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Chapter Text

They said that Severus Snape never smiled - that the closest he ever came was the twisted sneer he gave his students. They said he never smiled, that when alone he mourned his former Lord in secret. They said he never smiled, and it was very nearly true.

His smile was an icy, bitter thing. He directed it at nonsense in his students' essays and at his reflection in the mirror. It matched the cold frost that had settled in his chest on a chilly morning in November, and it suited the black robes of mourning he had worn ever since.

He never allowed that frost to thaw. Each summer, he locked himself in his hated childhood home and did nothing but brew and sleep and mope on the couch. When the holidays came, he returned any and all gifts to sender. (After two years, this became unnecessary.) He instructed his classes to write long essays; grading them abolished his free time. He accustomed himself to skipping the staff's outings, and eventually, they accustomed themselves to his refusals, and stopped asking him to join.

He did this because he was afraid. (He was afraid he would forget her smile -) His love for his childhood friend was the best part of himself, something he could not allow to change. If he lost it he lost himself. (And he deserved this, he deserved to live this half-life, he deserved the ice in his heart and he deserved to have his remaining days reduced to this dark wasteland -)

And as the seasons spun round and round without meaning or purpose or pause, and as he snapped at the children of Hogwarts until they scattered at his approach, and as he ignored his colleagues' overtures until they learned to leave him alone -

He almost never smiled, until the morning he woke with flowers blooming in his hair.

Chapter Text

November 1st, 1984

The magic thrumming through those flowers was one he had not sensed in nearly nine years, and yet it was achingly familiar. Somehow, on the third anniversary of her death, Lily Evans was speaking to him from beyond the sky. Severus untangled the plants from his long black hair and laid them on his work table, blinking back tears.

The first few blossoms were bright red geraniums. The next few were asters with narrow white petals. The final plant wasn't a flower, but instead slender juniper branches.

Foolishness, daintiness, protection. Or was it protection, daintiness, foolishness? No matter how he rearranged the plants, he couldn't get them to make sense.

But that was only the most obvious meaning of each of the plants. Severus remembered the month in his fourth year when he tried to teach Lily the language of flowers. She'd been absolutely determined to learn it - perhaps she'd been inspired by her own name - but she'd had such a hard time remembering all the possible meanings of each species, and how the color might change things, and even what the age of the blossoms might mean, and her messages were often hilariously wrong. (Merlin, he hadn't thought about that month in years. The memories were perfectly preserved, dug fresh from his subconscious, and they hurt horribly to think about.)

What are you trying to tell me, Lily?

Juniper simply symbolized protection - that was likely why it had been used rather than meadowsweet or white heather, even though it wasn't a flower; her alternatives all had multiple meanings that he might misinterpret. Red geraniums symbolized foolishness, but geraniums in general represented confidence. Asters meant daintiness, but also - he paused for a moment to peruse his memory - love and trust (not that Lily would send that to him) and "good cheer in old age." There was one person Severus could confidently associate with that phrase, and he was not one Severus associated with foolishness, or confidence for that matter -

You swore you'd keep her safe!

...Yeah, Albus Dumbledore had spectacularly dropped the ball before.

The cheerful old one is foolish. Protect.

"Protect who, though?" he wondered, starting to pace his quarters. He knew Lily was bad at the language, but really, this was ridiculous! He would have expected at least one more flower to tell him who needed his help, but apparently that was far too much to ask!

Calm down. She clearly thought you could figure this out.

He'd just have to keep his eyes open. He couldn't think of anyone who was in danger at the moment, especially from Albus.

Severus rummaged in his supply cabinet until he found a flowerpot still full of earth, where he carefully planted the germaniums and asters. He would have to be quite subtle in how he helped whoever it was (after all, he had a role to play) but Severus would not let that limit him. He knew he was Lily's only option - he had to be, she would speak to anyone else before contacting him, she had made that quite clear while she was alive - but the idea that Lily had trusted him of all people with this task lit a fire in his heart.

On a whim, Severus dropped a few dried blossoms of his own onto the table - raspberry, purple columbine, and asphodel. Remorse, resolve, regret beyond the grave. Maybe Lily would be able to see them - she couldn't be far away. Maybe she would - not forgive him - but at least know he was trying to do better.

Or maybe she would mistake the columbine for meaning folly and faithlessness and be offended. One never knew with her.

His message sent, Severus strode out into the castle with a sense of purpose he'd never felt before.

Chapter Text

After a few days of lectures, potions accidents, and quiet observations, Severus had scribbled down the following:

1. None of the students appear to be in immediate danger of losing their life to another person in the castle.
   • There are only a few ways for the little terrors to get themselves killed or seriously injured. The numerous broken bones, brain injuries and low-level curses they inflict on each other can be cured by most of the staff.
     • However, there are a few concerning rivalries (Whitson and Rosier, Brandon and that idiot Locke), and a sixth- or seventh-year student can easily cause a permanent injury (as I can personally attest to).
   • While most of the staff seems... at least well-meaning, the Defense Professor is always a wild card.
     • Avisa Midgen is a mousy-haired, quiet woman who recently graduated from Ravenclaw and mostly lectures about theory.
     • ...but as the saying goes, it's always the quiet ones.
   • There are a couple werewolves attending as students, but I make Wolfsbane for them every month (because I have nothing better to do with my time. At least Albus is the one footing the bill.)
     • Miss Lobosca is only eleven... perhaps I should check she's taking it properly each month. Werewolf children cannot be trusted to be sensible about safety precautions. (As, again, I can personally attest to.)
   • The Forbidden Forest exists. More precisely, it exists near a school full of idiots and Gryffindors.
     • There are a number of problems with this fact. The main issue is that the aforementioned idiotic Gryffindor children sneak there on dares.
     • The Acromantula population is spiraling out of control. (No thanks to you, Rubeus.) At least that particular issue should be simple to fix...
   • No one has died during a lesson since I was a fifth-year. (From what I heard, a Ravenclaw girl transfigured her classmate's chest into wood. It must have been quite a sight.) But a couple students end up with some bizarre, permanent effect each year - sometimes due to their own stupidity, sometimes due to their neighbor's.
   • Quidditch. Why is it played without so much as a cushioning charm on the field below? Clearly, a proper understanding and enjoyment of this sport is beyond me.
     • Also, flying lessons. Why are they held for the first years in groups of twenty with only one staff member present? Especially since Rolanda Hooch has the reflexes of a sloth.
   • I take it back, there are plenty of ways to be killed or maimed as a student here, even if the student is relatively intelligent. The fact that none of my students have died yet is an absolute miracle. Lily, you've given me a monumental task. I can't protect people from their own stupidity; I can barely protect myself from their bizarre mistakes in my own classroom.
2. A few of the students seem stressed, tired, distracted, or depressed.
   • I don't know which are dealing with mere teenage angst and which I should be genuinely concerned for.
3. Slytherin is a bad place to be, especially for those who don't have sufficiently pure ancestry.
   • Slytherins' relationships with other Houses are practically nonexistent.
     • That's partly because Slytherin House is still associated with the thought-to-be-dead Dark Lord.
     • However, it's mostly because some of my Slytherins are spoiled, bullying gits. In the span of one week, four of my third-years ganged up on a couple of Hufflepuff first-years, the Wilkes sisters started spreading rumors about Avisa for a laugh, Miss Snyde repeatedly called Mr. Copper a mudblood, and one of my seventh years somehow filled every soup bowl at the Gryffindor table with live millipedes. (Not sure if it was Mr. Rosier or Miss Proul - I caught both practicing the conjuration of the vile creatures.)
     • Most of the students of the other three houses lump the Slytherins together, so the misdeeds of a few warp their perception of his whole House. (Not very bright of them, but what else should I expect of the little brats?) I've seen exactly four friendships between Slytherins and students of other houses, and three of them are with upper-year Ravenclaws, who are sibliings of Slytherins and don't really count.
   • The half-blood students of my House are having difficulty connecting to their housemates.
     • This is because none of the bigoted, rich, pompous pure-bloods would be caught dead talking to a lowly half-blood, and the rest of the Slytherins follow their lead like sheep.
     • Since none of the other Houses want Slytherin friends, it leaves them in a difficult spot. Miss Tuttle, a half-blood first year, has been here for two months and hasn't made friends with anybody, despite being surprisingly well-adjusted for an eleven-year-old child.
   • I don't know if this is quite the sort of protection you meant, Lily, but this social isolation is part of what led me to the Dark Lord and the living nightmare that was his service, and I'm not having that happen to any of my students.

Rereading his list, Severus was steaming. He was angry with Albus, for the numerous dangers he was allowing in Hogwarts, and with his colleagues, for failing to fix them, but he was mostly furious with himself. Some of the problems - the safety issues, yes, but even more so the social issues with his House - he'd lived through them as a student, spent seven years railing and stewing about a system set against him, a lowly half-blood from the House of snakes. Miss Tuttle's situation should not have surprised him. And the rest of his Slytherins - he was a former spy, he'd watched literal Death Eaters and known their minds like he knew his own name - had he really been paying so little attention to his own House? Why were teenagers' mood swings somehow harder for him to understand?

He must have been near-blind before, to have overlooked all this.

Regardless, the school was far from safe or healthy. He could address some of the safety issues, but most were simply a matter of not having enough staffing. They could hardly patrol the borders of the Forbidden Forest when they had classes to teach.

As for the issues with his House... nope, he had no idea. How did one go about untangling a House's legacy from a Dark Lord's while remaining in that Dark Lord's good graces? He needed help, and he had no one to rely on - Albus had ordered him not tell anyone about his future role as a spy, so he couldn't describe his difficulties to a single soul.

Aster, scarlet germanium.

No, he definitely needed help more than he needed to keep his secret. If he told a couple of people, it couldn't possibly mess anything up... right?

Chapter Text

Severus was not avoiding looking at his colleagues. He was not. He was merely admiring his teacup, which had an interesting pattern of thistles around its circumference. And this admiration had nothing to do with the first and only meeting the four of them had held.

(It had been just after he'd been appointed to the staff. He'd snapped at them to stay out of Slytherin's affairs, and said he could handle his own House without breaching the students' privacy, thank you very much, and if anyone had complaints they could go through the Headmaster instead of wasting his time.)

He decided to give his attention to the space they were in - an unused classroom with soft cobwebs in the corners and a smooth layer of dust on everything. The sunlight streaming through the windows, washing over the dusty desks, certainly made a more beautiful sight than the other three, who were sipping from their own teacups and definitely not hiding smug, knowing smiles.

"Thank you for coming, Minerva, Pomona, Filius," he began. "I thought it might be a good idea to have a meeting between the Heads of Houses each month, or, well, whenever we're available," he said sheepishly. He knew that Minerva, with her additional post as Deputy Headmistress, was hardly flush with free time. "I've recently realized that there are quite a few problems within my House, and some that extend the school at large. I was hoping we could discuss these problems amongst ourselves and work towards a solution together." There. Hardly a sentiment that could be argued with.

He looked up hopefully, only to see Minerva shaking her head, lips twitching. "I'm sorry, Severus, but I don't think we can breach the students' privacy that way."

Filius nodded. "While I'm all for giving the students more support, I'm afraid I have to agree with Minerva. This is most irregular, Severus."

Severus snarled. He did not want to play the pity card, but he was not going to be teased. "Look, I'm trying to drag Slytherin House away from the Dark Lord's legacy, and I'm dealing with what is hopefully just a bunch of angsty teenagers, and I wasn't trained for any of this! All Albus told me was to not let any of them die before shoving me into the job -"

Minerva's magic was flaring, and it felt as warm and amused and caring as a mother cat with her kitten. Severus hated everything.

"That's all we got as well," Filius explained. "We've just had longer to figure it all out."

"I'm glad you're taking your duties so seriously, Severus," Pomona said, sipping her tea. "Of course we'll help you if you need it!"

Severus scowled at her cheerful tone. Yes, he wanted... help... but did she have to word it that way?

Only for you, Lily, he thought, I would only put up with my cruel, cruel colleagues for you. I hope you're happy.

"Yes," Filius was saying, "as long as you don't get too specific with any of the students, we can talk things over without breaching their privacy."

"And of course, schoolwide issues can be discussed with everyone on staff," Minerva said.

"Thank you," Severus sneered, and immediately felt a bit bad. His colleagues were the ones offering to help him, not the other way around, and they hardly deserved his hatred. "I've made a list of those, actually," he said, and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment. "Shall we start?"

He looked up to see them eyeing his parchment with amusement. "There were too many to keep in my head," he said grouchily.

"Of course, Severus," said Filius, and Severus knew he was remembering his fifth year, when he'd caught him coming out of his career counseling session with a hideously long list of particulars about possible jobs. Severus glared him into submission before unfolding his paper.

This is why I stay away from people, he thought, as he started in on his list.

Chapter Text

"But I don't see why we need to run health checks for every single student, Severus," Poppy whined.

"I didn't realize, Poppy, that you were so averse to doing what we pay you to do," Severus said waspishly. He set down his flask of drying Clematis vitalba with a sharp clink.

"The parents provided perfectly fine records," Poppy retorted. "None of them have any ongoing health issues, except for those two girls with anemia and that one boy with dwarfism - and, of course, the ones with the monthlies. Do you realize how onerous it is to do a full physical? It's not as simple as waving your wand and having a medical history pop out on a scroll, you know. It would take weeks to work through all two hundred-odd students, and I can hardly be expected to see them all on top of my other job!"

Severus sighed and pinched his nose. He had not thought he would have to explain the facts of life to such an experienced medic.

"Some of the parents miss checkups," he began. "Some of them can't be bothered to visit a doctor, and find it easier to magically forge medical reports - because in that case, it is as simple as waving your wand and having a scroll pop out. Some of them can't afford medical care, and when asked to procure records, panic and say they've gone missing or some such nonsense."

He sighed again, heavily.

"And some parents deliberately hurt their children, as I'm sure you're aware, beyond what is generally acceptable for corporal punishment. Of course those people would not want their children looked over for the aftereffects of curses, broken bones, malnutrition... It is your job, Poppy, to find and treat these children as well."

Poppy shook her head. "Surely there can't be that many..."

"In my House alone, there are five students with parents I know to be Death Eaters that may or may not have been under the Imperius," Severus snapped. "Half a dozen more are the children of violent criminals. Miss Murk and Mr. Glassman show an uncomfortable tolerance and eagerness for violence, which may or may not be normalized at home. Mr. Copper flinches at his own shadow; Miss Haywood, Mr. Whitston, and Miss Snyde are small and skinny. All of this may be perfectly innocuous, but given the numbers, some of them are suffering or sick - do you really want to leave them without help?

Poppy looked horrified. "I - Severus, if this is true - are you certain?"

"No, I'm not!" Severus pinched his nose again, exasperated. "Which is why we are scheduling checkups!"

"I - but when am I supposed to see them all?" At least she sounded genuinely upset now, instead of skeptical. "A full physical for a single student takes around an hour. I simply can't do all of them!"

"I'll help, of course," Severus said, with a feeling he would regret volunteering later. "I'll get the other faculty to pitch in as well. And some of the students are interested in Healing as a profession - maybe they could learn to do some of the simpler tasks, like taking height and weight, as an introduction to the profession?"

Poppy looked intrigued. "I do remember Miss Lobosca asking quite a few questions when she was in here..."

"I'll leave you to sort out your schedule," Severus told her. "I have a very different sort of disease to cure..."

---

"Honestly, Copper, you don't stir your slugs while they're stewing, you have to twirl your stick like this-"

"But Penny said-"

"Well if she told you to do that, she's even stupider than the rest of her House."

"I don't-"

"Honestly, anyone would think you were raised by muggles. Oh wait, you were, you filthy mudblood-"

"Miss Snyde," Severus said in a silky voice. "Would you care to repeat what you just said to Mr. Copper?"

Snyde smirked. "I was just commenting on his potions technique, Professor," she said sweetly.

"That is not what I heard," Severus told her. "Twenty points from Slytherin, and please stay after class."

When the lesson was over, the other students packed up their potions gear and left Snyde staring sullenly at a table.

Severus sat in the chair across from her and sighed. "I cannot permit you to use such derogatory terms, Miss Snyde."

She snorted. "And why do you care?

"Why wouldn't I care?" Severus asked, nonplussed.

"My parents told me about you," Snyde challenged. "I know you're one of them." I know you're a Death Eater.

Severus narrowed his eyes. He wasn't a Death Eater now, but no one, aside from Albus, could know that for certain. If he started moralizing about the word "mudblood," Snyde would write straight to her parents - her aunt, rather, her parents were in Azkaban - and the game would be up.

"I care because there are repercussions to using such language," he eventually explained. "When people hear you say that particular word, they think you are a shallow bigot, and they will discount anything you say on those grounds. They will associate you with them, and will look on you with suspicion."

"I don't care!" she shouted.

No, he wasn't dealing with a child informer here, he was dealing with a child having a tantrum. He tensed. How in Merlin's name was he supposed to handle this one?

"Your behavior, Miss Snyde," he snapped, "reflects on Slytherin House as a whole. So even if you do not care, I do."

Severus stood, skimming the surface of her mind. No, she was still angry, far angrier than she had any right to be.

"If you use that word again, or continue to harass Mr. Copper, you will receive detention." Hopefully that would deter her, even if nothing else would. "Either scrub out your mouth or scrub out my cauldrons."

Severus swirled his cloak as he swept out the door, in search of some much-needed advice from Minerva.

---

The following is a transcript of a speech given by the Head of the House of Slytherin to his students on November 18, 1984.

Good evening, Slytherins.

Your esteemed Headmaster has complained that his students are harassed by members of this House. He reported that students of... muggle origin are often bullied for their birth, and that pure-blood students from certain families are called terms such as "blood traitors."

Because of this behavior, many of the students and staff associate Slytherin House with the Dark Lord and his followers. The association causes them to assume that we are shallow, selfish blood purists obsessed with our pedigrees. This is why you are often ignored, why the other students don't invite you to join their friend groups or study sessions.

This state of affairs cannot continue. Of all the students of Hogwarts, Slytherins should be the ones to shape others' beliefs, yet when we speak, we are not heard. Slytherins should have networks of contacts, but we of all the Houses are the most ostracized. Slytherins should be respected for cunning, but we are thought of as either selfish, lazy bullies, or akin to the lunatics in Azkaban.

I mean to change this. Starting today, if I hear of any of you getting involved in a fight - even a verbal fight - you will receive detention immediately. That is true whether you start the fight, whether you escalate the fight, or whether you get involved in a fight, unless you're trying to break it up. Bullies in my House will be dealt with harshly, no matter who the victim is. The only excuse is that you were an innocent victim, one who did everything in your power to deescalate or avoid the conflict. Let Gryffindor be the House known for brashness and bullying; let Hufflepuffs be the ones to jump in and support their friends; let Ravenclaws be thought of as the ones with cruel and clever insults. Slytherin has a reputation to regain, and I will not have any one of you setting your Housemates back.

Oh, and do not pretend innocence if you have started a conflict. I was a spy; I know when you lie; I will not tolerate anything less than total honesty to me.

Also, derogatory terms are forbidden, per the order of the Headmaster. If you wish to argue the benefits of blood purity, you must learn not to use such loaded words... if you are having trouble, I suggest consulting your Ravenclaw friends. Perhaps this restriction will force you to learn what those benefits actually are instead of spewing meaningless rhetoric.

Finally, I want each of you to go out and make a new acquaintance this week - an acquaintance that is not a Slytherin. Speak to someone in your club, or form a study group with members of other Houses. Be polite, even if you look down on the color of their tie; they might just surprise you. I understand that friendships cannot be forced; but anyone who does not make an effort can expect to help me catalogue my potions ingredients.

Whether you like it or not, you will be associated with your Hogwarts House, even as an adult. It is up to you to make that association a strength, not a weakness.

This transcript was automatically generated by the Hogwarts Archives.

Problems? Suggestions? Ideas for improvement? Contact Madame Ravenclaw with your comments, and watch her work her magic! (Just so long as you don't bother me. I'm not the one who set this all up so I'm not responsible no matter what Rowena says.)

---

Chiara tentatively knocked on the door in the dungeons. She'd suffered through three full moons at Hogwarts, but it was still unnerving to visit the office of the scariest professor in school.

"Come in, Miss Lobosca," said a voice from inside. Chiara flinched. She still didn't know how Professor Snape knew it was her at the door, every time.

(The idea that no one else ever visited his office didn't occur to her, Hufflepuff that she was.)

She cracked the door and slipped inside to find only a single goblet of steaming Wolfsbane on his desk, instead of the seven vials she expected.

"There has been a change in protocol," Professor Snape's voice sounded from behind her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned to find him in the corner behind the door, looking slightly amused.

"Given the boundless capacity of children to get into situations that any sane wizard would recognize as dangerous, I am to watch you as you take your Wolfsbane to ensure no careless mistakes are made." Chiara opened her mouth to defend her own common sense, but a glare from Professor Snape had her shrinking back. "I expect you here every night this week, on time, or it will mean a detention for you - and for any of your talkative friends who, ah, delayed you." He gestured to the goblet, and Chiara took it.

She slowly sipped it down, gagging, with Professor Snape staring at her intently, ensuring she drank every drop. She tried not to glance at the shelves of glass jars that lined his office walls, full of disgusting bits of dead animals floating in acids. She was having a hard enough time not gagging at the bitter taste of burnt herbs.

When she was finally, finally done, Professor Snape surprised her by conjuring a vial and filling it with water. She gulped it gratefully.

"Only water for the next hour, mind," he snapped. "Otherwise the potion might not be absorbed into your bloodstream properly. You will be staying here to ensure that restriction is followed, unless you desperately need to be somewhere else."

Guiltily, Chiara remembered the jam-spread toast Penny had given her last month to wash the Wolfsbane's taste away, and didn't argue.

He seated himself at his desk and started grading a stack of essays, flicking his eyes up to her every few seconds, as though she might procure forbidden food from a pocket at any moment. She stood around awkwardly, examining the jars on the shelves, wishing she'd brought some homework to occupy her. And a sweater. It was cold in the dungeons in December.

She fingered a flask of dried, spiky flowers, wondering what they were.

When her feet were sore and her arms were covered in goosebumps, Professor Snape finally told her that her time was up. As she slipped out the door, he called out to her.

"I understand you're thinking about becoming a healer. Would you like me to have some introductory texts to healing magic here tomorrow?"

Chiara shivered. How did he know? She hadn't told that dream of hers to anyone, not even Madam Pomphrey. She nodded and ran back to her warm dorm without saying goodbye.

Chapter Text

It was a fine spring morning and Severus was rejoicing. Albus had given him full discretion in how he warded the boundary to the Forbidden Forest. And how he warded the Quidditch Pitch, to keep clumsy Quidditch players from smashing into sad little pancakes on the ground. And how he warded the tops of the towers to prevent the little idiots from tripping to their deaths.

Severus was confident Albus would thoroughly regret this decision. And Minerva would be furious, both at him for creating such horrible wards and at Albus for not including her. Severus had even gotten his Slytherins involved in the brainstorming, and handed out House points like candy to those who made more inventive suggestions.

He made a... coughing sound, yes, that was what it was, as he laid his painstakingly carved marble wardstones around the Quidditch Pitch. He was particularly proud of these wards. Anyone who genuinely, accidentally fell would bounce as if on a trampoline, and their landings would be as soft as if falling into feathers. Anyone who intended to fall into the wards would find those feathers sprouting all over their skin, and Severus had made sure it would itch. He was not about to let the little miscreants use his creation as a carnival ride.

Normally, such extravagant, permanent wards would not be possible. But many of the teachers had agreed to visit the wardstones from time to time and infuse them with their own magic, and Hogwarts had a stupid amount of ambient magic anyway. The possibilities were nearly endless. Bathsheda and Sinistra were still carving the wardstones for the Forbidden Forest's boundary, as those runes were even more... inventive. Severus coughed again.

Job done, Severus... strode back to the castle. He strode the entire way with his long strides and did not skip at all.

He glanced at the windows to make sure no one was watching and saw a long white beard whisk out of sight. His stomach dropped. He forced his face back into his most forbidding scowl and hurried off the open grounds.

---

"Lovely to see you so cheerful today, Severus," Albus said.

Severus showed him his fierce glare. "I am not cheerful," he said in disgust.

"Oh, of course," Albus reassured him. "You must have been testing some sort of Hopping Draught. Or were you merely jumping over rocks? I couldn't see any from here, but perhaps my eyesight is going..."

"One would think you would go to Greengrass's Glasses, instead of staring out windows," Severus snapped.

"Do you know what, I think I might," Albus mused. "But there's something I need to discuss with you first. Could you join me in my office?"

Severus felt his eyebrows rise. Albus' office was no Gringotts, but it was well-warded. Whatever the Headmaster wanted had to be important. He followed without complaint.

He did consider complaining once they were in the office, as Albus spent four solid minutes rambling about his latest muggle fascination - cars. First it was candies, now it was cars. What would it be next, knitting patterns?

"A fascinating culture, muggles have," he finally finished. "Some of our students are truly blessed to grow up there. But I've heard something, Severus, about your setting a new policy about such students?"

"I'm assuming you mean the little speech I gave my House last November?" Severus asked, steeling himself. He'd known this conversation was coming; his cover was too important to blow.

"Indeed," Albus confirmed.

"I took steps to cause them to blame you," Severus reassured him. "I know to not compromise my future position."

"Good," Albus said. "I am glad you are taking such an interest in our students' welfare."

He paused. "Filius tells me that you've started working on a few other projects as well. Severus... I'm so glad you're finding your feet here, and for the impact you've already had on this school... I'm very proud of you."

Severus shrugged and ducked his head. His eyes were... itchy. Maybe he should look into getting eyedrops.

"However, I must insist that you not risk your cover again," Albus said firmly. "You have a part to play, and you cannot jeopardize it."

Severus scowled at him. "Is there anything else, headmaster?"

Albus nodded. "Rubeus found a first-year student locked in a closet - from the outside."

Severus frowned. "Was the student alright? How long were they trapped?"

"Only a few minutes, fortunately," Albus said. "But the room was filled with Devil's Snare."

Severus froze. "That is attempted murder."

Albus nodded soberly. "The student said Miss Snyde was to blame."

That child was going to be the death of him. If she wasn't the death of someone else first.

"I will deal with it," he said silkily, rising from his chair.

"What do you intend to do?"

"Certainly more than you did to Black," Severus snapped. "An Unbreakable Vow not to kill any other children at a minimum. Depending on whether she genuinely meant their death or whether it was an accident, expulsion and criminal charges."

"That is actually what I did in Mr. Black's case," Albus said.

"Really?" Severus said in surprise. "I will also inform the victim of the measures taken, so they are not looking over their shoulder for the next six and a half years."

Albus frowned. "I could have sworn I asked Horace to tell you..." He sighed. "I am sorry, Severus. It seems either he, or I, forgot about you."

Severus realized his mouth was hanging open, and snapped it shut.

After Black's attack, he'd been terrified. That fear had been his constant companion until graduation, when he finally escaped his four enemies. To learn that he'd been safe the whole time, and that Horace had neglected to so much as mention it... it gave him another grudge against his jovial, detached, useless professor.

Severus wondered if, had Black not been forced into a Vow, he would have even made it to graduation. Black certainly hadn't waited much longer to cause death and destruction.

---

Merula felt sick. She had to pretend everything was normal, had to listen to Ismelda's cruel jokes and Barnaby's nonsense about his Knarl. But any moment now, Aurors and teachers and Hit Wizards would come bursting in like bloodhounds, and she'd be sent to Azkaban to join her parents and they would go insane together in the presence of the Dementors, all the good memories being drained out of them 'till they couldn't even recognize each other -

(That was happening to Mum and Dad anyway -)

But maybe there'd be no panicking and everything would continue along like normal, just - without a student -

The idea grew more horrible by the minute. Why'd she go and do this? It'd seemed like such a neat, tidy plan, so similar to what her Mum did to that mudblood in the war, but now -

At the thought that her rival was, right now, being strangled to death, Merula wanted to throw up.

"Miss Snyde."

Merula jumped and whirled around. Her Head of House stood right behind her, looking thunderous.

"Come with me," he ordered icily.

She waved a forlorn goodbye to her friends as she was marched out of the common room, doubting she'd see them again. Barnaby waved back cheerfully, the idiot.

Professor Snape led them into his office, a room full of shelves and shelves of fascinating ingredients. In any other circumstances, Merula would be salivating at the chance to look around.

"About an hour ago," he said in a flat voice, "Hagrid found a student locked in a closet filled with Devil's Snare. The plant had already begun constricting around the student. Hagrid managed to extract them before they sustained any serious injury."

"Well... that's lucky?" Merula peeped. She stared at a jar of pickled rat brains, not wanting to look at her professor.

Professor Snape sighed. "Miss Snyde, you are such a terrible liar that I am not even angry with you for the attempt, I am sad at your lack of skill. For future reference, good liars focus on their listener's face." He shook his head. "In any case, the door was locked from the outside."

"Oh," said Merula, and focused on the floor. There was a pot of flowers under his desk - geraniums and something she didn't recognize.

Professor Snape made a noise that could've come from an angry teakettle. "Do you want to join your parents in Azkaban, Miss Snyde? What was the purpose of this?"

To eliminate my rival and become stronger. That was what she'd told herself, anyway. It sounded rather stupid now. She kept her eyes on the floor and didn't answer.

"After you locked the door, you specifically told them you hoped the plant would kill them," he said ruthlessly. "Do you realize that, should you be brought to trial, you will be sentenced to at least four and a half years in Azkaban?"

Merula hid her face in her hands and started to sob.

She felt a hand rest on her shoulder.

"That is what will happen if you are charged," he said gently. "However, I don't believe your victim has informed the DMLE of your attempted murder. Do you want to try to talk it out with them?"

Merula nodded - what choice did she have? - and buried her face in the professor's shoulder.

She almost laughed right through her tears at the discomfort on his face.

---

In the end, Merula's rival only required her to make an Unbreakable Vow not to kill anyone else at school. Or to "seriously hurt" anyone, through word or deed, and it was made clear to her that this included her harassment of Copper, which apparently had not stopped. Severus also took away a couple hundred house points and gave her a twice-weekly detention with Argus for the rest of the year. He'd taken another quick look through Merula's mind, of course, and she seemed to be truly horrified by what she'd almost done, but he wanted to be extra sure the experience stuck with her. Pomona and Rubeus were dispatched to the deadly closet to clean it out. The fourth-year who had originally shown Merula the room was given a stern lecture about Taking Certain Things to the Teachers, as well as Not Showing Them to Inventive and Bloodthirsty Students.

Severus closed out the year with no more funny business, except for the strange, dark, hard chunks of ice that started growing from the floor of a few corridors. Severus found they made excellent target practice. Using Bombarda and watching little slivers of probably-cursed ice fly all over the hallway was surprisingly cathartic.

Chapter Text

"Snow, Lilac!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

Whispers whirled between the seated students. It wasn't often that a half-blood student with no recognizable wizarding surname was sent to Slytherin.

Above them, Severus sighed. He hoped she wouldn't have a hard time. Maybe she and Miss Tuttle would be able to help each other.

And he watched the Sortings with flagging interest, and half-listened to Albus' speech, and ate his dinner with relish. He completely missed how his students kept whispering, and how more and more of them turned to stare at the newcomer. It wasn't until Minerva pulled him aside and hissed in his ear that he realized just how much the Sorting Hat must hate him.

---

"Good evening, Slytherins," he said. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts."

He ran through his usual dry speech about curfew, clothing and class times. The back of his neck was creeping oddly, as if the castle itself had started listening and was maybe even taking notes.

"Now, as my returning students will remember, I detest the way our House is percieved. I have certain expectations for all of you..."

As he reminded them of the rules regarding fights and forbidden words, he began to realize that Albus had a point. Some of the students were wearing sneers or skeptical looks already, doubting his loyalty to their inane cause. It was a pity he would have to push even further outside the role of muggle-hating former Death Eater now. Stupid Sorting Hat.

"And finally... bullying is not tolerated in this House. I do not care if your victim is a Slytherin or not, whether they are a first-year or a seventh-year or one of the faculty; I don't care if you use words or wands or fists; any persecution of another will be punished with multiple detentions, suspension, and expulsion."

He hadn't touched directly on the topic of bullying based on blood, but hopefully some of them would get the message. Hopefully, Miss Snow wouldn't suffer too much cruelty.

"I'm also starting a new program. I want Slytherin to be the House that wins the Cup - both cups, actually - that stays out of trouble and earns reasonable grades. The students who most contribute to these goals will be rewarded. The three students that earn the most House points, the three students that earn the highest grades, the students who earn zero detentions and the Quidditch players who earn zero penalties will earn trophies or badges."

Perhaps the program was a bit childish, but it was meant for children. Some of his younger students had lit up with interest already. At least he had something sure to catch the sixth- and seventh-years' attention.

"The students with the highest grades and point totals will also be invited to a special dinner over the holidays, with many of the most important and famous members of Wizarding Society. Barnabas Cuffe, Lucius Malfoy, Ambrosius Flume, and Tiberius Nott are likely to be there. The other students I mentioned will be invited to a Midsummer celebration, which will take place on the seashore and include a bonfire and a fireworks display."

Horace Slughorn was sponsoring both, of course. A chance to meet the up-and-coming students of Slytherin? A chance to influence them? Slughorn had practically been drooling. And his influence and connections would bolster any student. But now that Severus could decide which students he met, he could weed out the stupid, bigoted, lazy ones before Slughorn started blathering on about their families. It was a match made in heaven.

"It seems it's getting late; you'll have to figure out the rest on your own," he said, and scowled when not a single one of them took the hint. Seriously, what had happened to Slytherin House? "That means move, cretins! Up to bed!"

A couple of the first-years actually squeaked in startlement as the rest of the horde rushed to their dorms.

---

On the first day, he put the Wilkes sisters in detention, citing "the Headmaster's new rule."

On the second day, the Wilkes sisters and Miss Proul got a week's worth of detention with Argus for harassing Miss Snow.

On the third day, Miss Murk insulted Miss Snow so viciously that Severus felt compelled to invite her into his office for tea. And cookies. If Miss Murk received a particularly disgusting detention for making him deal with a tearful child, that was strictly his own business.

On the fourth day, the Wilkes sisters, Miss Murk, Miss Proul, and Mr. Locke were suspended for dangling Miss Snow out of a window. He'd just suspended a Hufflepuff. For bullying of all the stupid things. It was Miss Snyde who fetched him, oddly enough.

On the fifth day, he got a missive from the Malfoys, inviting him to a social at their manor. While they often held gatherings of the former Death Eaters (to show off their wealth and wisdom), the timing was... concerning.

He sighed, tucked the invitation into his robes, and trudged off to report to Albus.

---

"I told you not to risk your cover!"

"What else am I meant to do? Actually, don't answer that."

"You cannot be seen supporting a muggleborn student, Severus! There's no way to recover from that!"

"I think that I, the spy, am in a better place to judge what I can recover from! I won't do it, Albus! I won't leave her to fend for herself!"

"But Severus, when he -"

"You know that the Marauders left me a jumpy wreck! And they weren't even in my House! I thought you'd started to sympathize with me, but apparently not!"

Severus slammed the door behind him, ignoring Albus calling for him to come back. He hadn't felt so tempted to cry in almost a year. Instead of doing... that, he stomped off to the icy corridor.

---

"Good afternoon, Mr. Copper. May I ask how you came to be encased in ice?"

"Err... I'm sorry, sir, I don't remember..."

"On second thought, forget I asked. I'm certain that if you could recall everything it would make for a fascinating story; I'm also certain that I would not have time to hear it."

---

When he reached Malfoy Manor, Lucius was cordial, offering him a glass of rich red wine. Severus complained of Albus "interfering with his House," and Lucius accepted it without question. That might've been because he immediately went on a rant about "that expired, enchanted-by-mud moronic imitator of Merlin."

Victor Crabbe and Greenwise Goyle followed Lucius' lead, as they always did.

Walden Macnair, a wizard of moderate politics and maniacal bloodlust, did not care one whit about the drama at Hogwarts. He pumped Severus' hand with enthusiasm, and talked about his new job in the Ministry beheading dangerous creatures.

Tiberius Nott was a different story.

"You have some nerve, waltzing in here, you greasy little blood traitor-"

Severus arched an eyebrow. "I was invited here, Tiberius."

Tiberius looked as surprised as if he'd been slapped in the face with a fish.

Severus raised his glass in false toast. "A certain person," he said, "whom I did not wish to disappoint, recommended I go into teaching."

He paused to sip his wine. If he wanted to remain welcome among these wizards, he only needed to stay in Lucius' good graces. But he needed Tiberius' trust to know what they were planning. Tiberius was the one who made the plans; Lucius was far too haphazard and vain to use his brain.

"That person is, sadly, no longer with us," Severus continued. "But I wish to honor their final request, and guide to glory those who deserve glory. If that means indulging the occasional whim of his rival, so be it."

Merlin, his tongue was going to develop a cramp. But the only way to convince Tiberius Nott of anything was "speaking sideways." This Severus knew from long, bitter, frustrating experience.

"After all," Severus pressed, "isn't it ironic that even as I follow his advice, his rival trusts me more?"

Tiberius looked half-convinced. But before Severus could push further (and twist his tongue in a nott), Walden dragged him off to discuss axe head weights.

Arcadius Avery's arrival was unremarkable in comparison. At least he could carry on a sensible conversation about chopping up Mandrake roots. A much more practical topic than axe head weights...

---

"It's been a year today, Lily," he said softly.

A single white candle burned on his desk. It was a pitifully trite way to remember her, but he could hardly be seen mourning at her grave.

"I've been doing what I can to keep the kids here safe, like you asked. I'm keeping watch on them all, and if I get so much as a hint one of them is in trouble, I swear I'll intervene."

Minerva had mentioned, once, her happiness that he was "moving on" and taking more of an interest in life. He'd scoffed. Sure, he might be building an interest in his students' lives, but at his warped, withered heart, he was just as obsessive and possessive as ever. The only reason he had left his dark dungeons was to fulfill the meanings of a message of flowers.

"Thank you so much for trusting me. I promise I won't let you down, Lily." He chuckled. "After all, I managed to decode your mess of a message. I might have translated it as protect the foolishly dainty and then I'd be stuck bodyguarding the Malfoys. I'm very glad I read it right."

Somewhere beyond the sky, Lily listened in listless misery, because he hadn't.

---

Lilac stayed after class, even though her hands were shaking.

Murk had been hissing the most awful things about her Head of House for months now, and she had to know if they were true.

"What is it, Miss Snow?" Professor Snape asked, kindly.

Lilac twisted her fingers together and stared at her dirty cauldron.

Professor Snape sat on one of the worktables and, legs dangling, waited for her to speak. He looked so friendly. What Murk had said couldn't possibly be true, and he wouldn't possibly mind the question, but she had to know-

"Were you a Death Eater?"

He looked, for a second, like he'd been struck across the face. Then his expression went stony-smooth.

"I was, yes."

Lilac squeaked.

Professor Snape's face was flashing between that stony calm and something horribly pinched. "You don't need to - please don't -" He took a deep breath and said, "You don't need to be scared of me, Miss Snow."

"I'm not," she whimpered.

"You certainly seem to be." He took another deep breath. "I swear to you, Miss Snow, that I will never harm you, or any of my other students."

She nodded.

"You're still not convinced." He was looking at his lap. "I can ask Miss Jones to intermediate between us, if you like. You don't have to be around me if you don't want to."

"You don't have to," Lilac peeped.

Professor Snape shook his head. "If I can help you, please feel free to tell her. She'll let me know. And I - I - "

He buried his face in his hands. "You're dismissed, Miss Snow."

She bolted.

---

It was Christmas, and Severus Snape did not want to wake up.

His eyes had opened at four in the morning, and he'd pulled his bedclothes right over his head and tried to go back to sleep. He'd been trying for around five hours when he heard the loud CRACK of a house-elf. He sat up, head aching.

To his surprise, five parcels perched innocently at the foot of his bed, wrapped in festive wrappings.

Minerva had bought him a stuffed animal, of all things. A cute, creamy-white cat. It had a note saying, "You deserve a friend that matches you in every way!" She'd also included a box of dark chocolate. With another note talking about the "hidden sweetness" of the candy and how it "suited him perfectly." It was stunts like these that proved her a fearless Gryffindor - she was running a high risk of being set on fire.

Pomona had gotten him some Sporepuffs - neon colored, furry seedpods that sang and hopped around his room. (At least those were useful in his brewing.) She'd tried to train them to sing "Oh Holy Night." Unfortunately, they must have been stored near the Crooning Honeysuckle. Severus was going to be listening to "Oh, gory night, the scars are blithely bleeeeeding" for a while.

Filius had given him a book, of course. 101 Uses of the Thistle. In the cover, he'd written, "To help you learn about yourself." How droll.

There was also a parcel from some of his students. Miss Snow - who was slowly growing less terrified of him, but still couldn't look at him in class - Miss Lobosca, Miss Haywood, Miss Snyde - since when were Penny Haywood and Merula Snyde friends? They despised each other - and Mr. Lee. It turned out to be a lovely little desk ornament - an owl perched on a glowing moon - and another stuffed animal, a hedgehog.

Albus - Severus was almost afraid to open his present. They hadn't spoken since their argument. But Albus had gotten him a truly handsome set of raven-feather quills, as well as a thin black journal. The journal was enchanted to be water-proof, fire-proof, acid-proof, self-repairing, unnoticeable... Albus had charmed it himself; it thrummed with the soft sweetness of snow and spiderwebs.

It was the first Christmas since he was fifteen that he'd gotten gifts from people he liked. It was the fourth Christmas since his only friend had died. He should be laughing, weeping, smiling, clutching his head in his hands -

It was Christmas, and Severus Snape felt nothing at all.

Chapter Text

"You know, Pomona," Poppy remarked, "the prices of Acromantula venom and bile have dropped a lot recently. Any idea why that is?"

Pomona thought about it for a moment. Pomona did not like what she thought.

"Whoever has started breeding the foul things, I hope they live somewhere far, far away."

Severus made sure to hide his smirk behind his hair.

---

"Sir?"

It was Merula Snyde. Her violet eyes were bloodshot. Severus knew better than to mention it.

"Come in, Miss Snyde," he said. "And come in, Mr. Lee," he added, as he appeared behind her.

They sat in the cushy chairs he'd added to his office a while ago without waiting for permission. Impertinent brats.

"What brings you here?" Severus asked.

Snyde was silent for a long minute, twisting her hands in her lap.

Finally she said, "You know my parents were sent to Azkaban, back in 1983." Her voice was shaking.

"I remember."

"And Barnaby's were sent there before then -"

"- in 1981," Lee cut in. "A few months before it all ended."

"I was at their trial," she whispered.

...Ah. Severus had not known that. It certainly explained why Snyde was so angry during her first year here.

"And what happened during the trial?" he prompted.

"I -"

To Severus' horror, she started crying, even more loudly and angrily than after the Devil's Snare incident. Merlin and Morgana above, what was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to make it better -

While Severus was panicking, Barnaby Lee wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Breathe, Merula," he whispered.

"I - they tried and tried to tell them that they were just Imperiused!" Merula wailed. "And no one even listened! The Auror just kept yelling off all the things they supposedly did and - and -"

"It seemed like the judge assumed they were guilty?" Severus offered. Albus had complained about that sort of trial, many, many times.

"Yes!" she sobbed. "And then they just let the Dementors drag them away -"

Was there no end to bureaucratic incompetence? What kind of idiot allowed a ten-year-old girl around the darkest, foulest creatures known to wizardkind?

"And now they're in Azkaban and the Dementors will take away all their memories of me! Except the ones that are bad!" Snyde sobbed. "And they won't even recognize me, except maybe they will, and they'll hate be because -"

"You appear to be misinformed." Severus cut in. At least he had something positive to tell her. He took a deep breath and tried to adopt a calming, clinical tone.

"Dementors bring upsetting or gloomy memories to the forefront of the mind, causing people to feel the way they did just after those memories happened," he explained. "Someone who has suffered extreme trauma might experience auditory or visual hallucinations as they relive the memory, but this is very rare. Cheerful things are difficult to remember while in their presence, so people will simply not think about them."

He tried for a gentle smile; the memory of the prison twisted it into a grimace. What he'd said was technically accurate; he'd just left out the constant nightmares and the despair that polluted every breath; he'd left out how tempting it was to stop eating and drinking, how easy it was to give up instead of wake up each miserable morning. Snyde was twelve.

"Your parents aren't forgetting about you," he continued, "they're just - I guess you could say they're just forcibly preoccupied. If the Dementors were to be removed, their suppressed memories would come flooding back. It's supposed to be quite euphoric." Or it would have been euphoric in his case, if he had had any memories uncorrupted by grief or rage.

Snyde's crying was quieter now, at least, and there was painful relief in her voice. Lee was scowling.

"It's still inhumane," he said. "It's still mean."

"Indeed it is, Mr. Lee," Severus said sadly.

"And Barnaby's parents didn't even get a trial!" Snyde yelled.

"They didn't?" Severus asked, appalled. To think he'd thought his opinion of the Ministry could sink no lower...

"No! They said - after the war - there was so much chaos that not everyone had time for one! But they have time now, so why don't they?"

Merula looked furious. Barnaby looked like he didn't care at all, which was concerning in its own right.

"And my parents - don't you think it's suspicious that they only got arrested and charged two years after the whole war was over?"

Oh dear. Snyde could not become obsessed with this conspiracy theory.

"No," he said firmly. "Society is still being rebuilt. It isn't surprising that your parents made it two years without being discovered." At a stubborn look from Snyde, he continued, "You know them best. Do you think they were innocent?"

"No," she said, but her eyes darted away in her distinctive tell. Severus raised an eyebrow.

"I just - why did they have to join?" she wailed. "They had a perfectly good life and they had me and why did they have to risk me?"

Severus shook his head somberly. "I don't know. I didn't know them very well."

"I want to ask them, professor."

By the way her voice firmed, Severus knew he wasn't getting out of this without a long, long fight.

"...It is unlikely you will be allowed," he temporized. "Usually only high-ranking Ministry officials can visit. But I will see what I can do." He hoped that that was nothing. If the trial was traumatizing, the reality of Azkaban would be so much worse for Snyde.

"Can I also bring Veritaserum?"

Severus felt his eyebrows touch his hairline. That was quite an expensive potion.

"I just - I want to know the real answer," Snyde pleaded. "I don't want them to fob off some stupid excuses on me..."

"I can brew it." He should probably have some on hand anyway, given how murder-y his students could be...

"Thank you, sir," she said, flashing him a tiny smile. "And thank you for letting me still be here... I miss Mum and Dad, but I'd prefer to see them again on my own terms, you know..."

"Indeed." And while Severus wished he could say that Merula wouldn't have been sent to Azkaban, given that she'd been eleven years old, the daughter of two Death Eaters would only have been treated harshly. "I'm glad I was able to help you."

After Snyde left, Lee stayed in his squishy chair.

"Do you want me to try to arrange a trial for them?" Severus asked.

Lee shook his head and smiled. "I mean, I don't know if you should bother. The Dark Lord literally visited us once when I was seven..."

And he'd thought the Ministry was stupid - how hopelessly incompetent, how relentlessly and purposefully obtuse did one have to be to allow that psychopathic, murderous maniac around a seven-year-old boy? How could a person with so little brain power form coherent sentences?

...As a matter of fact, Abernathy Lee had usually spoken in the grunts of a gorilla.

"Do you want me to see if you might visit them?" he asked, because this conversation had already set off so many alarms in his mind.

"I... maybe?" Hesitation and hope shone in the child's face. "I don't know?"

"I understand," Severus reassured him, because he did, all too well.

"It's just - Merula's different," Barnaby fumbled out. "Her parents loved her. They sang to her at bedtime and took her to the Quidditch Cup and flew with her on a broom and got her Christmas presents galore. Now she's stuck with a mean aunt who's barely around."

"What do you mean by that?" Severus asked, alarmed.

"Oh, after the trial, there were a lot of people mad at the Death Eaters who'd been living in society for two years," he casually explained. "They couldn't take it out on them, so they mailed her a bunch of mean letters. Her aunt got scared and moved out of her house. Now she just visits every couple of weeks to make sure Merula hasn't choked to death on Bubotuber Pus or something."

How was every sentence of that story worse than the one before?

"And your experience was different?" he pushed.

Lee shrugged. "I don't know."

Severus raised his eyebrow again. "Did your parents do any of the things Merula's parents did for her?" he clarified.

Lee visibly thought for a full twenty seconds. Then he looked furtive. Severus kept his eyebrow up until Lee stared down and swallowed.

"Dad did like to joke about how they should get me brains for my birthday," he muttered. "They never actually got me anything, though."

Something very painful was squirming in Severus' chest, and it had to do with a Friday a couple months ago, when he'd called Barnaby stupid three times in one class session.

"I live with my grandmother now," Barnaby continued. "She's... a bit better, I guess..."

What a ringing endorsement.

"I'm sorry," Severus offered. "You deserve better, Mr. Lee."

Barnaby shrugged again, and Severus found himself wishing he'd stomp his foot, whine, sniffle, anything. He hated tears and petulance, but even he would pick Snyde's righteous anger and desperate grief over this... casual acceptance.

"I am lucky," he insisted. "At least she's around."

"Nevertheless," Severus asked, "Is there anyone else you'd prefer to spend your summers with?"

"I - it's fine! Really!" Barnaby insisted. "She's just kind of grumpy sometimes, that's all. I don't want to leave her!"

Even Severus knew what toxic relationships looked like, though he'd usually seen them between hormonal teenagers. The refusal to leave, hold the other accountable for their mistreatment, or even acknowledge the mistreatment as wrong, were the most classic and irritating signs.

"Very well," he snarled. "But the second that changes, Mr. Lee, I expect you to come straight here and tell me. Immediately."

Barnaby nodded nervously.

"I - no, that's - you don't need to be scared of me, child -" Severus stuttered.

But Barnaby had already bolted.

---

Lilac sighed. She hadn't explored even half the castle, but she knew this little courtyard was the prettiest of its rooms. It was nestled behind the main body of the castle, and the ground was covered in thick, dewy shamrocks, with white chamomile and catchfly flowers peeking through. She drew in a long breath - the flowers smelled of apples and earth - and half-closed her eyes.

"Lilac! Can you help me with something?"

That was Pandora Proul, one of the people who had dangled her out of a second-story window. Lilac snapped to awareness.

"No."

"C'mon!" she wheedled. "Just one little thing?"

She'd sent her a tripping hex on the western stairwell.

"No."

Lilac didn't notice the clock strike six, or the clusters of kids around her draining into the castle, drawn by the promise of dinner.

"Please?" Proul begged. "You're really good at Herbology."

Lilac scoffed. She was good at Herbology, but the day that pureblood, pampered Proul acknowledged talent in a meaningless Mudblood like her would be the day the stars fell out of the sky.

"No."

She turned to leave and realized they were alone.

A spell struck her in the back and she fell face-forward into the clover, unable to move a muscle. The crushed flowers beneath her gave off a strange, sharp scent.

"Emy, Emy, I've got her!" Proul squealed.

Lilac felt strong hands grab her legs, loop under her stiff shoulders, and then she was hoisted up. All she could see was the sky, pierced by the castle's towers and painted bloody with crimson sunlight. Then the sight was cut off by the confused gleams of the greenhouse's glass. She tried to struggle, but it was all she could do to blink. By the strange plants at the edge of her vision, she could tell they weren't in greenhouse one, the only greenhouse deemed safe enough for first-years.

There was some fumbling on the part of her captors, and then something like leaves was grabbing her legs. She was pulled into a dark, cramped space, half-full of burning fluid. She screamed in her mind as the acid rose over her face, filling her mouth, burning her eyes...

---

Severus got out three sheets of fine vellum, and began to write.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Snow,

I hope this message finds you well. In case you are unused to using owl post, make sure to give this owl a bit of bacon or sausage before entrusting her with your reply.

I am writing to inform you of an attempt on your daughter's life. On March 14, two students (Emerson Rosier and Pandora Proul) magically bound Miss Snow and dragged her to greenhouse five, wherein are stored many vicious and dangerous magical plants. They then hoisted her into the mouth of a Gulping Nettletooth (a plant quite like an overlarge Venus flytrap). Luckily, I was in a nearby greenhouse and extracted her at once. She suffered nothing more serious than minor chemical burns and a bad fright.

The two students who attacked Miss Snow have been expelled and are facing criminal charges. Being adults, both will likely be imprisoned in our prison, Azkaban.

I will note that there has been some tension between Miss Snow and a half-dozen or so of the other Slytherins, mostly stemming from the fact that she doesn't have a magical family. These children come from families that believe magical teachings should be kept to those with a magical lineage. If she hasn't mentioned anything to you, I suggest you start asking her some questions.

I believe that when Mr. Rosier and Miss Proul leave, the other troublesome students will lose interest in conflict with your daughter. However, if you would like to pull her from Hogwarts and send her elsewhere, I can help you apply to other magical schools. Miss Snow has been a joy to teach, and an exemplary member of her House, and I hope you will not send her away, but you must of course do what you think safest for your daughter.

If you have any questions, please send them with the owl that delivered this message. I will also send an owl to your place in a week's time; he will wait (discretely) in case you wish to ask me anything.

I hope you have a pleasant spring.

Sincerely,

Professor Severus Snape

Professor of Potions; Head of Slytherin House

Severus scowled as he waited for the ink to dry. Could he really not go one year without attempted murder happening in his castle?

He set the sheet of vellum aside and started on his second letter.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Proul,

I am writing to inform you that your daughter, Pandora Proul, has been expelled and arrested for attempted murder. On March 14, Miss Proul and another student, Emerson Rosier, magically bound Miss Lilac Snow, a Slytherin first-year. They then dragged her to greenhouse five and hoisted her into the mouth of a Gulping Nettletooth. Professor Pomona Sprout and I happened to be in a nearby greenhouse, so she was extracted before she suffered serious injury. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore contacted law enforcement later that day.

Miss Proul is over the age of seventeen. Since Miss Proul has shown a pattern of antagonizing Miss Snow over the school year, and since the lone witness to the attack named her as one of the culprits, it is almost certain she will be sentenced to prison for at least several years. If she serves her sentence in Azkaban, she will lose her sanity to the Dementors. Therefore, I highly recommend ensuring she is either imprisoned elsewhere (Nurmengard, Fort Jobberknoll, or the Chank might be easiest) or declared insane and placed in St. Mungo's.

Should you require my assistance in any way, please send me an owl. Miss Proul is my student, and I am eager to help her however possible.

Sincerely,

Professor Severus Snape

Professor of Potions; Head of Slytherin House

He was about to write the third letter when he realized he had no idea who to address it to. Emerson Rosier... who exactly did he live with these days? His parents, Emery and Eve, had been killed around 1977. He'd eventually gone to live with his uncle Evan - he remembered Evan complaining about being saddled with a snotty ten-year-old child, just after he'd graduated and escaped all the children in Hogwarts - but then Evan had been killed by Mad-Eye Moody in 1981. Had Emerson really been living on his own for the past five years?

Severus let his eyes drift to the flowerpot under his desk. He'd been so sure he'd been keeping his promise - how had he missed this?

More importantly: what else was he missing? What else was happening right under his nose, what else was he blind to?

Severus shook his head and started drafting a letter to Horace Slughorn, asking for advice. Emerson Rosier might be a murderous little creep, but he didn't deserve Azkaban, and he didn't deserve to face his trial alone.

A couple of days later, he'd recieved a stack of half-hysterical questions from the Snows, scrolls of legal advice from Slughorn, and absolutely nothing from the Prouls.

Chapter Text

Dear Mr. Cecil Lee,

I am writing on behalf of your nephew, Barnaby Lee. It's been a rather stressful semester for him, since one of his friends suffered a medical emergency. He and I feel that the environment of his grandmother's house would not be conductive to his recuperation. He also has a deep interest in magical creatures, and I know that in the course of your work capturing werewolves, you run into many interesting beasts. Would you be willing and able to host him for part of the summer? He's told me he enjoys your company and admires your dedication to your work, and I think he could learn a lot from you.

Sincerely,

A friend

---

Merula was scowling. "So. Why am I here again?"

Severus leaned back in his office chair and sighed. There was no way around it, Merula would be annoyed with him today.

"Mr. Lee informed me about the situation with your aunt."

Merula's expression darkened further. "He shouldn't have told you."

"Shouldn't he."

"I don't want you interfering," she snapped.

This checked Severus. From his hasty research, he'd learned that wizards had few laws to deal with caretakers and their charges, and that neglect was not considered sufficient cause to disqualify a guardian. Merula could always ask her aunt to live somewhere else, and it sounded like the aunt would agree - but Merula was fourteen, free, and fiercely independent. Why would she submit to an unknown guardian when she had what she had with her aunt?

"...I think I understand," he told her. "But I know one or two spells to help with your mail problem, if that's still an issue."

Her face showed interest. "What do you have?"

"A spell that renders you totally undetectable to all owls," Severus said. That spell was fairly common knowledge, but rarely used, except by criminals on the run. "Or a spell that will instead show you the sender of each owl, if you still want to receive mail from your friends." That one almost wasn't known at all - Filius had dug it up from some hundred-year-old textbook.

"...Those might be useful," Merula allowed.

"And a safety bracelet."

A safety bracelet was something like a handcuff without a chain. It contained a Portkey and several large emeralds that resonated with the wearer's current energy level. If the level fell beneath a certain point, the wearer would be transported to safety. They weren't very popular, mostly because they were stupidly expensive. This one had taken nearly half of his sales from the Acromantula venom, but he figured it was an object the Head of Slytherin ought to have. It was dull grey metal with spikes and a scarlet emerald in the center. He dug it out of his desk now and held it out to Snyde. She glared at him.

"I'm not a toddler," she protested. "I don't need-"

"This is nonnegotiable, Miss Snyde," he said firmly. "If you don't want me checking in on your house twice a day, you will wear this bracelet."

Merula scowled like the angsty teenager she was. But she took the bracelet.

"Thank you," he told her, then bit his lip. He wasn't sure exactly how to handle the next topic. "I'd also like to talk to you about Mr. Lee."

"What about him?"

"Do you know his grandmother?" Severus asked.

"...no."

"Well, then," Severus said delicately, "you need only know that if you get him out of that house for the majority of the summer, I would be grateful." Merula looked quite understanding, and also even more furious. "Ask the Haywoods or Karasus to host the two of you for a couple weeks," he suggested, "or - something. Put that snake brain of yours to work."

"Yeah, okay," she said, and then she grinned. "Don't you worry a bit, Professor, the Most Powerful Witch at Hogwarts will take care of everything."

"I am very relieved," he told her sincerely.

---

Hogwarts Student Attempts Murder!

Pandora Proul: Confunded or Merely Led Astray?

The Rosiers' Connection to You-Know-Who

Rosier to be Sentenced to "Years," Auror Says

Severus shook his head as he scanned the headlines. It was fairly obvious what the Prouls had done - they'd bribed or cajoled Barnabas Cuffe to paint Pandora in a good light. They would probably try to get her case heard by an easily bribable judge, or if the case went to the Wizengamot, they would buy as many votes there as possible, and count on the Daily Prophet's articles to sway the rest. Unfortunately, portraying Pandora Proul as an innocent victim meant villainizing Emerson Rosier. No wonder they'd taken so long to owl Severus - they were doing everything in their power to make his job as hard as possible.

Severus shuddered at the memory of his own brief stint in Azkaban. His student would not be going there, just because he lacked parents with money; not even for murder.

Three deep knocks sounded from his office door, and a stout, potbellied man slammed it open without waiting for an answer.

Severus raised an eyebrow. (He'd found the gesture effective enough on his students to be worth practicing in the mirror. He hadn't found it worth the embarrassment of Filius catching him at it.)

Mr. Proul flushed, but held his ground. "You wanted to talk about Pandora."

"I wanted to talk about Mr. Rosier," Severus corrected. "Everything you've been doing here -" he held up the newspaper - "is going to make his sentence longer."

"What was I supposed to do?" Mr. Proul's voice trembled a bit. "I can't let Pandora go to Azkaban; she's delicate, she'll go mad within a week -"

"And I can't let Mr. Rosier go there either," Severus said. "And yet the public demands punishment, and it must be borne by one or the other."

Mr. Proul lifted his chin. "I guess that leaves us in deadlock."

"Please," Severus snorted. "I am the Head of Slytherin. I have a loophole."

He leaned back. "I want you to make sure Pandora's trial goes first. Claim the public wants the trial over, claim she will need to testify in the case against Rosier. Delay Rosier's trial as much as you can - tell the Aurors to be extra careful gathering evidence or something. No one except me and you will be happy with what I'm planning to do. I don't want it coming back to hurt your daughter."

"And what are you planning to do?" Mr. Proul asked nervously.

Severus couldn't help a superior smirk. "Now that would be telling."

Then he let his face become serious. "There's something else," he said. "Miss Proul has shown a quite disturbing pattern of bullying. I don't know what she's told you. But Miss Snow has told me that your daughter has harassed her all year."

Mr. Proul glared. "Rosier -"

"Has no doubt encouraged her," Severus interrupted. "But Miss Snow told me of a tripping hex on the stairwell that could have killed her. Mr. Rosier was nowhere nearby. Miss Proul enjoys using slurs against people like Miss Snow, and enjoys causing her harm. You need to change that."

Mr. Proul muttered under his breath.

Severus sighed. "Do you think you have fooled everyone, Mr. Proul? The Warlocks of the Wizengamot may trust the Daily Prophet, but the Aurors do not. Mad-Eye Moody, Scrimgeour, Bones, Savage - none of them will be convinced of your daughter's relative innocence. They will be watching her every moment that she is in public, waiting for her to slip up. Just - just get it into her head that she cannot express that opinion to anyone safely, not anymore. If she does, she will end up right back where she is now."

Mr. Proul nodded sullenly.

"Meanwhile," Severus declared, "I will have a sharp word with the Sorting Hat. I am not dealing with this twice."

Mr. Proul scoffed. "You're the Head of Slytherin," he said. "You'll be dealing with a crisis like this every other year, Mudblood or no."

"Well, hopefully not like this," Severus muttered.

---

"...and Mr. Locke has finally learned what it means to be a loyal Hufflepuff," Sprout beamed. "He even helped young Mr. Copper with his transfiguration homework the other day! And I overheard him talking to the youngest Wilkes boy about whether people should really be targeted for things they can't help, like parentage or a lack of magic. Oh, he's turned into such a good influence in this school!"

"That's wonderful to hear, Pomona!" Minerva smiled. "And how are things in Slytherin, Severus?"

There were. No. Words. Severus just glared at her, and raised an eyebrow for good measure.

"Oh, are you practicing again?" Filius asked innocently.

---

"Why did you write to my parents?"

It was not every day that one was accosted in the hallways by a spitting-mad twelve-year-old.

"Miss Snow," he said levelly. "Someone attempted to murder you. Do you not want your parents to know?"

"They want to pull me from the school!" she yelled.

"Then they will pull you from the school," Severus stated. "That is their right as parents -"

"This is what you want, isn't it?" she accused. "You want the Mudblood Snake out of your precious pure House -"

"Miss Snow-"

"Don't you dare try to deny it!" she screamed. "I know you're protecting Rosier, defending him! I guess Dumbledore was wrong about you, you're still -"

"Miss Snow," he thundered, and she jumped. "Come with me."

He spun on his heel and marched up to the headmaster's office. Albus and Minerva were there, discussing the Transfiguration final exam.

"Can I borrow your Pensieve, Albus?" he snapped. "I have something to show her."

Without waiting for an answer he hoisted the slim gray basin from its cabinet and let it thud to the middle of the desk. He extracted the memory from his mind with callous efficiency as Snow followed him into the room.

"Put your face in that," he ordered her, as he dropped the silvery thought into the basin.

She obeyed.

"What's got you so angry, Severus?" Minerva asked.

He was angry, he realized. His heart was pounding and his hands shaking and his stomach sick with shame.

He said nothing to her. He turned and watched his student watch a place of horror and dark.

After several minutes, Snow took her face out of the bowl and went to sit dazedly against the wall.

"Do you want him to go there?" Severus asked. "He will not leave for at least a decade."

"...no," she said, and started to cry. Minerva gasped.

"What did you just show her, young man?" she demanded.

"What do I have to do?" Already, she almost had herself under control. "You wouldn't have shown this to me if you didn't want something from me."

"You merely need to sign a couple of forms," Severus told her.

"What did you show her?" Minerva repeated.

"That prison place," Snow said. "How can they keep people there?"

"Severus!" Minerva shrieked. "How dare you -"

"She needed to know -"

"I did need to know."

"A twelve year old does not need to know!"

"And a seventeen year old does not need to go there, Minerva -"

"I'd prefer I know -"

"Don't you think that would be much worse -"

There was an almighty crack as Albus Dumbledore slammed his fist upon the desk. Then there was silence.

"Severus," Albus ordered, "please explain why you think Miss Snow needed to see your memories of Azkaban."

"Because," Severus stated, "she needs to decide whether she wants her would-be murderer to go there or not."

"Severus," Minerva broke in, "usually when you need to show distressing things to someone, you warn them beforehand and ask their permission."

...Ah. That did make a lot of sense.

He hung his head. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"I'm sorry too," Snow muttered. "For what I said. It wasn't fair."

"Oh the contrary, Miss Snow," he told her, "it was entirely fair."

She shrugged. "Not after you saved my life."

Albus smiled. "Well, I am glad your anger with each other is resolved," he said.

"Not entirely," Snow said coolly. "He wrote to my parents about the attack, and now they want to pull me from the school."

"Albus," Severus broke in, "could you explain to her why the school has a policy of writing to parents when their children are attacked or injured?"

"Certainly," Albus said. "Would you mind fetching those forms you mentioned? I confess myself rather curious as to what they could possibly be."

As Severus hurried down to his office, he realized something. None of the form letters he'd found had contained instructions on how to explain Owl Post to Muggle parents. And while that might have been an administrative error, he had a funny feeling that writing about injuries to Muggle parents was not part of the protocol.

He wondered how informed Minerva and Albus kept the parents of their muggleborn students. He hadn't even realized there might be a difference - but Lilac Snow was the first of his students to be muggleborn.

When he arrived back, panting and cursing the steep stairs, he found Albus sitting on the floor in front of Snow, who looked sullen.

"Thank you, Severus," he said as Severus passed him the forms. "This is - a form for the acceptance of citizenship... in Wizarding France? How is that supposed to - ah. Well, that certainly isn't what I was expecting..."

Snow read the forms carefully and snickered. "Oh, everyone is going to be so mad..."

"It's a little-known loophole," Severus told Minerva, and explained how it worked. "Of course, prosecutors usually use it to increase the defendant's sentence... and it does require an in with the relevant Ministry of Magic. Fortunately, Mr. Rosier had a cousin who could pull strings. Slughorn taught it to me."

Albus looked quite amused; Minerva admiring. Severus preened.

---

"Hmph. Severus Snape, is it? You're very unhappy with me today."

Indeed I am, Severus thought furiously. What were you thinking, making her a Snake?

"I was thinking that - oh dear," the Hat whispered. "I had hoped that wouldn't happen... I thought she would be safe."

And yet she wasn't, Severus snarled. We could have lost her.

The Hat sighed. "I heard of your efforts to reform Slytherin House, and I was so very excited. I don't like choosing half-a-dozen students each year to be indoctrinated into that blood purity cult, you understand."

Severus understood all too well. He'd been one of those students himself, drawn by power and honeyed promises until he was drowning in his own evil deeds.

"I thought she could help you," the Hat explained. "She will be remembered as the best of her generation; she might become the most well-known of her House. I thought that if she were the most famous student of Slytherin - if when people thought of the House of Snakes they thought of a powerful muggleborn -"

That made an aggravating amount of sense.

"And she was so full of ambition, when I met her," the Hat continued. "So full of a desire to conquer this new world and mark it forever. Slytherin really is the House she belongs in, despite her lack of traditional cunning."

I suppose. Then Severus sniggered. She had the highest grades out of all seven years. And she was the second highest earner of points.

"See, I knew it!" the Hat crowed. "I told you, she'll go far -"

I'm certain she will, Severus remarked. But I was actually thinking about the fact that she gets to attend a fancy dinner with Lucius Malfoy and Tiberius Nott. They're going to have to be very, very polite to her.

The Hat laughed in cloth and linen. "You need to show me that memory after it happens! Please, please, please?"

Trust me, I will be showing that memory to as many people as I can.

Severus placed the Hat back on its shelf. Fawkes, dozing on his perch, trilled at him curiously.

"Well, at least I understand now," Severus told him. "But if anything like this happens again, I'm renegotiating my employment contract with Albus. I do not get paid enough for this much paperwork!"

---

Proul got off extremely lightly, all things considered. A thousand hours of community service - though what she would actually do in a world serviced by house-elves and magic was unknown - two years of Auror supervision, some sort of ideological correction course Bones was still developing, and a three-month stint in Azkaban.

Severus was still... unhappy... about the three months surrounded by the world's darkest monsters, but there was nothing he could do. And hey, maybe it would scare her straight. The prison had certainly scarred many others.

But now the Wizarding World was crying out for blood, and Rosier was the only remaining target for their rage. It was quite shocking, really, how the public had fixated on this incident... attempted murder was hardly a rarity at Hogwarts, after all. He could think of four previous attempts that had gone unremarked on, two of which he'd been involved in.

In any case, tension was building to a fever pitch. Malfoy and his friends wisely kept their heads down and said nothing. Speculative articles were published about his punishment, and stories were written that painted him as a remorseless Death Eater. Wizarding Britain got more excited by the day, until, just forty hours before the trial was scheduled to start, the headlines announced:

Rosier Extradited to France!

The article was relatively accurate (for once), describing how the Rosiers had technically been dual citizens in Wizarding France, and how Miss Lilac Snow had been "deviously tricked" into accepting citizenship there. (In Wizarding France, obviously - being registered as a citizen on the Muggle side took at least a year and a half and several Confundos.) This granted the French Ministry of Magic permission to "wrest control of the case from the victim's home soil" and conduct the trial according to their laws.

The article failed to mention how the French Wizarding World had long wanted to poke a stick in England's eye. Muggle France and England had got over their long animosity before the World and Cold Wars; but the Wizarding World was, as usual, running a century or so behind. The article had also failed to mention that Snow had requested the transfer to France.

A few weeks later, the Bureau de la Justice Magique announced that Rosier had been sentenced to ten years in the "Carcéral de Fer Blanche," but might be let out in seven years if he behaved well. Severus was shocked and a little worried - that was a very light sentence for a premediated attempt at murder, especially against a twelve-year-old. But when he asked Snow how she felt about it, she just shrugged.

"I mean, the point was to give him a second chance, right?" She snorted. "It's not like he can come back here - the wizards here would rip him into pieces. He'll sit in a cell for seven years and I'll just get on with my life."

The British wizards (and witches) were indeed in an uproar over the sentence. Apparently they would only have been satisfied if Rosier had spent a decade having his sanity slowly shredded by Dementors, in the most inhumane pit to ever grace the surface of the Earth. Instead he was to be served edible meals and let out in the prison's yard six hours a week.

"It's rather annoying, really," Snow told him. "The number of people that have come up to me and expressed their sympathies. And then I have to tell them no, this is what I wanted, I knew what I was doing when I signed that citizenship application, your prison system should go up in nuclear fire, your newspaper can die in a hole, etcetera etcetera..."

After a few days of this, she asked the Daily Prophet if they'd like to interview her - just to clear things up. They jumped at the chance, of course, but Cuffe never ended up publishing the results. Apparently it didn't "fit the narrative the public wanted to hear." Snow was so furious, she organized a campaign to get students to cancel their subscriptions to the Daily Prophet. It was shockingly successful. A half-dozen kids were recruited to pass out transcripts of the "Illegal Interview," and four dozen or so wrote letters to their families about not supporting bad journalism.

"And your 'Illegal Interview' is probably even more famous for being illegal," Severus pointed out to her. "Students will look back fondly on the memory of obtaining their copy of contraband. Pretty much every witch or wizard in your generation will know who you are for maybe forever, even if your parents decide to pull you out of Hogwarts."

Snow looked quite happy about that.

But the most surreal result of the whole mess had nothing to do with Lilac Snow. During one of his nightly patrols, he caught Merula Snyde talking to the kid she'd tried to hurt a year ago.

"Just - thank you," she said. "For not making me go through what Emerson and Pandora did. You could have made a big deal out of it, but - uh, you didn't - so, thanks."

"You're welcome."

"But if anyone asks," Merula said fiercely, "we did not have this conversation. I do have a reputation I'd like to keep, and it does not involve saying such things as thank you."

The other kid laughed. "Of course."

Severus had to work very hard not to laugh himself.

Chapter Text

"Hey, Severus, a few of your students haven't come in for their physical yet," Poppy said.

Severus sighed. Poppy could empathize; they had this problem every year, and the excuses the teenagers came up with only ever got stupider.

"Michael Proul -"

She rolled her eyes as she said that name. Last year, he had confessed that he was "allergic" to the Hospital wing. (He was really just allergic to her - three of her grandparents had been muggles.)

"Emily Buckthorn -"

The girl who "had no time" for the appointment (every year so far), even though (according to Severus) she could spend half an hour doing her hair each morning. (She never seemed to have time for homework either, Severus had muttered.)

"Anna Descartes -"

Miss Descartes actually had a reason: the Mediwizards in her hometown were not nice, having earned qualifications in condescension, neglect, and painful procedures. She hoped Severus would be gentle to her.

"And River Rowle."

A tiny, timid first year. Poppy prayed to Paracelsus that her absence was just nervousness.

"I'll talk to them," he promised her.

"Thank you, Severus," she said, hating to put even more work on his schedule. She'd gotten a big raise last year, after the yearly checkups had uncovered the early stages of Demiguise Disease in a couple of children and allowed the cheap, safe treatment to be used. And after that one Muggleborn girl... well, she was part of a different family now, and much happier. Poppy was more than compensated for the extra work she took on, but Severus had been running himself ragged lately for his kids, and nobody ever thought to thank him.

---

The hall was dark. The floor was damp. The walls were wet with slime.

Severus hurried through the dungeons, muttering about dunderheaded girls under his breath. He passed a half-open door -

The door slammed shut on its own, and loud thumpings and crashings came from behind it.

Severus pulled out his wand, intrigued. "Homenum Revelio," he whispered.

There was nothing behind the door.

Concerned now, Severus put out a hand and slowly pushed the door open, keeping his wand at the ready. The room behind the door was dark, and smelled of dust and rotting wood. The thumping sounds stilled.

"Lumos," Severus whispered, and inched into an old storage room, full of dust and crates of junk. Whatever creature was in here had plenty of places to hide.

Severus inched around a box of who-knew-what, raising his lighted wand -

A scream stuck in his throat. Folded into an empty crate was Merula Snyde, staring at him with dead eyes.

He stumbled backwards and tripped over a shapeless mass. His hands were shaking so hard he barely held on to his wand, but he lifted it to see what he'd fallen over. Liz Tuttle's face was harsh in the glare of his Lumos. Lilac Snow and Felix Rosier lay near her, faces swollen and contorted, staring in silent accusation.

Severus swallowed. "Lumos Duo," he whispered, and the rest of the room was lit with bright white light.

Lining the walls were his students. Some were broken beyond recognition, their blood pooling on the floor. Some were unmarred, yet silent beyond sleep. A few dangled from twisted rope, their necks snapped and lolling.

"You failed, Severus."

That was Lily's voice. He turned to see half her beautiful face rotted away in death, her only eye bright green with blame.

"I trusted you to take care of them!" she yelled. "You failed!"

Severus whimpered, even as part of his mind recognized that this must be an illusion.

"How could you miss this, Severus?" Lily asked. "How did you not catch this coming?"

"Riddikulus," Severus whispered. Lily grew tall, her hair turning white and her eyes turning blue, until Albus Dumbledore stood in front of him.

"It seems I was wrong to trust you, Severus," he said mournfully. "Why on earth did I think you deserved a second chance?"

Severus pushed past him and ran, ran for the door and freedom. He shut it and locked it with the strongest Colloportus he'd ever cast. Then he sank to the floor to catch his breath.

It was just Boggarts, he chanted. You're going to go up to the common room and you'll see Liz and Lilac talking about Kelpie care, and Merula will scowl as she turns in her safety bracelet, and you'll tell the prefects not to let anyone bully Felix for what his cousin did. It was just Boggarts.

It took a while for him to get back on his feet. Then he put another locking charm on the door and conjured a sign that said "Danger: Hazardous Substances - Keep Out."

He'd have to find someone else to deal with that room. He could not make that funny.

---

"Professor Snape, I need to talk to you."

Now that she'd finally made her decision, River Rowle felt oddly calm. Even the constant, stabbing pain in her bones had - for once - ceased to command her focus.

"Of course, Miss Rowle."

She opened her mouth to speak - and then she couldn't find any words, so she closed it again.

"Is this something to do with your missed appointment?"

It was, actually. River had skipped the appointment because she knew the Mediwitch wouldn't miss the dark magic in her bones and blood, and she'd be sure to put the pieces together. That would trigger her Vow, and that would be the end of her. She could hear Father's grating voice now - "Will you never betray me? Will you never let me suffer for the warps in my magic? Will you keep my secrets, my whole life long?" In six years, she'd never found a loophole...

"Then why come to me now?"

Because Regent was still back there, still suffering, and the further she finally got from her father, the more she thought about him. Father didn't plan to let Regent come to Hogwarts, he wouldn't escape like she had. And the pain in her bones was constant, she couldn't sleep because of it, all she could think about was how much she wanted it to stop, please make it stop... River had heard about how this man had saved Lilac Snow from drowning in acid, and then turned around and defended her would-be murderer from the horrors of Azkaban. And his magic sounded powerful and sharp, it smelled like ravens and red flowers and something rotten that she associated with strength. She thought Professor Snape would help her brother, after she was gone; he wouldn't let her father stand in his way -

Between one moment and the next, her blood caught fire. Any child other than the daughter of Thorfinn Rowle would have screamed their heart out. River whimpered. Her professor snapped a spell, and then -

---

"KRAFTY!" Severus bellowed, as River collapsed to the classroom floor. He had - what - twenty, twenty-two seconds?

With a tiny pop, the little house-elf appeared in front of him. "What does Master Potions Master -"

"TAKE ME OUTSIDE THE WARDS AT ONCE!"

A second pop, and he was in Hogsmeade. He turned on his heel and Apparated to the courtyard of Verdant Villa. Fifteen seconds.

"HOMENUM REVELIO!" There was someone to his left, and someone in a tacky tower-sort-of-thing behind him. "BOMBARDA!" Stone cracked, but held. He had twelve seconds. "BOMBARDA MAXIMA!" The wall came apart in a gold bloom of light. In a well-furnished playroom, a boy watched him blankly. This would be the brother.

He turned and blasted his way into the tower, then sprinted for the staircase revealed. Five seconds. Thorfinn Rowle was thundering down the stairs.

"Severus, what in Merlin's name -"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Severus screamed, but no light left his wand. Protectiveness couldn't fuel that darkest curse.

Instantly, Thorfinn's wand was out and a strong, shining shield covered his face and chest.

Severus ducked a burning blue curse and aimed for the legs. "Sectumsempra", he snarled.

Thorfinn screamed as the curse hit, instinctively dropping the shield to protect his legs.

"Sectumsempra!" Severus said again, this time aiming at the neck. Thorfinn gurgled and fell forward, his forehead hitting the stairs with a crack.

"Homenum Revelio," Severus cast again. Nothing registered from the body in front of him. In the whole of the ruined villa, he only sensed the boy.

---

River fell to the floor from the force of the spell. Fog vanished from her mind, and everything seemed to snap back into place. There was, for the first time she could remember, no pain. She held up her arms, astounded at how light they felt, and waved them above her head, laughing. She could finally find her words - they must've been hexed away - but the professor was already gone.

Then pain slammed into every inch of her body, blinding heat that seemed to pour itself into her bloodstream. She bit her lip and tried to keep from screaming, but it was already fading back to normal levels, back to the familiar scraping at her bones. She lay sprawled on the floor, not wanting that comfort to end, wishing the hurting hadn't come back...

"Miss Rowle?"

Her professor stood above her. There was blood on his hands and his robes, and he was holding Regent.

Despite the pain, River sprang to her feet.

"Your father is dead."

River began to laugh, and threw her arms around her blank-faced brother. She was free.

They were free.

They were free.

---

"...and then I took them both up to the Hospital Wing," Severus finished, exhausted. Something black and sticky seemed to be throbbing in his head. "After what I saw in Miss Rowle's memories, I knew they needed a medic."

Auror Proudfoot nodded. "Sensible. Madam Pomfrey, I hope you'll understand - I'll need to verify with Miss Rowle, to check if her side of the story is the same."

"...yes, about that," Poppy said tartly. "She has the damage to her bloodstream you'd expect from a broken Vow, but she's still - she's still - she's still quite alive."

Despite his exhaustion, Severus smiled proudly.

"Severus Snape, what did you do?" Poppy demanded.

"I always did say the Confundus Charm was underutilized," Severus told her smugly.

When Miss Rowle had decided to confide in him (Severus explained), a gentle dip into her mind had shown him thoughts of self-sacrifice and (concerningly) rest and relief from pain, connected to an intent to tell him something important. Severus had guessed that River might have Vowed to keep something secret - there weren't any other reasons she'd feel that way - and that she was planning to break her Vow in order to help someone else.

The Unbreakable Vow might seem like a straightforward spell - if someone broke it, knowingly or not, they died. But the Vow wasn't triggered if the conditions were literally impossible to fulfill. If someone vowed to destroy, say, the Sorting Hat, but they later discovered that the elves had already baked it into a batch of fondant, their Vow ceased to bind them. Severus had theorized that if he made it impossible for River to leave without giving up her secret, she might be spared the Vow's consequences. So Severus had Confunded her into not being able to speak and used Legilimency while asking her questions. He'd gotten the Vow's wording that way, and learned that it ceased to be binding upon Thorfinn's death. But River's choice to confide in him in the first place had been enough to trigger the Vow, regardless of the Confundus charms Severus had used after.

This was where (Severus sighed) his past as a Death Eater came into play. He'd been ordered to develop a spell that would strip the "unworthy" muggleborns of their magic. He'd failed. His spell, Magicis Amputatum, cut the victim off from magic, but only for twenty-two seconds at the very most. Severus had tried the spell on River in desperation and had been shocked to see it pause the Vow's magic. That had given Severus a few, precious seconds to fulfill the Vow's end condition by killing Thorfinn.

Proudfoot looked impressed. "You left the school, tracked him down, and killed him in twenty seconds flat?"

"I got lucky," Severus shrugged. "He happened to be home."

The reduced culpability (Severus continued) and the fact that the Vow technically no longer applied, even though it had been broken before, made Miss Rowle's situation an edge case. (Edge cases in magic were not well studied. Usually this was due to laziness on the part of researchers. But in this case, experiments had genuine ethical difficulties.) On the one hand, she'd made a choice to defy the Vow which led to its being broken; on the other, when the Magic-Severing spell ended, the Vow's end condition had been met. The Vow ended up dispersing after flooding River's circulatory system with a last bout of magic. She had burns in almost every cubic centimeter of her body (on top of the numerous dark curses she'd suffered). But she was alive. St. Mungo's expected her to recover within a month or two.

"...Well," Proudfoot said. "Congratulations, Master Snape; you've officially attracted the attention of the Unspeakables. I'm sure they'll want to know all about this new spell."

Severus groaned.

"Got any more little inventions up your sleeves, lad?"

"One or two," he said vaguely. His head was throbbing even worse. "If you take a memory and watch it in a Pensieve, you can see me use one." And you won't have to question me further, Severus thought.

"I'll do that," Proudfoot said. "Now, about your trial."

"Surely given the circumstances -" Poppy began to say.

"No, I'd prefer to have one," Severus cut in. Really, this headache was quite unreasonable. "Former Death Eater, leaves a man in pieces and is let off without a trial? Goes back to his job teaching children in a school? People would be suspicious; they'd talk about me, start rumors. I'd rather not deal with that."

"Probably wise," Proudfoot agreed. "I do think it'll go smoothly. You were pretty clearly acting in defense of the girl."

Proudfoot's prediction proved correct - the trial was over in a single day, and the Wizengamot's vote to acquit him was unanimous. The fact that he was unable to cast the Killing Curse had particularly impressed them. An Unspeakable did indeed manage to track him down, but was satisfied with another copy of the memory. A greater nuisance was Rita Skeeter. That woman was always on the hunt for a sensational story, and she'd fixated on him as her newest "subject". She didn't lie, usually, but she liked to take the truth and twist it, and she saw conspiracies everywhere. Severus resorted to avoiding her. As reporters weren't often allowed on school grounds, this was easily done.

But the person he was most concerned about was Albus Dumbledore. They lived and worked in the same castle, and he could hardly avoid his employer. Only a day after the incident, Albus tracked him down and dragged him up to his office.

---

Albus examined the young man in front of him. Nine years ago, he'd taken the Dark Mark and become a murderer. Six years ago, he'd fallen to his knees on a windy hilltop, begging for Lily's life. Five years ago, he had slumped in his office and screamed his grief to the skies.

The man who stood in front of him now had the same greasy hair and revolting yellow teeth, the same cruelty and stubbornness that had led him down that blood-soaked road, the same single-mindedness that had locked him in bitter grief for three years. But he had devoted it all to a new goal: safeguarding the children in his care. And for that, Albus was so, so proud of him.

And concerned. The role of spy in Voldemort's camp could only be performed by a very good man, or a very bad one. It had been easy for Severus to conceal the one scrap of love in his heart, to take unfeeling part in the systematic murder, torture, and terrorization of England. But now, Albus thought he might give up his role as spy, sacrifice the dozens of lives he might save, for the sake of one suffering child in front of him. Albus thought he might have done that yesterday. Thorfinn Rowle's dissection was not likely to make him popular among Malfoy's circle. Yet Severus didn't see the problem.

"Albus, my priority isn't to stay on good terms with Malfoy and Nott," Severus told him, massaging his temples. "My priority is to remain on good terms with the Dark Lord. And for that, I merely need a few dozen memories of myself being cruel to the other staff and students - which I already have - and of supporting and building up Slytherin House, which I'm doing. I can explain away the rest of my actions as necessary to keep your trust. Malfoy and Nott couldn't get him to distrust me if they tried. They simply aren't that important."

"But Severus, they are!" Albus explained. Why he was so obtuse on this point, Albus didn't know. "You know Voldemort -" Severus flinched - "You know he will return. If we can intercept any attempts to revive him, we can delay the war, maybe keep him from returning at all -"

"Malfoy will not attempt," Severus interrupted. "Nott will not attempt, Avery will not attempt, Thorfinn Rowle would not have attempted! They pled the Imperious curse, Albus, they disavowed the Dark Lord and his cause! He will see that as a betrayal. When he returns, he will punish them, possibly execute them. They are the ones who are secretly glad his reign was ended, they will not go tickling dragons in an effort to bring him back!"

"They are the ones with resources!" Albus argued. "Who will find a sign of him first? Lucius Malfoy, or Bellatrix Lestrange in her cell?"

Severus sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Albus, the Dark Lord is quite persuasive enough to manipulate another person into helping him, someone who wasn't involved in his cause last time. When he returns, it will not be from a place we expect."

Albus shook his head, knowing Severus could not be persuaded. He could only hope the man's stubbornness - so central to his past accomplishments - would not prove to be their undoing.

"In any case," Severus continued, "they know I had to regain your trust after so strenuously defending a Death Eater's child."

Albus rolled his eyes. Really, their perception of him was quite childish.

"I think I can talk Tiberius around to my point of view," Severus said thoughtfully. "He's the only one who really distrusts me. But none of them liked Thorfinn very much. Even if I don't persuade Tiberius of my continued loyalty, Lucius is fond enough of me that I won't be excluded."

"We can only hope," Albus said.

"Well, there is one thing I can do to regain their trust," Severus said. "There's some things I want my Slytherins to hear, things about what being a Death Eater was really like, how the pureblood cause is looked down on because of the Dark Lord's actions, how he recruited werewolves and Dementors and so on despite thinking of them as subhuman..."

"That does sound like a good idea," Albus mused. "I take it you're going to discover my diabolical plot to spread this anti-pureblood propaganda, and force me to moderate it and be objective?"

Severus gave him a savage grin, and Albus' heart immediately fell down to his toes.

"I think I'd rather forewarn Lucius about it, and let him insist on overseeing it," Severus said. "He'll enjoy that, so it'll gain me more appreciation and gratitude."

Albus groaned. "It'll gain me a lot more work."

"Oh, don't worry," Severus said brightly. "I've already drafted your initial proposal, and the compromise you'll begrudgingly agree to, and the backup compromise for if he proves really stubborn... all you need to do is talk to the Board of Governors!"

Albus groaned again.

"I'm also planning to badger you into giving me permission for other lessons," Severus continued. "I want to teach my students basic logic. And civics - no one can improve our Ministry unless they understand how government is supposed to work. And some studying skills... here, I actually have a little list." He presented it with a flourish.

Albus took it, trying not to let his amusement show. Severus and his lists, files, and forms... no one wanted him to know how cute it was, or he'd stop doing it.

First year - studying skills, memorization techniques, note-taking,
outlining essays, etc.

Second year - time management and scheduling homework,
discuss career goals and electives

Third - Fifth year - meditation as precursor to Occlumency,
basic lessons in how the Ministry works (major departments,
role of Wizengamot, powers of Minister, powers of ICW, etc.)

Sixth - Seventh year - recognizing and resisting Legilimency attacks,
lessons in how other Ministries work around the world w/ pros and cons
(touch on balance of powers, inalienable rights, etc.)

All years - organize social games and logic puzzles every couple months,
touch on Prisoner's Dilemma, mob thinking, bystander effect,
Milligan effect, n-level thinking, a statement does not imply its inverse,
probable vs. possible, riddles + evasion, etc.)

"These seem like good ideas," Albus said. "Might I suggest some sort of practical muggle studies course? Many witches and wizards aren't really able to blend in, you know. I'd like them to be able to take a walk in the city without breaking the law."

Severus nodded and noted it on the list.

"Oh, one last thing," Severus said, putting his hand back to his forehead. "I found about a dozen Boggarts in a storage room down in the dungeons."

"Yes," Albus said. "Many of the other students and staff have reported sightings of Boggarts. We're going to have to figure out a way of dealing with them." He paused, struck by an idea. "I think this might have something to do with the curse Patricia was investigating, back when she was a student here."

Severus stopped rubbing his head and glared at Albus. "No."

Albus paused. The look of hatred in Severus' eyes was quite familiar. It appeared every time the Marauders were mentioned.

"We should contact the Beast Division," Severus said. "They're perfectly qualified to round up the Boggarts while you crack whatever curse is spawning them."

"But Severus," Albus had to point out, "they might send Macnair..."

"I would actually rather have a Death Eater in the castle than that bully," Severus sneered. "I'll chaperone him around if that's what it takes, if you're worried about his hurting the kids somehow."

"Well, if you're sure," Albus said. "Unless you'd prefer to deal with them yourself?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Would you?"

"Fair point," Albus admitted, suddenly struck by curiosity. "I realize it's quite a personal question, but -"

Both eyebrows were up now, and Albus was sure he'd be dismissed.

"What appearance does the Boggart take for you?"

Severus surprised him by giving him a long, appraising look.

Eventually, he said, "Will you destroy the memory as soon as you're done with it?"

"I will," Albus promised.

Severus nodded. He put his wand to his head, drew a thin strand of silver from his skull, dropped it into a cup of crystal he conjured from thin air and handed it to Albus. Then he turned and stalked out, his cloak billowing like wings, before Albus could add a comment.

---

Severus went to visit River in St. Mungo's a week later. The first thing she did was thank him profusely. Severus accepted the thanks with a pained smile.

Then she hugged him, which just made him feel awkward.

After that was over with, she wrinkled her nose. "Your magic feels different," she told him.

Severus blinked at her blearily. His head hurt; whatever black and sticky substance had lodged itself there had grown thirsty over the last week. Poppy hadn't been able to help.

"It smells more rotten," she said. "It smells like my father's."

It took Severus several seconds to realize the implication of that statement, but when he did, he moaned and put his head in his hands.

Sometimes, if a wizard cast the same dark spell many times, their magic was warped. A tiny trickle of power was set aside, stored in the wizard's body, saved to cast that curse again at a moment's notice. It built up over time, and if the wizard didn't cast the spell, it eventually turned on them. Most wizards who had tried to resist had gone mad; some had died. There was no known way of reversing the warping. The only way to delay casting the spell was to expose oneself to a Dementor, allowing it to suck away the accrued magic, but that was... unpleasant.

Thorfinn Rowle had been twisted twice: once by casting the Cruciatus, once by his own invention, Scalprum Ossis. He'd been twisted, too, by the addictive nature of dark magic itself. Unfortunately for his children, the Bone-Scraping Spell could only be cast on humans. Severus' new signature spell was the Laceration Curse, which could at least be cast on animals.

"Does that mean you're more powerful now?" she asked.

"What - why in Merlin's name would it make me more powerful?" said Severus.

"All the powerful wizards have that feel about their magic," she told him.

"I am afraid you have a rather skewed perception of powerful wizards," Severus informed her. "Or did you miss the fact that none of your teachers have that particular aura?"

"Oh," she said, and blushed. "I guess I did miss that."

The disease was somewhat random. Theoretically, it could strike a wizard the very first time they cast a dark spell. But it was far more common among wizards who used the Dark Arts often. Most wizards had cast dark spells and curses on occasion, but few had immersed themselves in the Dark the way he had. Out of all the teachers of Hogwarts, it would only ever affect him.

Severus decided to change the subject. "How is your brother doing?" he asked.

"He's doing pretty well," River said. "The Healers think that he might be able to start forming memories again someday, since his mind was broken so young and he still has a lot of growing to do. But I dunno. I kind of feel like they don't really know what they're talking about."

"They don't," Severus said, massaging his throbbing head. "He is only the third wizard to suffer the Cruciatus curse to such an extent." And the Longbottoms had both been adults.

"He's only the third?" River seemed very surprised.

Severus nodded. The poor child... her perspective really was skewed.

She sighed. "At least he's happy here."

Severus spent a few painful minutes doing what he'd come to do: he updated her on the lessons she'd missed, told her the plan to catch her up to her classmates, and reassured her that his students would welcome her back. He barely made it back to his office before his legs gave out.

He snatched a fading flower from his potted geranium and Transfigured it into a raven. The bird cawed, hopped over to where Severus lay on the floor, and curiously pecked at his sleeve.

Slowly, Severus raised a shaking wand and pointed it at the bird. "Sectumsempra," he whispered.

The raven screeched for long, long seconds. Then it was silent, struggling feebly. Severus held the spell until the last of the blackness left his brain, then reversed the Transfiguration.

Mangled red petals fluttered to the floor to float on a spill of scarlet. Severus' head was empty, clean, purged; he could think clearly for the first time in a week.

"I'm sorry, Lily," he muttered. "I'm sorry..."

---

Severus was still ruminating about his new condition, about what he would have to do to keep himself alive, until Minerva's teasing voice jerked him from recollections of the raven's screeches.

"So, Severus," Minerva asked, cradling her cup of tea. "When's the first tea party going to happen?"

Severus glared. "They're lessons teaching them critical skills! They are not parties," he declared in disgust. Leave it to Minerva, honestly...

"Oh, of course, Severus," Minerva smirked. "Sure. But if the lessons are optional, your fangirls are going to be the ones showing up -"

Severus almost spat tea across the table. "What do you mean, fangirls?" This was certainly the first he was hearing of it. "And anyway, they're mandatory."

"Oh, Misses Rowle, Lobosca, Snyde, Snow, Haywood..." Minerva rattled off. "Isn't it funny how all the students who admire you are female?"

"That's not true!" Severus said defensively. "There's Mr. Lee - and, um - Look, it's not my fault they all have terrible taste in teachers!"

"You're not a -" Filius protested, awkwardly defending him from himself.

"He's still learning," Pomona told him delicately.

"None of which explains why tea and biscuits will be at these meetings," Minerva pressed, still grinning. "Aren't you all a little old to be playing princesses?"

It was deeply hypocritical of her to say so, given the teacup she held in her hands.

Severus sighed. "Look," he explained, "one of the reasons why I joined - you know, him - was because they were some of the first people to look after me, offer me friendship. I want my kids to feel like I'll take care of them, and like they can take care of each other, without joining a stupid death cult."

"That might backfire if you have to resume your role as spy," Pomona pointed out. "Some of them might decide to follow you into that death cult."

"Hopefully the public readings will take care of that problem," Filius said.

Severus nodded. "There's a lot - and I mean a lot - of reasons why joining him would be a stupid idea." Memories of blood and screams flashed through his mind, and he shuddered.

"But it might not be enough," Pomona insisted.

"I have used Legilimency, you know," Severus reassured her. "None of them are that fanatically devoted to me."

For some reason, Minerva snickered.

"Wait, you've been reading everyone's minds?" said Filius. "Not just people who might be in trouble?"

Severus frowned. "Yes, why?"

"Do you really think it necessary?" Filius asked.

"Of course," Severus said. "You saw my list." Minerva's lips twitched at the mention of the list; Severus glared at her again. "Most of the dangers the dunderheads face are from themselves or each other. How else am I to know when they're plotting to do something stupid? I scan the Defense professor's mind as well, in case they turn out to be evil again."

"Well - you'll be decent about it, right?" Filius said. "You won't tell anyone what you see -"

"What kind of person do you take me for?" Severus said, indignant.

"I mean," Filius persisted, "you do get quite angry at your students sometimes..."

"Oh..." Severus said, then scowled. Last week Mr. Lee had made a terribly stupid error; he'd added two extra rat spleens to his Clarifying Concoction. And then, to try to gain the clarity he needed to figure out how to fix his mistake, he'd drunk his own potion, which he knew to be faulty, which had turned a bright poisonous pink Severus had never even seen in a cauldron before. Lee had promptly started puking his guts out. Brewing an antidote had taken Severus ten terrified minutes; this had been followed by a glorious five minutes of verbally eviscerating Lee's intelligence, common sense, and constitution. He had been about to bring up the boy's crush during that rant, until Poppy had cut him off...

"I'm worried you might be tempted to make a scolding hurt more by blabbing things you see," Filius continued.

"Sometimes they do truly dunderheaded things..." Severus muttered sullenly.

"I think," Pomona said firmly, "that it would be best if you Memory Charmed yourself of anything private, Severus."

Everything private? "That's going a little far..."

"Think about it from their perspective, Severus," Pomona pointed out. "How would you feel if someone knew your secrets?"

Severus blanched a little. The idea of some stranger knowing about his love for Lily was horrifying. He was still somewhat uncomfortable with the fact that Albus knew.

"Fine, you have a point," he conceded. Weekly self-Obliviates it would have to be. At least that charm didn't have any long-term effects.

---

The meeting broke up a few minutes later. Pomona and Filius left to finish their grading, and Severus and Minerva stayed to sip their tea in companionable silence.

At least, it was silent until Severus asked, "So, Minerva, I was wondering... Would you be willing to help me become an Animagus?"

She gave him a long, level stare. "Certainly," she said. "If you would be willing to follow the law and register yourself."

He gave her his saddest and most pathetic look.

"I mean it, Severus," she said sternly. "I'm not helping you break the law, even if it's just to turn into a kitty cat."

"Fine, fine," he griped. "Honestly, the sacrifices I'm making to your ethics today..."

She rolled her eyes and started to give him a description of the long, uncomfortable process of gaining an animal form. Severus was fascinated. He'd always assumed the procedure involved Transfiguration, but this was more like brewing a potion than anything else. And it was a strangely simple recipe, one which involved elements of ritual. And why Mandrake leaf? That was an ingredient usually used in undoing Transfigurations and curses like Petrification. Was it to make sure the Animagus could return to human form? And why was the full moon so significant? Did it have something to do with...

"However," she warned him, "the risks of becoming an Animagus are severe. Mistakes in preparing the potion prevent it from turning red at the end, so they aren't dangerous. But if you miss reciting the incantation for a day, the potion will still turn red, and not only will you fail to gain an animal form, but you'll feel a painful, double heartbeat for the rest of your life."

Severus nodded gravely.

"That's why Animagus attempters usually have a spotter," she said. "To make extra sure they get the incantation correct, every sunrise and sunset. If there's even the least doubt, they start over. But that's not even the worst possibility."

Severus swallowed. "It isn't?"

Minerva shook her head. "At the moment of transformation, if the wizard panics or loses focus, the animal mind will "gain the ascendancy." This will invariably cause the wizard to do something stupid or dangerous, usually leading to serious injury. And occasionally, the animal will gain total ascendancy, and the wizard will be locked away, helpless in their own body, unable to transform back."

She was, for once, speaking to him without a joke or teasing in her voice.

"Another risk is that the wizard might instinctively reject the animal form as they transform into it, and become stuck between the two forms," she continued. "In that case, the wizard will be horribly disfigured for life, with one or more limbs replaced with the limb of an animal. Their face is often altered as well."

Severus thought about that. The spotter he could do without; he'd been brewing complex potions all his life. A twice-daily incantation was peanuts compared to Polyjuice; he could keep track of it easily. He could also be trusted not to lose his cool or focus, as evidenced by the fact that he was still alive...

"Maybe I don't want to risk that," he told her. He let his voice tremble, very slightly.

She gave him a stern, suspicious glare, but he kept his face neutral and put on none of that bright innocence (that was always so, so tempting to show her).

"Well, that's up to you," she finally said.

Severus nodded. Inside, he exulted. Neither Minerva nor the Ministry would have no idea what he planned to do...

---

The Ministry did, in fact, send Macnair, so Severus did, in fact, Disillusion himself and follow the former Death Eater around the castle.

Why they sent Walden Macnair was an open question. Walden liked killing things, ideally with an axe. Fighting Boggarts required amusement, not bloodshed. Severus joyfully watched him struggle with creepy teddy bears, animated dolls, and giant rubber ducks. Walden enjoyed it far less. Eventually he found Albus and told him there were "too many Boggarts to us standard elimination procedures" and "they'd be in touch about alternative methods." Albus seemed less amused than Severus was.

Chapter Text

Macnair never did get back to them about Boggart removal methods. The teachers were thus forced to come up with their own procedure.

It was Filius who had the idea of offloading the Boggarts to other people. He conjured up a dozen suitcases and simply started shoving the Boggarts in headfirst. His idea spread like wildfire. The students who couldn't cast the Boggart-Banishing Spell (and there were many, since the Defense Professor was especially useless this year) took to carrying around large suitcases, in case they met a stray Boggart. Severus used Shrinking Charms to make sure no one noticed he was carrying one around himself. The thumping, wriggling suitcases soon began to clog up the hallway in front of the Defense Professor's office (they really were spawning at an alarming rate).

It fell to Severus to get rid of them all. A few went to the Unspeakables to be used in their experiments (or possibly to be tortured for eternity, or to be used in a prank against the Minister - who knew what they really did in the Department of Mysteries?) Gringotts purchased a few to use in their bank's security. Severus quietly sold thirty of them to Mundungus Fletcher for an excellent price, and from there they made their way across England, being used by haunted house productions, pranksters, and the occasional paranoid millionaires to guard their remote mansions.

It was, Severus reflected, one of the more irresponsible things he'd done as a professor. But it was also the most profitable, by a very long way.

And then there was one that never left the grounds. Rubeus, curious, had asked Severus about Macnair's visit, and Severus had gotten an even more irresponsible idea.

"Just getting his opinion on how to extract a certain monstrous creature from Hogwarts."

Rubeus had become quite excited. "What sort 'er creature?"

"A shapeshifter," Severus told him. "It turns into whatever it thinks is most unsettling."

Which turned out, in Rubeus' case, to be a creepy clown.

So now Rubeus had a pet Boggart, whose right to exist and be educated he defended most strenuously. No one but Severus was happy about it. (But they did snicker when Rubeus christened it Squishy.)

---

Christmas came, bringing soft candlelight and ghost-sung carols and smells of juniper and spruce and pine. Severus disliked the season; most of the children had returned to their families, and without classes to teach and papers to grade, that sensation of purposeless sadness, that the days were a gray grating wheel that revolved without reason, returned in full force.

The season called up memories of receiving presents from Lily and his mum and Mr. Evans, of eagerly reading their letters of good cheer, and Severus found himself thinking: That will never happen again.

But then it sort of did.

Minerva got him another stuffed animal, a bug-eyed baby bird, and more chocolate. Filius got him a bejeweled timer that doubled as a stopwatch. Pomona gave him a potted asphodel plant, perhaps realizing how well it suited him. Albus gave him a wind chime that played itself and glowed with green gems.

He'd barely remembered to get them gifts this year, he'd been just in time to purchase catnip and fertilizer and books about music and riddles. More surprising were the gifts he was given by his students. Lee gave him a stuffed Knarl (he would never understand that boy) and Felix Rosier some crystal phials engraved with his initials. Some of his not-fangirls owled him cards: Snow (he was so glad she'd convinced her parents to let her keep attending), Snyde (hers included a note about the visit to her parents, which was still waiting on the Ministry's approval), and Chiara Lobosca, the Hufflepuff werewolf.

He was still supervising her Wolfsbane consumption every month, as he did for the other werewolves who attended Hogwarts. After a year of no incidents he'd offered to let her take her doses on her own, since even he realized that tying up an hour of her time, seven nights a month, was a little excessive. She'd told him that if there was an incident, and she was a suspect, he should be able to swear she'd taken her Wolfsbane properly. Which made sense - lycanthropes were always regarded with suspicion by law enforcement, and had difficulty proving their innocence when being questioned.

Finally, River Rowle had stopped by his office with cookies, of all things. She'd been coming to his office hours every couple weeks and talking to him about random stuff - the Quidditch teams; homework; her new friends, Liz Tuttle and Penny Haywood; her new owl, Feathertop; Regent. He was usually able to take an interest in her chatter, to say something insightful or sarcastic that would make her laugh. (He liked her laugh. It sounded like a tinkling bell, and her magic flared as fresh and clean and cool as flowing water.)

But today he couldn't do it. He tried to give her his thoughts, comfort, laughter, but it took all his energy today to nod and smile. He had conjured and murdered another raven, earlier that day.

"I was going to get you something," she told him. "But I don't have any money, and I don't know how to make anything useful. I had the house-elves make the cookies."

"That's fine," he said. "I didn't get you anything either." Then he realized what he'd said and cringed.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not. I'm your student; that'd be weird. But you've done so much for me, even after you rescued me from my father. I had to do something."

Severus nodded, wondering what she was talking about.

"Is it okay if I stay for a while?" she asked, tentative. "We don't have to talk - I can tell you're tired -"

River Rowle, Severus thought, was remarkably perceptive for an eleven-year-old child. He nodded again.

She grinned at him, then plopped herself down in one of the armchairs and pulled out a couple of old books.

"Books were almost the only pleasure I was allowed to have," she explained, handing him one. "I thought you might like this one, the protagonists are slightly more sensible than in most stories."

And so Severus found himself sitting in a squashy armchair, facing his own desk, eating a cookie and reading about a boy with a golden bow and a girl who could see the future. Rowle was curled up in the other armchair, pages rustling softly as she travelled through her own tale. It was quite - domestic.

"You should start making a Christmas list, though," she said, looking up from her book. "As soon as I get adopted I want to get you something really nice."

Severus nodded, wondering why that sentence made him sadder and lonelier than ever.

---

The Daily Prophet:

'BAD ALL THROUGH:' AUROR DESCRIBES ROSIER FAMILY

Witch Weekly:

TOP TEN TYPES OF WIZARDS YOUR DAUGHTER SHOULD DEFER DATING

The Quibbler:

THE ROLE OF RADISHES IN RASH OF RASHES AMONG APPLEBY ARROWS

Witch Weekly:

'A NASTY PIECE OF WORK:' GRYFFINDOR GIRLFRIEND SPILLS BEANS ON ROSIER COUSIN

The Paris Paper:

WIZARDING BRITAIN TARGETS COUSIN AFTER ROSIER SLIPS THROUGH GRASP

The Daily Prophet:

IS HOGWARTS SAFE? STUDENTS EXPRESS CONCERN

---

"I'm assuming you've all seen the headlines?" Filius asked, trying not to sound too upset.

The four House Heads were meeting again in Filius' office. A January blizzard lashed snowflakes against the window, whiting out the world; but there was a roaring fire in a Transfigured fireplace, and the room was warm with flickering light.

"The ones that are sort-of-kind-of about Mr. Rosier?" Minerva asked. "I don't think there's much we can do about them, they're just sort of subtly implying he's involved. They haven't even mentioned him by name."

"What do you mean? There was that article that featured Emily Wicker that said..."

Blank looks all around.

"You haven't read it?" Filius asked. "It was written just last week!"

"I haven't seen any such thing," Severus said, frowning.

"It's right here!" Filius exclaimed, waving his wand. The offending tabloid sailed into his hand, and he brandished it. "It contains testimony from his supposed girlfriend. But I know for a fact she's not his -"

"You read Witch Weekly?" Minerva asked incredulously. Beside her, Severus appeared to be going into shock.

"You don't?" Filius retorted. "A good third of your students are going to end up as homemakers, don't you want to keep up with which spells they'll need?"

Pomona looked thoughtful. Severus, it seemed, was still getting over the idea of his venerable old teacher reading a woman's tabloid.

"In any case," Minerva continued, "we can't do anything about this. The papers are allowed to write whatever they want."

"It shouldn't work that way," Pomona protested.

"And yet it does," Severus muttered, finally taking the magazine to skim the article.

"It doesn't in the Muggle world," Minerva said. "But that will hardly help us here..."

Severus closed the magazine sharply. "Good news," he said. "I don't think this is any sort of coordinated effort by the Ministry or any other powerful body. The same reporter wrote all three of the worst articles against him. She should be easy to deal with." And he smiled, showing far too many yellow teeth.

"You're not allowed to hurt her, Severus," Filius felt compelled to say. Severus had the audacity to push out his lip in a pout.

"And nothing illegal, Severus," Pomona warned him.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Pomona," Severus said innocently.

Filius shook his head. Having been Severus' teacher, he found it easy to see the earnest, moody teenager from his classroom. He rarely remembered the young man's darker, bloodier side.

"Thank you for taking care of it, Severus," Minerva said.

"My pleasure," he drawled. "By the way, could I ask your advice on something? There's a clique of students I don't know how to deal with - the Wilkes sisters, and a couple of their friends - they're being really stubborn about blood purity, and they're bullying some of the muggleborn students. They don't seem to care about detentions, but I'd really prefer not to expel them..."

"Well, given what Potter and Black used to be like," Minerva said dryly, "you're asking the right person. Eventually I figured out that the most effective punishment was to take their broomstick privilages away..."

Filius tuned Minerva out as she listed all the punishments she'd tried on the troublesome students of the past. It was quite a long list. He saw Severus was listening hard, however, and he'd even pulled out a scrap of parchment to take notes.

"Thank you," he said, when she was done. "...Um, there's one more thing I want to ask," he continued, dropping his head. "You've noticed that I tend to sort of... snap at students in order to maintain discipline?"

He bit his lip. "And sometimes I've taken it too far?"

"...I have received comments from my own students to that effect," Filius said neutrally. Severus' eyes were moist, but no one - for once - was going to call him out on it.

"I'm not sure how else to keep them in line," he admitted. "So... I was wondering if you had any more advice?"

"Of course!" Minerva said.

"Of course," Filius echoed.

A dark, bloodied man, perhaps, but one who wanted to become better. As FIlius began talking about boundaries and appropriate responses, he realized he had never been so proud of his former student.

---

"Stupid! Stupid!" Felix Rosier yelled, punching the door of the closet he'd been locked in. "Stupid Emerson, stupid Wicker, stupid Gryffindors -"

A shiny blue beetle clung to the outside of the door, antennae waving in furious interest.

Behind the beetle, the air shimmered, shifting subtly in a way that was barely visible -

A jar appeared from nothing, surrounding the beetle. It took off in fright and banged headfirst into the inside of the glass. It fell, stunned, as a lid twisted into place.

A latch clicked at a whispered spell, and the door to the closet swung open.

"Come, Mr. Rosier," Severus said. "I think you need a cup of tea."

After Rosier had been comforted, and the incident recounted, and Minerva informed of her students' misdeeds, Severus held the jar up to his face. The glass made him seem deformed and bug-eyed to the beetle inside.

"Well, Miss Skeeter," he said. "I do credit you for your discretion; I had to tail you for a long time before I caught you transforming. Now, what should I do with you?"

---

Severus' "secret Slytherin lessons" got off to a somewhat rocky start.

Many of the kids were bored. Of course they were. Who wanted to learn about the structure of the Ministry of Magic's judicial branch when they could goof around with their friends? A quick word with the elves and the simple teatime fare was supplemented with Butterbeer and sweets. This cured the majority of the cases of boredom. (Teenagers were so easy to appease.)

On the other hand, some of the kids were overeager.

"I don't see why we can't learn Legilimency as well," Merula grumbled.

"I already have enough trouble managing this House, Miss Snyde," Severus explained, patiently. "As you are well aware. If I taught you troublemakers how to read minds I would go gray before I turned thirty."

A few of the other kids complained that it cut into homework time. Severus was secretly of the opinion that one half-hour activity every other week should not be such a hinderance. But he offered those kids help with their work, after every lesson, to make up for it. Not like they couldn't just come to his office hours, but... the whole point of these lessons was to get involved in his students' lives, and show them that he would look out for them.

Game nights, on the other hand, were an instant hit. Something about sussing out which of your friends was lying through his teeth about being the "killer" was captivating to the young snakes.

So on the whole, the activities were a success, in that the students didn't hate them and even learned some useful stuff. Whether they'd succeeded in the most important way - getting his students to trust him - remained to be seen.

---

A gray, rainy sort of day in March was interrupted by another summons to Albus' office. Severus accepted it grouchily. His latest playdate with his old friends had gone well, and Tiberius and Lucius weren't planning anything, so what could it be this time?

His question was answered when Albus held out a crystal cup, full of bright fluid, and Severus wanted to smack himself. How could he have forgotten - he'd given Albus the memory of his worst fear, thinking it might make him understand, might make him help... he'd bared his very soul to this man, and now he wished more than anything that he could take it back.

Albus spilled the damning memory on the floor, where it dissipated into a million silvery whisps and disappeared.

"Thank you for sharing this with me, Severus," he said. "I understand a lot more, now..."

No, please no. They were absolutely not going to talk about this. Severus wanted to crawl out of his own skin and hide in a hole.

"I should have told you earlier how proud I am of you, of how you've behaved these past three years," Albus said. "Of all the wizards to be granted a second chance, you have done the most with it..."

"Thank you," Severus said shortly. His eyes were not stinging, they were not, and this conversation was over.

Albus looked disappointed. But before Severus could turn and sweep out of the room, he heard a bright trill.

Fawkes the phoenix drifted into the office from somewhere, scarlet feathers aflame, and settled on his shoulder. He clacked his golden beak, then used it to push oily hair out of Severus' face. He chirped as Albus came closer and put a hand on Severus' shoulder.

"I'm very proud of you," he repeated firmly, as Fawkes warbled his agreement. "I trust you utterly. I was wrong when I said - when I said you disgust me, and I'm glad you got a second chance."

Severus found himself breaking down as Albus continued, speaking of how he'd focused on those around him instead of his own terrible loss. He wanted, so very much, to tell Albus about the flowers and the message. It's not what you think, he wanted to say. I'm just following orders. I don't deserve your kind words. If Lily didn't need me, I never would've cared for them, not on my own.

If Lily didn't need me I'd still have nothing left to live for.

He wanted - Merlin help him - he wanted to ask for help, for advice. But (aster, scarlet geranium) he couldn't, not Albus. He could tell his colleagues whatever he chose, but when it came to the man he looked up to most...

Albus politely looked away and stopped talking as Severus got himself back under control, as Fawkes crooned in his ear.

"Thank you, Albus," Severus said, because it seemed polite.

"You're welcome, Severus," Albus said. "I thought you might need to hear that."

Severus wanted to scoff. But he found that, after all, some anxious, racing fear in his chest had melted away after Albus' words. Half-wrong as the man might be, his words held immense power over Severus' heart.

---

That May, Severus received two bits of information that made him very happy.

The first was a rumor about a creepy, cackling clown that wandered the grounds after curfew, catching disobedient children and dragging them to Rubeus' hut for punishment. Severus shook his head, very impressed with Rubeus. It seemed Squishy had found himself a place in the castle after all.

The second was an exclamation from Mr. Lee that his uncle had invited him over for most of the summer again, "and he even asked you along, Merula, do you want to come? It was loads of fun last year!" The fact that the uncle seemed to enjoy his nephew's presence, and care about the boy enough to spend time with him...

"I did it, Lily," he said to himself, smiling. "I've protected them all."

Lifeless green eyes listened from far away, wondering if he would remember the one he'd missed before it ceased to matter.