Severus, Redux: Chapter Seven
Chapter Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to immyownsuperman, for choosing young Severus' new name for his public debut. It will be making its first appearance next chapter. Thank you!!
(In which Severus muses about women and flowers, and comes to some conclusions)
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 18 June 1996, 02:01 AM
The journal of Daniela Delgado and her exploratory hunt through South America in the name of both research and what she called "Self Actualisation" was one of the most interesting and compelling reads Severus had gotten in a long while. Originally from New Mexico, she had started in Maracaibo, Venezuela, and had apparently spent nearly seven years hiking across South America, often staying in remote villages for months at a time, studying the local flora and fauna.
Sangre de Drago, it turned out, was not actually dragon blood-which was already known for its potent magical uses-but tree sap, of all things. It had been named "Dragon Blood" simply because of the way the dark red sap had looked dripping against the paler Croton tree. It had been used by Muggles for medicinal purposes for centuries.
Potions Mistress Daniela had studied it extensively, and found that as a component it had enormous possibilities in the potioning world, as well. The forward mentioned that on returning home she was continuing her research and experimentation with the resin, making it her focus now that she had attained her Potions Grand Mastery.
Since starting the journal, it was now one of Severus' burning desires to go to the two towns in Argentina and Colombia that Daniela had lived in for nearly three years and study it himself. Or possibly even try to recreate her entire journey. Rain and mud aside, it sounded spectacular!
The Sprekelia, on the other hand, seemed to be more of a metaphor for Daniela herself, rather than merely a component. It apparently wasn't even really a South American flower, but a Mexican one, as was the Potion Mistress' ancestry.
The poignant personal journey she had made simultaneously as her research trip was stirring enough that Severus felt a pang of envy. She was so…sure of herself; so aware of both her triumphs and failings, and completely comfortable with both. He consoled himself with the idea that he was perfectly fine with himself the way he was, and not really in need of any "Self Actualisation," but the thought rang hollow. He knew he wasn't nearly as...peaceful as Daniela seemed to be.
He glanced at the exotic looking flower on the cover of the book that had been nicknamed "the Aztec Lily," and his heart twisted a little.
Lily. She had not been exotic, or particularly vivacious, but she had never been anything less than the most stunning, dynamic sort of beauty to him. Somehow, she had been both heavenly and reachable. The loveliest girl in the entire world had chosen to be his friend, until he had irretrievably screwed it up. His gaze drifted from the brilliantly red, spiky flower on the book to the pale orange one he had carefully set in a blue plastic cup of water by the bed. It was an incongruous container, but it was the only one his suite contained.
The flower suited the girl who was no doubt behind the offering just as well as the Aztec Lily seemed to suit Potions Mistress Daniela Delgado. Hermione, like her flower, was not exotic. Just a pale normal sort of English rose that wasn't conventional or even really pretty. Almost, sometimes, when she smiled, but not quite. Her hair was just a bit too wild, her build a bit too thin, her coloring just a bit too plain, her clothing a bit too drab. She was, like him, just a bit too everything, it seemed.
And yet...she had tried to be friendly. He was still suspicious as to her motivations behind her interest, but even a false friend had at least alleviated the monotony for that brief half-hour. She was funny, in an odd sort of way, and she spoke French. It was common enough in England as far as second languages went; it wasn't as if she had suddenly spouted Farsi or Cantonese, but still. It was a connection, and it had felt good. She was clever, too, and seemingly not disgusted by or afraid of him in the least, despite being clearly intimidated by his menacing counterpart.
Thoughtfully, and not entirely realising he was doing it until it was done, he reached out a finger and stroked the edge of the oddly-coloured rose that was only barely coming into full bloom. Why had she given it to him? Was it her own personal comparison, like Daniela in the book? Or was it a calculated, manipulative move to make him think that she liked him, as in...well...liked? If that were the case, he didn't believe it for a moment. They had only met twice, after all, and he knew exactly how offensive his appearance was. Girls just didn't like blokes like him, particularly not on sight.
Perhaps it was a joke; revenge of some sort for their fight. Maybe it was her way of laughing at him. Or maybe she hoped to gain his trust, then publicly repudiate him at an inopportune time. Maybe she had told the Headmaster she couldn't stand him, and he was forcing her to be nice anyway.
Or perhaps...perhaps she, like him, just felt strangely connected by their individual...oddities. Right. He snorted softly to himself. Like that was likely. The list of possibilities was longer than he was comfortable with. He preferred to know someone's motivations, especially towards him. What did he really know about Hermione Granger? Putting Sprekelia and Sangre de Drago aside on the small night table next to him, Severus leaned back on the bed and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling, hands clasped behind his head.
She was a Gryffindor. That was hardly a good sign. Like his elder self had cautioned, nothing remotely good had come out of that house, ever, as far as one Severus Snape was concerned. Apparently, in the intervening years between sixteen and thirty-six, most of which were spent at the castle, the blanket rule still held as true. If his elder self was telling the truth, she also ran about in a pack, as previous Gryffindors before her had, including a Potter.
A low grunt actually emerged at that thought. More indication that she was not someone he should be in any sort of friendly relations with. She was a Muggle-born. His brow furrowed at the thought. That was supposed to be one of the absolutes. No magical blood, no redeeming. Except, Lily was a Muggle-born. Had been. Lily had been a Muggle-born.
She had been everything. His heart clenched again, and he actually felt his lungs compress as he momentarily lost breath on a soft groan. His eyes pricked, and he rubbed at them savagely with his sleeve cuff. Fuck, but he hated crying. It was how he got that awful nickname in the first place. The only one who'd bothered to see past it at the time had been Lily.
Oh, Lily!
Perhaps being a Muggle-born could be permissible.
He sat up again, hoping to spend at least one fucking day not thinking about it and dying inside. He hopped off the bed, beginning to pace the floor like the caged animal he was. Hermione Granger. Right. That's what he was supposed to be deciding.
She was either lying about her age, or she-like he-was no stranger to meddling with time. He rather thought it was the latter. The Trace hadn't alerted. She was intelligent, sarcastic, and surprisingly vulnerable looking when he had flung his angry words at her. He had never really seen a Gryffindor look vulnerable, before. Hers, however, had been palpable. Until she had suddenly decided to get angry instead. He stopped for a moment, remembering, a faint smile touching his lips. She might have been very plain looking, but her anger had been glorious. It had been like watching a sparrow suddenly imitate a Welsh Green and spit fire.
Her spine had stiffened and something savage had lit in her eyes. For a moment he had been certain she was going to throw a rather spectacular hex at him. His hand had tightened on his wand in anticipation of shielding himself from it, and he found himself enjoying the anticipation of a magical clash with her. These were grounds he was familiar with, and she was a far more interesting opponent than James-Bloody-Wanking-Potter-the-Arse.
She had surprised him, however. She had departed instead with her own cutting, haunting words. It's a shame you don't think it's possible for someone else to enjoy that-and you-for what you are. Could she really be telling the truth? She found him interesting? Perhaps. His situation was interesting, certainly. Of course she found him intelligent. Nearly everyone who spoke to him found that to be true. Most found it overly true. He was a bit too intense, it seemed.
Another connection they had. She had called herself a swot after all, had admitted that she thought she "tried too hard" for his elder version's tastes. Perhaps he had been a bit hasty in running her off. He glanced ruefully at the nightstand that now held both rose and book. It was not like it had worked, anyway. He would be damned if he was going to go hunt her down though. It wasn't like she actually meant anything to him, and even if she had...well. He'd gone through that humiliation already once in his life, and the once had been plenty enough.
His door opened without warning, and Severus spun, wand snapping into his palm quickly, with the same manoeuvre that had startled others in the past. The Headmaster did not appear to think that there was anything out of the ordinary about his hair-trigger reflex at all.
Resentfully, Severus thought it was rather lucky for both of them that when Albus Dumbledore had decided to dispense with the formality of knocking that Severus hadn't been wanking off out of sheer boredom. It wouldn't have been the first time. For all the Headmaster knew, the only other pastime Severus had been furnished with were those awful books the room had come with.
Severus settled his face into the sneering, haughty countenance he had recently stolen from his older self. The look was alarming enough that even Severus had felt intimidated by it when the Professor had levelled it at him. Wherever the older man had originally picked it up, it was certainly a look worth cultivating. Severus hadn't really expected him to, but it felt a pity all the same.
"Severus." The old man glittered down at him. Really, there was no other word for it. His obscene purple robes glittered, his eyes glittered, the little beads that had been braided obnoxiously into his beard glittered. Even his belt pouch and shoes glittered. Did he know the impression he was giving?
"I trust you have been made comfortable? I understand there is little to do here; if you had stayed at Grimmauld Place there would have been more room to move about, and of course, the library at your disposal. Not to mention, your help would have been very useful there, yesterday." He paused for effect, allowing his gentle admonition to sink in.
Ah. So this was a next-time-listen-to-me-I'm-wiser-than-thou sort of visit. Severus lifted an eyebrow, a trick he had been practicing for the last year or so, and answered in the mildest voice that he could manage, "I am more than willing to trade lack of stimulation for the sake of lack of Sirius."
"I see." The old man did not seem pleased with that response. He hesitated, the pause so slight, Severus was sure he was not supposed to recognise the innate uncertainty behind it. "I would advise you to be less vocal about your hatred in current days, Severus. Sirius Black was killed last night, and his death is felt keenly by many in the resistance you have now joined." He said quietly, then added, "There was something of an incident yesterday afternoon."
Severus felt his mind blank in shock. Dead? Sirius Black was dead. A part of him was glad. The Arse deserved every shred of ill-will Severus possessed. He hadn't wished him dead, though. Well, not really. He had wished it, but now that it had happened...
Bugger. He honestly didn't know what he felt. Not as gleeful as he thought he would feel, which surprised him. He had hardly expected to dance on the bastard's grave-far too undignified-but he had certainly not thought to be quite so subdued about it. He had thought he would at the least feel smug and vindicated.
If he were honest, his most prominent emotion seemed to be shock, followed by relief. Logically, of course, he knew that in the time he had inadvertently sent himself to, there were no Marauders to torture him at school on a daily, "catch-as-catch-can" basis. With the information that both Potter and Black were officially dead, however, something undeniably tight in his chest loosened all the same.
"An incident." He responded as neutrally as he could, and was pleased to find that he sounded mostly dispassionate. Severus crossed his arms and stared back steadily at the old man. It was the closest he would allow himself to an admission of ignorance or plea for information. The Headmaster seemed to recognise both the stance and the meaning behind it, and inclined his head obligingly to the right.
"Several students were under the impression that Mr. Black was being held captive by Lord Voldemort, and took it upon themselves to liberate him."
Severus felt his mouth tighten. Bloody Gryffindors, no doubt. Potter, most likely, which meant probably the girl, too, their "Black" and the other kid the Professor had mentioned, Longbottom. Probably the progeny of-or at least related to-the Longbottom he went to school with, which was a weird thought. Severus waited patiently for the old man to meander to the point. Oddly enough for the Headmaster, he didn't have to wait long.
"The result...well, the Ministry is inclined to listen now, when we say that Lord Voldemort is in fact a very real threat, which is a step further than where we have been the majority of this year, but we did not come out unscathed. As I said, Mr. Black is no longer with us, and a few students are currently in the infirmary. You perhaps remember the young lady introduced to you the evening of your arrival, Miss Granger?"
Severus felt his chest tighten. The girl was in the hospital? He didn't trust her necessarily, but he hadn't wanted her hurt. Severus answered the Headmaster carefully, not willing to admit to an overt emotion of any kind. "I have seen her since then, briefly, yes."
The Headmaster smiled faintly. "I'm glad you two are getting along, Severus. You're very much alike."
Severus shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, we...I wouldn't say getting along...She brought me books." he finally finished lamely.
"Ah, yes. Well, come along then, my boy."
The Headmaster smiled benignly, not acknowledging Severus' surprised blink, gesturing with airy wave toward the door.
Severus balked. "I'm not supposed to go out."
"I should think my authority would be enough to allow an excursion, don't you?"
Maybe. He couldn't help but think of his forbidding elder self, descending on Hermione and him like a dark angel of student death. One couldn't say such things to the Headmaster however, no matter how insane he apparently was, so Severus just nodded warily.
As usual, Dumbledore seemed to know what he was thinking anyway. "It is several hours past curfew, Severus. There shouldn't be anyone about to see you."
Well, shite. He hadn't realised he had stayed up so late reading. In his windowless rooms, time had become nebulous to him at best. His eyes narrowed sat the old man suddenly, recalling the way he had simply walked in on him. What if he had been asleep? That had been just bloody inconsiderate. Unable to stop himself, he asked the question aloud, only to be met with a serene look in return.
"But you weren't. Now, put some shoes on."
"Where are we going?" Severus frowned in resigned loathing at the awful pinching shoes that never seemed to get better no matter how he tried to transfigure them. Fucking things were torture devices.
"The hospital wing, of course. Madam Pomfrey should be just about finished with her charges."
"The hospital wing, of course."
A/N: Wow, I got some amazing responses last chapter! Thank you for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it, so much.
Thank you also to everyone who played the Severus Name Game, there were several names for my team and I to vote on, ranging from sublime to hysterically funny. It was a lot of fun for me, so thank you for the indulgence. :-) I really thought this chapter would include the scene where it's used the first time, and found that it wound up just short of it.
I will have the complete list of entries posted for those of you who want to see it. As always, happy reading, all!
Previous Chapter Table of Contents Next Chapter
(In which Severus muses about women and flowers, and comes to some conclusions)
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 18 June 1996, 02:01 AM
The journal of Daniela Delgado and her exploratory hunt through South America in the name of both research and what she called "Self Actualisation" was one of the most interesting and compelling reads Severus had gotten in a long while. Originally from New Mexico, she had started in Maracaibo, Venezuela, and had apparently spent nearly seven years hiking across South America, often staying in remote villages for months at a time, studying the local flora and fauna.
Sangre de Drago, it turned out, was not actually dragon blood-which was already known for its potent magical uses-but tree sap, of all things. It had been named "Dragon Blood" simply because of the way the dark red sap had looked dripping against the paler Croton tree. It had been used by Muggles for medicinal purposes for centuries.
Potions Mistress Daniela had studied it extensively, and found that as a component it had enormous possibilities in the potioning world, as well. The forward mentioned that on returning home she was continuing her research and experimentation with the resin, making it her focus now that she had attained her Potions Grand Mastery.
Since starting the journal, it was now one of Severus' burning desires to go to the two towns in Argentina and Colombia that Daniela had lived in for nearly three years and study it himself. Or possibly even try to recreate her entire journey. Rain and mud aside, it sounded spectacular!
The Sprekelia, on the other hand, seemed to be more of a metaphor for Daniela herself, rather than merely a component. It apparently wasn't even really a South American flower, but a Mexican one, as was the Potion Mistress' ancestry.
The poignant personal journey she had made simultaneously as her research trip was stirring enough that Severus felt a pang of envy. She was so…sure of herself; so aware of both her triumphs and failings, and completely comfortable with both. He consoled himself with the idea that he was perfectly fine with himself the way he was, and not really in need of any "Self Actualisation," but the thought rang hollow. He knew he wasn't nearly as...peaceful as Daniela seemed to be.
He glanced at the exotic looking flower on the cover of the book that had been nicknamed "the Aztec Lily," and his heart twisted a little.
Lily. She had not been exotic, or particularly vivacious, but she had never been anything less than the most stunning, dynamic sort of beauty to him. Somehow, she had been both heavenly and reachable. The loveliest girl in the entire world had chosen to be his friend, until he had irretrievably screwed it up. His gaze drifted from the brilliantly red, spiky flower on the book to the pale orange one he had carefully set in a blue plastic cup of water by the bed. It was an incongruous container, but it was the only one his suite contained.
The flower suited the girl who was no doubt behind the offering just as well as the Aztec Lily seemed to suit Potions Mistress Daniela Delgado. Hermione, like her flower, was not exotic. Just a pale normal sort of English rose that wasn't conventional or even really pretty. Almost, sometimes, when she smiled, but not quite. Her hair was just a bit too wild, her build a bit too thin, her coloring just a bit too plain, her clothing a bit too drab. She was, like him, just a bit too everything, it seemed.
And yet...she had tried to be friendly. He was still suspicious as to her motivations behind her interest, but even a false friend had at least alleviated the monotony for that brief half-hour. She was funny, in an odd sort of way, and she spoke French. It was common enough in England as far as second languages went; it wasn't as if she had suddenly spouted Farsi or Cantonese, but still. It was a connection, and it had felt good. She was clever, too, and seemingly not disgusted by or afraid of him in the least, despite being clearly intimidated by his menacing counterpart.
Thoughtfully, and not entirely realising he was doing it until it was done, he reached out a finger and stroked the edge of the oddly-coloured rose that was only barely coming into full bloom. Why had she given it to him? Was it her own personal comparison, like Daniela in the book? Or was it a calculated, manipulative move to make him think that she liked him, as in...well...liked? If that were the case, he didn't believe it for a moment. They had only met twice, after all, and he knew exactly how offensive his appearance was. Girls just didn't like blokes like him, particularly not on sight.
Perhaps it was a joke; revenge of some sort for their fight. Maybe it was her way of laughing at him. Or maybe she hoped to gain his trust, then publicly repudiate him at an inopportune time. Maybe she had told the Headmaster she couldn't stand him, and he was forcing her to be nice anyway.
Or perhaps...perhaps she, like him, just felt strangely connected by their individual...oddities. Right. He snorted softly to himself. Like that was likely. The list of possibilities was longer than he was comfortable with. He preferred to know someone's motivations, especially towards him. What did he really know about Hermione Granger? Putting Sprekelia and Sangre de Drago aside on the small night table next to him, Severus leaned back on the bed and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling, hands clasped behind his head.
She was a Gryffindor. That was hardly a good sign. Like his elder self had cautioned, nothing remotely good had come out of that house, ever, as far as one Severus Snape was concerned. Apparently, in the intervening years between sixteen and thirty-six, most of which were spent at the castle, the blanket rule still held as true. If his elder self was telling the truth, she also ran about in a pack, as previous Gryffindors before her had, including a Potter.
A low grunt actually emerged at that thought. More indication that she was not someone he should be in any sort of friendly relations with. She was a Muggle-born. His brow furrowed at the thought. That was supposed to be one of the absolutes. No magical blood, no redeeming. Except, Lily was a Muggle-born. Had been. Lily had been a Muggle-born.
She had been everything. His heart clenched again, and he actually felt his lungs compress as he momentarily lost breath on a soft groan. His eyes pricked, and he rubbed at them savagely with his sleeve cuff. Fuck, but he hated crying. It was how he got that awful nickname in the first place. The only one who'd bothered to see past it at the time had been Lily.
Oh, Lily!
Perhaps being a Muggle-born could be permissible.
He sat up again, hoping to spend at least one fucking day not thinking about it and dying inside. He hopped off the bed, beginning to pace the floor like the caged animal he was. Hermione Granger. Right. That's what he was supposed to be deciding.
She was either lying about her age, or she-like he-was no stranger to meddling with time. He rather thought it was the latter. The Trace hadn't alerted. She was intelligent, sarcastic, and surprisingly vulnerable looking when he had flung his angry words at her. He had never really seen a Gryffindor look vulnerable, before. Hers, however, had been palpable. Until she had suddenly decided to get angry instead. He stopped for a moment, remembering, a faint smile touching his lips. She might have been very plain looking, but her anger had been glorious. It had been like watching a sparrow suddenly imitate a Welsh Green and spit fire.
Her spine had stiffened and something savage had lit in her eyes. For a moment he had been certain she was going to throw a rather spectacular hex at him. His hand had tightened on his wand in anticipation of shielding himself from it, and he found himself enjoying the anticipation of a magical clash with her. These were grounds he was familiar with, and she was a far more interesting opponent than James-Bloody-Wanking-Potter-the-Arse.
She had surprised him, however. She had departed instead with her own cutting, haunting words. It's a shame you don't think it's possible for someone else to enjoy that-and you-for what you are. Could she really be telling the truth? She found him interesting? Perhaps. His situation was interesting, certainly. Of course she found him intelligent. Nearly everyone who spoke to him found that to be true. Most found it overly true. He was a bit too intense, it seemed.
Another connection they had. She had called herself a swot after all, had admitted that she thought she "tried too hard" for his elder version's tastes. Perhaps he had been a bit hasty in running her off. He glanced ruefully at the nightstand that now held both rose and book. It was not like it had worked, anyway. He would be damned if he was going to go hunt her down though. It wasn't like she actually meant anything to him, and even if she had...well. He'd gone through that humiliation already once in his life, and the once had been plenty enough.
His door opened without warning, and Severus spun, wand snapping into his palm quickly, with the same manoeuvre that had startled others in the past. The Headmaster did not appear to think that there was anything out of the ordinary about his hair-trigger reflex at all.
Resentfully, Severus thought it was rather lucky for both of them that when Albus Dumbledore had decided to dispense with the formality of knocking that Severus hadn't been wanking off out of sheer boredom. It wouldn't have been the first time. For all the Headmaster knew, the only other pastime Severus had been furnished with were those awful books the room had come with.
Severus settled his face into the sneering, haughty countenance he had recently stolen from his older self. The look was alarming enough that even Severus had felt intimidated by it when the Professor had levelled it at him. Wherever the older man had originally picked it up, it was certainly a look worth cultivating. Severus hadn't really expected him to, but it felt a pity all the same.
"Severus." The old man glittered down at him. Really, there was no other word for it. His obscene purple robes glittered, his eyes glittered, the little beads that had been braided obnoxiously into his beard glittered. Even his belt pouch and shoes glittered. Did he know the impression he was giving?
"I trust you have been made comfortable? I understand there is little to do here; if you had stayed at Grimmauld Place there would have been more room to move about, and of course, the library at your disposal. Not to mention, your help would have been very useful there, yesterday." He paused for effect, allowing his gentle admonition to sink in.
Ah. So this was a next-time-listen-to-me-I'm-wiser-than-thou sort of visit. Severus lifted an eyebrow, a trick he had been practicing for the last year or so, and answered in the mildest voice that he could manage, "I am more than willing to trade lack of stimulation for the sake of lack of Sirius."
"I see." The old man did not seem pleased with that response. He hesitated, the pause so slight, Severus was sure he was not supposed to recognise the innate uncertainty behind it. "I would advise you to be less vocal about your hatred in current days, Severus. Sirius Black was killed last night, and his death is felt keenly by many in the resistance you have now joined." He said quietly, then added, "There was something of an incident yesterday afternoon."
Severus felt his mind blank in shock. Dead? Sirius Black was dead. A part of him was glad. The Arse deserved every shred of ill-will Severus possessed. He hadn't wished him dead, though. Well, not really. He had wished it, but now that it had happened...
Bugger. He honestly didn't know what he felt. Not as gleeful as he thought he would feel, which surprised him. He had hardly expected to dance on the bastard's grave-far too undignified-but he had certainly not thought to be quite so subdued about it. He had thought he would at the least feel smug and vindicated.
If he were honest, his most prominent emotion seemed to be shock, followed by relief. Logically, of course, he knew that in the time he had inadvertently sent himself to, there were no Marauders to torture him at school on a daily, "catch-as-catch-can" basis. With the information that both Potter and Black were officially dead, however, something undeniably tight in his chest loosened all the same.
"An incident." He responded as neutrally as he could, and was pleased to find that he sounded mostly dispassionate. Severus crossed his arms and stared back steadily at the old man. It was the closest he would allow himself to an admission of ignorance or plea for information. The Headmaster seemed to recognise both the stance and the meaning behind it, and inclined his head obligingly to the right.
"Several students were under the impression that Mr. Black was being held captive by Lord Voldemort, and took it upon themselves to liberate him."
Severus felt his mouth tighten. Bloody Gryffindors, no doubt. Potter, most likely, which meant probably the girl, too, their "Black" and the other kid the Professor had mentioned, Longbottom. Probably the progeny of-or at least related to-the Longbottom he went to school with, which was a weird thought. Severus waited patiently for the old man to meander to the point. Oddly enough for the Headmaster, he didn't have to wait long.
"The result...well, the Ministry is inclined to listen now, when we say that Lord Voldemort is in fact a very real threat, which is a step further than where we have been the majority of this year, but we did not come out unscathed. As I said, Mr. Black is no longer with us, and a few students are currently in the infirmary. You perhaps remember the young lady introduced to you the evening of your arrival, Miss Granger?"
Severus felt his chest tighten. The girl was in the hospital? He didn't trust her necessarily, but he hadn't wanted her hurt. Severus answered the Headmaster carefully, not willing to admit to an overt emotion of any kind. "I have seen her since then, briefly, yes."
The Headmaster smiled faintly. "I'm glad you two are getting along, Severus. You're very much alike."
Severus shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, we...I wouldn't say getting along...She brought me books." he finally finished lamely.
"Ah, yes. Well, come along then, my boy."
The Headmaster smiled benignly, not acknowledging Severus' surprised blink, gesturing with airy wave toward the door.
Severus balked. "I'm not supposed to go out."
"I should think my authority would be enough to allow an excursion, don't you?"
Maybe. He couldn't help but think of his forbidding elder self, descending on Hermione and him like a dark angel of student death. One couldn't say such things to the Headmaster however, no matter how insane he apparently was, so Severus just nodded warily.
As usual, Dumbledore seemed to know what he was thinking anyway. "It is several hours past curfew, Severus. There shouldn't be anyone about to see you."
Well, shite. He hadn't realised he had stayed up so late reading. In his windowless rooms, time had become nebulous to him at best. His eyes narrowed sat the old man suddenly, recalling the way he had simply walked in on him. What if he had been asleep? That had been just bloody inconsiderate. Unable to stop himself, he asked the question aloud, only to be met with a serene look in return.
"But you weren't. Now, put some shoes on."
"Where are we going?" Severus frowned in resigned loathing at the awful pinching shoes that never seemed to get better no matter how he tried to transfigure them. Fucking things were torture devices.
"The hospital wing, of course. Madam Pomfrey should be just about finished with her charges."
"The hospital wing, of course."
A/N: Wow, I got some amazing responses last chapter! Thank you for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it, so much.
Thank you also to everyone who played the Severus Name Game, there were several names for my team and I to vote on, ranging from sublime to hysterically funny. It was a lot of fun for me, so thank you for the indulgence. :-) I really thought this chapter would include the scene where it's used the first time, and found that it wound up just short of it.
I will have the complete list of entries posted for those of you who want to see it. As always, happy reading, all!
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