Severus Snape and the Unbelievable Postwar Outcome Chapter 2, a harry potter fanfic

Severus should have known.

He should have known he couldn't come back to the scene of many of his crimes without Fate sicking up in his face.

The first bloody Saturday after Easter hols, disaster befell the school.

A rather large gap at the Gryffindor table at breakfast alerted the staff (or rather, Professor Longbottom) that something was amiss.

It turned out that an entire gaggle of the older Gryffindors had vanished. (Not Vanished, thankfully. At least, not as far as anyone yet knew.) They were just … not there. Not a single person, neither staff nor student, had seen them since the end of dinner the previous day. Why none of the other Gryffindors had seen fit to notice and inform their head of house of their housemates' absence, Severus couldn't fathom. Then again, who could fathom the mind of a Gryffindor?

But there it was, and the remaining students had to be questioned and the school and grounds searched. Minerva insisted they search in pairs in case any Dark mischief was afoot. When Finch-Fletchley moved towards Severus, Snape said, without thinking about it, "Professor Longbottom, you're with me. We'll do the so-called secret passages and tunnels."

"Right-o."

Severus suppressed a smirk when Sybill Trelawney grasped Justin's arm, saying, "Professor Finch-Fletchley, the Inner Eye tells me you and I will find the missing children near the kitchens."

It took Neville and Severus almost two hours to search all the passageways running to, from, and under the castle.

They emerged from the tunnel leading from the Shrieking Shack, Severus feeling like an idiot when he was nearly taken out by a branch from the Whomping Willow. The whoosh of it passed just over his head as he threw himself to the ground.

"There, now, Willow. No call for that. It's just me, Neville, and a friend."

Severus looked up, and to his astonishment, the tree had calmed, its branches now rustling softly in the breeze rather than swashing about with lethal force.

"What," he said, picking himself up and dusting the soil from his trousers, "was that?"

Neville gave a sheepish shrug. "The Willow and I are sort of friends."

"How can you be friends with a tree?"

"We understand one another, like. She doesn't whomp people, and I prune her and keep the Bundimums under control. I bring her a Quaffle to bat around once in a while, for exercise. Right now she's a little agitated, though, so …"

They moved out of the Willow's range to confer.

Neville turned a furrowed brow to Severus.

"Not a sign of them. Nothing. Nada. Niente. Where could they have got to? They wouldn't have left the grounds without permission."

"In my experience," Severus said, "Gryffindors are of the 'ask for forgiveness instead of permission' bent." His tone was milder than was his wont, in keeping with the concerning situation.

Neville smiled. "True enough. But we've got smarter since you were last on staff. Minerva had Filius set Alarums on all of the passages students could use to get off the grounds. They haven't been triggered."

"About time," Severus said. He looked up at the castle. "We'd best tell the headmistress we've come up empty.".

"On it." Neville pulled his wand. "Expecto Patronum!"

From his wand-tip leapt a silver beast with a squat, seal-like body, short legs with webbed feet, and a broad, flat bill. It shot off and disappeared through the wall.

Despite the dire circumstances of being short a baker's dozen of students in their care, Snape couldn't help laughing.

"A platypus?"

"It's highly corporeal," Neville said defensively. Then he laughed too.

"Very effective," Severus said when they'd gathered themselves.

A minute later, a silvery cat returned to tell them in Minerva's voice to report to the head's office.

A frisson of unease settled over Severus upon entering the office he'd last been in on the night of the battle. He glanced up at Dumbledore's portrait but looked away before it could say anything to him.

The others filed in two-by-two and offered their equally dismal reports: No sign of the missing Gryffindors had been found.

"I even asked Firenze," Hagrid said. "The centaurs haven't seen hide nor hair of 'em."

"I hate to raise the possibility, but has anyone thought of the Black Lake?" Filius asked.

"A whole group of them?" Finch-Fletchley said. "A single student might drown, sure, but …"

Minerva was almost as pale as the night she'd duelled Severus and drove him from the castle. She nodded soberly. "I'll see if I can speak to the Merchieftainess."

"I'll accompany you," Severus said.

They took a boat, propelled by a spell from Severus's wand, to the end of the lake. Minerva withdrew the large clamshell she'd brought and opened it. Severus covered his ears as she screeched a few words of what he assumed was Mermish into it, then thrust it under the water.

A few minutes later, a Mermaid with kelp-green hair and bare breasts broke the water's surface and spoke to Minerva in scratchy English.

"Why calls the headmistress of Hogwarts?"

"Thank you for answering, Merchieftainess. We seem to be missing some students. I wondered if you've heard anything of them around the lake?"

"Merfolk bother not the students of Hogwarts."

"Of course not, but I'd hoped you might help us make sure they are not … er … in the water anywhere."

"Search we will, if so wishes the headmistress."

"Please. We will wait here for any news."

The Merchieftainess slid back underneath the water.

It was a long half hour, and the late afternoon air was cold and damp. Tendrils of fog hovered over the glassy surface of the lake, and the croaking of frogs cracked the stillness. When Minerva started to shiver, Severus cast a wordless Warming Charm and scooted closer to her on the bench.

She grasped his hand and squeezed it. "Oh, Severus, I do hope they're all right. If they're in the lake—"

"Highly doubtful. They're Gryffindors. They're probably off on some addle-pated adventure. But we need to be able to say we've looked everywhere before we get the parents involved."

Minerva shuddered again at the thought. Awkwardly, Severus patted the hand she was still holding.

A gentle splash announced the Merchieftainess.

"Looked we have," she said in that queer, gravelly voice. "Nowhere in the lake the students are."

Minerva and Severus heaved tandem sighs of relief.

"Thank you," Minerva said.

It was a grim-looking group that met again in Minerva's office. The pot of tea a house-elf brought at her request revived their energy, if not their mood.

Septima Vector said, "I could do some reductions to see if anything comes up, but they'd be very iffy."

"Has anyone looked in the Room of Requirement?" Neville asked.

Blank faces all around.

They all headed to the seventh floor and waited as Minerva called forth the door to the Room.

It was completely empty.

"Damn." Minerva gave a deflated sigh. "I truly hoped we'd find them here."

"If they're not in the castle or on the grounds, where could they be?" Vector said. "They can't simply have vanished into the floorboards or something."

A thought came over Severus like a freezing shroud.

No. Oh, no. It can't be.

"Headmistress …" His voice sounded strangled.

"Yes?"

He cleared his throat. "I believe it may be a charm."

At that, Filius perked up. "A charm, you say?"

"It is likely nothing you're familiar with," Severus told him. Before Flitwick could take offence, Severus added, "It was something Dumbledore told me about. Something … something Grindelwald had invented."

Worried murmurs burbled through the group. Severus ignored them.

"He called it the Invertere."

"What does it do?" Minerva asked.

"I …" Severus hesitated, eyes darting around at his puzzled colleagues.

Minerva peered at him for a moment, then said, "Would you all please excuse us? Perhaps the heads could go inform the prefects that dinner will be served in the house common rooms this evening. The rest of you may have dinner in the staff room or your quarters, as you prefer. Don't wait for Severus or me. We'll reconvene at nine in my office to assess any developments."

Once the rest of the staff had gone, Minerva waved her wand, and a pair of straight-backed chairs appeared. She gestured for Severus to sit.

"Now tell me," she said, taking the seat across from him.

"The Invertere creates a sort of inverted dimension. It mirrors this one, but the only people in it are the ones upon whom the charm is cast. What happens there doesn't affect this dimension. It's a liminal space. I have reason to believe the students may have been affected by this charm."

She stayed quiet, looking at him. He couldn't read her face, and he forced himself to continue.

"On the night of the battle, I cast the charm on the Room of Requirement. The spell would only activate if two circumstances arose. One, someone with a Dark Mark would have to enter the Room. Two, an Unforgivable Curse would need to be cast."

"Why? Why would you do this?"

"It was a last attempt at protecting at least some of the students should Riddle's forces overrun Hogwarts. I hoped Longbottom and the others would think to seek shelter here. If a Death Eater somehow managed to enter the Room and attack, the charm would activate, effectively sequestering anyone in the Room from the rest of the castle. Of course, it would leave the problem of the Death Eater, but I hoped there would be enough students to take care of him or her in the liminal space."

"But how could it have activated now?"

"I overheard Higgs talking about the Room as a place to practice Quidditch drills, since Ravenclaw had the pitch booked for the day before the match. It made me wonder if it might be a suitable space for a duelling club to meet — perhaps it could provide a bit of extra safety over an ordinary classroom. So a few days ago, I went in to test it out. I … I must have triggered the charm's first condition."

He put a hand over his left forearm, his shame burning as painfully as the Mark itself ever had.

"I see. And you cast an Unforgivable."

He jumped out of the chair, knocking it over.

"No! I will never cast another Unforgivable!"

"Severus, I—"

"I would die first."

He couldn't bear the idea that Minerva might think he was covertly practising Dark magic or reliving the decidedly non-glory days when Unforgivables were on the menu of things that might be required of him.

The room vibrated with quiet tension as they stared at one another. She was calm, however, regarding him without any sign of rancour or recrimination. Slowly, Severus leaned over and righted the chair. After another moment, he sat.

He looked down at his sleeve, grabbing it once again, covering the ugly evidence of wickedness etched on his flesh, faded now, but still there to remind him of what he had been.

Minerva's gentle hand on top of his surprised him, and he looked up to meet her gaze.

"I'm sorry, Severus. I didn't mean to imply anything. I'm just trying to figure out what might have happened."

Severus swallowed.

"It is possible the students were using this Room," he said. "Longbottom mentioned he had broken up a somewhat raucous party last weekend and warned the students that he'd put a watch on the Gryffindor common room to make sure there were no repeats. We know from Higgs that the Gryffindors knew about the Room."

The gears in Minerva's mind were clearly whirling. "You think they came to the Room for an illicit party?"

"It's possible, yes."

"But the Unforgivable? I don't think—"

"Because they're Gryffindors?"

"Don't be stupid. It's just that I hate to think of any of our students casting something like that. After we've tried so hard to foster more kindness at Hogwarts." She sighed. "But I must admit, it's possible. We've had incidents."

Sitting back in her chair, she asked, "What made you think of the charm now?"

"What Septima said about vanishing into the floorboards. It triggered something in my memory. It sounds daft, but I'd forgotten about it until just then. Gods!" he said, standing again and whipping to and fro on legs that felt like rubber. "How could I have been so bloody stupid!"

Minerva stood but let him pace out his agitation.

"It's understandable," she said. "That night, everything happened so quickly, and Merlin knows you had enough else to worry about."

"Maybe, but afterwards? How could I have forgotten to remove the charm?"

Severus had long ago resigned himself to being ugly, vicious, spiteful, and foolish, but careless? Stupid, even? He sank back down in the chair and put his head in his hands.

"I seem to recall there was a bit of a do with a giant snake almost ripping out your throat," Minerva said. "It was several weeks before you regained full consciousness. It's hardly surprising if you didn't recall much of that night."

He looked at her, incredulous. "You … you're not angry?"

"Of course not. You were doing your best to protect the students at an impossible time and under incredible constraints."

She dropped back into her chair with a weary sigh. "But Severus, please tell me there's a way to reverse the charm and get them back."

"Of course there is. I set the counter-charm to trigger one year after my death."

Minerva blanched. "You don't mean you have to die for them to be released?"

"No such luck, Headmistress," he said, feeling the first smile cross his lips in hours. "That was just a failsafe in the highly likely event that Potter failed to do his job. I thought after a year, no one would be looking for anyone who might be hidden here, and they might have at least a slim chance to escape unnoticed."

"Assuming you weren't around to release them."

"That was a given. It isn't my fault some interfering witches wouldn't let dead Death Eaters lie."

This was the first reference either of them had made to the fact that Minerva, led by Know-It-All Granger, had been the one to look for his body in the Shrieking Shack. She'd been surprised to find not a corpse at all but a former headmaster in the process of bleeding out. Some quick wand work, not to mention several phials of the antivenin made from Arthur Weasley's blood Madam Pomfrey had been wise enough to stock in the Hogwarts infirmary, had saved Severus's life, such as it was.

"So, how do we get them back?" Minerva asked.

Severus stood, pulling his wand from its holster.

"Like this."

He closed his eyes and chanted the incantation Dumbledore had taught him.

No fewer than thirteen gauzy-looking Gryffindors floated up through the floor, feet first, robes hanging comically around their heads, then slowly righted themselves as they melted into more corporeal being.

They stood around blinking in confusion before Spencer Higgs said, "Bloody hell!"

His rather apt exclamation set the rest of them off, and they babbled incoherently amongst themselves until someone noticed the headmistress and Professor Snape standing there watching with similar amused smiles on their faces.

"Welcome back," Minerva said.

"Wha—" a petite girl with only one shoe said.

"We didn't go anywhere," Higgs said. "We've been here in this Room for hours."

"Almost twenty-four hours, to be precise," Minerva said.

"We tried and tried to get out, but the Room wouldn't let us," said a dishevelled-looking girl Severus recognised as the sixth-year Gryffindor prefect.

"Which leads us to the question of what you were doing in the Room of Requirement in the first place." Minerva said.

"Um … we …" Jeremy Bekins, a seventh-year, was stalling while he tried to come up with a plausible lie. The boy wisely shut up when he realised he was holding a nearly empty bottle of Ogden's cheapest Firewhisky in his left hand.

Several of the others fidgeted uncomfortably, a few trying to refasten their ties or tuck in rumpled blouses.

"As I thought," Minerva said crisply. "Did the room feed you?"

"Yes, Headmistress," the prefect said.

"Very well. If no one is injured or unwell, you may go to your dormitories. I will see you all in my office at nine tomorrow morning to discuss your … adventure and its consequences."

After the students had shuffled out, Minerva cocked an eyebrow at Severus.

"Well, they seem none the worse for wear," she said.

"Indeed."

"Shall we go? It isn't Friday, but I'm inviting myself to your quarters for a dram of that twelve-year Balvenie. After the day we've had, we deserve it."

"What about the day the rest of the staff have had?"

"I'll send a message to the staff room to let them know the children are safe and accounted for. After that, the staff can get their own bloody whisky."

The ended up in bed together.

Let's get that out of the way right off the bat. (That is what you've been dying to read about, isn't it?)

Here's how it happened:

After the charmed-but-not-charming Gryffindors' reappearance, Severus and Minerva did indeed repair to his rooms for a drink. The drink turned into two.

They sat in front of his fireplace, the anxiety of the day draining away with the whisky. Minerva's eyes were closed. She wasn't quite sleeping, Severus knew, just basking in the fire's warmth and the contentment of a job, if not exactly well done, then at least done.

Her feline alter-ego was in clear view that evening, and Severus had the momentary urge to reach over and pet her. Instead, he took the opportunity to observe her.

He'd seen pictures and knew that she never had been a great beauty, but age and experience had honed her into a woman worth observing. Not that Severus divided women into categories based on their appearances — that would have been highly hypocritical of him — but he found he did enjoy looking at Minerva McGonagall.

Shallow lines pleated her forehead, signs of the care she'd borne over decades of teaching school and, not incidentally, fighting two wars. Crinkles framed her eyes, but a smattering of russet freckles dusted her nose, hinting at the girl she once had been, no doubt an outdoorsy type, clambering around the hills of her girlhood Caithness. Scotland's weather, congenial to the skin if not the spirit, had protected her complexion, which was pale and fine despite the wrinkles that spidered it. Salt and pepper contended equally in her hair, which looked soft and shone in the flickering firelight.

An urge moved through him to reach over and release that hair from its tight bun, let it flow in waves through his fingers.

He shook his head to clear it, and her eyes opened.

"Sorry," she said. "I must have nodded off."

"It's all right. It's been a long day."

"It has. I suppose I'd best be off to my bed."

"Or you could come to mine."

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He hadn't meant to say that. Hadn't really meant to think it, but suddenly, it was there. Must have been there all along. Fuck. Well. Yes. That was just it. He wanted to fuck Minerva McGonagall.

Now, in case you were wondering, Severus had not been celibate during the years after his indentured servitude had ended. There had been women — witches and a few Muggles — but never more than a few gos with any one of them. He'd been surprised to find he had a healthy libido, once he'd recovered from Nagini's bite and all that had preceded it. But that libido had not been matched by an appetite for what others tended to think of as "relationships", so he'd kept things casual and occasional.

He'd now passed his fiftieth birthday, and his libido had waned somewhat, a natural development, he thought, if a bit unfair. His youth hadn't been of a type to allow for much — or, let's be honest, any — partnered sexual exploration, and he felt cheated. He'd only had a few years of putting it about before the effort had started seeming greater than the payoff, and he'd begun to settle for a bi-weekly wank rather than going to the downscale pubs at which he used to meet the likeliest women. Which was to say witches who were excited at the prospect of pulling a certified (former) bad boy with a safe pardon from the MoM, or, if he were weary of them, Muggles attracted by his blasé attitude and seemingly bottomless supply of high-end fags.

And now Minerva.

After all this bloody time, he wanted — he fucking desired — this witch he'd known nearly all his life. This witch who was old enough to be his mother. This witch who knew almost every awful thing about him and still seemed to like him. To actually enjoy his company.

This witch who …

You get the picture.

But enough about Severus' sexual history and state of mind. Back to the scene at hand.

After Severus's unfortunate slip of the tongue, Minerva sat there blinking at him.

Finally, she said, "That is a very interesting proposition."

Severus's brain stalled out.

"I … you … what?"

"That's one of the many things I like about you, Severus, your way with words."

He closed his mouth, which he suspected had been gawping open like a dim-witted troll's.

She waited patiently for him to gather what was left of his wits. "Were you serious?" she asked.

"Yes, actually." He tried not to sound too fussed about it one way or the other.

"Good. I only ask because I want to be sure before I do this." She shifted over on the sofa, took his face in her hands, and kissed him.

It took him a moment to convince himself it was really happening before he kissed back.

Her lips parted slightly under his, and he slipped his tongue between them. (That was what he was supposed to do, right? His mind wasn't quite working up to its usual high standard.)

She did him one better and ran her tongue across the inside of his lower lip, reminding him that she had years more experience than he did and had likely been kissing and fucking assorted lucky sods since before he was born.

He was gasping for air — or maybe just gasping — when she broke the kiss and sat back.

"This is probably a bad idea in many respects," she said, "not least of which is that I am, at least temporarily, your boss. So if you want to drop this, please know that there will be no hard feelings. We can chalk it up to a very bad day and some very good liquor and say no more about it, if you prefer."

Did he prefer? he asked himself. Did he want to get out of this evening with his questionable dignity intact, or did he want to risk everything he was enjoying about this weird sojourn in his former stomping (and cursing) grounds by taking the Erumpent by the horn and … er … plunging in?

Fuck it all.

He lunged forward and put his arms around her properly this time, kissing her for all he was worth, which wasn't much, truth to tell, but she didn't seem to care. She made a satisfied humming noise as they kissed, and stroked the back of his head.

Again, though, she was the one who broke away. "And also know that I won't expect anything more than this," she said, slightly breathless.

"Minerva?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up and come into the bedroom."

For once, she did as she was told.

Reader, if you want the gory details, you're not going to get them here.

Not many of them anyway.

I will tell you this: the sex was good. Not great, not earth-changing, but as good as any first-time sex between two middle-aged secondary-school teachers was likely to be.

Severus's cock got hard enough, and Minerva got wet enough, eventually, and an enjoyable time was had by all. Paunches and sags were duly ignored, and skin sallow and skin pale was stroked and appreciated. It took him almost ten minutes to come, and he had to use his fingers to finish her off, but each was of an age to be realistic enough about sex to know that it rarely is like it is in romance novels. It was messy, and occasionally embarrassing, and altogether intoxicating, as it should be.

And the aftermath, you ask?

It was fine.

Better than fine, in fact.

If you were expecting some big expression of undying love or, more likely, with Snape involved, a big dramatic blowup born of self-loathing, you will be disappointed.

They kept sleeping with one another, and getting better at it, until the end of term.

Severus did get antsy and snappish as the summer holidays approached, and it was not all down to preparing his students for N.E.W.T.s. He feared the end of his teaching contract would mean the end of shagging Minerva McGonagall, and he was not prepared to give it up without a fight.

On the final day of exams, he marched into Minerva's office and slapped a parchment down on her desk.

"What is this?" she asked, ignoring his lack of social or professional niceties.

"This," he said, "is a proposal."

At her raised eyebrow, he said, "No, not that kind of proposal. It's an educational proposal."

She looked at him warily, then put her glasses on to read the document.

When she'd finished, she looked back up at him. "You want to continue teaching," she said.

"I do." Really, if Minerva was going to turn slow-witted on him, he might have to reconsider this whole thing, he thought.

"You are proposing a class in the ethics of magic," she said, not reassuring him of the state of her previously estimable wits.

"Yes. Past time, I say," he said.

"And you are the person to teach it?"

"Obviously. I'm the only one on staff who's actually used magic unethically and experienced the repercussions, so I know what I'm talking about."

"You have me there." She removed her glasses. "As it happens, Severus, I did want to speak to you. I hesitated to say anything, as I didn't want you to think I was presuming on our personal arrangement, but I'm in a position to offer you the Defence position on a permanent basis."

His small heart grew three sizes. (Or was that the Grinch's heart? Well, Severus bore no small resemblance to that magnificent Suessian creature. Anyway, Snape's heart did something of note at Minerva's words.)

"Oh?" he said.

"Professor Bunbury has discovered the joys of not carrying a full teaching load and wrangling a group of magical adolescents in a draughty, ghost-and-poltergeist infested castle in the Scottish Highlands and has tendered his resignation."

"And you want me to take his place."

"I will admit, I hoped you would." Her lips curved in a sly smile. "If begging would sweeten the proposition, I'll consider it."

Severus refrained from smirking.

"Is that sexual innuendo?" he asked.

"Merlin, no. Would you like it to be?"

"We can discuss it later." He tapped the parchment on her desk with his index finger. "What about my proposal?"

"The ethics of magic."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"We could weave it into the Defence curriculum."

"Trying to get me to teach two courses for the price of one?"

"Not at all. I think we could drop the Defence class unit on magical pests in favour of ethics. If the students can't learn to use a can of doxycide without explicit instruction by the time they leave Hogwarts, I fear we have more to worry about than the rise of a new Dark Lord."

And that is the story of how Severus Snape returned to Hogwarts, rescued a bunch of drunken Gryffindors from his own charm, shagged Minerva McGonagall, and rejoined the permanent staff.

The Board of Governors was informed (of their professional arrangement, not their personal one), the contract signed, and thus, a new generation of students was primed to enjoy the benefits of Professor Snape's tutelage. (Minerva, of course, enjoyed an entirely separate set of benefits.)

Oh, and love?

I'd have thought you'd figured it out by now. Severus had been in love with Minerva almost since the first week he'd moved back into the castle.

Although, to be fair, Severus didn't have his big revelation until midway through the summer holidays, which he, Minerva, Filius, and Neville spent reinforcing the protective charms that had begun to fail more than a decade after the war. The Dark magic that had infested the castle during the Riddle year was more lingering than anyone thought. Severus wondered how no one else had noticed it, but then again, he supposed, he had more practical experience of Dark magic than anyone else on staff.

Minerva had been clearing some of the residual curse magic from one of the staircases when a piece of mortar fell and hit her squarely on the head.

The week Severus had spent by her bedside in the hospital wing was the most anxious he'd experienced since he'd learned Riddle had targeted Lily Potter and her family.

When Minerva finally woke, he looked at her, with her partially shaved head and the ghastly purple bruising down one side of her face, and realised this was the face he wanted to look at for the rest of his life.

Or at least, for as long as human biology would allow.

In the natural course of things, he would have to live some time without her, a fact which she, in her admirably pragmatic way, brought up when he told her of his desire to dwell all his days in her company. (Yes, reader, in a fit of relief at her newly regained consciousness, he had actually used the phrase "all my days".)

"I am twenty-five years older than you, Severus. 'All your days' might be stretching it."

"Given the things I did to my body when I was younger and ever more foolish than I am now, it's likely to be close enough. Now, when are you going to take some Hair-Grow?"

They didn't marry, they made no announcements — being, in the main clever clogs, the staff twigged to things soon enough, though the students remained blissfully oblivious — and Severus didn't move into the head's apartments with her. They simply carried on their partnerships, professional and personal. It went on for quite a few years, teaching dunderheads (him), running the school (her), and enjoying their love affair (both) and avoiding further wars (ibid.)

They laughed, they cried, they fought, they fucked, they aged. Together, mostly, until, as Minerva had predicted, she died. He mourned and lived another fifteen years until he, too, passed away. Whether they met again beyond the Veil is not for me to tell.

And so, gentle reader, I now draw a curtain across the tale of Severus Snape and the Unbelievable Postwar Outcome. As you've seen, it was a perfectly normal love story about two perfectly normal people, except that they were also mages and teachers who fought in a couple of wars and who also had tried to kill one another some years previously.

As I told you at the start, a tale with nothing whatever to recommend it. You were warned.

Acknowledgements

This was written for the 2024 Salt and Pepper Fest at HP-Goldenage.

T. S. Eliot famously said, "Good writers borrow. Great writers steal."

Except he never said that. Or at least, we have no evidence he did.

What he did say, was:

Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.

I am neither a good poet nor a great one, but I am a mature one, and I've been around long enough to know to steal from the best, as I have done here. I can't claim to have made of any of my pilferings something better, but I do hope it is something different.

Here's my official confession:

This story's title is shamelessly stolen from a chapter heading of the most wonderful babyfic ever written, Circumstances of a Small and Accidental Nature by the immensely talented dueltastic, available at their Dreamwidth blog. If you haven't read it, go do so now. I'll wait.

The "Shed-Stop" Potion" and the idea that Severus used it as a defence against Polyjuice is admiringly filched from MMADfan, who introduced it in her fic, Death's Dominion (available on AO3), which is the most remarkable and brilliant Deathly Hallows corrective I think I've ever encountered. I won't wait for you to read it now (because it's quite long and deserves your undivided attention), but I'll come and find you if you don't at least give it a glance at some point. You'll thank me later.

Copyright

The author believes this work falls within the scope of the Fair Use Doctrine as a transformative work. For more information, see the Organization for Transformative Works.

This work of fiction is available for use under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.

Lucius Annaeus Seneca the Younger, Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium, trans. Richard M. Gummere (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1925).

Lyrics from "I'm a Believer", words and music by Neil Diamond (c) 1966 (Renewed) EMI Foray Music and Universal Tunes o/b/o Tallyrand Music Inc. Asperformed by The Monkees on More of the Monkees. Colgems, 1966.

Publisher's Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Severus Snape and the Unbelievable Postwar Outcome/ Squibstress. – 1st ed.
FFN #0-325-OL-1