Title:
A few days more

Sequel to:
Twenty-one days

Author:
evil minded

Date:
November, 10th 2010

Timeframe:
Fourth year at Hogwarts

Summary:
"A few days more" is the sequel to "Twenty-one days" – read and review this first or you wouldn't understand all that happens in this story.
The fourth year Slytherins and Gryffindor have survived their imprisonment in the potions classroom situated in the dungeons. How will they go on in all-day life after their survival? How will they manage to reintegrate into the castle's routine and their classes? How will they be able to go back to life at all? Watch how those who survived fight for their lives and for their peace.

Disclaimer:
Did you see Severus alive at the end of 'The deathly hallows'? no?
Do you think I would have had him died if I had written those books? no?
Then you know that 'Harry Potter' does not belong to me … nor does Severus … regrettably …
But Hereweald Hrothgar does …

Rating:
M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

Author's Notes:
Uhm … alright … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the – perhaps – sad language, nor for the subject of my writing …
Also, this is a story written for NaNo, a story written within thirty days only and even though I go over the chapters before uploading them – I do apologize if it might not have the same quality at one point or another than those stories of mine you are used to by now … thank you …

Warning:
Story contains bad language and swearing.
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence. It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.
Story contains references to child neglect.
Child neglect is a really, really serious thing, and there are a lot of children in our world that are neglected, children that lack food, clothing, often love, and perhaps even a roof over their head – and closing our eyes, and pretending it does not exist – is no solution …
Story contains references to child abuse.
Child abuse is one of the most evil things, and there are a lot of children in our world that really would need help but have to live without hope – and again, closing our eyes and pretending it does not exist – is no solution … instead show sympathy, and understanding … and handle people, children as well as adults, which are showing any signs – whichever – of once having been abused … with understanding and with help …
What does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me – I am …

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Previously in A few days more
He had them sitting on the mats for a few more minutes, drinking juice and chatting away some time, just so that all of them could get used to the room, so that perhaps even Hermione, Emma and Neville would find a reason to feel comfortable in the gym. Harry was leaning with his back against his chest, and the boy was visibly calming down.
Looking around over all the children's faces he could see the tell-tale signs of tiredness in all of them, of exhaustion, and with a pang he remembered how much all of them had been forced to go through, all the children gathered here in this room, they all had their own horror stories to tell, small tales or big ones, tales of heroism or tales of fearfulness, tales of strength or tales of weakness – but not one single tale less important than any other one.
Looking down at the small form leaning against his chest he noticed that – again – the child, his son, had fallen asleep on him, and for a moment he wasn't sure if he should feel annoyed at the child always falling asleep on him, or if he should smirk with amusement. But in the end, it didn't matter.
Harry was alive still, and that was the only thing that mattered at all. They all were alive still, even Harry, as weak as the child still was.

A few days more
Chapter ten
A tear for the black lily

"I want you all to choose one of these flowers and to watch them." Professor Sprout said, pointing at the planted flowers in greenhouse seven and he looked around, frowning. So far they had never worked in greenhouse seven, and surely not with plants that were simple flowers, but with plants that had one or another magical ability, that were good for healing or were used in one or another potion and he wandered over to a bundle of black lilies, not noticing the smile Professor Sprout gave away at the choice of his flower. "I want you to listen to the flowers you have chosen, to watch them, to feel them and I want you to listen to yourself, try to see what the plant is doing to you, to your mind, to your body, to your heart and to your magical core. And last but not least, I want you to find a way to remember that exact kind of feeling, because at the end of the school year we will write a test about the connection between a flower and your magical core. Start now, and if you have any questions, then just ask."

Still not really understanding what a flower could do with his magical core he sat down on the floor and reaching out he carefully ran his fingertips over one of the black petals, amazed at the beauty of the dark and delicate flower.

He had often cared for the flowers in aunt Petunia's garden, had watered them, had planted them into bigger beds, had fed them with plant food, but never had he felt anything except for pity, knowing that aunt Petunia wouldn't care about them, like she never cared about him, that she had him planting them when he was there, so that the neighbours would see her beautiful garden, but that she would soon forget about them when he had left for Hogwarts in September, leaving the flowers to die.

For some time he had thought that aunt Petunia loved those flowers more than him and as strange as it had been, it had hurt, that knowledge. He should have been happy for them, for the flowers, because wasn't that proof that they were something worth being loved? But somehow it had also shown him – aunt Petunia was capable of loving something, anything, but not him, and that was proof that he was not worth being loved.

But then he had started Hogwarts and the plants had died whenever he had left number four, Privet Drive, and he had known that aunt Petunia didn't love them either, that she didn't care for them either, like she never cared for him.

Again, it should have been a consoling thought, the knowledge that, maybe, he wasn't completely unworthy being loved because aunt Petunia didn't love those flowers either, even though they were pure and not evil, and didn't do anything, even though they were clean and beauty, and very much lovable, because that meant that maybe, just maybe, he too, was lovable, and aunt Petunia just wasn't able to feel love – except for Dudley.

But it hadn't been a consoling thought either, because he had started to wonder – if aunt Petunia was able to let those flowers die, then maybe she would be able letting him die one day, too? Then maybe she'd be able to simply forget him and let him die, too? To never feed him again until he was dead?

It had been a thought that had crossed his mind more and more over the time, over the years, and often he had wondered what might have had happened if he hadn't started Hogwarts, somehow knowing, somehow feeling, that he might be dead if he hadn't, because here at Hogwarts was the only place where he could recover, where he could eat regularly, where he had enough food, where he wouldn't be starved.

Where he wouldn't be beaten.

Where he wouldn't be killed.

Where he ...

Picking one of the fallen petals from the ground he wondered what kind of flower it was, because aunt Petunia had never planted this one. Aunt Petunia had always had him planting roses in her garden, tulips and petunias – of course petunias. Every balcony in the house was decorated with petunias, the heavy and earthy smell hanging in the air around the house.

He had brought a lily once, having gotten the plant from Mrs. Figg, but aunt Petunia had thrown the plant into the fire and even if she barely had ever beaten him, normally leaving that task for uncle Vernon and only hitting the pan at him once in a while or throwing a cup at him sometimes, back then she had given him a beating that had been worth one of uncle Vernon's beatings, only that she never had stopped, that she had beaten him for what had felt like hours and hours without an end, and he had wished he finally might die.

Never ever again had he brought home any plant.

It had been in later years that he had known the reason for aunt Petunia being so very angry, that it had been the lily itself, the flower that had given his mother her name and aunt Petunia had hated her sister. Of course, she would hate everything that had to do with her, even a pure and innocent plant that happened to just have the same name.
And of course she would hate him too, because he was the son of her sister.

He wasn't even so sure if it really was the magic why they hated him so much, because for a long time he hadn't done any magic, back in the beginning, when he had been really small. But he had always been the son of aunt Petunia's sister. He didn't know why aunt Petunia hated her sister so much, somehow knowing that it wasn't only because "magic was unnatural", knowing that somehow there had to be more – but he didn't know what it was.

Maybe he could have changed it if he had known.

Maybe he could have changed Severus hating him if he had known why the Professor had hated him so much in the beginning. He understood that Severus had hated his father, because they had been at school together and their rivalry was very much like Draco's and his had been, only worse and somehow he knew that there must have been something really foolish his father had done.

But a fact was – aunt Petunia had hated her sister, his mother, and he was the son of her sister … and Severus had hated his father, and he was the son of his father.
Was he always responsible for any mistakes his parents had done?

Did that make any difference? The hate between aunt Petunia and his mother, or Severus and his father?

He guessed that yes, it did make a difference, because Severus didn't hate him anymore now, because Severus had adopted him, was his father now and he acted like a father, he loved him and he had been so sad and desperate, Merlin, Severus, Professor Snape, he had even cried down there in the potions classroom, because he, Harry, had been so close to death.

But if Severus could change like that, did it mean that aunt Petunia, maybe, would have changed in the same way? That maybe ...

Already at the same moment he knew that no, aunt Petunia would never have changed in that situation, because aunt Petunia had so often watched him being hungry, and she had so often watched him being in pain and injured and being beaten by uncle Vernon and ... and aunt Petunia had ... it only was proof that aunt Petunia had just never cared ... watching him being in pain and ... and hungry and ... and ...

He didn't notice the black clad figure kneeling beside him, the older wizard picking him up from the ground and carrying him home, holding him close, because his own world had started drowning in unbearable pain, in emotional pain like he had never before felt, that had him suffowolfing, that had him going crazy at any moment, that had his world collapsing over his head, shattering in thousands and thousands of pieces that felt as if it were his heart that was being ripped in thousands and thousands of pieces.

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From what Severus had told her, she had hoped that Harry would choose a different flower, a rose maybe, or an orchid, while at the same time she had wondered if, perhaps, the black lily would be the best plant for the boy, the black lily waking emotions that had to do with memories.

But then Harry had walked over to exactly that plant, the green eyes, Lily's green eyes being fixed at the black lily and she knew that she better informed Severus.

Of course, she was capable of handling an emotional student, she was the head of a house after all. But one – Harry was Severus' son now, and somehow she knew that the boy was in best hands with his father, and two – it had been Severus after all who had created the black lily to begin with, and therefore knew best what to do, even though as the herbology professor she knew very well what kind of plant it was, what it did, and how to take care of any outcome.

And yes, as that particular man's son – of course the boy would be called by that particular plant.

"Dippy." She softly called for her house elf. "Please go and get Professor Snape." She said when the small creature appeared.

There was a soft pop after a just as soft "of course, Mistress Sprout" and only a minute later the Potions Master stood in her greenhouse, the man not even having bothered walking down here, but having her house elf bringing him, and already he looked worried.

"Pomona?" Was the immediate question even before Dippy was gone again.

"Your son." She said, gesturing over to where the boy was sitting on the floor, in front of the black lily, a tear running down the thin and pale face, and she could hear the sharp hiss from the Potions Master before the man was already about to storm over to the child.

"Not yet." She softly said, placing her hand atop the man's arm, ignoring the sharp look in the black eyes that watched her with anger for a moment before her younger colleague gave a sigh away, accompanied by a nod.

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Of course, he knew what Pomona's intentions had been and he also realized that she had not necessarily been planning to place Harry in front of the black lily, knew that this plant called the people who might need her, but knowing what this particular plant could do with this particular child, he didn't like it, knowing the emotional pain his son was to go through if they allowed the plant her way, if they ... but then – was that not the reason he had created that particular lily?

How Pomona had gotten hold of the plant was a riddle to him, as the black lily was reserved for St. Mungo's only, as were some others of the plants he could see in greenhouse seven today, actually, but knowing that this class surely was no regular school class anymore, that these children, all of them, would belong into St. Mungo's anyway – at least one way or another – well, he could at least understand what Pomona was doing, and why she was doing it.

And perhaps, most likely, actually, he would have done the same, even though he would not have done it so soon.

"He will be alright, Severus." The idiot woman said, as if he were worried.

He wasn't worried at all!

"Of course he will, idiot woman." He growled as darkly as possible, his eyes narrowed at the child that started rocking back and forth in front of the blasted flower, and he had to force himself to stay put, to not act up to his instincts and to simply take the child away from the plant, knowing the thoughts that surely might go through the child's mind.

It was only moments later, however, when he was unable to resist any longer and he ignored his common sense and started walking over to the child. He was but a step away only when he stopped mid-step, frozen at the piercing scream, a scream that made his blood running cold in horror before he was at Harry's side with one last quick step kneeling beside the screaming child, unable to draw a breath, unable to think a clear thought, while he could even see the waves over waves of emotional pain radiating off his son.

Without a word, knowing that Harry wouldn't hear him anyway, not knowing what to say anyway, barely able to imagine the unbearable pain the child had to be in, he gathered the small form into his arms and picked him off the floor, and just as wordlessly he carried the still screaming child out of the greenhouse, over the grounds and into the castle, through the entrance hall and down the stairs that led to their current residence, not caring if anyone saw them, not caring about any students that might cross the entrance hall right now, not caring about anything at all except of getting his son home, and for a moment he even considered getting a calming draught into the child – but then he thought better, knowing that even if he had chosen a later point in time for such, it was necessary for the child to release his pain for once, to have this moment, to remember, to understand and to heal, never mind how hard it was for him, Snape, watching it, knowing that he could do nothing except of sitting there and holding the child until he had calmed down himself, until whatever was to happen, had happened.

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"Let them, Adrian." Cameron said, taking the boy's arm when he jumped up to run after Professor Snape and Harry, the boy shaking with horror and worry. "Professor Snape will take care of Harry, let them have that moment for themselves."

"But ... but Harry!" The boy stammered, wide-eyed.

"Professor Snape will take care of him, Adrian, like he always takes care of us, trust him."

"Know!" The boy sobbed. "But Harry!"

"Harry will be alright in the end, just let them be right now, Adrian!" The oder student said a bit more forcefully. "It will be alright, Adrian, trust me."

Well, a moment later he, too, had a sobbing child clinging to him, and he sighed. He wasn't the cradling type, really not, such was reserved for babies and girls but not for nearly grown up boys, not for a soon to be man, but well, he knew his place in the group and as the oldest here, it was his duty, too, to comfort them.

So, experimentally he patted the boy's head for a moment, hoping that the gesture would be enough to stop Adrian's tears but well, he should, however, have known that it wouldn't and with a suffering sigh he carefully folded his arms around the boy.

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Professor Sprout had told them to eat their snacks, apples this time, and to talk together, about their experiences with 'their' plants, but it had been clear that in their minds they all had been with Harry, wondering what had happened to him, why he had screamed like a banshee, wondering what might have caused so much pain to him, or fear, or whatever it had been.

Merlin! Harry had nearly died earlier in the year, but he hadn't screamed like that! Harry had fought a troll and he'd fought a basilisk and then he'd fought all those dementors, he'd nearly died in the potions classroom, he'd had this potions accident after Weasley had thrown the beetle's eye into his cauldron, but never had Harry screamed like that, and even the memory of it caused goose bumps appearing all over his body.

"Draco?" Neville asked and he sighed, forcing himself back into the present time.

"I don't get it." He complained. "And I don't see why uncle Severus would put me into this class now. I lack an entire year of arithmancy, people start in their third year, I haven't, I have taken divination."

"It's easy, Draco." Neville said and he huffed. "See, if you use the Agrippan method the letters of a recent version of the Latin alphabet are assigned numerical values ..."

"Wait ..." Draco said, confused. "I thought that Agrippa was a celebrated wizard imprisoned by muggles for his writing because they thought his books were evil. The chocolate frog cards say so."

"Yes, but his books are about just that." Neville said. "In his book 'De Occulta Philosophia from 1531' Agippa encouraged the study of magic, explaining the world in terms of cabalistic analyses of Hebrew letters and Pythagorean numerology. He was imprisoned because he believed that magic was the best means to know God and nature, and ..."

"If you have nothing better to do than chatting away time, then you best leave this classroom, Mr. Longbottom." Professor Vector said, looming over them and he looked up at the woman, startled. "And here I thought that you were in my class long enough so that you know my rules already, you disappoint me, boy."

"He only explained ..."

"Silent, Mr. Malfoy, this is not your place to open this mouth of yours." Professor Vector said, looking down her nose at him and he frowned. Merlin, contraire to this woman Professor McGonagall was a lovely kitten! Or at least he thought so right now. "Mr. Longbottom, I see you next week on Thursday, if you are able to be silent in my class then, that is."

For a moment he blinked in near shock while watching Neville packing his things together, but then he stood, too, and started packing his own things. If Neville was thrown out because he explained him something, then he should be thrown out too, because he had asked for an explanation.

"What are you doing, Mr. Malfoy?" Professor Vector asked, sounding as if she had never before seen a student packing his things.

"Well, if Neville is thrown out of class because of talking, then I'll have to leave too, because I've been talking, too." He simply said.

"You will sit down right now, Mr. Malfoy!" Professor Vector said. "Students only leave my class if I tell them to and not because it comes to their idiot little minds."

"Just sit down, Draco." Neville whispered. "I'll be fine, isn't the first time, see you later." And gone he was while he, Draco, stood there in shock still.

How could this woman be so unfair? He had been talking just like Neville and he didn't have an 'idiot little mind', his thinking had been perfectly logical, because ...

"Sit down, Mr. Malfoy, and try to solve the task I have given." Professor Vector said, and for a moment he actually considered going against her order and following Neville anyway, but he knew what Severus would say to that.

Of course, uncle Severus was at their side, always had been, but as a Slytherin – or former Slytherin – as one of uncle Severus' students, he knew perfectly well that if he was punished by a teacher – he was punished by uncle Severus, too, and this was anything than fun. Uncle Severus might punish them in privacy, but he was anything than lenient in any punishment he doled out.

The Potions Master and Head of Slytherin did not like it if his students didn't behave. He always stood up for them, he always helped them, and he always did for them what was humanly possible. He comforted them if they were sad, he cared for them if they were ill, and he talked to them if they had problems – he knew that uncle Severus would die for them if necessary, but he punished them really severely if they misbehaved, even if they thought they were handled unfairly.

"Life isn't fair, Mr. Malfoy." He used to say. "And you better learn to control your emotions, or you will end up being played with by people that might not have your best interest in their minds but their own."

And so he sat down, even though he would like not to.

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It was half an hour later, but finally Harry had calmed down enough so that he had ceased his screaming, had settled down to a soft crying and he breathed a sigh of relief, even if this relief was short lived, because the small skeleton was still shaking in his arms, still crying desperately and the fever that had not come back for days – it was back now and gently he placed the boy at the bed in his room.

He ran his hand over his face, feeling more tired than he had felt since long, but then he started to undress the boy, meeting no resistance while he pulled the limp arms out of the sleeves and the limp legs out of the trousers.

He had seen the boy's line of thinking, during the past half an hour, he had seen all the linking thoughts, the questions and the realizations of the entire situation, the sudden understanding and he had felt – no, he had not felt the child's entire pain, because no one would be able to feel the child's pain, but he had felt it to some extent.

And now?

Now this blasted fever was back and the child was burning up.

"'M sorry, sir." Harry sobbed, and gently he tried to hush the child. "So sorry." The boy sobbed anyway.

"Should be happy now ... but ... but ... shouldn't always cry and ... I just don't understand and ..."

"Hush, child." He said while running his palm over the boy's burning forehead before taking the cool flannel and running it over the child's face, Harry still sobbing uncontrollably even though he clearly tried to stop. "You have been through hell in your life, Harry. And while you have been in the midst of it, you did not have the time to relax, to realize what had happened to you, to allow yourself to feel, to mourn or to even care. You did not have the time to be weak or you would not have survived." He tried to explain, running another cool cloth over the just as warm chest. "And now, that this all is over, and your body has time to relax and to recover, finally, the adrenalin in your system is leaving and finally you can see, finally you can care, and finally you can feel. Now you are allowed to finally being simply weak, and to admit that it indeed did bother you. And that kind of new pain will have to be released, Harry. Do not apologize for crying, because not only is it necessary but you also have every right to cry. And not only because you are a child, but you have the right to cry for all that has been done to you, and you have the right to cry for all you had to endure, for all you have missed, and for all that has been denied of you."

Well, if there was anything else he could have said, that still seemed to have been the right words, because even an hour later there was still the fever, but the child also had turned on the bed, had reached out with his arms like a small child that wanted to be picked up and still, an hour later, the child was sobbing into his chest. More softly now, more calmly, not so uncontrolled anymore and it wasn't caused by the same unbearable pain anymore, but still the child was crying, and he swore, he would soon go and visit the Dursleys.

A day of pain for each tear Harry was crying because of them. He would settle for no less than that!

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It was half an hour later that the disaster started.

He was having his own problems with that blasted kind of class, not understanding how it was that Hermione had already finished her work, not understanding why Neville had been thrown out of class for trying to explain that crap to Draco, not understanding why he had to learn it in the first place, and he started to really dislike the arithmancy Professor.

And why Professor Snape wanted them all in arithmancy to begin with was a riddle to him, too.

"What are you doing, Mr. Granary!" Professor Vector shouted and Miles, who had placed his head over his arms on the table jumped up with a startled gasp, clearly scared and honestly, if he were a firsty – or a second year, alright – then he, too, would be scared of Vector. That woman was a dragon! And Neville, whose cloak Miles had clung to, Neville was gone, thrown out of class by that dragon.

"Excuse me, Professor Vector." He said as politely as possible, and even his mom would be very proud of him if she could hear him now. "It has been a long day so far for some of us, and maybe you could please excuse Miles and a few others for the last half an hour of class so that they can rest before lunch." Here!

That surely would do, and surely even Snape wouldn't regret having made him the prefect.

"And why should I do so, Mr. Weasley?" The professor asked and he sighed.

"Because they are tired, and because they need their rest, Madam." He answered, keeping his annoyance under control. "They have been through enough, and I just ask you to go slow on them in the beginning, it's only their second day of classes."

"It is not Mr. Granary's second day, Mr. Weasley and I ask you to sit back down or to leave this classroom right now." The woman said.

"I will do neither of the two, Professor, or I will leave the classroom together with the entire class right now." He said, his stomach squirming with nerves.

He surely wasn't the most polite student here at Hogwarts, and he knew it, he was considered a troublemaker even by some, like Snape, but never before had he actively gone against a teacher like he did now and to be honest, he was scared a bit, knowing that surely that would end in trouble, and most likely in a lot of trouble – for him.
But he couldn't let them being treated like that, because they were tired and they surely deserved it to be cared for by all the teachers, not only Snape and ...

"And who exactly do you think you are, Mr. Weasley, that you think you can speak to me like that?"

Professor Vector asked and he sighed.

"I'm the prefect of this group here." He answered, trying to sound as calm as possible instead of as nervous as he felt.

"Very well, Mr. Weasley, then as the prefect of this group you surely will overtake the responsibility for the group – in other words, they might go, right now, but you will stay for detention."

"We surely won't go and leave Ronald here." Draco said, getting off his chair.

"You will go right now, or I will have a word with your ... 'head of house'. I am sure that Snape will be very pleased to hear about the misbehaviour of his students."

"Just go, Draco." Ron said, scared. "Take the others to the great hall already, lunch will be in half an hour. I'll be there later."

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But well, later it was and Weasley still wasn't there.

He'd brought the others to the great hall before they would get into more trouble than they already were in, but Lunch appeared and Weasley still wasn't there. Neither were Harry and Severus.

Merlin, what a day!

At least they had a free period for the remainder of the day, only PE that evening after dinner, but PE they had with Severus, and that was easy. Well, maybe not easy, but at least they were understood and cared for there.

Leaning his head over his arms atop the table he took a deep breath to calm himself, because he rather felt like hiding away and crying than like having lunch in the great hall. He could understand that the teachers wanted to teach them, that they wanted a smooth lesson so that they, the children, could actually learn something, he also could understand that the teachers might be impatient because they were tired of snotty children, or of children that didn't want to learn, but he couldn't understand that some teachers acted the way they did. Creighton with his comment during their first lunch they'd had in the great hall during the weekend, and now Vector with her behaviour against them.

Because they were no snotty children that didn't want to learn. They tried, and they tried their best!

And he knew why Vector had acted the way she had anyway, namely because she had wanted to teach them a lesson, to show them that they couldn't mess around with her, but neither of them had wanted doing any messing around, they had only been tired, still were tired, now more than before and they wouldn't have made any trouble while resting for a moment.

A warm hand on his back startled him out of his thoughts and he shot up from his resting point on the table.

"Care to tell me where Ronald is, Draco?" Severus asked, softly, and he didn't sound annoyed or angry, only worried, the dark black eyes warm and soft on him, too.

"He's still with Professor Vector ..." He carefully said, trying to find words that would get neither him, Draco, nor Ronald or any of the others into more trouble than they already were in.

"Do not tell me that Professor Vector kept him for detention, Draco." Severus said, sounding very serious.

"She did." He answered with a defeated sigh. "Some of us laid their heads on their arms to rest, just for a moment, because they were tired, and Professor Vector screamed at them. Weasley only tried to explain that they were tired, and that they needed rest."

"I see." Severus said, still very seriously, but the man didn't seem angry at him, or any of them.

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He kept his hand for a few more moments on Draco's shoulder to show the boy that he was not angry with them, before he gave a slight pat at the boy's shoulder and then turned around with the order for the others to start eating already, but to wait for his return before leaving the great hall.

Then he left the hall, crossed the entrance hall, and entered the corridor that led to the arithmancy classroom, up a flight of stairs and then he turned left. He entered the classroom without even bothering to knock.

"I fear you have one of my students, Septima." He said without a greeting.

They had discussed what the children needed, during more than one teacher conference, and even if he knew that some of the teachers wouldn't understand – he had, at least, thought that Septima would.

Septima Vector had been a prisoner to a crazy muggle witch hunter group some five years ago, and he knew that such was anything but fun, and it had been him, who had helped her through the first months after that. They had often talked about it in the past, their conversations keeping Septima sane in the beginning, and enabling her to teach again at one point or another. In other words, she at least, should understand – after all, she hadn't left Hogwarts since, not even for a short shopping trip to Hogsmeade if she needed one thing or another, out of fear.

"I fear that your student might have to learn that it is not always appropriate to speak his mind, Severus." Septima answered, and he took a deep breath.

"I suggest that we take this conversation outside your classroom, Septima." He said, trying to be as patient as possible.

"I don't think so." Septima answered, straightening and standing before him, defiantly. "There is nothing to discuss in the first place."

"Very well." He sighed. "Mr. Weasley, pack your things and go to the great hall for lunch, now."

There was no word against his decision from Septima, but he could see her taking in a sharp breath. He waited until Ronald had packed his things and had left the classroom, wordlessly, only inclining his head towards him in a gesture of thanks, which he answered with the same silent inclining of his own head, before he turned towards his colleague.

"You either explain yourself towards my person, and soon, or you will face an official inquiry, Septima, because I won't have the health of my students at any risks." He said, calmly but resolutely. "We have discussed the conditions for their return to classes, and I did not have the impression that you wouldn't understand, especially with your background."

"Do leave my background out of this discussion, Severus." The woman hissed at him, standing on toes to reach at least his shoulder.

"Hit a nerve, Septima?" He asked, still seriously, knowing that his usual sarcasm was out of place here – and knowing that he had, indeed, hit a nerve.

"That's not fair, Severus!" Septima hissed back, curling her hands into fists.

"No, it is not." He admitted. "But you have not been fair either from what I heard. I know that it might be hard for you to teach that particular class, that not only horrible memories are in the way, but your own stubborn belief that you have to be the master of any situation, too, that you have to prove whatever it is you think you have to prove, but you do not have to. You are here at Hogwarts, and noch back then in that cave where you have lost everything, your dignity included, and we all respect you for your person, not because you are a hard taskmaster, Septima. And especially do I, you know that. However – if you feel unable teaching this class with the necessary care and responsibility, then I suggest you say so from the beginning on, and then I will overtake this class in arithmancy."

"I am, Severus." The woman said, and he wasn't sure if her voice sounded angry or just scared.

"Then I expect you to act accordingly." He said, turning on his heels and leaving the classroom.

"Severus?" Septima's unsure voice called him back and he turned, wordlessly looking back at her. "Are you angry with me now?"

Taking a deep breath he took a quick step back into the classroom and towards the smaller woman.

"No, I am not, Septima." He answered, pulling his colleague close to fold his arms around the tense shoulders for a moment. "But no one hurts my students, not even you."

Merlin, why did always he have to pick up the shards behind people!

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

To be continued

Next time in A few days more
Filch and the stone eater

Added author's note
thank you for reading - and yes, I would be glad if you took the time to review this chapter, thank you
also, of course I have re-installed the house cup – with each review, please state your house, so that your house can get a point. There won't be loss of points, only gains … may the best house with the most reviews win …

House Cup:
At the present time it looks like this:

Slytherin 94
Gryffindor 53
Ravenclaw 27
Hufflepuff 14
Hogwarts 21
Durmstrang 04
Tennessee Institute of Magic & Technomancy 01