she returned it in confusion, momentarily struck dumb.

"Of... of course not," she said, completely unconvincingly as her eyes drifted away.

He let out an angry sigh and yanked open his office door, stepping over the threshold. "My mistake for asking you for help," he said, and shut the door a bit harder than necessary.

Classes that day were particularly tense; between him snapping at any little thing a student got wrong, to sitting at his desk, enclosed in his own thoughts, and looking about as approachable as one of the displays of dark creatures in Freya's office.

Restless sleep was hardly anything new to him by now, but on top of being woken up two nights in a row, last night, after sending Wells back to his dormitory following their short chat, he had laid in bed for an extra hour, unable to fall back asleep with his thoughts. He hadn't been able to sort out why exactly it infuriated him so much that she was going out of the castle in secret. Apart from the obvious, which was that she had disrespected the plan he had set in motion, there was something else deeper that was irking him, and as he replayed his own words to her from that morning over and over, he was beginning to paint an ugly picture as to why.

It was true; his job was less important. He was a glorified babysitter for a bunch of teenagers that were still struggling with the most basic of magic that he had mastered before he had ever even stepped foot in Hogwarts as a student. Meanwhile, the actual action, the important tasks that pulled much more important people away from mere trivialities, was happening elsewhere—and he wasn't even allowed to know the details. Earlier thoughts that Dumbledore was doing him a service by letting him focus on one specific job were starting to seem like embarrassingly idiotic faults from a weak mind. He should have spoken up again before now; tried harder to earn enough trust so that his actual skills could be of use. Really, he should have already been trusted by now after what he did on previous occasions, plus it had been over three months teaching with not a word that there was any kind of improvement to his status, despite the fact that he had been on his best behavior and endured quite a lot of breaches to his privacy. Was he really that untrustworthy? Was there even an end goal beyond just this?

What exactly was it about him that Freya was undoubtedly reporting to Dumbledore and making the headmaster write him off so thoroughly?

It was well past time that he could play nice with her; that route had been broken on their very first day, and he highly doubted even Freya would be airheaded enough to be tricked with flattery and faux friendship. Once, he had tried to help her carry back a stack of research books to their shelves, and she had stared at him with suspicion for twenty minutes, even asking if he was feeling alright. It was a while ago, but still, she certainly had too much of a measure of him by now to even attempt to build up a false persona.

There wasn't much to be done, then. He was simply trapped in a degrading job, where even his guard got to just up and leave whenever she wanted. Not enough of a threat to keep her here watching over him during nighttime hours, but too much of one to entrust anything of importance.

It grated his nerves to the bone, and by evening, as he sat alone in the research library staring with his quill unmoving over the paper he was meant to be grading, he could feel his jaw hurting from hours of clenching it.

However, he wasn't the only one who was in a foul mood that day. The stomping footsteps he heard behind him were so unfamiliar, he turned around to see who it was, not expecting Freya, or prepared to see her livid face. For a second she looked too angry to even approach him, but then she marched up and, going completely against their ingrained seating arrangements, pulled up the chair to his left that usually separated them.

"Lost his father, did he? Hm, Severus? Where'd he lose him at—a bloody Death Eater fair while he was off getting a pretzel?"

His mouth opened in surprise, but he had not been expecting to have to come up with a defense to his lie so quickly, and his thoughts had been elsewhere all day. Luckily, Freya cut across his silence.

"Thank goodness," she threw her bag onto the table and began taking out her supplies, slapping them down with unnecessary force, "that I finally got to fulfill your scheme, and have a moment alone with Wells, otherwise, I would have missed out on all the fun little details of his family."

Still holding himself perfectly still as he tried to come up with an appropriate response, he gently nudged some of his own papers out of the way to make room and give his eyes something else to focus on. He could always just feign ignorance, but something told him it would not fly in this instance. Plus, she was just angrily sitting down to do her work, not carting him off to the headmaster's office. He realigned his jaw as if readying his mouth physically to speak. "He... told you about that, did he?"

Her ink bottle was clinked onto the table so hard he thought she might have cracked it. "Thankfully," she said with much venomous sarcasm, "I was able to deduce as much with my massive intellect when he asked me if I had any family members that had gone Dark, and then proceeded to ask me about my father in particular. Wonderful at making casual conversation, that boy. Absolutely charming."

Severus let out a steady sigh, letting his eyes rest closed for a few seconds before turning in his seat back to his own work; but he didn't much feel like grading, and set his quill down to instead rub his temple. He wasn't at all sure what he had been expecting; Wells to just warm up to her and take in her positive attitude, become a less mischievous person overnight, and somehow not open up to her in any way, when he had obviously shown in the past that he was willing to blab things that should have been kept secret. But of course, he thought Freya was on the side of Slytherin, and its current Head of House.

"I'm trading back for Adamson," came a disgruntled mutter, and he turned his head to see Freya in much the same pose as him, leaning on the table with one hand propping up her face. She looked back at him from the corner of her eye.

"You... absolutely don't mean that," he said uncertainly, trying to dredge up even the slightest bit of their normal casual banter to make up for the mood.

Her stony expression held for a second, and then crumpled into a disgusted sneer. "Good lord, no, you can have him. I'll take the Death Eater's kid any day."

The taut muscles in his stomach relaxed, but he held his mostly rigid position. She had noted the distinction between father and son, and didn't seem to be outwardly thinking ill of the boy, besides his stunning lack of subtlety. He couldn't do anything about what would inevitably come when Dumbledore heard of this, but then, there were things she was, hopefully, still hiding from the headmaster about himself, so maybe this could be another such case. He had tried to be protective of his student, not wanting him to end up on some kind of watch list or gossiped about. He knew what it was like to be accused by mere association, and by every assessment he had made of the boy, he didn't seem at all likely to actually turn to that lifestyle, meaning he would just be caught up in baseless rumors—which was something that he knew for a fact pushed people into places they ought not to be.

"And," he spoke up, though it was quieter even than the hushed level Freya had set the moment she had sat down close for privacy, "what do you think of all this?" He still didn't take his eyes off his own papers, but he heard her let out a sigh.

"I think you're an idiot for telling such a stupid lie," she said without holding back, "and I have no idea why you kept it secret in the first place. It makes perfect sense."

He looked up at this. "Does it?"

"Obviously," she said with scorn. "I... Alright, I sort of get why you would just pronounce him deceased instead of... the other thing, but—either way, it's the same, isn't it? I get it." The crease between her brows finally left and she flipped her quill like a metronome slowly in the air. "He's just a boy without a father, either way, isn't he?"

Severus stared at her face for a moment longer before his eyes fell unfocused to the movement of her quill. He wished he could easily reconcile the Freya he had been furious at all day with the one sat beside him, looking just as concerned as he was, but wouldn't show, for a student he had no real idea how to help. He could list off a dozen things that probably wouldn't benefit the boy, he could shoot down every ridiculous idea that crossed his mind, but what he really knew was that Wells needed something that he could not provide.

A sudden thought was brought back to his attention, and he broke their silent reverie. "Did he say anything else about his family? His mother?"

Freya blinked back at him, then shook her head. "No, not really. Just that she's a busy person. Why?"

His eyes narrowed the tiniest amount. If he extrapolated from just that, well, it lined up with his suspicions that the boy probably hadn't been getting many letters back from his mother. Something else that he hadn't been able to ever get out of Wells himself, but apparently Freya just had that air of a feminine shoulder to pour your heart out to—if you were a child.

"Nothing," he said, turning back to his work with actual intent to do it this time, but Freya let out another more exasperated sigh.

"You do know," she said through her teeth, "that people on the same team are meant to work together on things, yes? Share information for the greater cause?"

"Oh?" His voice dipped towards a hidden venom at the same time as he dipped his quill to reink it. "Are they?" He did not raise his eyes as he drew a harsh 'x' over a student's line in their essay.

She didn't seem to have anything to say to this, and he wasn't inclined to pursue the topic of her own withholding of information at the moment, instead trying to clear his head from all the distracting thoughts so that he could actually settle in to get his work done.

With his hair covering his sideview and Freya sitting in an unfamiliar spot at the table directly next to him, it wasn't until he raised his head to look around at the time, having finished all his work, that he noticed she was sat with her own completed work neatly piled up, leaning on one hand and staring at him. He paused, taking in her posture that looked like she might have been sitting like this for some time, and the enigmatic expression on her face. It could be that she was just tired from the late hour, and, he suspected, probably getting even less sleep than himself the past few nights, or perhaps she was still somewhat irritated with him; but when she spoke, it seemed to be neither of these things.

"You know," she said quietly, her voice not holding any of her earlier anger, but more of a low earnestness, "you're an excellent teacher. If only you would just have a little more faith."

She didn't elaborate to where he should be putting this additional faith, but it seemed to him like she hadn't meant herself, and he was at a loss. She sighed, more heavily than before, portraying the weariness that he had assumed she was holding back from, and began packing up her things. He followed suit, gathering up his own bag as well. They said their farewells on the third-floor landing, and he went to bed feeling even more conflicted than the night before, and having just as much trouble falling asleep.

Whatever 'faith' she had meant, it became ironic over the next week that she had been speaking of blindly believing that which might not be seen, because he didn't catch so much as a glimpse of her over the entire seven-day course.

After the second day of eating his meals with only McGonagall in view on his left side, he had pulled Wells aside after class and questioned him about his detentions, surprised to hear that she had fulfilled her duties of completing all three. Wells even, more shockingly, had taken the time to thank him for letting Freya be his detainee. She was apparently still teaching classes, as well, which meant she was definitely still at the school- just nowhere near him.

He had only thought once about going to her office to question this, and then immediately settled in to a low simmering anger that he should ever be made to seek her out for anything. If she was too busy to keep up with her normal routine—their normal routine—or perhaps she just no longer felt the need to keep it theirs, then that was just grand. Maybe he was finally being let off the hook of being followed around every corner, and he could get some peace and quiet.

Only, the quiet didn't feel very peaceful, and he was having even more trouble focusing on his work than usual. Which was saying something, considering she had created plenty of distractions when she was actually around; such as when she would irritatingly twirl her hair around her finger when she was reading particularly long essays. Or when she would gab on about some inane fact about dark creatures from foreign countries, speaking with such enthusiasm glowing in her eyes that she would not take his hints that he was trying to concentrate. Or when she would absently tap her nails on the wood surface of the table and then respond to his snapping with her mouth in a perfect little 'o' at her mistake that she still managed to make repeatedly...

He was currently sat in the research library, tapping a single finger on the same table, deep in his aggravating thoughts and staring at her empty seat at the booth like he was someone who had been stood up on a date—on Christmas—which just so happened to be their birthday—as well as the day after their mother's funeral.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and looked back down at the paper he had abandoned after rereading the same line seven times. It held his attention no more than before, but tearing his eyes away from the invisible occupant helped put his mind on a different, though similar, track.

It was the lack of information that was bugging him—truly, honestly. She couldn't even be bothered to tell him first that she was going to be busy, not even after a full week of this, not even a single chance to stop by and give him a heads up. He was still as unworthy of receiving the slightest bit of information from Freya the wondrously helpful phoenix, who was out doing good honest hard work, and had not a moment to spare for him.

Perhaps this was confirmation of his earlier thoughts that he was no more a threat than any other teacher and the necessity of their engagement had ended. He was a neutered agent with no risk and no job; no more need to waste a perfectly good worker on warden duties watching over him while he kept his head down and did his homework.

Only, it was eating at him so much, that he could no longer do either of these things.

It was late evening when he lifted his head and threw all of his supplies back into his work bag, storming out of the library and up several flights of stairs until he arrived at a particular stone gargoyle. The rough grey cement eyes held his gaze while he composed his thoughts. It wasn't until he had gone through the rest of the steps and been let in, when he was fully stood in the middle of Dumbledore's office, that the feeling of being a regretful intruder settled into his stomach. His knock had been answered politely enough, but he doubted by the headmaster's expression that he was very welcome, and it gave him pause to consider simply making something up beyond what he had really come here for.

Taking a deeper breath than necessary for his words, he started with an air of forced casualness, "Headmaster... to answer your question, I apologize for the late hour. I merely..." The mental image of Wells coming to sloppily weasel information out of him came to mind, and at the last minute he abandoned his plan of sycophantic pretense, looking up directly as he said his next words, "I wanted to know if there is perhaps anything wrong."

Dumbledore didn't so much as raise a brow. "Anything wrong?"

"Yes, if there is... something going on behind the scenes. If a problem has arisen." There was no more response from the old wizard than before, simply sitting in his desk chair, unmoving, and blinking as if he had yet to hear anything worth responding to. Severus bit the tip of his tongue until he had to relent that he must push further. "If there's anything that I can help with—"

"Severus," Dumbledore now spoke, letting his head hang down momentarily as if these words had brought upon him sudden weariness, "rest assured; there is no matter. And if there was, there are more than enough capable people in the world to take care of whatever problems your mind may have come up with."

Considering he knew for a fact that in the final stages of the war Death Eaters had outnumbered Order members by a vast margin and going into hiding after the fall seemed to have led only to more deaths and ugly duels now that they were in the process of being rounded up, he highly doubted this, but he held his tongue as Dumbledore continued. By the look he now cast, lowering his eyes to peer over his glasses at him, it seemed like he still had a point to drive home.

"I understand that you may be experiencing... difficulties with this job, it being so different from your last. But I do recall being assured that you would be perfect for it," he continued, and Severus did not like where this was going nor how the headmaster's voice dropped a frosty degree. He didn't remember ever saying that he would be 'perfect' in his interviews, only that he was obviously qualified, and the job description had quite changed since then, he thought defensively. "That is why... it has been so disheartening to hear that you have not been upholding your end of the agreement."

The large ornate grandfather clock against the wall overtook the air of the room with its ticking, providing noise into the otherwise silent space as the two stared at each other. Severus experienced that annoying reflex he seemed to acquire only in the presence of this man, and, despite otherwise holding perfectly still, swallowed uncomfortably. Thankfully he need not be left to focus on only the feeling of apprehension at his impending reprimanding, as he could cling to anger instead; anger that his last slim hope, that Freya had not told every bit of what he had been trying to keep from her, and by association, Dumbledore, was now gone.

"You do understand your orders were to report anything you might discover directly to me, I presume?"

"Yes, headmaster."

"And yet there seems to have been a snag in your ability to do so?"

Any slick words he could have conjured up to smooth over the tension would not come to him just then, and he settled for silently relenting to be spoken at instead. It was useless to try it on this person, anyway, so there was no point in wasting the energy. The most he could accomplish was to keep his chin held in place. He would not lower his head if he could help it after coming here of his own volition, knowing what he might collide into.

"I must admit, although I was disappointed that you did not come to me with the information regarding Mr. Wells, I do approve of the direction your mind went," the headmaster inclined his head, surveying him, "in regards to the deal you struck with Freya. Evidently, you recognize that she would be useful as... a guiding light, perhaps?" Severus did not answer, focusing himself on not letting his bitter contempt for this idea—failed idea, as far as he was concerned—show on his face. Dumbledore continued with a slow nod of his head. "Indeed. However, her duties... lie elsewhere; and take up quite a bit of time at that, I'm afraid." His face grew hard and his voice seemed to carry further on his next words although he hadn't raised his voice, "Which is why you should not be relying on her to do your own job for you. Do I make myself clear?"

Short of biting his lip, there was no way he could hold back from the injustice of being pinned with the blame for something she had agreed to help with all on her own—something he already regretted plenty having realized his mistake of relying on her for anything. "Headmaster, if I may—if we are in agreement that she is such a... great pick," he failed to keep the bite out of his voice at having to say this out loud, "then why is it not her in this position to be dealing with these trouble students? This is a bit more than the job I applied for—if you recall, I applied for her current position—and I... must insist that I would be better suited to it, and in the field with whatever duties she is so busy with currently—"

Dumbledore raised a hand to stop him and he had to bite back the rest. "Severus... I implore you, do not doubt Freya's capability. She does not doubt yours." Rolling his eyes in front of the headmaster seemed like an even worse idea than questioning his judgement on the placement of his employees, but it was very difficult not to in that moment. Being subjected secondhand to Freya's sympathizing was almost worse given who it was coming from. Dumbledore seemed to sense his hostility to these words either way. The old wizard let out a quiet sigh that lifted and dropped his shoulders as he folded his hands neatly on his desk, the wrinkles around his frown lines deepening. "You are here... to teach. And to guide. Children who have been raised in such an environment, such as Nicholas Wells, I am sure, will need someone within the bounds of a mentor who can relate in some way to-"

"And what of the boy's father?" He couldn't hold back from interrupting again, with the wound of this information being betrayed still fresh and knowing what was at stake. "What good are potion's lessons and House points going to do when he loses a parent? Either to Azkaban, or to some Auror looking to be a hero and eliminate everyone as fast as—"

"You know very well what I think of the ministry's authorization of the killing curse," Dumbledore said, his voice suddenly strong and severe. His eyes, reflecting the light of the candles in the room, no longer looked their vibrant blue, but a dangerous blaze. "Not everyone is like you, Severus; willing to take a deal or turn themselves in. We cannot change people's minds, however much we may wish to. We can only control ourselves... and I assure you no killing curse will come from a wand under my influence in that man's apprehension."

Whatever doubts Severus had about this, they couldn't stand up to the impressive visage of Dumbledore in that moment, and he believed that anyone taking his orders would not dream of crossing that line. As he stared in silence, thoroughly reigned back in, Dumbledore's expression seemed to at once both sag and become a stony mask of contemplation.

"That day, though, I am afraid to say... may be coming sooner than the boy is ready for. Severus... Whatever it is plaguing your mind, I must implore you: focus on your duties. Now, more than ever."

He went to bed that night with his stomach churning, embroiled in his own rage, doubts, and confused thoughts. It wasn't until he had argued through much of the complaints in his head, lashing out at an imagined Freya for causing all of this, that he realized that he couldn't remember the last time he had dreamed of phoenix song, and wondered if all of his cloudy thoughts were blanketing it away, deep down in his mind.

Three days later, the source of the cursed tune came back.

Though, supposedly, she had been at the school all along, he caught sight of Freya for the first time in over a week, in the Entrance Hall speaking to none other than Wells himself, with the rest of the Slytherin quidditch team gathered around as they readied for the second of their matches of the season. He could see her smiling face even from across the hall—as if nothing had happened. As if she wasn't part of, and probably helping out in person herself, the organization currently taking down the boy's father and securing him to a life of resentment and dark avenues to relieve that feeling. Not a care in the world, laughing away. Not an ounce of what he had felt the past ten days to be seen.

It was almost too much for him to hold back the surge of animosity and not storm across the room, cursing her where she stood.

One of the Slytherin team members facing his direction caught sight of him and called him over from where he was stood frozen on the spot, nursing his poisonous thoughts. They all looked over and he had no choice but to stroll up as casually as he could, pointedly staring at the students to avoid making eye contact with the lone woman. Apparently, by the Slytherin team's telling of it, she was preparing to go willingly to the stands this time, seeing as it was merely cold but not wet out.

"Care to come along?"

He almost couldn't force his head to turn in the direction of her words, but he eventually did so, taking in her expression just as it turned from hopeful to sheepish under his gaze. Seeming to want to fill the silence from his nonreply, she spoke up again with dampened cheer, "Err... It's good to see you, by the way."

The muscles in his face reacted as if to return her small smile, but he ended up just curling his lip in a sneer. He couldn't stay silent forever, and as an ominous idea was forming in his mind, he finally spoke, "Of course I will join. I just need to get something—why don't you go on ahead?"

"Oh. Sure. I'll meet you there, then?"

"Yes. Meet you there."

If she was picking up on the barely subdued anger in his voice, she didn't seem willing to call attention to it in front of the students, but he did catch sight of her smile falter as he turned to walk away. He waited behind a corner across the hall till she had left the castle, and then made his way up to the west wing of the library, with a particular section of books in mind.

When she found him, he was sat on a window ledge at the far side of the room, book in hand, and reading lazily. Her entry was the only sound to be heard, but he wouldn't acknowledge her even with feigned surprise, merely flipping a page he hadn't finished reading and keeping his head down as he remarked, "You were able to find me fast enough."

He heard her make an exasperated noise as she stepped closer, her shoes passing across his lowered gaze as she came to stand in the slot of light cast by the window behind him, and he finally looked up, keeping his expression blank.

"Thankfully you're very predictable, even when you lie," she said, her annoyance showing behind her thin smile. "We're missing the match, you know. But there's still time if we—"

He snapped his book shut. "I think I've lost what little interest I had in games, actually." He watched her smile gradually fade, but he didn't blame her for being confused. His tone wasn't angry; in fact, leading her into returning to the place he had originally identified her intentions had given him clarity. "I think... given that you were perfectly fine to take a week off, that there is no longer any need to continue the charade." Her face grew even more wary, apparently catching on now that he wasn't talking about quidditch and hadn't ditched her just to read. She showed no signs of recognition to what he meant, however, and the corners of his mouth curled in a bitter smirk. "Are you seriously going to deny it? You've been following me around fetching information back to Dumbledore on his orders like a good little pet for months now."

This definitely sparked a reaction out of her, and her mouth popped open in reproach. She didn't immediately reply, and he imagined she was trying to get her story straight before she spoke. What an awful liar she was.

"If this is about me telling Albus about Wells's father... then the only 'orders' I was fulfilling were the ones given to you, that you seemed to think were optional."

His mouth twisted at having to hear the same thing from her as well, delivered with much less intimidation. It seemed she was going to try to dodge his direct accusation—which was fine, because he had plenty more to accuse her of. "And you're happy to follow any orders, even when it means participating in taking away a father while lying to his son's face, are you?" Before she could reply, he cut her off, his voice finally matching his anger, "How can you just stand there and pretend like everything's fine?"

"Well, what else am I supposed to do—just ignore him?" she said, her shoulders raising in defense. "He's going to need support now more than ever—"

"Spoken just like your master, exactly what he said. Are you sure you're not a parrot?"

Her hands balled up into fists at her sides and his face grew more smug as hers displayed her flustered exasperation. But instead of rising to his taunts, the storminess of her expression parted to make an earnest appeal, "Well, have you ever considered that Albus might be right about things?" Her eyes searched his face, and, finding only leveled animosity in return, she then let out a deep sigh. "Look, I don't particularly like this situation either, but I have to—we have to—keep calm and be the adults for the boy."

His confidence soured under this levelheadedness from her. It was everything he had felt too guilty to do himself, the very reason he had become complacent in his own imprisonment, unwilling to further burden himself with the knowledge that he would be directly culpable for his own students' parents. She said it as if it was so simple—but then, she wasn't already being buried under the guilt of other past actions. He still held stubbornly to the idea that it was more morally wrong for her to blur that particular line around the students, if only for his own need to be right without having to admit he found it difficult. And, more defensibly, he himself made no claims of being an advocate of light, but if it was her playing both sides, it was because she was a two-faced spineless pawn who couldn't think for herself and see the deep undertones of conflict in a grey world.

He ran his finger down the cover of the book in his lap. There was no need to flip it open to the chapter he had been reading to quote it though. "'They are fiercely loyal creatures'... Forgive me if I find it detestable that you could be so loyal to only one person that you would lie to the face of anyone else on command with no remorse, all while prancing about like you're so sanctimonious." His eyes slid up to harshly pin the accusation into hers.

Whatever heated thoughts were simmering behind her eyes, she was apparently choosing her next words carefully, taking in the full measure of him and the book, which earned its own narrowed look from her. With the square slat of sunlight framing her in glowing illumination and making the rest of the aisle of books look gloomy in comparison, he was reminded again of that first meeting in the library, with the gold of her eyes coming out in a dangerous way. He held her gaze all the same.

"You may have noticed," she said, her voice low and smooth, "that the loyalty of which that book speaks is something that has been hard won. I am loyal to Albus for good reason." Taking calm but small steps, she came forward towards him and he reflexively straightened up to mitigate the suddenly more apparent height difference with him still seated and her standing. "More importantly, I find you talking up the virtues of honesty quite funny... given that, despite your very reason for being here, you don't act like a person who shares the loyalty I have."

Her eyes were boring into his in that way that seemed to him to measure everything against their own pure gold to deem it worthy or not, and he stood up abruptly to dislocate the feeling of being under that microscope. Strictly serious or not, having the height advantage over her always gave him the pleasure of sneering down at her. "I am exactly as loyal as I need to be," he said with precarious truthfulness, glossing over any details of what his interpretation of necessity was in this regard. He took a step closer, enough that she did her usual Freya waltz of backing up immediately at the slightest intimidation to her personal space, and said in a cool but venomous tone, "I'm just not a pet like you."

"I am not a pet!"

He had anticipated her to get heated over this, and merely turned up his nose more as she retraced her previously retracted step, all trace of her attempts at appeasement gone from her face. This was fine, because in this instance, if she was mad then he held a considerable upper hand to pull an admittance out of her. "And yet, you wouldn't be doing any of this if it wasn't on orders. He snaps his fingers and you follow me around for months without question, everywhere I go, forcing me to events—"

"Has it really never occurred to you that I might just enjoy spending—"

His eyes widened as much as hers did, but as she realized what she was admitting out loud—which was far from the confession he had been searching for—she quickly looked away, and he composed himself once more with a dark scowl. So what if she did get something out of his company? As much of an incomprehensible notion as this was to him, he could at least acknowledge the tiny bits of entertainment that had come from spending time with her. Even so, it meant nothing given why she was there in the first place.

"You were the one," she suddenly cut back in with a jab of her finger, apparently having recollected herself and found new ammunition, "who kept showing up to the library, at the same table, all the time!"

He blinked at this, but he had a perfectly good explanation. "I... What good would it have done to avoid you? You would have just tracked me down like you always do, incessantly annoying me." He regained his temper and leaned forward, confident once more in his words. "I was only playing along with the ruse, pretending, so that I could stay ahead of you."

Her mouth opened, but it wasn't to speak, and he watched the realization of what he said slowly form in her eyes. Whatever triumph he might have felt at revealing that he hadn't been so foolish as to be deceived by her fell away as he saw the unmistakable hurt show plainly in a way that he highly doubted could have been faked. Of all the times he had said something to make her mad, even going so far back as the first night he had insulted her, she had at least looked strong enough to take it, or give it back in kind; but after months of what he now sorely suspected might have been actual honest amity, the expression on her face was one he could only recognize as betrayal.

"Who's playing games with who, then?" she asked in a hollowed-out version of her earlier angered voice.

There was nothing he could say to answer. His eyes searched her face more and more for any crack in her display, any small sign that she was putting him on, but eventually he had to accept that perhaps the only thing his pride was likely to have been right about was the fact that he was indeed better at deception.

A sudden movement brought his eyes back just as he was about to look away, and he was astonished to see Freya clutch at her chest. This seemed like a bit more than an overreaction, but as her face came up to show eyes wide with shock, he realized this was a stark shift away from their conversation. Indeed, it seemed her attention was being pulled out of the room entirely, as she darted forward and squeezed past him to look out the window. He followed her movements, startled by the sudden critical nature of them. When he pointed his head in the same direction as hers and took in the stage for whatever scene was causing her reaction, he sucked in a breath, for it only left him wondering what other pieces he was missing from the full picture. Before he could even lean away from the window to ask, she had grabbed his arm.

"We have to go."

"What—wait—"

There was no chance for him to pull away as she mimicked the time that she had so tightly clung to his arm under an umbrella what felt like weeks ago, and suddenly he was back at the quidditch pitch, only on the outside ring of the stands, out of sight and off to one side. The blast of warmth from her magic was nothing compared to the jarring cold of the outside air afterward, and he shivered, silently cursing that she got to be so exempt from the rules that she could just take him around anywhere. But before he could even adjust to all of this, Freya was dragging him by the arm towards the entrance, and as they rounded the edge, he took in what his mind had immediately jumped to with dread when he had seen her looking at the pitch from afar out of the library window.

A small procession of people was marching onto the path with much the same speed as they were, McGonagall at the lead. Wells was at her side, though as they grew closer, he thought this pair looked more like a prisoner being walked by his warden, funnily enough. He snatched his arm out of Freya's grip before anyone could see.

Much more pressing even than this sight, though, was the group trailing behind McGonagall and Wells, which was losing distance because one of their members, garbed in blue quidditch robes, was being helped along on either side by another Ravenclaw player, and Madam Hooch.

A heavy sigh hissed out from his side, and he tore his eyes away to take in Freya's distressed face, her brows knit. She met his gaze, and after hesitating a moment to let her glare linger on him, jerked her head towards the group containing Wells as it grew further apart from the closer injured one.

He nodded in resigned understanding, taking in a deep breath to let out a sigh of his own. Then they both split paths to carry out their separate duties.

---

_—***—_

"You try so hard to be cold
You try so hard to not show
I give you nothing to doubt and you doubt me
I give you all that I have but you don't see"

B.R.M.C. - Howl