A/N: Not sure what's gonna happen here and not sure why I'm writing HP again after about ten years. Anyway! Love SS and needed to revisit him.
Faculty meetings to Snape were something akin to torture. He sat in his seat at the faculty table in the Great Hall, running ideas for a new version of Polyjuice to make it longer lasting and flexible. He had no use for Polyjuice, of course, but he found himself adjusting longstanding potions recipes as a way to quell the boredom these days, especially in meetings that could've been owls. And with the creeping sadness, it had been harder to tamp down the boredom these days.
From the other side of the dais, Snape could see the new magic ethics professor, rapt at Dumbledore's words, clad in plum-colored robes with form fitting sleeves that Snape found his eyes falling upon. Masterful stitching, it seemed.
The headmaster was telling the faculty about a new interdisciplinary initiative, and the new professor's eyes were alight with possibilities. Snape's lip curled, unsettled at her sheer enthusiasm. It made him tired.
What was her name again? Something completely ridiculous and-dear god-French.
She sat, attentive, eyes wide throughout the meeting while Snape wondered how he'd worm his way out of this new initiative Dumbledore had established. He'd successfully opted out of activities that were otherwise compulsory for faculty, so Snape had no doubt he'd watch the others hem and haw at how this whole new thing was going to go. It would no doubt end in squabbling and a lack of productivity. Dumbledore's educational philosophy had always been hazy at best.
"So," Dumbledore finished, "as we set our sights to a new interdisciplinary curriculum, we can take small steps even during the course of the term. Everyone shall be paired up and responsible for teaching an elective course that combines the two instructors' areas of expertise."
Snape began to pay attention; this sounded serious. This sounded like…he would have to work with someone. While he listened as Dumbledore paired off the faculty, Snape's stomach sank as probability set in. With each passing name, he could tell exactly who he'd end up with. And when Dumbledore spoke at last—
"Professor Snape with—"
Snape held his breath, just barely containing the dread.
"Professor St. Ange."
Erzulie St. Ange breathed a small gasp that only Professor Sprout noticed. The herbology professor gave her a comforting pat at the news.
"Now—" Dumbledore continued, "professors should meet over the course of these next eight weeks to plan their electives for the Spring Term. I am excited to see what journeys you'll be taking our students on—all in the name of the greater good!"
The headmaster smiled and dismissed the professors. He threw an extra twinkle to Snape, who sat scowling in his seat.
Though Snape was quick to jump up and disappear before Professor St. Ange could get to him so she could talk planning logistics.
Professor St Ange spied him leaving the Great Hall—was he hiding himself in a crowd of co-workers?—and despite her calling out to him, he did not slow down. She was left alone to wonder just how this initiative was going to go. Her heart began to race, and Professor Sprout gave her another comforting pat-coupled with an unhelpful wide smile. Pomona, of course, had been paired with Flitwick.
Later that day, after all classes had ended, there was a knock at Snape's office door. He had a good idea of who was on the other side. He steeled himself as he swung the door open, his face set in stone.
He raised an unimpressed eyebrow down at her. "Professor St. Ange."
"Yes—sir, I was wondering if you had a moment?"
"I am currently occupied," he said, making no effort to hide the edge in his voice. He'd forgotten she was American. Atrocious, really. "I'm sure you can make it quick."
"Yes, of course," she said earnestly, "I'm sure you're quite busy—as am I, what with midterm exams due for review next week—um, anyway, in light of this project that we must work on together—the joint class—"
"Yes, Professor," he cut in, annoyed, "I was at the same meeting as you, just a few hours ago."
"Um, yes," she corrected, her gaze flitting anywhere besides his dark eyes, "well, when would you like to start planning? Can we set a schedule? To draw up a syllabus?"
"I shall be discussing this matter with the headmaster," he stared down at her, "it seems there has been a clerical error. I will not be your co-teacher."
"…But he announced our names together."
"Hence the error," Snape's irritation was palpable, "I'm sure everything will be rearranged so that you'll get a more suitable partner for this project."
She looked up at him, confused. "But, Professor, I don't understand—I think everyone else has been paired off—"
"Good day, Professor." He said and slammed the door in her face.
Erzulie St. Ange stood there, stunned. She'd heard stories about Professor Snape, had passed him in the hallways as he ignored her, but the door thing just then was nothing short of appalling. Maybe Dumbledore would assign her someone else; Snape seemed toxic.
He stood frozen in his office by the door until he heard her footsteps retreat. When there was silence again, Snape found he could take a breath. He inhaled deeply, turned and leaned up against his door, throwing a ward against it for good measure. His quietude these days was his only solace. And nothing would come in the way of it.
But Dumbledore was sympathetic when Erzulie went to visit him early that next morning with what had happened. With something of a knowing smile, he promised her to set everything on the right path-and the headmaster caught the potions master on his way to his classroom that morning.
"Severus," he said quietly, "it seems our new professor told me you are resistant to working with her."
"Headmaster," Snape stared straight ahead as he quickened his pace, "you know I don't participate in these types of things."
"Which is exactly why you should participate in this. I've instructed her to come to you this afternoon to begin syllabus planning," Dumbledore matched Snape's pace easily, "I'm sure you don't need me to set the schedule for you, eh?"
Snape was silent as he watched Dumbledore smile at him and move on down the hall. He fumed, realizing there was no way to get out of this. Rumblings of the Dark Lord's return and now this.
Snape was two hours into writing his 4th year potions class midterm exam when there was a knock on the door.
"Enter!" He barked quickly, "let's get this over with."
Erzulie slipped into his office without a sound. She lingered by the door, waiting for him to look up.
"Come. Sit." He said, writing.
Erzulie takes a seat across his desk from him. She could sense the residual anxiety in the chair, which seemed to vibrate with years of students' potions perceived inadequacies. She opened her mouth to begin, but Snape produced a scroll from a desk drawer and brought it down in front of her.
"The syllabus," he muttered, writing.
"Oh—I started an outline as well," Professor St Ange pulled out a scroll, "What essential questions did you—"
"The syllabus is complete," Snape countered, "no need for yours. We can follow it accordingly and students will then be able to grapple with the ethical dilemmas of Polyjuice, Draught of the Living Dead and Felix Felicis."
"Well, since my expertise—"
"So given that I've done all of the work needed for preparation," Snape kept his eyes on the exam he was writing, "there's no need for scheduled work sessions. I'll see you in January."
She was scrutinizing the scroll given to her, "so Polyjuice…Draught of the Living Dead… and Felix Felicis… sir, I think a fourteen-week course has more room for exploration of other potions, wouldn't you agree?"
"I think, as Hogwarts potions master, I am more qualified than you are to choose the potions covered in this course. After nearly twenty years of teaching students, I know what they're capable of."
"Certainly—I am not doubting your expertise," Erzulie reviewed the syllabus units, "but…"
Snape glanced up from his exam he'd been pretending to write, "…what?"
"Well, my doctoral work was on amortentia and consent," she explained, daring to look him in the eye for a moment, "I could do a few lessons on that."
She had his absolute attention for a moment.
"Your doctoral work? Where did you do it?"
"Shiz University."
"I see." Snape said, unmoving, "and your degree is in—what, ethics? Now, let's turn a question on you. How do you define ethics, Miss St. Ange?"
"It's Professor or Doctor St. Ange."
Snape sneered, but corrected himself, "Professor, you answer?"
"Magic ethics explore important dilemmas for the betterment of wizarding society in hopes of fostering ethical practices across all aspects of magic."
He sat, his quill down now, considering her words; he didn't consider the field of magic ethics particularly compelling—and not from someone fresh out of school. "Tell me. Where do you draw the line of what is ethical? Is it about the spells we cast, the potions we brew? Or is it beyond them?"
"All aspects of magic, sir," she replied, a little incredulous. She knew the field of magic ethics was newer—and the ideas were not widely discussed in all circles, but he of all people on staff should be able to be aware of its existence.
"Amortentia and consent," he uttered, his head tilting toward her, "what did your paper explore?"
"'Mapping Consent in Wizarding Intimacy.' That the use of amortentia when used in early-stage intimate interactions contributed to sexual assault by 25%."
He was silent, in shock, taking in the number. "I was unaware of that."
"Many are," she said, gazing back at the syllabus he'd written, "amortentia makes consent impossible…during my time at the ministry—"
"—you were employed by the ministry-?"
"—department of ethics, yes. Working to help pass legislation for restrictions on amortentia. Thankless job."
"Was it?"
She was quiet for a moment, as if deciding he was safe with her secrets.
He waited, knowing she was about to spill. He could always tell these days. And this one in front of him seemed particularly transparent. No legilimency needed here.
"There are a lot of," she took a breath, "powerful people who do not want love potions to have any regulations."
"I see."
She was relieved he didn't ask more questions.
"I think amortentia could be included in the syllabus," Snape nodded toward the scroll.
Professor St. Ange brightened, making some notes on the parchment, "certainly."
Snape blanched at her annotations as she marked up his parchment, but let it pass. "What else were you thinking of adding?"
She glanced up, "oh—um. Veritaserum. Healing draughts. Invisibility potions. I think if we cover—let's see—identity theft with Polyjuice, consent with amortentia, honesty with veritaserum and invisibility, natural life with draught of the living dead and fate with felix felicis—that would create a pretty comprehensive curriculum."
Snape hated her. Simply hated her. She was thoughtful, concise, intelligent. The anger simmered inside of him, unsettling his otherwise ordinary Friday afternoon. He couldn't let her get the best of him. Good Merlin.
"As you wish," he muttered, monotone, watching her in horror as she took full edits to his syllabus.
She happily made notes in the margin of the document—things seemed to be going well. Going well, that is, until she glanced up at him. Professor St. Ange nearly flinched at the look in his eye. She froze.
"No—continue your edits," he said holding her gaze captive, "put that doctorate to good use."
She blinked with a grimace at the jab—but still continued to write.
"Well, I think that's enough for today—I have to get back to exam writing," he said after a moment.
Professor St. Ange relented, took the hint and began to pack up. "Would you like to have the syllabus live with you?"
His eyebrow flitted in a noncommittal manner, and she elected to leave it on his desk.
"Well, I know you're very busy, sir—"
"'Sir'? 'Professor Snape' please. You are not my student."
She breathed, unsure of how to navigate him, "Professor Snape. I know you are busy. I thank you for your time. Same time next week? Perhaps we should do a library session for the required reading list?"
Another damn good idea that he didn't get to suggest before her. He was losing his touch, and this project was proving to be increasingly humiliating. He agreed with a short nod, feeling his neck get warm. Goddamnit.
"Then I'll see you next week," she smiled, her heart racing as she gathered her things. "Thank you, s—Professor Snape."
Just then, Remus Lupin poked his head into Snape's office, "ah, there you are, Erzulie. We're headed out to Hogsmeade for a drink—"
"Oh! Remus, I'll be right there." The young professor nodded with a smile.
"I see you've survived your first session with Professor Snape," Remus cracked, "and you were so worried about it"—she reddened at his words; meanwhile, a flicker of a smile shot across Snape's lips and Remus smiled—"well done, you!"
"Thanks—" her teeth were gritted as Remus disappeared down the hall with Sprout, Flitwick and Sinistra, all of whom were working together on their various interdisciplinary electives.
"Oh, well don't let me keep you," Snape's tone was mocking, "from your… libations."
"Don't worry—you aren't," she said as she slung her bag over her shoulder, "we go every week. No special occasion."
Something stung him in spite of the fact that it seemed like hell to spend more time with coworkers than he needed to. An old wound reignited. Lupin had been good at that.
"Would you…like to join us?"
"Ah, that's kind of you to offer—and you know it's kind and safe since you're sure I won't say yes. So—you don't have to be scared: I decline."
Erzulie seemed to need a drink just to decipher that response.
"OK, then," she said in a soft voice, as a wave of sadness hit her as she searched his face, but he gave her nothing, "I'll—see you next session, then. 4 o'clock next Friday?"
He nodded, rising from his seat to watch her leave. He waited until right as she slipped through the door:
"Professor, I expect a copy of your thesis on my desk on Monday morning. To review."
She glanced back at him, about to speak, but opted for a simple nod before jogging down the hall.