“beyond wandpoint” 102a by gingerbred
“11 12o Wednesday - Afternoon” Part 1
Severus Snape, Hermione Granger, Staff: Pomona Sprout, Poppy Pomfrey, Irma Pince, Slytherins: Draco Malfoy, Theo Nott, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode, Harper Hutchinson, Hunter Hutchinson, Gryffindors: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Ravenclaws: Morag MacDougal, Hufflepuffs: Salome Perks Smith, Others: Sunny, Crookshanks, Crankshaft
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Filius Flitwick, Bathsheda Babbling, Nurse Wanda Wainscott, Slytherins: Hestia Carrow, Gryffindors: Ginny Weasley, Ravenclaws: Terry Boot, Darius Inglebee, Stewart Ackerly, Hufflepuffs: Megan Jones, Wayne Hopkins, Justin Finch-Fletchley
Originally Published: 2019-01-22 on AO3
Chapter: 102 part 1
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.Characters:
Severus (HoS, Potions), Hermione 7G (Prefect, Supreme Swot)
Staff:
Professor Pomona Sprout (HoH, Herbology), Poppy Pomfrey (Mediwitch extraordinaire), Irma Pince (rabid Librarian)
Slytherins:
Draco 7S (Prefect, Team Captain, Seeker, Swot), Theo Nott 7S (Swottiest, Nervous Wreck), Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe 7S (Beater, Winged ex-Couch still-Potato), Gregory Goyle 7S (Beater), Daphne Greengrass 7S (Sparkly! Fwoopers!), Tracey Davis 7S (Swottier), Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode (Reserve Beater, yes, that.), Harper Hutchinson 6S (Prefect, Chaser, flash Robe Model), Hunter Hutchinson 4S (Energetic Imp)
Gryffindors:
Harry 7G (Team Captain, Seeker, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Annoy-Severus), Ron Weasley 7G (Prefect, Keeper (but also only in the Quidditch sense), the Boy-Who-Exists-to-Annoy-Hermione), Neville Longbottom 7G (errant Herbal Knight)
Ravenclaws:
Morag MacDougal 7R (lippy Muggle-born with that lippy)
Hufflepuffs:
Salome Smith 7H (née Perks, bonded to Zacharias Smith 6H)
Others:
Sunny (the Snapes' house elf), Crookshanks (Hermione's half-Kneazle), Crankshaft (Harper's half-Kneazle)
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Professor Filius Flitwick (HoR, Charms), Professor Bathsheda Babbling (Ancient Runes), Nurse Wanda Wainscott (chatty), Slytherins: Hestia Carrow 6S (Chaser, sporty twin), Gryffindors: Ginny Weasley 6G (Chaser), Ravenclaws: Terry Boot 7R, Darius Inglebee 4R (Reserve Chaser, impatient Patient), Stewart Ackerly 4R (Beater), Hufflepuffs: Megan Jones 7H (Muggle-born), Wayne Hopkins 7H, Justin Finch-Fletchley 7H
Previously:
Draco tricks Hufflepuff Wayne Hopkins into trying to hex him while they're waiting in the corridor before Ancient Runes. The hex bounces off Draco's Protego and strikes Justin Finch-Fletchley, giving him a rather superfluous second head. (Both Hufflepuffs land in the Infirmary.) 100
Albus informed the Heads this morning that Muggle-born Megan Jones 7H had withdrawn from the school. 096 Word is spreading through the castle. Pansy and Blaise told the other Slytherins about it at lunch. 098
Severus has Sunny bring him all the potions in the possession of his seventh year boys. He wasn't able to identify three of them without further testing. 097
While less than sober... Fine, while drunk off his arse Tuesday night, Severus took a Sectumsempra to the couch legs so he could snuggle Miss Granger more comfortably. 085 Wednesday morning, he was able to reattach two of the six legs before she put in a - scantily clad - appearance in their lounge. 088
After applying particularly brutal Legilimenses on the seventh year boys and concussing Draco, Severus asked Poppy to deny his students Pain Relieving Potion before losing consciousness in the Infirmary. 07 She wasn't aware of the details, but did as he asked. Unfortunately she hasn't had a chance to end the charade until now, and is still withholding the potion from his students.
Hestia suggests Millie should ask Tracey for Pain Relief for Draco and Blaise. 083
Harper continues his now established tradition of taking pictures of Vince in... unusual situations, capturing him in his full winged glory on the couch this morning. 091 Unfortunately, he also fully expects Vince to continue the tradition of beating him silly for it, just as he had after the 'terrycloth Flobberworm' photos last year. Mentioned in 065
055 It occurs to Severus that the centaurs in the portrait in Minerva's classroom hadn't fetched help when Miss Granger was attacked, and he begins to treat the painting more that a little rudely. Oh, and with turpentine. 073
Irma Pince bans Hermione from the Restricted Section for the story she reportedly told that she'd been attacked by books there. 070 Not to be outdone, Hermione Confunded Madam Pince in an altercation over her treatment of Geminioed library books last night. 080
Vince convinces Millie to go to the library and try to find a Charm to manage the Kneazle fur for him, before his allergies do him in once and for all. 101
The Bloody Baron is so... kind as to point out to Hermione that he finds her Muffliato... wanting. 078
A quick count of heads, and Pomona determines Mr. Finch-Fletchley is missing. She recollects; he'll have had Ancient Runes before this class. Looking around the room, she realises none of the others present from her House take the course with him.
"Does anyone know where Mr. Finch-Fletchley is?" She enquires of the room at large.
Madam Snape, reliable witch, is quick to reply, "Professor Babbling sent him to the Infirmary, Professor Sprout." There's a moue of... something Pomona can't quite read, and she continues, "He's probably still there."
The Head of Hufflepuff finds herself suddenly growing more acutely concerned. She probably wouldn't normally be, Merlin knows, landing in Poppy's care is a fairly regular occurrence in the castle, but given the day's news about Miss Jones... Well, her nerves are a bit on edge. "What for?" She asks, and as most of her profession doesn't pause to consider it could perhaps have been something personal or embarrassing, best not revealed in front of all his classmates, not that it was for once.
Hermione isn't quite sure how to answer to that, and hesitates as she considers. Draco, inveterate arse, derives a bit of amusement answering for her, "Hopkins hexed him." Which is perfectly true.
To some, mostly Gryffindors, the smirk on his face suggests he'd enjoyed the sight. To a few, predominantly Ravenclaws or members of his House, it clearly reveals there was more to the story. By contrast, at his tone, most of the Hufflepuffs present begin to worry about Justin's state. Professor Sprout isn't the only one whose nerves are raw.
Some muttering ensues, and Pomona, momentarily chasing her thoughts about her Badgers, doesn't put a stop to it right away. She's visibly more than slightly distracted as she makes some notes on the chalkboard.
Under the cover of so many murmured consultations, MacDougal has no qualms about turning to Draco and whispering, "So what did you do to him?"
"What did I do? To him? Why nothing. Nothing whatsoever," Draco is quick to assure her with a smirk that makes her certain it's true, but not entirely correct. The grin she gives him to show she isn't buying it has him staring at her lips again. That only makes her smile broader, and deciding to treat herself to another lippy come Christmas hols. So worth it.
Theo, sitting beside Draco, shifts restlessly in his seat at the sight of their exchange.
Morag resolves to try to pump Malfoy for information after class, but won't have any luck. Not that it matters. By dinner, everyone will have heard of the Slytherins' non-duel with the Hufflepuffs and Hopkins' failed attempt to give one of them a second head. A couple of fourth year Ravenclaws will mishear the rumours - ah, the difference a word or two can make - get the completely wrong end of the wand and proceed to mock Hopkins (in absentia) for his sexuality. Filius, fortunately, will overhear and add that to the list of things he lectures his House about this evening, for all the good it will do. Stewart Ackerly will feel the need to make a few quips to Darius Inglebee, and promptly find himself serving detention. Yet again. Terry Boot will tell him he's a prize fool after the fact, but then he'd cost the House forty-five points with the whole insulting Snape and his wife and duelling the Worms for it, so what does he know?
The Hufflepuffs seem concerned that another of their House is absent, reducing their number from eight to six today; their conversations revolve around their missing Housemates.
Professor Sprout tries to focus their attention on her notes, now tidily presented on the board. As she calls the class back to order and the noise dies down, Salome Perks, Smith, whatever can clearly be heard making a comment to one of the other 'Puffs about how, Megan hadn't had anyone to bond, which is what led to this.
If Theo looked uncomfortable before, he looks a great deal more so now. He seems to shrink in on himself as he sits there, staring at the absent Muggle-born witch's seat through the course of the lesson. His mind may be eased with respect to Granger-Snape, MacDougal and Perks, Smith, whatever, but... He's taken Jones' withdrawal as confirmation that they'd done... something very... bad to the witch.
More than once, Draco has to nudge him to pay attention to the lecture.
Most people don't pay Nott much mind, and it goes almost entirely unnoticed. Daphne, however, happens to be a good friend of his, and she hasn't missed his response at all. Between this and his reaction at lunch to the news of Jones' leaving school... Much like Theo, she now turns inwards, pursuing unpleasant thoughts. It's subtle, for a change, for Daphne at least. Not that it matters. Even fewer people tend to take notice of her.
Severus flicks the door to his classroom shut as the last student leaves, a lift of his finger locking it as well.
He does not sigh.
Fine, he did.
It had simply been that sort of day. It was bad enough in its own right, it usually is, but the bond, Miss Granger's constant... Her never ending stream of emotions is getting to him. And that despite the fact he is absolutely convinced she'd taken the Draught of Peace as agreed.
Merlin's blue ball sack.
Well. He'll simply have to work harder at Occluding.
He feels there's a certain irony that he's pressed to do so because of a seventh year Gryffindor and not, say, the threat of exposure by the Dark Lord, the - self acclaimed - world's greatest Legilimens, or any of his retinue.
With another wave of his hand, Severus has tidied the classroom. A flick and a fancy swish clean the cauldrons, all but one anyway. He'll reserve that one for the next detention. It should prove challenging. An elaborate looping of his hand sees the wards on his door recast, and then he exits to his office.
A quick look at his desk assures him there's nothing as pressing as the identification of the potion phials he'd impounded from Crabbe, currently resting securely in his pocket. He sighs again, before forcing himself to be honest with the reminder that it's only the circumstances that makes the chore an unpleasant one. Truthfully, this is a good deal more appealing an undertaking than almost anything else he could presently justify doing with his evening.
It's been that sort of year.
Possibly just the latest of several.
What he wouldn't give for a month in the Lake District.
Or even a week.
None of his thoughts reflected in the least externally, he's practised, he strides through his office and into chambers, the door locking automagically behind him.
Between the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, easily half the Herbology class is out of spirits, and when the period ends, they rise with less enthusiasm and chatter than usual.
Neville, half apologetically, had told Hermione he'd be staying after to help Professor Sprout again, although he'd been sweet enough to ask if she'd like to join him. She appreciated the offer, she really did, but she has things to do, and she's just begun looking about trying to think how she'll get back to the castle today.
She imagines much as she'd arrived.
And then a few things happen almost at once.
Morag makes a beeline for Malfoy, determined to get more out of him, or at least to have some fun trying. Draco, his attention elsewhere, doesn't notice, but Theo flinches at the sight of her approaching, Daphne, in turn, becoming sadder when it registers. Hermione, unable to catch Greengrass'... Daphne's eye, seeks Davis', who with a nod indicates she'll join her.
Harry tries to get to 'Mione, eager for a word, but Draco shifts - just a little, but it's all it takes - so he's stood between them. Ron, for once, is the one to pull his friend away, his reasons a complicated mix, but whatever else, with the Snakes and a teacher present, this is obviously neither the time nor the place for whatever Harry had in mind, as he'll tell him on their way back to the castle. Hermione just catches the movement as Ron tugs at Harry, and with a look of utter disdain, or the best she can manage on Peace, she breezes past them with her Slytherins now in tow. As that's a look that comes fairly naturally to her, she still more than gets her point across. Harry, upon seeing it, stops resisting, gives in to Ron's urging and lets the little group pass unhindered.
The moment is over so quickly, it's hard to pinpoint when it went wrong. All that most involved are left with are impressions of how they stand to one another. Draco couldn't say for sure if he'd done it because of the Protection Vow, just to mess with Rotter, or in the hopes of tricking the easily antagonised Gryffindorks into losing House points (Merlin knows, once they hear what he'd done to Hopkins it won't work again so soon), but he registers - with some pleasure - that his simple presence was enough to drive off the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Irk-Him and his ever present sidekick Weasel. That's satisfying indeed.
So few things really are.
Severus enters his chambers only to be beset at nearly the first footfall.
By a furry beast.
A ginger monster that seems to feel it is - somehow - appropriate to weave his way between Severus' legs. There's an awkward shuffle he's glad no one saw (which completely neglects to consider both the half-Kneazle and the Disillusioned house elf currently resting on his fireplace mantle) as the Potions Master endeavours not to step on the creature. Doubtless Miss Granger would have a thing or two to say about that if he had.
"For fuck's sake," he complains, taking full advantage of his solitude. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"
It's unclear what answer he was expecting, what he gets is a loud and protracted 'mraaaaawr', which naturally explains bugger all.
Quite.
"Watch where you go, unless you wish to end a flat cat. Would you care to serve as potions ingredients? Hmm? It can be arranged."
The feline is unimpressed. It's becoming a thing. It occurs to Severus that this might be an opportunity for growth. If he can cow the cat, half-Kneazle, he can probably take it up with the best of them.
Which would be lovely, just, if he had any desire whatsoever to grow.
So sadly, he does not.
At present, he's mostly concerned with survival.
"Do you know, Sunny never feels the need to intrude on my privacy after an interminable day in the classroom. He has the decency to leave me be," he grumbles.
Sunny, rather predictably, smirks invisibly with barely contained pride at the compliment. Of course it wouldn't have been uttered had the wizard any idea he was lurking about.
Crooks merely 'mrawrs' his indifference. And then twines himself between the man's legs again. Severus bows and smoothly sweeps the feline into his arms carrying him to Miss Granger's chair where he deposits him without further ado. The sight of the couch beside him calling another task to mind.
It was a deciding moment, whether Severus realises it or not. Crooks could just as easily have flexed his claws and gone for it. Not that it would have ended well for him, and perhaps he realises that, but then logic isn't always Crookshanks' forte. Instead he'd leant into their new wizard's hold, purring and earning himself a reflexive scratch behind his ears.
Yes, he's well on his way to having the man trained.
Crooks gives the invisible elf creature a decidedly superior look as he curls up to watch their wizard work. And after that, perhaps he'll take another nap.
Severus crosses the lounge to retrieve the couch legs, ending their Disillusionment as he goes. He swears, mostly silently, to himself as he does so, still unable to comprehend the monumental stupidity involved in taking the Sectumsempra to his furnishings. Making good use of Miss Granger's absence, and reprimanding himself at regular intervals while he’s at it, he means to set about reattaching the remaining legs before that idiocy can be noticed.
As he turns back, he spots one of his bowls on the kitchen island, full of... something. He Banishes the legs to the couch and goes to take a closer look, only to discover it apparently contains a good deal of... fur.
Presumably half-Kneazle fur.
Well. That's more than a little odd. Decidedly unexpected at any rate. But he's always been quick to adapt.
He reaches into the bowl and lets it run through his fingers. Soft. Silky. It's an agreeable sensation, a bit like Miss Granger's blanket, even, although perhaps not quite as... pleasant - as either said blanket or how it feels to... pet the fur bearing animal itself. Presumably only because the orange fiend had more warmth.
Of particular interest, he finds, is that although there is obviously some static charge, the fur fails to adhere to his fingers, dropping back into the bowl in a suspiciously orderly fashion.
He Banishes the fur to Crabbe's bed without a second thought, and then examines his own robes only to discover - despite having held the furry little beast - he doesn't seem to have a single hair on him.
It would seem Miss Granger had discovered the Charm he'd requested, because he knows with a certainty, there had been no opportunity for her to charm the clothing he now wears.
Hmm.
For the briefest moment, he's torn. She'd done as he asked, almost immediately, for which he should probably be grateful, except her need to constantly seek the approval of any and everyone in authority (besides Sybill) has long been a thorn in his side. So instead he scoffs that she hadn't had anything better to do with her time. His response is nearly as deeply ingrained as her own, but he feels just the slightest bit guilty about it. A niggling voice in the back of his mind hisses that he's just more comfortable scoffing, but he ignores it for the present. Ultimately, he tells himself that whether he actually considers that trait of hers admirable or not, it will almost definitely prove useful.
And with that, almost convinced, he turns once more to his couch.
It doesn't once occur to him that she might simply have been trying to do what little she could to make his life more pleasant after the week he's had. But then why would it? Almost no one ever does, a sad fact that's shaped him, warped him to the extent that he rarely recognises it when Sunny does that either.
Fortunately that's unlikely to stop either of them from continuing to try.
The Slytherins walk out of the greenhouse in the same formation they'd used as they came, flanking the Head's bondmate, and make their way somewhat solemnly towards the castle.
Draco leads, concentrating on scanning the terrain ahead and maintaining the Protego he'd cast wandlessly behind their small group. It won't stand up to much, but if all it does is buy them time to seek cover, it will have adequately done it's job. It permits him the peace of mind to walk away from Snotter and the Weasel without a backwards glance. Image may not be everything, but it's worth a lot and makes many things simpler. Easily half the battle is a battle of the mind.
The clear advantage he has over those two, naturally, being he's in possession of one.
Theo trails behind once more, a damn sight more listlessly than before. He almost seems to be walking in a stupor, and his primary use, were there to be a set to, truly will be as a physical obstacle, and not as another wand in the event of a duel.
None of them are in the mood to chat, and particularly not with one another. They proceed in silence for a little while, but eventually Hermione's annoyance with her friends ebbs enough that she begins to take in the Snakes around her. The Peace in her, obviously, helped. Nott's behaving even stranger than he had before, he's very clearly there guarding their backs, but also equally clearly... not there in any sense that matters.
And Greengrass, Daphne is subdued. It's very unlike the normally effervescent witch.
Tracey notices Granger-Snape starting to twig to the uncharacteristic behaviours in their little group, and tries to unobtrusively catch Daphne's attention, but her roommate seems lost to the world, damn her eyes. Draco is too far ahead to notice, and Theo... Well he's the primary problem, isn't he? Tracey decides it's down to her then, because it probably isn't for the best if the Moggie beside her gets to wondering about the affairs of the House.
She can't help feeling a little annoyed at Daph for setting the frightfully chummy precedent and now just bunking off. Still, she's better at this than Tracey will ever be, so the blonde makes an effort to channel her roommate, casting about for something to distract the Head's bondmate, before settling on what she's sure should be an easy source of conversation. "I'll bet you spent half of Herbology puzzling over how anyone could willingly sit through Divination..."
That's all it takes.
Hermione hadn't been, of course. For the most part, she'd been paying attention in class. Fine, occasionally she'd tried to listen to the bond or pinpoint the Professor through it - not with any great luck - but all that's required is a mention of the despised course and her thoughts are off and flying, her mouth not far behind in light of the opening. Tracey has to bite back her smirk. The Gryffindor's flounce from the classroom third year is the stuff of school legend, and four years later, Trelawney still can't seem to abide the witch.
It's a simple strategy, Tracey is comfortable with her reasons for taking the course, and superficially it would appear to put her in a weaker position. Granger-Snape's unlikely to recognise it for the gambit it is. It should keep her occupied for a while...
In a very animated fashion, Hermione proceeds to expound on the various perceived shortcomings of the subject and then the teacher. And she has a few choice things to say about Trelawney's regular predictions of doom, while she's about it. Tracey, only half listening, can't help thinking about the latest, that Jones should be in grave danger... With a glance in Theo's direction, she decides against mentioning it. She has a feeling it wouldn't help his state.
But Hermione has gotten a little carried away, and she's not the subtlest of people. She's just - a bit stupidly, Tracey feels - begun challenging the academic rigour of anyone electing to take the course. Considering she knows Davis is in it, and why, it's really quite rude, but between her loathing for the material and her need for an outlet - any outlet - for some of her pent up frustration... She could hardly rant about Ron and Harry to the Slytherins. It would feel too much like a betrayal. And of course she's never suffered fools gladly. Well... other than her friends.
The crack assailing her intelligence exceeds the limits of Tracey's patience. It's one thing to talk to the witch, but she won't stand here and allow the Moggie to insult her. Tracey turns to her and halts her mid-diatribe, her voice level as she informs the Gryffindor, "I'm taking just as many courses as you are."
Hermione naturally can't help thinking that Divination hardly measures up against DADA (or Ancient Runes). Although with the way Defence has been going this year, it's probably not anything to brag about... Professor Taylor. Holy Cricket.
But still...
Tracey has a pretty good idea what's going through the witch's mind - well, except for the thoughts about Taylor's deficiencies, she's thankfully been spared first hand knowledge of those - and it is indeed a sore point, not having taken Defence. Whatever else she may be, the Slytherin is no fool, and she'd understood, sadly only too well, when she was selecting her N.E.W.T. courses and their Head had made the suggestion that she not take DADA. After all, it wouldn't do for her to be too... useful, just at the moment.
And he'd tried to provide, to compensate for any deficits with the self defence instruction he'd offered. No, considering what she's heard about the class... She doesn't feel she's come up short.
There had even been independent reading assigned for at least some of those not in DADA. It had been elegantly done. The pure blood extremists that were academically capable had all taken DADA. Which meant those that didn't weren't able to handle the material, and were easily, quite sensibly, excluded from any additional instruction. They'd been relieved for that exclusion, in fact, as Aaron Avery would happily attest.
It was impossible to judge Professor Snape's motivations in that as in most other things, and all camps in the House felt comfortable finding further proof for their personal theories about him in actions such as those. Not that it was ever discussed. But the more astute noticed it revealed nothing beyond a desire, no, not even that... merely a willingness to apparently see the most made of his students. The reason for it remained, quite deliberately they were sure, unfathomable.
The Moggie's frankly inconsiderate air of condescension has begun to grate. Tracey feels a bit of an arse again, which almost checks her, but she's not the most patient of people, and Circe's left tit, this, things just like this, was what Daph was for, damn it. She should have been managing the Gryffindor.
Tracey holds up a fist and begins extending fingers as she ticks her courses off, just as a... gentle reminder. She starts with the courses they don't share, "Astronomy, Divination," and Granger-Snape's nose wrinkles reflexively, fuelling Tracey to move more readily to those they share. Or rather: shared. Her point should become clear within a moment, "Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmancy, Herbology...." She trails off.
And Hermione comes to an abrupt stop, the witches with her. Because what the blonde has been kind enough not to say is she's currently taking one more than Hermione is, as she's no longer in the Potions class.
It snaps her out of her Divination rant, and she pulls her head out of her arse. Hermione's just formulating an apology, she appreciates that the Slytherin hadn't rubbed her nose in it. That was kind. Which makes it all the more startling when Greengrass, Daphne now speaks up.
"More."
Their sudden stop had shaken her out of her thoughts, and both of the other witches stare at her in surprise, and that sweeps the rest of the wool from her mind.
"Tracey's taking more, if you count art," Daphne points out, still not sounding like her usual self, but it was a conversational cue she was incapable of not responding to. That she also has opted not to mention Potions... Well, that fits perfectly with the others' mental image of the witch. Anything else, in light of the circumstances, would have been mean.
Tracey's "But you aren't awarded a N.E.W.T. for art..." coincides with Hermione's, "But you can't get a N.E.W.T. in art..." and they both stop to look at one another with a touch of amusement.
"Great minds?" Hermione offers as an attempt at an olive branch. This isn't her bailiwick. Goodness, she'd been well on her way to insulting the woman. Again. She smiles a little tentatively, but nevertheless hopefully, and is rather relieved when Davis gives her a slight smile back. The Slytherin's head bobs once, apparently that's a nod of acceptance, and Hermione thinks they're back on solid ground.
Well, perhaps not solid, but it's no longer a bog. That must count for something.
Barely in time, which is only what he deserves for staring at the ground instead of watching where he's going, Theo registers the witches standing in front of him. With something that sounds suspiciously like one of Flitwick's squeaks (which is fine, he has no dignity), he pulls up short. Draco's Protego, however, does not, and it smacks into Theo from behind, jostling him into the three witches. The look of pure horror on his face as he does so has Daphne resolving to have a private chat with her friend. Soonest.
Draco comes to an immediate halt when he feels his Protego encounter resistance. It wasn't the feeling he'd been anticipating. He turns to find the knot of little idiots just standing there, and shakes his head in wonderment. Not the particularly good kind.
"What do you think you're doing? You can't dawdle about here. We have all of Herbology returning along the same path just moments behind us. Get moving," he hisses, and they do.
They're clearly schooled.
Hermione again has to wonder how much of their daily lives is planned as military campaigns.
It takes them a moment to get back into the swing of things. Malfoy seems to be grumbling under his breath ahead of them; it sets a weird tone, especially as Hermione doesn't find it exactly... threatening. Which is more than a little strange.
These past few days have given her a lot to wrap her head around.
She's genuinely curious, having realised she doesn't know much about Davis, and bolstered a bit by Greengrass', Daphne's acceptance, in a further effort to communicate some acceptance of her own, she asks the blonde, "Are you taking Muggle Art, too, or just..." The looks she gets from both Slytherins answer that quite emphatically. She can't help thinking Davis looks a little regretful though...
Truthfully, Tracey would have loved to take Muggle Art as well the regular Wizarding Art; sheerly as a matter of numbers, it’s a much broader field. But again... She's not an idiot. She's hoping she can get an apprenticeship in Paris or Rome where she could pursue her hobby in more depth alongside her studies, and far away from judgmental eyes. Not that she would ever dream of telling anyone about that, least of all the Muggle-born Gryffindor beside her who seems ever so intent on placing herself in the thick of whatever is likely to come. That would be foolhardy.
Hermione goes quiet as she tries to work it out in her mind. They had clearly thought her something of an idiot for asking...
And then she revises that. Green... Daphne most certainly hadn't, that was simply unfair. She's demonstrated an inquisitive nature and a willingness to learn about Muggle things. No, they thought the question stupid, the answer obvious. Despite some curiosity. Which means Hermione is failing to look at this the way they do, a fact that would annoy her if only for the limitations on her part that it suggests.
She gets the feeling they weren't dismissive of the subject per se or the very idea Muggles could produce art of value. No. No, she's pretty sure they weren't. Which means they're more accepting than she's come to feel the Snakes are as a whole, and that there may be more to the distance they put between themselves and Muggle culture than Hermione had previously been willing to consider.
It's something to think about.
But she's saved from doing so as they arrive at the castle.
Severus is lying, somewhat uncomfortably, on his belly in front of the couch. He's just attached the second of the remaining legs when his Floo flares to life. He's thankful he wards it, not that there was ever any question of not doing so, he's not a gormless halfwit, but he has no desire for anyone to see him sprawled out on the floor like that.
Only as he thinks it does it cross his mind that that was precisely how Miss Granger had discovered him only yesterday.
Well.
He chooses to ignore the thought as he rises, setting his robes to rights as he approaches his fireplace.
"Severus? Severus, are you in? Do you have a moment?" The Mediwitch's voice is unmistakable.
The necessary hand gesture permits her to see that he is in fact in, and - dignity regained - once more standing quite imposingly before her. Of course, Poppy is about as fussed by that as the feline, who stretches and yawns on the chair beside him.
He barely spares the thing a sideways glance. Just as well, as it keeps staring into space in a rather unnerving fashion. He supposes that's just a half-Kneazle trait of which he'd previously been unaware. All perfectly normal, Severus is sure.
"What can I do for you, Poppy?"
"Oh, I'm so glad you're in. Do you feel sufficiently recovered to do a spot of brewing for us? Do you have the time? I'm afraid that we need some Pain Relieving Potion..."
He's confused at first, just for the briefest of moments, because that is something he definitely has under control; they're very well stocked. Except Poppy prods his memory, "As you know, we ran out of it last weekend."
As he himself has had some in the Infirmary since then, he obviously isn't meant to take that for the truth. And just like that, it comes back to him, how he'd asked her to deny his students Pain Relief, and how she'd done so. Good witch to have in your corner, Poppy. A frightfully good witch, full stop.
He nods his understanding, and she continues; it borders slightly on prattling, something Poppy tends to do when she feels forced to lie. "If not, no worries, just say so, and either I'll have to squeeze it in myself or we'll need to send to St. Mungo's for some."
"Ah, of course." He cautiously checks to make sure, "Are you very full just now?"
"No, no. Only a small handful of students." Her eyes dart, not particularly subtly, to the side. As her back is to the patients, it shouldn't matter however, and patients aren't necessarily the most observant of people. They generally have other things on their minds.
"Hmm," he nods sagely. "Are any of my House currently littering your beds?" There's something calming about playing this game with Poppy. The woman may not be the wiliest of witches, but she's loyal and on his side. Precious few are.
He doubts it's a handful.
"Why, yes. Mr. Crabbe is still here, we haven't sorted his wings yet, and Mr. Goyle has since been brought in." Her lips press together, and the apples of her cheeks bulge as she tries - with some success - to hold back a laugh. It should go without saying that it makes a great difference that the emergency has passed and all that's required is time for the boy to heal. But now that she's aware he'd done that to his backside himself... Merlin's merciful, well, bollocks, really. She can't wait to tell those she can about it. Patient confidentiality can be such a nuisance...
Severus imagines there's a story here he'll be happy to hear. There must be some advantages to being the Head of House. Perhaps over a cuppa in the faculty lounge sometime soon. He finds himself looking forward to it.
"Ah. Well, all the more reason for me to get brewing, I imagine. Very well. Let the gentlemen know it will be there after dinner at the latest."
Poppy turns to look over her shoulder, she appears to be listening to someone for a moment, and then she swivels back to Severus. "Sorry, I must dash. Filius is here to see to Mr. Finch-Fletchley." She lowers her voice, holds up two fingers close to her body so they're not visible to the rest of the room behind her and whispers, "Two heads, don't you know. Two!" Before withdrawing and the connection closes.
Severus imagines he'll hear all about that as well.
In a slightly improved mood, he retakes his position on the floor, and resumes faffing about with the couch, which is to say orientating and reattaching the remaining couch legs. Four down in total, only two more to go. He's made good progress, better than this morning. Possibly he's developed a feel for the work. Of course probability dictates that it must get easier with each leg he fixes, but still... There've been fewer false starts. He expects to have this finished and to begin his work on identifying the potions in plenty of time to meet Miss Granger.
Sunny watches him work from his favourite spot on the mantle, studiously ignoring the furry beastie's stares. Mean creature. He can't begin to understand why the Mistress seems to like it so.
The Master is coming along nicely with the couch, which the elf is glad to see. He could have repaired it, naturally, but the Master enjoys his woodworking, and there are things that he prefers to do himself. Sunny makes at least an effort to respect that. In exchange the Master allows him to make the bed, tidy chambers, save his life on occasion, launder his clothes, and even to clean the laboratory. That he quite rightly takes for a sign of respect. Trust in his abilities. He's exceptionally proud of that fact.
So if it makes Master happier to crawl about on the floor as he is, Sunny is willing to tolerate it.
He's long since come to accept that the muttering and swearing, such as the Master keeps doing, in no way signify. When he's finished, he'll be quite pleased with himself, and he needs moments like those.
But if the elf happens to take advantage of the fact the man doesn't notice when the leg he needs edges closer to his hand as he gropes about, who could blame Sunny? He's merely being true to his nature.
Severus finally finishes the damn thing and rises smoothly from the floor, a little pleased with the lack of stiffness in his body. Poppy had done good work once again. He really should feel much worse than he does. As it is, he'd have no issues spending the entire evening hunched over cauldrons, although he doubts it will come to that. He surveys the couch, satisfied with the results. What a pointless exercise, no question, but not a single seam is visible, the grain uninterrupted and pristine. It's as if he'd never been a thoroughly idiotic...
Yes, well.
On consideration, of course, using the Severing Charm on the furniture was probably not the most idiotic of the things he'd done last night, particularly as he'd used it just to get an armful of witch.
Student witch.
Whose student isn't the relevant point there.
Objectively, that's incorrect, but this is hardly an objective matter. No, it's about how the situation makes him feel, and it's difficult to get any more subjective than that.
Unfortunately, the situation doesn't make him feel good.
Worse, the fact it had felt good, that armful of witch, was exacerbating the situation. Somehow, once the thoughts start, others follow, like about what she was wearing when she emerged from her room and kept him from repairing the couch this morning...
And here he'd done such an excellent job of shifting his attention elsewhere...
It's as though solving the problem, repairing the damage had eliminated that distraction, and suddenly it's all he can think about.
That gnaws at his satisfaction with the results of his restoration job until he manages to get the self destructive impulse under control. He decides to resume ignoring all of that, vigorously, just as he'd ignored his dreams, tightly focusing his annoyance on the couch instead in the interests of what little peace of mind he still has.
It's for the best.
And if that doesn't work, he can always Occlude some more...
Patting the phials in his pocket that he means to analyse, he heads to his lab without a backwards glance.
Hermione parts ways with the Slytherins in the Entrance Hall. She needs, well, wants to go to the library, and Daphne and Tracey have work to do in the dorms. They hadn't accomplished much during lunch, after all. Draco needs to see to some things before their Quidditch practice, and Theo... Theo had quite honestly meant to go to the library in hope of avoiding witches - any and all witches - there. But the idea of going there alone with Madam Snape... It has him quickly revising his plans. No, it would be far better to return to the dorms with the safety of Draco for company and then hide in their room.
It sounds like a solid plan.
Accordingly, upon arrival in the dungeons, Theo scuttles off into the seclusion of the boys' dorms with an alacrity few would have thought him capable of.
Daphne means to have a quiet talk with him, but considering his reaction to witches in their rooms... Cornering him there is probably a very bad idea. She thinks she'd best wait him out in the common room. When he reappears, and he must, she'll snag him and take him to one of the semi-private rooms off to the side for a little chat.
As plans go, she rather likes hers, too.
She'll be kind. She's resolved to that. Theo's her friend. She'd have found it difficult to be anything but gentle with him anyhow, and she has Draco's Oath from this morning to convince her that it's only fair and proper.
And Theo really seems like he can't take any more anyway.
She sets herself up with the stack of books on bonds beside her, intending to make what progress she can before dinner, and planning to do her homework as usual afterwards with the others. She'll just camp out there and keep a close eye out for him.
Millie heads Tracey off as she enters with an atypically timid request for some of the Pain Relief she'd brewed at lunch. It's not objectively timid - this is Millie, after all - but for her standards... She keeps her voice low, something Tracey appreciates, as she isn't altogether sure yet just how they should handle letting the boys know some is once again available.
Despite Hestia's suggestion, Millie doesn't quite dare ask for more than a single dose, which Tracey is all too happy to fetch for her. No need to make the witch go into specifics with so many gathered round. Her discomfort ironically lends authenticity to the request.
While Tracey goes to get the Potion, Millie takes a chair next to Daphne, and begins idly looking at the stack of books beside her. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
Daphne shakes her head. "It had mostly been picked clean. It seems we weren't the only ones with this idea. Ella and I had to reevaluate what we'd look into." She shrugs and gives the pile a sort of sad look.
Millie kind of gets that. They'd been hoping for something practical, and this... it's like a ruddy story time or something. It's questionable how much it will add to what they know as is, or if the information the books provide can even be trusted. It's not like history is a particularly rigorous discipline. For Merlin's sake, it's even taught by a ghost.
"Good luck," she wishes her as she rises to meet Tracey, who covertly slips her a phial.
"Thanks," Daphne answers. Adding more softly, "Feel better."
Millie nearly asks her what she means before it occurs to her. Merlin's bloody bollocks, is she ever rubbish at this. Er, goodness, yes, that. She pockets the phial and thanks Tracey, says goodbye and then after a few whispered words with Hestia, heads for the library.
Hermione wanders about the the library a bit, trying to figure out just where they'd have been likely to put books on mental health given it isn't a topic as such in its own right. Asking Madam Pince is clearly out of the question. She'd probably take it the wrong way anyhow. Instead, Hermione makes liberal use of Luna's Search Charm to try to find books that contain the Baron's suggestion of 'fits'. It proves about as useful as searching for 'Prince' had been, presumably for the same reason: there aren't many relevant results to be found.
If there are any at all, that is.
Rather predictably, she comes up fairly empty except for books on tailoring robes, a topic she's heretofore - so oddly - quite thoroughly neglected. On consideration, she has to wonder there aren't any on sports in the selection, but then exercise has never been any sort of concept in the wizarding world. One could scarcely call sitting on a broom particularly athletic. There are probably some books on Healing or poisons that would have 'fit' the bill, so to speak, but they're most likely in the restricted section. She glares in that general direction often enough as she goes. She's surprisingly accurate in her orientation, as though she were always aware of its location relative to hers. Certainly in the library, it's never far from her mind.
And neither is her ban.
With ever diminishing hope of answering the questions she'd set out to, and growing more frustrated and antsier by the moment, she now feels the need of distraction. The printed equivalent of comfort food... She's literally surrounded by thousands of suitable exemplars, but finds herself drawn to the latest of the false positives, a clearly ancient book on charms for crafting clothing.
It's not that the topic interests her particularly. It doesn't really, although she can freely admit she finds something quite... pleasing about the fitted blouse she now wears, one of the ones she'd made with Madam Pomfrey's help over the weekend. It's one thing to Transfigure something, another entirely to set about tailoring. But the book has that look, that feel, that smell that has her wrapping her hands around it instead of returning it to the shelf.
It hardly seems touched of late. A quick check of the borrowing card reveals in the past couple of years, it had left the library in the company of a Hufflepuff who had graduated a year ago, an occasional Ravenclaw, and a regular smattering of Slytherins. Daphne's name leaps out at her, somehow reinforcing the feeling that the book is like a friendly face in a crowd.
Hermione can't really explain it, but she takes it with her to one of the desks.
She casts a Tempus, and then sets it to chime when she needs to leave to meet the Professor, and then makes herself comfortable as she begins to leaf through the book as she thinks, using it as something by way of a palate cleanser, to sort of clear her mind and refocus. It works almost as well as Professor Taylor's mediation techniques.
As she calms, her thoughts turn inwards.
She begins to listen to the bond again, trying to pinpoint where she thinks he is, her Professor. It's easier in the silence of the library to make more sense of the feeling than it had been in class. She'd had a number of confusing impressions throughout the day, and it had her wondering if she hadn't had it entirely wrong, that the thing just doesn't work as she thought it did. Or perhaps he'd just been moving about the castle. It was a possibility. But now she has a strong sense of where he might be found - the dungeons, she's pretty sure - and she's feeling more confident about her assessment. She's just having more issue accounting for his... agitation.
Not that it's probably any of her business.
It's not.
At all.
Which isn't to say it doesn't make a person curious. That's a difficult thing for her to wrestle with, sort of like how overhearing only half of a conversation has one automatically thinking about it more.
She's flipping through the book a bit desultorily now when a shadow falls across her page.
She looks up and is startled to see Bulstrode, stood there, just looming over her. She only hopes her gulp wasn't as visible as it had felt.
Harper's in his room looking at the now developed pictures of Vince, and Merlin are they beauties. This will bring in a neat Knut. And a pounding.
Can't be helped.
He's got a great shot of Daph's reaction to Vince, too, that he rather likes. He's considering if she'd appreciate a copy of it. Mightn't hurt to try on spec. He thinks it's not unflattering, but then she's a pretty witch, so that wasn't much of a challenge; but what it had done well was capture a sense of her wonder at the sight.
He's rather proud of that.
Hunter comes dashing in - sometimes it seems like his little brother only has the one speed - and practically leaps up onto his bed. Crankshaft instantly makes a beeline for the younger Hutchinson and in a matter of moments is on the receiving end of some perfectly lovely tummy scratches.
He purrs up a storm. Cranks is anything but quiet.
Harper shows Hunter the pictures, and he eagerly bobs his head in approval. "Wicked. Vince's going to go mental when he sees them, though."
"Yeah, I've been giving that some thought. Learnt a thing or two after the shower pictures last year, didn't I? Everyone who buys one takes an Oath not to reveal the pix to him."
"And the people they show?"
"Right, everyone who buys one takes an Oath that the existence of the pix will not be revealed to him. So they'd have to at least try to get Oaths from anyone who sees them."
"Sounds better," Hunter agrees. Both of them know there are ways around it, there always are, but intent is everything. They're actually better off leaving it sort of vague. It's a game they play, pretending they're in this together. Both of them know it's Harper who's going to take the knocks for this.
"And I've been working on a little something." He moves closer to Hunter, performs a charm silently and wandlessly, no one would ever know, and then commands, "Hit me."
"Why would I want to do that?"
Harper flicks up a Privacy Charm, just in case. The older House members teach the younger students the Charm when they reach the age of majority. It's a ritual of passage, and he's proud to have added it so quickly to his repertoire. Hunter just grins at him, recognising that fact. He knows his brother too well.
"I've been practising a weak Protego. Ideally, it will absorb some of the impact without you noticing."
"Wicked!" Hunter is quick to praise. And then he laughs, "But if it goes wrong, if it's too strong, what? I break my hand?"
"If you're able to hit me hard enough to break your hand, I'll buy you a broom." Naturally they can't afford that sort of thing, so Hunter takes it as it's meant.
Draco's father had made sure the team was well kitted out, well, before... Right. Before all that. But Harper still has one of those brooms the Malfoys had bought. Their deal is he'll give it to Hunter just as soon as Harper's earning enough to be able to buy his own. Hunter worries sometimes that it means Harper won't pursue an apprenticeship in favour of trying to get paid work somewhere instead. He hasn't quite figured out how to make it clear to his brother that it wouldn't be worth it. Harper's a little too proud to really hear the facts sometimes. But if they've gotten by with two children at home for this long, surely it should be manageable with only the one?
Of course, Hunter for his part doesn't quite realise all the things Harper keeps running in their lives.
Selling the pictures of Vince is just one of many schemes Harper has going.
Hunter finally complies and gives Harper a slap. Cranks 'mrawrs' his disapproval and relocates to the end of the bed to better watch this, his dissatisfaction with his boys abundantly clear. "That doesn't count," Harper objects. "What do you even call that?" For a moment Hunter thinks they're just kidding around until Harper grows serious. "I need you to try, Hunter. If it's too strong, he'll know, and... And if it's too weak..." He's right, of course. It wouldn't end well either way. It's very like Harper that he doesn't paint the full picture for his brother. "There's no one else I can ask to test it."
Hunter sobers and rises from the bed. "Right, let's do this." He squares his slight build and then hauls off and gives Harper his absolutely very best shot, only to begin hopping after, "Ow! Ow ow ow ow!"
"Are you okay, Hunter?" Harper immediately checks his hand, and Hunter's palm is reddening.
"No," he whines. "Yeah," he corrects. "Sort of? He amends, and Harper tries to stifle a grin. Still, it takes Hunter a moment to be able to continue. "I think that worked about right, though. If I'd hit you like that without the Charm, it probably should have hurt." He sits there on the bed once more, nursing his hand now clasped tightly under his other arm and rocking back and forth slightly. Cranks gives both boys another disapproving look. "Relax, Cranks, we don't mean anything by it." He gives the half-Kneazle's head a scratch with his good hand before returning to the topic, "You know, I'd bet you anything Vince would take it as a sign of his strength if it hurts. But you have to remember to act hurt, or it's not going to do you any good."
Harper rubs his hand across Hunter's head affectionately, unintentionally mimicking Hunter's gesture towards the feline for the same underlying reasons. "Believe me, I'm a lot less likely to stop to ask if Vince happened to injure himself while trying to beat me up. Plus, don't kid yourself, boyyo, that was a pretty solid slap. I felt that." He smiles at his brother and they both know what's gone unsaid. His concern for Hunter had simply outweighed the pain. He rubs his arm now. That's definitely an advantage to his dark complexion, the bruises won't show - or be expected to show - as clearly as they would on Theo, say.
Theo may just have come to mind because there have been a number of unexplained bruises to see there over the years. Harper suspects they all have their brooms to bear.
"Maybe Ella would be willing to help you with a Charm to make things look worse tomorrow?" Hunter sounds nervous, because they try hard to pretend this isn't a wretched idea on so many levels, and this is getting too close to... Well, reality really.
"I'll give it a think, I need to ask her for an assist anyway. Thanks for helping me test it, though. It makes a difference." He sits down on the bed next to his brother, and Hunter budges up close to him. Harper tucks him in closer for a one-armed hug. Cranks isn't far behind. "Forgiven us then for the bit of foolishness, Cranks?" He asks as he scratches his pet's ears.
Cranks 'mrawrs' again in reply.
The Hutchinsons both take that as a 'yes'.
Tracey claims the chair Millie had vacated next to Daphne, setting her books next to the decidedly more intimidating stack Daph has piled on the table between them. She figures she'll start on the reading, working a little ahead before their study session after dinner. She likes the way that allows her to get a jump on Draco and Blaise in the time leading up to Quidditch matches.
With a start, it occurs to her that the reason they meet later in the evening is because so many of the seventh years play Quidditch and have practice before dinner. The thing is, four of the five of those are the boys they've just decided to ostracise.
She's not at all certain what this is supposed to mean for their homework and revising sessions.
It's all well and good to want to declare them persona non grata, to want to avenge their Head, but that's half her class, gone in one fell swoop. She shouldn't like to begin to imagine how this might impact her chances for an apprenticeship next year...
Severus is about to start his work on the three unidentified potions in his pocket when he spots the portrait he'd effectively glued above his workbench. At an angle. He has to hand it to himself, if anything he holds a grudge more thoroughly when drunk. He soon has it down off the wall and studies the terror stricken expressions of the centaurs for a moment before Summoning the Spirit of Turpentine and brush and repeating yesterday's exercise.
It's highly cathartic.
He watches the paint melt and run where the thinner landed on the portrait.
It's so pleasing to watch, in fact, that he opts to leave the painting propped up next to his work space as he sets about analysing the first of the potions. He leaves it there long after the paint seems to have completely stopped running. Only when the centaurs appear to have exhausted their abilities to panic - for the present - and Severus has absorbed what he can of their misery does he once again stick the portrait to the wall. On consideration, exactly as he had yesterday. Why not, after all?
And then he has a flash of inspiration and rotates it one hundred and eighty degrees for good measure.
Perhaps he can find a painting that wouldn't mind telling him if the orientation matters to the subjects.
If not, he can always run some experiments.
Severus Snape, Hermione Granger, Staff: Pomona Sprout, Poppy Pomfrey, Irma Pince, Slytherins: Draco Malfoy, Theo Nott, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode, Harper Hutchinson, Hunter Hutchinson, Gryffindors: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Ravenclaws: Morag MacDougal, Hufflepuffs: Salome Perks Smith, Others: Sunny, Crookshanks, Crankshaft
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Filius Flitwick, Bathsheda Babbling, Nurse Wanda Wainscott, Slytherins: Hestia Carrow, Gryffindors: Ginny Weasley, Ravenclaws: Terry Boot, Darius Inglebee, Stewart Ackerly, Hufflepuffs: Megan Jones, Wayne Hopkins, Justin Finch-Fletchley
Originally Published: 2019-01-22 on AO3
Chapter: 102 part 1
The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal’s maximum post length. It’s been split in two parts.Characters:
Severus (HoS, Potions), Hermione 7G (Prefect, Supreme Swot)
Staff:
Professor Pomona Sprout (HoH, Herbology), Poppy Pomfrey (Mediwitch extraordinaire), Irma Pince (rabid Librarian)
Slytherins:
Draco 7S (Prefect, Team Captain, Seeker, Swot), Theo Nott 7S (Swottiest, Nervous Wreck), Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe 7S (Beater, Winged ex-Couch still-Potato), Gregory Goyle 7S (Beater), Daphne Greengrass 7S (Sparkly! Fwoopers!), Tracey Davis 7S (Swottier), Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode (Reserve Beater, yes, that.), Harper Hutchinson 6S (Prefect, Chaser, flash Robe Model), Hunter Hutchinson 4S (Energetic Imp)
Gryffindors:
Harry 7G (Team Captain, Seeker, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Annoy-Severus), Ron Weasley 7G (Prefect, Keeper (but also only in the Quidditch sense), the Boy-Who-Exists-to-Annoy-Hermione), Neville Longbottom 7G (errant Herbal Knight)
Ravenclaws:
Morag MacDougal 7R (lippy Muggle-born with that lippy)
Hufflepuffs:
Salome Smith 7H (née Perks, bonded to Zacharias Smith 6H)
Others:
Sunny (the Snapes' house elf), Crookshanks (Hermione's half-Kneazle), Crankshaft (Harper's half-Kneazle)
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Professor Filius Flitwick (HoR, Charms), Professor Bathsheda Babbling (Ancient Runes), Nurse Wanda Wainscott (chatty), Slytherins: Hestia Carrow 6S (Chaser, sporty twin), Gryffindors: Ginny Weasley 6G (Chaser), Ravenclaws: Terry Boot 7R, Darius Inglebee 4R (Reserve Chaser, impatient Patient), Stewart Ackerly 4R (Beater), Hufflepuffs: Megan Jones 7H (Muggle-born), Wayne Hopkins 7H, Justin Finch-Fletchley 7H
Previously:
Draco tricks Hufflepuff Wayne Hopkins into trying to hex him while they're waiting in the corridor before Ancient Runes. The hex bounces off Draco's Protego and strikes Justin Finch-Fletchley, giving him a rather superfluous second head. (Both Hufflepuffs land in the Infirmary.) 100
Albus informed the Heads this morning that Muggle-born Megan Jones 7H had withdrawn from the school. 096 Word is spreading through the castle. Pansy and Blaise told the other Slytherins about it at lunch. 098
Severus has Sunny bring him all the potions in the possession of his seventh year boys. He wasn't able to identify three of them without further testing. 097
While less than sober... Fine, while drunk off his arse Tuesday night, Severus took a Sectumsempra to the couch legs so he could snuggle Miss Granger more comfortably. 085 Wednesday morning, he was able to reattach two of the six legs before she put in a - scantily clad - appearance in their lounge. 088
After applying particularly brutal Legilimenses on the seventh year boys and concussing Draco, Severus asked Poppy to deny his students Pain Relieving Potion before losing consciousness in the Infirmary. 07 She wasn't aware of the details, but did as he asked. Unfortunately she hasn't had a chance to end the charade until now, and is still withholding the potion from his students.
Hestia suggests Millie should ask Tracey for Pain Relief for Draco and Blaise. 083
Harper continues his now established tradition of taking pictures of Vince in... unusual situations, capturing him in his full winged glory on the couch this morning. 091 Unfortunately, he also fully expects Vince to continue the tradition of beating him silly for it, just as he had after the 'terrycloth Flobberworm' photos last year. Mentioned in 065
055 It occurs to Severus that the centaurs in the portrait in Minerva's classroom hadn't fetched help when Miss Granger was attacked, and he begins to treat the painting more that a little rudely. Oh, and with turpentine. 073
Irma Pince bans Hermione from the Restricted Section for the story she reportedly told that she'd been attacked by books there. 070 Not to be outdone, Hermione Confunded Madam Pince in an altercation over her treatment of Geminioed library books last night. 080
Vince convinces Millie to go to the library and try to find a Charm to manage the Kneazle fur for him, before his allergies do him in once and for all. 101
The Bloody Baron is so... kind as to point out to Hermione that he finds her Muffliato... wanting. 078
A quick count of heads, and Pomona determines Mr. Finch-Fletchley is missing. She recollects; he'll have had Ancient Runes before this class. Looking around the room, she realises none of the others present from her House take the course with him.
"Does anyone know where Mr. Finch-Fletchley is?" She enquires of the room at large.
Madam Snape, reliable witch, is quick to reply, "Professor Babbling sent him to the Infirmary, Professor Sprout." There's a moue of... something Pomona can't quite read, and she continues, "He's probably still there."
The Head of Hufflepuff finds herself suddenly growing more acutely concerned. She probably wouldn't normally be, Merlin knows, landing in Poppy's care is a fairly regular occurrence in the castle, but given the day's news about Miss Jones... Well, her nerves are a bit on edge. "What for?" She asks, and as most of her profession doesn't pause to consider it could perhaps have been something personal or embarrassing, best not revealed in front of all his classmates, not that it was for once.
Hermione isn't quite sure how to answer to that, and hesitates as she considers. Draco, inveterate arse, derives a bit of amusement answering for her, "Hopkins hexed him." Which is perfectly true.
To some, mostly Gryffindors, the smirk on his face suggests he'd enjoyed the sight. To a few, predominantly Ravenclaws or members of his House, it clearly reveals there was more to the story. By contrast, at his tone, most of the Hufflepuffs present begin to worry about Justin's state. Professor Sprout isn't the only one whose nerves are raw.
Some muttering ensues, and Pomona, momentarily chasing her thoughts about her Badgers, doesn't put a stop to it right away. She's visibly more than slightly distracted as she makes some notes on the chalkboard.
Under the cover of so many murmured consultations, MacDougal has no qualms about turning to Draco and whispering, "So what did you do to him?"
"What did I do? To him? Why nothing. Nothing whatsoever," Draco is quick to assure her with a smirk that makes her certain it's true, but not entirely correct. The grin she gives him to show she isn't buying it has him staring at her lips again. That only makes her smile broader, and deciding to treat herself to another lippy come Christmas hols. So worth it.
Theo, sitting beside Draco, shifts restlessly in his seat at the sight of their exchange.
Morag resolves to try to pump Malfoy for information after class, but won't have any luck. Not that it matters. By dinner, everyone will have heard of the Slytherins' non-duel with the Hufflepuffs and Hopkins' failed attempt to give one of them a second head. A couple of fourth year Ravenclaws will mishear the rumours - ah, the difference a word or two can make - get the completely wrong end of the wand and proceed to mock Hopkins (in absentia) for his sexuality. Filius, fortunately, will overhear and add that to the list of things he lectures his House about this evening, for all the good it will do. Stewart Ackerly will feel the need to make a few quips to Darius Inglebee, and promptly find himself serving detention. Yet again. Terry Boot will tell him he's a prize fool after the fact, but then he'd cost the House forty-five points with the whole insulting Snape and his wife and duelling the Worms for it, so what does he know?
The Hufflepuffs seem concerned that another of their House is absent, reducing their number from eight to six today; their conversations revolve around their missing Housemates.
Professor Sprout tries to focus their attention on her notes, now tidily presented on the board. As she calls the class back to order and the noise dies down, Salome Perks, Smith, whatever can clearly be heard making a comment to one of the other 'Puffs about how, Megan hadn't had anyone to bond, which is what led to this.
If Theo looked uncomfortable before, he looks a great deal more so now. He seems to shrink in on himself as he sits there, staring at the absent Muggle-born witch's seat through the course of the lesson. His mind may be eased with respect to Granger-Snape, MacDougal and Perks, Smith, whatever, but... He's taken Jones' withdrawal as confirmation that they'd done... something very... bad to the witch.
More than once, Draco has to nudge him to pay attention to the lecture.
Most people don't pay Nott much mind, and it goes almost entirely unnoticed. Daphne, however, happens to be a good friend of his, and she hasn't missed his response at all. Between this and his reaction at lunch to the news of Jones' leaving school... Much like Theo, she now turns inwards, pursuing unpleasant thoughts. It's subtle, for a change, for Daphne at least. Not that it matters. Even fewer people tend to take notice of her.
Severus flicks the door to his classroom shut as the last student leaves, a lift of his finger locking it as well.
He does not sigh.
Fine, he did.
It had simply been that sort of day. It was bad enough in its own right, it usually is, but the bond, Miss Granger's constant... Her never ending stream of emotions is getting to him. And that despite the fact he is absolutely convinced she'd taken the Draught of Peace as agreed.
Merlin's blue ball sack.
Well. He'll simply have to work harder at Occluding.
He feels there's a certain irony that he's pressed to do so because of a seventh year Gryffindor and not, say, the threat of exposure by the Dark Lord, the - self acclaimed - world's greatest Legilimens, or any of his retinue.
With another wave of his hand, Severus has tidied the classroom. A flick and a fancy swish clean the cauldrons, all but one anyway. He'll reserve that one for the next detention. It should prove challenging. An elaborate looping of his hand sees the wards on his door recast, and then he exits to his office.
A quick look at his desk assures him there's nothing as pressing as the identification of the potion phials he'd impounded from Crabbe, currently resting securely in his pocket. He sighs again, before forcing himself to be honest with the reminder that it's only the circumstances that makes the chore an unpleasant one. Truthfully, this is a good deal more appealing an undertaking than almost anything else he could presently justify doing with his evening.
It's been that sort of year.
Possibly just the latest of several.
What he wouldn't give for a month in the Lake District.
Or even a week.
None of his thoughts reflected in the least externally, he's practised, he strides through his office and into chambers, the door locking automagically behind him.
Between the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, easily half the Herbology class is out of spirits, and when the period ends, they rise with less enthusiasm and chatter than usual.
Neville, half apologetically, had told Hermione he'd be staying after to help Professor Sprout again, although he'd been sweet enough to ask if she'd like to join him. She appreciated the offer, she really did, but she has things to do, and she's just begun looking about trying to think how she'll get back to the castle today.
She imagines much as she'd arrived.
And then a few things happen almost at once.
Morag makes a beeline for Malfoy, determined to get more out of him, or at least to have some fun trying. Draco, his attention elsewhere, doesn't notice, but Theo flinches at the sight of her approaching, Daphne, in turn, becoming sadder when it registers. Hermione, unable to catch Greengrass'... Daphne's eye, seeks Davis', who with a nod indicates she'll join her.
Harry tries to get to 'Mione, eager for a word, but Draco shifts - just a little, but it's all it takes - so he's stood between them. Ron, for once, is the one to pull his friend away, his reasons a complicated mix, but whatever else, with the Snakes and a teacher present, this is obviously neither the time nor the place for whatever Harry had in mind, as he'll tell him on their way back to the castle. Hermione just catches the movement as Ron tugs at Harry, and with a look of utter disdain, or the best she can manage on Peace, she breezes past them with her Slytherins now in tow. As that's a look that comes fairly naturally to her, she still more than gets her point across. Harry, upon seeing it, stops resisting, gives in to Ron's urging and lets the little group pass unhindered.
The moment is over so quickly, it's hard to pinpoint when it went wrong. All that most involved are left with are impressions of how they stand to one another. Draco couldn't say for sure if he'd done it because of the Protection Vow, just to mess with Rotter, or in the hopes of tricking the easily antagonised Gryffindorks into losing House points (Merlin knows, once they hear what he'd done to Hopkins it won't work again so soon), but he registers - with some pleasure - that his simple presence was enough to drive off the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Irk-Him and his ever present sidekick Weasel. That's satisfying indeed.
So few things really are.
Severus enters his chambers only to be beset at nearly the first footfall.
By a furry beast.
A ginger monster that seems to feel it is - somehow - appropriate to weave his way between Severus' legs. There's an awkward shuffle he's glad no one saw (which completely neglects to consider both the half-Kneazle and the Disillusioned house elf currently resting on his fireplace mantle) as the Potions Master endeavours not to step on the creature. Doubtless Miss Granger would have a thing or two to say about that if he had.
"For fuck's sake," he complains, taking full advantage of his solitude. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"
It's unclear what answer he was expecting, what he gets is a loud and protracted 'mraaaaawr', which naturally explains bugger all.
Quite.
"Watch where you go, unless you wish to end a flat cat. Would you care to serve as potions ingredients? Hmm? It can be arranged."
The feline is unimpressed. It's becoming a thing. It occurs to Severus that this might be an opportunity for growth. If he can cow the cat, half-Kneazle, he can probably take it up with the best of them.
Which would be lovely, just, if he had any desire whatsoever to grow.
So sadly, he does not.
At present, he's mostly concerned with survival.
"Do you know, Sunny never feels the need to intrude on my privacy after an interminable day in the classroom. He has the decency to leave me be," he grumbles.
Sunny, rather predictably, smirks invisibly with barely contained pride at the compliment. Of course it wouldn't have been uttered had the wizard any idea he was lurking about.
Crooks merely 'mrawrs' his indifference. And then twines himself between the man's legs again. Severus bows and smoothly sweeps the feline into his arms carrying him to Miss Granger's chair where he deposits him without further ado. The sight of the couch beside him calling another task to mind.
It was a deciding moment, whether Severus realises it or not. Crooks could just as easily have flexed his claws and gone for it. Not that it would have ended well for him, and perhaps he realises that, but then logic isn't always Crookshanks' forte. Instead he'd leant into their new wizard's hold, purring and earning himself a reflexive scratch behind his ears.
Yes, he's well on his way to having the man trained.
Crooks gives the invisible elf creature a decidedly superior look as he curls up to watch their wizard work. And after that, perhaps he'll take another nap.
Severus crosses the lounge to retrieve the couch legs, ending their Disillusionment as he goes. He swears, mostly silently, to himself as he does so, still unable to comprehend the monumental stupidity involved in taking the Sectumsempra to his furnishings. Making good use of Miss Granger's absence, and reprimanding himself at regular intervals while he’s at it, he means to set about reattaching the remaining legs before that idiocy can be noticed.
As he turns back, he spots one of his bowls on the kitchen island, full of... something. He Banishes the legs to the couch and goes to take a closer look, only to discover it apparently contains a good deal of... fur.
Presumably half-Kneazle fur.
Well. That's more than a little odd. Decidedly unexpected at any rate. But he's always been quick to adapt.
He reaches into the bowl and lets it run through his fingers. Soft. Silky. It's an agreeable sensation, a bit like Miss Granger's blanket, even, although perhaps not quite as... pleasant - as either said blanket or how it feels to... pet the fur bearing animal itself. Presumably only because the orange fiend had more warmth.
Of particular interest, he finds, is that although there is obviously some static charge, the fur fails to adhere to his fingers, dropping back into the bowl in a suspiciously orderly fashion.
He Banishes the fur to Crabbe's bed without a second thought, and then examines his own robes only to discover - despite having held the furry little beast - he doesn't seem to have a single hair on him.
It would seem Miss Granger had discovered the Charm he'd requested, because he knows with a certainty, there had been no opportunity for her to charm the clothing he now wears.
Hmm.
For the briefest moment, he's torn. She'd done as he asked, almost immediately, for which he should probably be grateful, except her need to constantly seek the approval of any and everyone in authority (besides Sybill) has long been a thorn in his side. So instead he scoffs that she hadn't had anything better to do with her time. His response is nearly as deeply ingrained as her own, but he feels just the slightest bit guilty about it. A niggling voice in the back of his mind hisses that he's just more comfortable scoffing, but he ignores it for the present. Ultimately, he tells himself that whether he actually considers that trait of hers admirable or not, it will almost definitely prove useful.
And with that, almost convinced, he turns once more to his couch.
It doesn't once occur to him that she might simply have been trying to do what little she could to make his life more pleasant after the week he's had. But then why would it? Almost no one ever does, a sad fact that's shaped him, warped him to the extent that he rarely recognises it when Sunny does that either.
Fortunately that's unlikely to stop either of them from continuing to try.
The Slytherins walk out of the greenhouse in the same formation they'd used as they came, flanking the Head's bondmate, and make their way somewhat solemnly towards the castle.
Draco leads, concentrating on scanning the terrain ahead and maintaining the Protego he'd cast wandlessly behind their small group. It won't stand up to much, but if all it does is buy them time to seek cover, it will have adequately done it's job. It permits him the peace of mind to walk away from Snotter and the Weasel without a backwards glance. Image may not be everything, but it's worth a lot and makes many things simpler. Easily half the battle is a battle of the mind.
The clear advantage he has over those two, naturally, being he's in possession of one.
Theo trails behind once more, a damn sight more listlessly than before. He almost seems to be walking in a stupor, and his primary use, were there to be a set to, truly will be as a physical obstacle, and not as another wand in the event of a duel.
None of them are in the mood to chat, and particularly not with one another. They proceed in silence for a little while, but eventually Hermione's annoyance with her friends ebbs enough that she begins to take in the Snakes around her. The Peace in her, obviously, helped. Nott's behaving even stranger than he had before, he's very clearly there guarding their backs, but also equally clearly... not there in any sense that matters.
And Greengrass, Daphne is subdued. It's very unlike the normally effervescent witch.
Tracey notices Granger-Snape starting to twig to the uncharacteristic behaviours in their little group, and tries to unobtrusively catch Daphne's attention, but her roommate seems lost to the world, damn her eyes. Draco is too far ahead to notice, and Theo... Well he's the primary problem, isn't he? Tracey decides it's down to her then, because it probably isn't for the best if the Moggie beside her gets to wondering about the affairs of the House.
She can't help feeling a little annoyed at Daph for setting the frightfully chummy precedent and now just bunking off. Still, she's better at this than Tracey will ever be, so the blonde makes an effort to channel her roommate, casting about for something to distract the Head's bondmate, before settling on what she's sure should be an easy source of conversation. "I'll bet you spent half of Herbology puzzling over how anyone could willingly sit through Divination..."
That's all it takes.
Hermione hadn't been, of course. For the most part, she'd been paying attention in class. Fine, occasionally she'd tried to listen to the bond or pinpoint the Professor through it - not with any great luck - but all that's required is a mention of the despised course and her thoughts are off and flying, her mouth not far behind in light of the opening. Tracey has to bite back her smirk. The Gryffindor's flounce from the classroom third year is the stuff of school legend, and four years later, Trelawney still can't seem to abide the witch.
It's a simple strategy, Tracey is comfortable with her reasons for taking the course, and superficially it would appear to put her in a weaker position. Granger-Snape's unlikely to recognise it for the gambit it is. It should keep her occupied for a while...
In a very animated fashion, Hermione proceeds to expound on the various perceived shortcomings of the subject and then the teacher. And she has a few choice things to say about Trelawney's regular predictions of doom, while she's about it. Tracey, only half listening, can't help thinking about the latest, that Jones should be in grave danger... With a glance in Theo's direction, she decides against mentioning it. She has a feeling it wouldn't help his state.
But Hermione has gotten a little carried away, and she's not the subtlest of people. She's just - a bit stupidly, Tracey feels - begun challenging the academic rigour of anyone electing to take the course. Considering she knows Davis is in it, and why, it's really quite rude, but between her loathing for the material and her need for an outlet - any outlet - for some of her pent up frustration... She could hardly rant about Ron and Harry to the Slytherins. It would feel too much like a betrayal. And of course she's never suffered fools gladly. Well... other than her friends.
The crack assailing her intelligence exceeds the limits of Tracey's patience. It's one thing to talk to the witch, but she won't stand here and allow the Moggie to insult her. Tracey turns to her and halts her mid-diatribe, her voice level as she informs the Gryffindor, "I'm taking just as many courses as you are."
Hermione naturally can't help thinking that Divination hardly measures up against DADA (or Ancient Runes). Although with the way Defence has been going this year, it's probably not anything to brag about... Professor Taylor. Holy Cricket.
But still...
Tracey has a pretty good idea what's going through the witch's mind - well, except for the thoughts about Taylor's deficiencies, she's thankfully been spared first hand knowledge of those - and it is indeed a sore point, not having taken Defence. Whatever else she may be, the Slytherin is no fool, and she'd understood, sadly only too well, when she was selecting her N.E.W.T. courses and their Head had made the suggestion that she not take DADA. After all, it wouldn't do for her to be too... useful, just at the moment.
And he'd tried to provide, to compensate for any deficits with the self defence instruction he'd offered. No, considering what she's heard about the class... She doesn't feel she's come up short.
There had even been independent reading assigned for at least some of those not in DADA. It had been elegantly done. The pure blood extremists that were academically capable had all taken DADA. Which meant those that didn't weren't able to handle the material, and were easily, quite sensibly, excluded from any additional instruction. They'd been relieved for that exclusion, in fact, as Aaron Avery would happily attest.
It was impossible to judge Professor Snape's motivations in that as in most other things, and all camps in the House felt comfortable finding further proof for their personal theories about him in actions such as those. Not that it was ever discussed. But the more astute noticed it revealed nothing beyond a desire, no, not even that... merely a willingness to apparently see the most made of his students. The reason for it remained, quite deliberately they were sure, unfathomable.
The Moggie's frankly inconsiderate air of condescension has begun to grate. Tracey feels a bit of an arse again, which almost checks her, but she's not the most patient of people, and Circe's left tit, this, things just like this, was what Daph was for, damn it. She should have been managing the Gryffindor.
Tracey holds up a fist and begins extending fingers as she ticks her courses off, just as a... gentle reminder. She starts with the courses they don't share, "Astronomy, Divination," and Granger-Snape's nose wrinkles reflexively, fuelling Tracey to move more readily to those they share. Or rather: shared. Her point should become clear within a moment, "Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmancy, Herbology...." She trails off.
And Hermione comes to an abrupt stop, the witches with her. Because what the blonde has been kind enough not to say is she's currently taking one more than Hermione is, as she's no longer in the Potions class.
It snaps her out of her Divination rant, and she pulls her head out of her arse. Hermione's just formulating an apology, she appreciates that the Slytherin hadn't rubbed her nose in it. That was kind. Which makes it all the more startling when Greengrass, Daphne now speaks up.
"More."
Their sudden stop had shaken her out of her thoughts, and both of the other witches stare at her in surprise, and that sweeps the rest of the wool from her mind.
"Tracey's taking more, if you count art," Daphne points out, still not sounding like her usual self, but it was a conversational cue she was incapable of not responding to. That she also has opted not to mention Potions... Well, that fits perfectly with the others' mental image of the witch. Anything else, in light of the circumstances, would have been mean.
Tracey's "But you aren't awarded a N.E.W.T. for art..." coincides with Hermione's, "But you can't get a N.E.W.T. in art..." and they both stop to look at one another with a touch of amusement.
"Great minds?" Hermione offers as an attempt at an olive branch. This isn't her bailiwick. Goodness, she'd been well on her way to insulting the woman. Again. She smiles a little tentatively, but nevertheless hopefully, and is rather relieved when Davis gives her a slight smile back. The Slytherin's head bobs once, apparently that's a nod of acceptance, and Hermione thinks they're back on solid ground.
Well, perhaps not solid, but it's no longer a bog. That must count for something.
Barely in time, which is only what he deserves for staring at the ground instead of watching where he's going, Theo registers the witches standing in front of him. With something that sounds suspiciously like one of Flitwick's squeaks (which is fine, he has no dignity), he pulls up short. Draco's Protego, however, does not, and it smacks into Theo from behind, jostling him into the three witches. The look of pure horror on his face as he does so has Daphne resolving to have a private chat with her friend. Soonest.
Draco comes to an immediate halt when he feels his Protego encounter resistance. It wasn't the feeling he'd been anticipating. He turns to find the knot of little idiots just standing there, and shakes his head in wonderment. Not the particularly good kind.
"What do you think you're doing? You can't dawdle about here. We have all of Herbology returning along the same path just moments behind us. Get moving," he hisses, and they do.
They're clearly schooled.
Hermione again has to wonder how much of their daily lives is planned as military campaigns.
It takes them a moment to get back into the swing of things. Malfoy seems to be grumbling under his breath ahead of them; it sets a weird tone, especially as Hermione doesn't find it exactly... threatening. Which is more than a little strange.
These past few days have given her a lot to wrap her head around.
She's genuinely curious, having realised she doesn't know much about Davis, and bolstered a bit by Greengrass', Daphne's acceptance, in a further effort to communicate some acceptance of her own, she asks the blonde, "Are you taking Muggle Art, too, or just..." The looks she gets from both Slytherins answer that quite emphatically. She can't help thinking Davis looks a little regretful though...
Truthfully, Tracey would have loved to take Muggle Art as well the regular Wizarding Art; sheerly as a matter of numbers, it’s a much broader field. But again... She's not an idiot. She's hoping she can get an apprenticeship in Paris or Rome where she could pursue her hobby in more depth alongside her studies, and far away from judgmental eyes. Not that she would ever dream of telling anyone about that, least of all the Muggle-born Gryffindor beside her who seems ever so intent on placing herself in the thick of whatever is likely to come. That would be foolhardy.
Hermione goes quiet as she tries to work it out in her mind. They had clearly thought her something of an idiot for asking...
And then she revises that. Green... Daphne most certainly hadn't, that was simply unfair. She's demonstrated an inquisitive nature and a willingness to learn about Muggle things. No, they thought the question stupid, the answer obvious. Despite some curiosity. Which means Hermione is failing to look at this the way they do, a fact that would annoy her if only for the limitations on her part that it suggests.
She gets the feeling they weren't dismissive of the subject per se or the very idea Muggles could produce art of value. No. No, she's pretty sure they weren't. Which means they're more accepting than she's come to feel the Snakes are as a whole, and that there may be more to the distance they put between themselves and Muggle culture than Hermione had previously been willing to consider.
It's something to think about.
But she's saved from doing so as they arrive at the castle.
Severus is lying, somewhat uncomfortably, on his belly in front of the couch. He's just attached the second of the remaining legs when his Floo flares to life. He's thankful he wards it, not that there was ever any question of not doing so, he's not a gormless halfwit, but he has no desire for anyone to see him sprawled out on the floor like that.
Only as he thinks it does it cross his mind that that was precisely how Miss Granger had discovered him only yesterday.
Well.
He chooses to ignore the thought as he rises, setting his robes to rights as he approaches his fireplace.
"Severus? Severus, are you in? Do you have a moment?" The Mediwitch's voice is unmistakable.
The necessary hand gesture permits her to see that he is in fact in, and - dignity regained - once more standing quite imposingly before her. Of course, Poppy is about as fussed by that as the feline, who stretches and yawns on the chair beside him.
He barely spares the thing a sideways glance. Just as well, as it keeps staring into space in a rather unnerving fashion. He supposes that's just a half-Kneazle trait of which he'd previously been unaware. All perfectly normal, Severus is sure.
"What can I do for you, Poppy?"
"Oh, I'm so glad you're in. Do you feel sufficiently recovered to do a spot of brewing for us? Do you have the time? I'm afraid that we need some Pain Relieving Potion..."
He's confused at first, just for the briefest of moments, because that is something he definitely has under control; they're very well stocked. Except Poppy prods his memory, "As you know, we ran out of it last weekend."
As he himself has had some in the Infirmary since then, he obviously isn't meant to take that for the truth. And just like that, it comes back to him, how he'd asked her to deny his students Pain Relief, and how she'd done so. Good witch to have in your corner, Poppy. A frightfully good witch, full stop.
He nods his understanding, and she continues; it borders slightly on prattling, something Poppy tends to do when she feels forced to lie. "If not, no worries, just say so, and either I'll have to squeeze it in myself or we'll need to send to St. Mungo's for some."
"Ah, of course." He cautiously checks to make sure, "Are you very full just now?"
"No, no. Only a small handful of students." Her eyes dart, not particularly subtly, to the side. As her back is to the patients, it shouldn't matter however, and patients aren't necessarily the most observant of people. They generally have other things on their minds.
"Hmm," he nods sagely. "Are any of my House currently littering your beds?" There's something calming about playing this game with Poppy. The woman may not be the wiliest of witches, but she's loyal and on his side. Precious few are.
He doubts it's a handful.
"Why, yes. Mr. Crabbe is still here, we haven't sorted his wings yet, and Mr. Goyle has since been brought in." Her lips press together, and the apples of her cheeks bulge as she tries - with some success - to hold back a laugh. It should go without saying that it makes a great difference that the emergency has passed and all that's required is time for the boy to heal. But now that she's aware he'd done that to his backside himself... Merlin's merciful, well, bollocks, really. She can't wait to tell those she can about it. Patient confidentiality can be such a nuisance...
Severus imagines there's a story here he'll be happy to hear. There must be some advantages to being the Head of House. Perhaps over a cuppa in the faculty lounge sometime soon. He finds himself looking forward to it.
"Ah. Well, all the more reason for me to get brewing, I imagine. Very well. Let the gentlemen know it will be there after dinner at the latest."
Poppy turns to look over her shoulder, she appears to be listening to someone for a moment, and then she swivels back to Severus. "Sorry, I must dash. Filius is here to see to Mr. Finch-Fletchley." She lowers her voice, holds up two fingers close to her body so they're not visible to the rest of the room behind her and whispers, "Two heads, don't you know. Two!" Before withdrawing and the connection closes.
Severus imagines he'll hear all about that as well.
In a slightly improved mood, he retakes his position on the floor, and resumes faffing about with the couch, which is to say orientating and reattaching the remaining couch legs. Four down in total, only two more to go. He's made good progress, better than this morning. Possibly he's developed a feel for the work. Of course probability dictates that it must get easier with each leg he fixes, but still... There've been fewer false starts. He expects to have this finished and to begin his work on identifying the potions in plenty of time to meet Miss Granger.
Sunny watches him work from his favourite spot on the mantle, studiously ignoring the furry beastie's stares. Mean creature. He can't begin to understand why the Mistress seems to like it so.
The Master is coming along nicely with the couch, which the elf is glad to see. He could have repaired it, naturally, but the Master enjoys his woodworking, and there are things that he prefers to do himself. Sunny makes at least an effort to respect that. In exchange the Master allows him to make the bed, tidy chambers, save his life on occasion, launder his clothes, and even to clean the laboratory. That he quite rightly takes for a sign of respect. Trust in his abilities. He's exceptionally proud of that fact.
So if it makes Master happier to crawl about on the floor as he is, Sunny is willing to tolerate it.
He's long since come to accept that the muttering and swearing, such as the Master keeps doing, in no way signify. When he's finished, he'll be quite pleased with himself, and he needs moments like those.
But if the elf happens to take advantage of the fact the man doesn't notice when the leg he needs edges closer to his hand as he gropes about, who could blame Sunny? He's merely being true to his nature.
Severus finally finishes the damn thing and rises smoothly from the floor, a little pleased with the lack of stiffness in his body. Poppy had done good work once again. He really should feel much worse than he does. As it is, he'd have no issues spending the entire evening hunched over cauldrons, although he doubts it will come to that. He surveys the couch, satisfied with the results. What a pointless exercise, no question, but not a single seam is visible, the grain uninterrupted and pristine. It's as if he'd never been a thoroughly idiotic...
Yes, well.
On consideration, of course, using the Severing Charm on the furniture was probably not the most idiotic of the things he'd done last night, particularly as he'd used it just to get an armful of witch.
Student witch.
Whose student isn't the relevant point there.
Objectively, that's incorrect, but this is hardly an objective matter. No, it's about how the situation makes him feel, and it's difficult to get any more subjective than that.
Unfortunately, the situation doesn't make him feel good.
Worse, the fact it had felt good, that armful of witch, was exacerbating the situation. Somehow, once the thoughts start, others follow, like about what she was wearing when she emerged from her room and kept him from repairing the couch this morning...
And here he'd done such an excellent job of shifting his attention elsewhere...
It's as though solving the problem, repairing the damage had eliminated that distraction, and suddenly it's all he can think about.
That gnaws at his satisfaction with the results of his restoration job until he manages to get the self destructive impulse under control. He decides to resume ignoring all of that, vigorously, just as he'd ignored his dreams, tightly focusing his annoyance on the couch instead in the interests of what little peace of mind he still has.
It's for the best.
And if that doesn't work, he can always Occlude some more...
Patting the phials in his pocket that he means to analyse, he heads to his lab without a backwards glance.
Hermione parts ways with the Slytherins in the Entrance Hall. She needs, well, wants to go to the library, and Daphne and Tracey have work to do in the dorms. They hadn't accomplished much during lunch, after all. Draco needs to see to some things before their Quidditch practice, and Theo... Theo had quite honestly meant to go to the library in hope of avoiding witches - any and all witches - there. But the idea of going there alone with Madam Snape... It has him quickly revising his plans. No, it would be far better to return to the dorms with the safety of Draco for company and then hide in their room.
It sounds like a solid plan.
Accordingly, upon arrival in the dungeons, Theo scuttles off into the seclusion of the boys' dorms with an alacrity few would have thought him capable of.
Daphne means to have a quiet talk with him, but considering his reaction to witches in their rooms... Cornering him there is probably a very bad idea. She thinks she'd best wait him out in the common room. When he reappears, and he must, she'll snag him and take him to one of the semi-private rooms off to the side for a little chat.
As plans go, she rather likes hers, too.
She'll be kind. She's resolved to that. Theo's her friend. She'd have found it difficult to be anything but gentle with him anyhow, and she has Draco's Oath from this morning to convince her that it's only fair and proper.
And Theo really seems like he can't take any more anyway.
She sets herself up with the stack of books on bonds beside her, intending to make what progress she can before dinner, and planning to do her homework as usual afterwards with the others. She'll just camp out there and keep a close eye out for him.
Millie heads Tracey off as she enters with an atypically timid request for some of the Pain Relief she'd brewed at lunch. It's not objectively timid - this is Millie, after all - but for her standards... She keeps her voice low, something Tracey appreciates, as she isn't altogether sure yet just how they should handle letting the boys know some is once again available.
Despite Hestia's suggestion, Millie doesn't quite dare ask for more than a single dose, which Tracey is all too happy to fetch for her. No need to make the witch go into specifics with so many gathered round. Her discomfort ironically lends authenticity to the request.
While Tracey goes to get the Potion, Millie takes a chair next to Daphne, and begins idly looking at the stack of books beside her. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
Daphne shakes her head. "It had mostly been picked clean. It seems we weren't the only ones with this idea. Ella and I had to reevaluate what we'd look into." She shrugs and gives the pile a sort of sad look.
Millie kind of gets that. They'd been hoping for something practical, and this... it's like a ruddy story time or something. It's questionable how much it will add to what they know as is, or if the information the books provide can even be trusted. It's not like history is a particularly rigorous discipline. For Merlin's sake, it's even taught by a ghost.
"Good luck," she wishes her as she rises to meet Tracey, who covertly slips her a phial.
"Thanks," Daphne answers. Adding more softly, "Feel better."
Millie nearly asks her what she means before it occurs to her. Merlin's bloody bollocks, is she ever rubbish at this. Er, goodness, yes, that. She pockets the phial and thanks Tracey, says goodbye and then after a few whispered words with Hestia, heads for the library.
Hermione wanders about the the library a bit, trying to figure out just where they'd have been likely to put books on mental health given it isn't a topic as such in its own right. Asking Madam Pince is clearly out of the question. She'd probably take it the wrong way anyhow. Instead, Hermione makes liberal use of Luna's Search Charm to try to find books that contain the Baron's suggestion of 'fits'. It proves about as useful as searching for 'Prince' had been, presumably for the same reason: there aren't many relevant results to be found.
If there are any at all, that is.
Rather predictably, she comes up fairly empty except for books on tailoring robes, a topic she's heretofore - so oddly - quite thoroughly neglected. On consideration, she has to wonder there aren't any on sports in the selection, but then exercise has never been any sort of concept in the wizarding world. One could scarcely call sitting on a broom particularly athletic. There are probably some books on Healing or poisons that would have 'fit' the bill, so to speak, but they're most likely in the restricted section. She glares in that general direction often enough as she goes. She's surprisingly accurate in her orientation, as though she were always aware of its location relative to hers. Certainly in the library, it's never far from her mind.
And neither is her ban.
With ever diminishing hope of answering the questions she'd set out to, and growing more frustrated and antsier by the moment, she now feels the need of distraction. The printed equivalent of comfort food... She's literally surrounded by thousands of suitable exemplars, but finds herself drawn to the latest of the false positives, a clearly ancient book on charms for crafting clothing.
It's not that the topic interests her particularly. It doesn't really, although she can freely admit she finds something quite... pleasing about the fitted blouse she now wears, one of the ones she'd made with Madam Pomfrey's help over the weekend. It's one thing to Transfigure something, another entirely to set about tailoring. But the book has that look, that feel, that smell that has her wrapping her hands around it instead of returning it to the shelf.
It hardly seems touched of late. A quick check of the borrowing card reveals in the past couple of years, it had left the library in the company of a Hufflepuff who had graduated a year ago, an occasional Ravenclaw, and a regular smattering of Slytherins. Daphne's name leaps out at her, somehow reinforcing the feeling that the book is like a friendly face in a crowd.
Hermione can't really explain it, but she takes it with her to one of the desks.
She casts a Tempus, and then sets it to chime when she needs to leave to meet the Professor, and then makes herself comfortable as she begins to leaf through the book as she thinks, using it as something by way of a palate cleanser, to sort of clear her mind and refocus. It works almost as well as Professor Taylor's mediation techniques.
As she calms, her thoughts turn inwards.
She begins to listen to the bond again, trying to pinpoint where she thinks he is, her Professor. It's easier in the silence of the library to make more sense of the feeling than it had been in class. She'd had a number of confusing impressions throughout the day, and it had her wondering if she hadn't had it entirely wrong, that the thing just doesn't work as she thought it did. Or perhaps he'd just been moving about the castle. It was a possibility. But now she has a strong sense of where he might be found - the dungeons, she's pretty sure - and she's feeling more confident about her assessment. She's just having more issue accounting for his... agitation.
Not that it's probably any of her business.
It's not.
At all.
Which isn't to say it doesn't make a person curious. That's a difficult thing for her to wrestle with, sort of like how overhearing only half of a conversation has one automatically thinking about it more.
She's flipping through the book a bit desultorily now when a shadow falls across her page.
She looks up and is startled to see Bulstrode, stood there, just looming over her. She only hopes her gulp wasn't as visible as it had felt.
Harper's in his room looking at the now developed pictures of Vince, and Merlin are they beauties. This will bring in a neat Knut. And a pounding.
Can't be helped.
He's got a great shot of Daph's reaction to Vince, too, that he rather likes. He's considering if she'd appreciate a copy of it. Mightn't hurt to try on spec. He thinks it's not unflattering, but then she's a pretty witch, so that wasn't much of a challenge; but what it had done well was capture a sense of her wonder at the sight.
He's rather proud of that.
Hunter comes dashing in - sometimes it seems like his little brother only has the one speed - and practically leaps up onto his bed. Crankshaft instantly makes a beeline for the younger Hutchinson and in a matter of moments is on the receiving end of some perfectly lovely tummy scratches.
He purrs up a storm. Cranks is anything but quiet.
Harper shows Hunter the pictures, and he eagerly bobs his head in approval. "Wicked. Vince's going to go mental when he sees them, though."
"Yeah, I've been giving that some thought. Learnt a thing or two after the shower pictures last year, didn't I? Everyone who buys one takes an Oath not to reveal the pix to him."
"And the people they show?"
"Right, everyone who buys one takes an Oath that the existence of the pix will not be revealed to him. So they'd have to at least try to get Oaths from anyone who sees them."
"Sounds better," Hunter agrees. Both of them know there are ways around it, there always are, but intent is everything. They're actually better off leaving it sort of vague. It's a game they play, pretending they're in this together. Both of them know it's Harper who's going to take the knocks for this.
"And I've been working on a little something." He moves closer to Hunter, performs a charm silently and wandlessly, no one would ever know, and then commands, "Hit me."
"Why would I want to do that?"
Harper flicks up a Privacy Charm, just in case. The older House members teach the younger students the Charm when they reach the age of majority. It's a ritual of passage, and he's proud to have added it so quickly to his repertoire. Hunter just grins at him, recognising that fact. He knows his brother too well.
"I've been practising a weak Protego. Ideally, it will absorb some of the impact without you noticing."
"Wicked!" Hunter is quick to praise. And then he laughs, "But if it goes wrong, if it's too strong, what? I break my hand?"
"If you're able to hit me hard enough to break your hand, I'll buy you a broom." Naturally they can't afford that sort of thing, so Hunter takes it as it's meant.
Draco's father had made sure the team was well kitted out, well, before... Right. Before all that. But Harper still has one of those brooms the Malfoys had bought. Their deal is he'll give it to Hunter just as soon as Harper's earning enough to be able to buy his own. Hunter worries sometimes that it means Harper won't pursue an apprenticeship in favour of trying to get paid work somewhere instead. He hasn't quite figured out how to make it clear to his brother that it wouldn't be worth it. Harper's a little too proud to really hear the facts sometimes. But if they've gotten by with two children at home for this long, surely it should be manageable with only the one?
Of course, Hunter for his part doesn't quite realise all the things Harper keeps running in their lives.
Selling the pictures of Vince is just one of many schemes Harper has going.
Hunter finally complies and gives Harper a slap. Cranks 'mrawrs' his disapproval and relocates to the end of the bed to better watch this, his dissatisfaction with his boys abundantly clear. "That doesn't count," Harper objects. "What do you even call that?" For a moment Hunter thinks they're just kidding around until Harper grows serious. "I need you to try, Hunter. If it's too strong, he'll know, and... And if it's too weak..." He's right, of course. It wouldn't end well either way. It's very like Harper that he doesn't paint the full picture for his brother. "There's no one else I can ask to test it."
Hunter sobers and rises from the bed. "Right, let's do this." He squares his slight build and then hauls off and gives Harper his absolutely very best shot, only to begin hopping after, "Ow! Ow ow ow ow!"
"Are you okay, Hunter?" Harper immediately checks his hand, and Hunter's palm is reddening.
"No," he whines. "Yeah," he corrects. "Sort of? He amends, and Harper tries to stifle a grin. Still, it takes Hunter a moment to be able to continue. "I think that worked about right, though. If I'd hit you like that without the Charm, it probably should have hurt." He sits there on the bed once more, nursing his hand now clasped tightly under his other arm and rocking back and forth slightly. Cranks gives both boys another disapproving look. "Relax, Cranks, we don't mean anything by it." He gives the half-Kneazle's head a scratch with his good hand before returning to the topic, "You know, I'd bet you anything Vince would take it as a sign of his strength if it hurts. But you have to remember to act hurt, or it's not going to do you any good."
Harper rubs his hand across Hunter's head affectionately, unintentionally mimicking Hunter's gesture towards the feline for the same underlying reasons. "Believe me, I'm a lot less likely to stop to ask if Vince happened to injure himself while trying to beat me up. Plus, don't kid yourself, boyyo, that was a pretty solid slap. I felt that." He smiles at his brother and they both know what's gone unsaid. His concern for Hunter had simply outweighed the pain. He rubs his arm now. That's definitely an advantage to his dark complexion, the bruises won't show - or be expected to show - as clearly as they would on Theo, say.
Theo may just have come to mind because there have been a number of unexplained bruises to see there over the years. Harper suspects they all have their brooms to bear.
"Maybe Ella would be willing to help you with a Charm to make things look worse tomorrow?" Hunter sounds nervous, because they try hard to pretend this isn't a wretched idea on so many levels, and this is getting too close to... Well, reality really.
"I'll give it a think, I need to ask her for an assist anyway. Thanks for helping me test it, though. It makes a difference." He sits down on the bed next to his brother, and Hunter budges up close to him. Harper tucks him in closer for a one-armed hug. Cranks isn't far behind. "Forgiven us then for the bit of foolishness, Cranks?" He asks as he scratches his pet's ears.
Cranks 'mrawrs' again in reply.
The Hutchinsons both take that as a 'yes'.
Tracey claims the chair Millie had vacated next to Daphne, setting her books next to the decidedly more intimidating stack Daph has piled on the table between them. She figures she'll start on the reading, working a little ahead before their study session after dinner. She likes the way that allows her to get a jump on Draco and Blaise in the time leading up to Quidditch matches.
With a start, it occurs to her that the reason they meet later in the evening is because so many of the seventh years play Quidditch and have practice before dinner. The thing is, four of the five of those are the boys they've just decided to ostracise.
She's not at all certain what this is supposed to mean for their homework and revising sessions.
It's all well and good to want to declare them persona non grata, to want to avenge their Head, but that's half her class, gone in one fell swoop. She shouldn't like to begin to imagine how this might impact her chances for an apprenticeship next year...
Severus is about to start his work on the three unidentified potions in his pocket when he spots the portrait he'd effectively glued above his workbench. At an angle. He has to hand it to himself, if anything he holds a grudge more thoroughly when drunk. He soon has it down off the wall and studies the terror stricken expressions of the centaurs for a moment before Summoning the Spirit of Turpentine and brush and repeating yesterday's exercise.
It's highly cathartic.
He watches the paint melt and run where the thinner landed on the portrait.
It's so pleasing to watch, in fact, that he opts to leave the painting propped up next to his work space as he sets about analysing the first of the potions. He leaves it there long after the paint seems to have completely stopped running. Only when the centaurs appear to have exhausted their abilities to panic - for the present - and Severus has absorbed what he can of their misery does he once again stick the portrait to the wall. On consideration, exactly as he had yesterday. Why not, after all?
And then he has a flash of inspiration and rotates it one hundred and eighty degrees for good measure.
Perhaps he can find a painting that wouldn't mind telling him if the orientation matters to the subjects.
If not, he can always run some experiments.