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HARRY POTTER FANFICTION > Hogwarts Castle
Characters: Alastor (Mad-Eye) Moody, Filius Flitwick, Professor Vector, Severus Snape Genre(s): Alternate Universe, Drama, Humor, Psychological, Romance Warnings: None  (Read 6 Reviews)| Print Chapter  | Print Entire Story |
 Chapter Twenty-Three: Collegiality Sunday, 1 November 1998 Filius waved cheerfully as Severus left his office. Flitwick’s plan for a series of duelling demonstrations was quite ambitious, but Severus thought they would be popular amongst the students, especially if Flitwick were successful in recruiting the volunteers from outside the Hogwarts staff whom he planned to invite. His list included the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt—although privately, Severus thought it unlikely the Minister would agree to participate, he thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask him—Bill Weasley, Potter, and Nymphadora Tonks Lupin, and various other former members of the Order of the Phoenix, a few Aurors, Blaise Zabini, and a few people whose names Severus recognised but whom he did not know. Severus himself had agreed to participate in one of the duelling nights, and he could tell that Filius was excited about that. He had sent him off with two books, one a slim, early nineteenth-century volume of duelling rules and protocols, called The Gentleman at the End of Your Wand, which struck Severus as being more than mildly suggestive of something other than duelling, but that could just be his own twisted mind at work. Flitwick reminded him that a few of the rules in the book had been superseded, and in any case, they didn’t want to traumatize the students with any dramatic injuries to the participants. It was to bring some fun and excitement back to duelling, rather than the dread seriousness it had been during the war. The second book Filius loaned him was slightly thicker and contained descriptions of several famous duels from the eighteenth, nineteenth, and early twentieth centuries. Flitwick had blushed and told him that he was in that book, himself, for a duel he’d participated in as a young wizard in nineteen-oh-eight. Severus had asked whether Dumbledore were in the book anywhere, and Flitwick had clarified that as Albus hadn’t participated in many formal sporting duels, only in actual combat, he didn’t appear in the book. “You should have been here for his duel with Malcolm McGonagall back in fifty-seven, though. That was something. Modified the rules a bit, relaxed them in some regards and did away with any timing, made it less formal. It was still one of the best displays I’ve ever witnessed—from both wizards. Malcolm was very talented and imaginative. I have a record of it somewhere here,” he said, looking around himself at the clutter in his office. “I was the referee, so to speak, but I merely recorded it and declared the winner. It might be fun for you to view a recollection of it in Dumbledore’s Pensieve sometime.” Filius chuckled. “If you do borrow the memory from someone, be sure you get to see the dragon, too.” “There was a dragon in the duel?” Severus asked, confused. “No, no. Malcolm completed a number of challenges prior to the duel. One of them was riding a dragon. I’ve only seen that three times in my life, and I have to say, I enjoyed watching him riding Isolde—the dragon—almost as much as I did the duel.” Filius chuckled again, shaking his head. “A remarkable fellow.” “Hmph.” Perhaps the tale of McGonagall’s father charming the Nifflers from Venice wasn’t quite as far-fetched as he’d believed. He still thought the younger wizard’s admiration for his father bordered on unrealistic hero-worship, but then, he had been assassinated, targeted specifically by the Dark Lord, when Gareth was quite young. Perhaps it was natural. Severus wouldn’t know. In any case, Minerva’s brother’s exploits did provide for some entertaining tales. Severus headed toward the dungeons, feeling relaxed after a productive morning, a satisfying lunch with his friends, and a good meeting with Flitwick, and he was just coming down the stairs from the first floor as one of the great oak doors opened below him, letting in a gust of chilly November air. He stiffened and his next step faltered briefly as he saw the wizard who came through the door. The expression on his face turned sour. No way to avoid the man, either, not without turning around and fleeing. And Severus Snape, although he understood the value of a discreet withdrawal or a strategic retreat, he did not flee from a wizard in his own home—for that was what Hogwarts was. His home and his domain. He was Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts. He did not flee. He continued down the stairs as the other wizard closed the great door behind himself. “Professor Snape.” “Moody.” Severus returned the other wizard’s nod, but didn’t pause, simply turning down the corridor that led to the dungeon stairway. He heard the man’s uneven tread proceeding up the stairs, and he let out a long breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He hadn’t seen Moody since the Merlin awards dinner, and then only from a good distance, and he hadn’t spoken to the mad old wizard since that last meeting at Grimmauld Place when the man had given him a pathetic apology for having cursed him in the back. Cursed him with a highly painful, hard-to-heal, and potentially fatal spell. He had felt well until he saw the former Auror. Severus shook off the memory, trying to think instead of the present. He would check on his potion again, then go to his office and read a few student essays before dinner. Then that evening, he could read the books that Flitwick had loaned him. Flitwick was a decent wizard, and his series of duelling evenings would be an interesting display of skill. Flitwick would do a brief demonstration duel with one of the witches or wizards who was to participate in the main duel that evening, and then the other two would duel each other with him as the referee and judge; he would also be in charge of maintaining audience safety, protecting them from any stray spells. On any occasion that Flitwick actually participated in a full duel, they thought that either Dumbledore or the Transfiguraton teacher, Olivia Ouellette, could do the judging and security. According to Flitwick, Ouellette had been quite a talented duellist when she was young, though she hadn’t participated in a sporting duel in twenty years. Flitwick had already spoken to the Slytherin witch about it, and she seemed willing to help, though she didn’t want to be involved on a regular basis. Flitwick promised to consult him again before he firmed up any plans, and before he scheduled him for any duels. He had suggested, however, that he might want to duel the Headmistress. “It would be quite a drawing card, Severus, you and she duelling,” the little Charms master had said excitedly. “It could be a great opener! We might even attract visitors from the Ministry.” Severus hadn’t liked that idea particularly. He couldn’t imagine casting a hex at Minerva, and he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of her casting one at him, either. He suggested instead that Filius recruit Albus for the first one, and perhaps Potter, if the boy would agree. Severus didn’t want to see Potter at the school again, but it would be a drawing card, if that’s what Flitwick was looking for. The two wizards who helped to defeat the Dark Lord—Riddle, he reminded himself—the two of them duelling, that would certainly bring them out of the woodwork, no doubt about it. He would have to speak to Minerva about security precautions if they did begin to have outsiders attending the duelling demonstrations. After checking on his potion, a challenging long-brewing one that he was trying for the first time, Severus went back to his office and took out his new dark iridescent quill and began reading the sixth-year essays on Scintillating Solution, comparing the modern method of brewing it to the traditional method. He’d not assigned an essay on that topic before, so that was somewhat refreshing for him, although most of the answers were pedestrian regurgitations of the material available in their Potions textbook. A few of the students, however, had given the subject some additional thought, and one of them, Jamie Brett, actually had a few interesting insights. He might be worth spending a bit more attention on, that one. He might have a future in Potions, though Severus believed that he was interested in working in the Ministry in International Magical Cooperation, as his mother did. Perhaps he could persuade the boy that such work would be wasted on anyone with a modicum of creativity. Or that if he pursued Potions, he might find a position with the Department of Mysteries, if he was set on a career with the Ministry. He should have Flitwick speak with him, as well. Flitwick was Brett’s Head of House, and Severus believed that he had once worked for the Department of Mysteries himself—although that had been decades ago. Severus finished reading a dreadful essay by Letitia Pepper, on which he wrote a note saying that if she wished to continue in Potions, she would have to do more than copy information from a two decades-old Potions textbook. Had she really believed he wouldn’t recognise that seventy percent of her essay had been copied verbatim? Even if he hadn’t recognised the actual text, since it wasn’t a Potions textbook they used at Hogwarts, the sections that she had copied were so obviously written in a different style from her own poor prose, he would have known she hadn’t written it herself. After very little contemplation, he put a large red T at the top of the paper, as much for the insult to him as for the content of the essay. If she thought he’d be easy on her because she wore a double-snake ring, she was sorely mistaken. Severus had just set the essay on top of the pile of completed parchments to his left when there was a knock at his door. “Enter!” The door opened, and there, unwelcome, was the wizard whom he had encountered an hour before, Alastor Moody, his magical eye spinning dizzily in its socket then coming to rest and focussing upon Severus. “What do you want?” Severus demanded. “To talk.” He held up a bottle in a brown paper bag. “Brought some firewhisky.” “It is not even dinnertime yet,” Severus said icily. “And even if it were later, or I was inclined to drink in the afternoons, I do not know why you would think I would want to drink with you. I don’t even want to speak with you.” Moody took one step into the room. “Came to see Flitwick. ’Bout the duelling. Thought I’d stop by and see you as long as I’m here.” “I hope that he does not plan to have us duel,” Severus snarled. “I would see to it that it was a very short duel. Very short, indeed.” “No, he has someone else in mind for me,” Moody replied, not responding to Severus’s tone. “Look, Snape, can we talk? It’s important.” “To whom?” Severus asked, but he nodded curtly and closed the door with a quick flick of his finger. As soon as he closed the door, he picked up his wand and held it loosely in his hand. “What is it, Moody?” Moody sat heavily in one of the two wooden chairs in front of Severus’s desk. “Wanted to know how you were doing. I, um, know it must be . . . odd for you. Difficult, maybe. And I’m no stranger to the difficulties of adjusting to a new life. Peacetime can be hard on an old warrior, probably harder on a former spy,” he said frankly, setting the bottle on Severus’s desk. “I’m glad you’ve got a new life, though, and that I’ve got a chance to say my bit to you. About what went before. About us, you and me.” Severus merely looked at him impassively. Alastor cleared his throat. “What I’m saying is, I’m sorry. I am very sincerely sorry, Professor Snape. For everything over the years. For my doubts . . . for my behaviour, especially. Wouldn’t have been wise not to have some doubts, not to be wary of you, but I treated you badly. I know that. And it wasn’t justified, it wasn’t right. Not just the curse. That was wrong, but everything else, and the things I said about you, and the way I tried to undermine you in the Order and with Dumbledore and Minerva . . . I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Don’t expect you to say that bygones are bygones, but I wanted to tell you. And that’s all. Except that I hope you can get past it—past what went before during the war, past the old life, I mean. Not what I did to you. Wouldn’t expect that. But I needed to say it.” Alastor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Severus stared at him. He hadn’t understood a word past “I’m sorry,” it seemed. “Well . . . guess I’ll be going, then,” Moody said when Severus continued to stare at him without saying anything. He nodded at the bottle. “Keep the firewhisky. Twenty-year-old Old Ogden’s. The good stuff.” Severus nodded. Moody stood and started toward the door. “You brought me back,” Severus said suddenly. “You were with Aberforth, Healer Egidius, and Miss Granger.” “Aye. I was with them. Dumbledore sent me. It was an honour. Part of the hero’s escort.” Alastor nodded. “When I saw you, I thought I was too late. Thought . . . you were dead. Or would be soon. And it wasn’t a happy sight for me, whether you believe it or not.” Severus simply stared at him, uncomprehending. “Good evening, then, Snape,” Moody said. A lop-sided grin flashed across his face. “And congratulations on your new House ghost. Knew Flint back in the day. Ministry lackey. Not a bad sort, but not like you—not much backbone, that one. Still, he’ll serve you well, I think.” Severus nodded. “Good bye, Moody.” Alastor closed the door behind him. Severus gazed at the closed door for a few minutes. His life was strange. He wouldn’t ever have dreamed that, if he survived the war, this would be his life. Not that he had believed he could possibly survive the war. He had been certain that he would die and that he would have no life at all. On the off chance that he were to survive and the Dark Lord didn’t, he had believed he would be an utter pariah at best, a lifelong prisoner of the Ministry at worst. There were times, like listening to Moody just then, when he felt a giddy sense of complete displacement, a sense of vertigo combined with a feeling of detachment, as though he were a distantly floating spectator, not a participant, in his life. He didn’t know what he could do to feel more present in his own life. Sometimes, it was almost as though he were becoming a ghost, himself, one of those ghosts that were not very well-oriented or connected to the present and their current surroundings. Severus shook himself. He had felt fine during lunch. Slightly bemused at times, and occasionally irritated, but not detached or confused. He simply had to get on with the business of living. He glanced down at the remaining essays he had yet to grade. His teaching, his duties, his few friendships with Minerva, Hermione, Gareth, and Albus, those things were what he should focus on. Then perhaps the disjuncture between his present life and his previous existence would not seem quite as great, a sometimes dizzying chasm his mind could not bridge. He set his new quill in its holder, straightened his parchments, and pocketed his wand. The firewhisky bottle caught his eye as he stood. Another sense of displacement overcame him, but he reached for the bottle and took it from its paper bag. A new, unopened bottle. He set it back down, then left for dinner. He hoped the pudding was good that night, since he had to remain until the meal was over, a tedious duty, but an ordinary kind of tedium. It might even be good for him. He snorted to himself as he closed and warded his office door, turning the large key in its lock for good measure. No, meal duty would simply be dull, not salutary. Severus took his seat beside the Headmistress’s elevated chair, and Vector sat down next to him. “Hi, Severus.” “Professor Vector.” “Last night’s party wasn’t bad,” she remarked as she Summoned the pitcher of apple juice and it slid across the table toward her. “Better than most Hogwarts parties.” Severus nodded. “By the way,” she said, offering him the pitcher, “I worked out that I have you to thank for not flashing my goods to the entire school last night.” Severus darted a quick glance at her, the heat rising in his face. “So, thank you, Severus.” “It was, um, I just thought you should know.” “I couldn’t tell when I looked in the mirror before I came down. The light wasn’t right. Thank goodness I had the cape on during dinner.” “Indeed.” “You know, you’re my boss now, in a way. You haven’t been my student for years. You don’t need to call me ‘Professor Vector’ unless you are more comfortable with that.” Severus nodded. “Of course.” He glanced over at her. “What do you prefer?” She shrugged slightly. “‘Septima’ is fine. People who have known me since I was in school often call me ‘Verity,’ but I’ve gone by ‘Septima’ since my apprenticeship.” “I see. I’ve been unsure which you preferred, as the Headmistress generally calls you ‘Verity,’ yet others call you ‘Septima.’ It was confusing.” Vector chuckled. “I grew up in a confused situation. My father called me ‘Septima,’ and my mother called me ‘Verity.’ Apparently they hadn’t been able to agree on a name, so that was their way of agreeing to disagree. My brother and sister usually called me ‘V.S.’ or ‘Veese,’ or even ‘Vee Seven,’ and their kids call me ‘Aunt Vee Seven’ or ‘Aunt V.’” Severus nodded. He remembered his father used to call him “Sammy” when he was small. But his parents hadn’t agreed to disagree. His mother had had her way in that as in most other things. “So, as long as you don’t call me ‘Aunt Vee Seven,’” Vector said agreeably, “I’m happy with whatever you wish to call me—even ‘Professor Vector.’” Severus quirked a smile. “Thank you, Professor.” Verity chuckled, and the meal arrived on the table. Minerva and Albus soon joined them, and the conversation turned to other topics, to changes in the Ministry, Flitwick’s upcoming duelling demonstrations, and league Quidditch. Severus tuned it all out and focussed on his food, roast pork with potato dumplings in gravy. Eating dinner in the Great Hall felt different than it ever had before, even during those relatively peaceful years before Potter came to Hogwarts, when he was awaiting the Dark Lord’s return and holding everyone at arm’s length, uninterested in anything but marking the days until the Dark Wizard rose again and he could have his revenge. Now, he was only marking days, unsure of what he might look forward to, and everything in his life seemed different. Even the hum and buzz of the conversation around him felt different. He looked over at Albus, who was in earnest conversation with Caspar Lloyd about the British and Irish Quidditch league teams, and Minerva interjected a slightly sarcastic comment about their mutual fascination for the Holyhead Harpies. Vector overheard and let out a guffaw. Severus smiled. The difference, he thought, was not in his colleagues, but in himself, and he thought that it was pleasant to be a “good guy” after so many years, to have otherwise congenial but nonetheless distant colleagues become more comfortable with him now because he was more comfortable with them. And because he behaved better himself these days—Vector would have been mortified if she had discovered too late that she had been “displaying her assets” to the entire school. In earlier years, he might have informed Vector in order to gain something for himself—if only her gratitude, or even her embarrassment by making a snide remark to her himself—but the night before, he had only been concerned about how she would feel if she learned too late of the transparency of her gown. He had put himself in her place, and rather than taking any satisfaction in the prospect of another person’s mortification, he had identified with it and averted it. It was a good feeling, and a surprising one. Perhaps Minerva was right: he didn’t need to hold himself aloof any longer. He might never escape his past, and he might never have more than two or three friends, but his day-to-day life could be more comfortable. Around his colleagues, he could at least behave as though he were normal, as though he were one of them, as though he deserved to be among them, even if he wasn’t and didn’t. Severus didn’t know how long the feeling of acceptance and well-being would last, but he decided that he would allow himself to enjoy it whilst it did last, rather than talking himself out of it. For that evening, anyway. No doubt Potions with the second-years on Monday would cure him of it. He smirked and helped himself to the apple crumble that was making its way down the table. NEXT Chapter Twenty-Four: Dawn Light Reflected Monday, 9 November – Saturday, 14 November 1998 The portrait of Aurora Sinistra is dedicated. Characters: Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Pomona Sprout, Filius Flitwick, Firenze, Aurora Sinistra (portrait) Author’s Note: The occasion when Moody cursed Severus in the back appears in Deaths’ Dominion, chapters 16 and 17 (“Twisting on racks” and “When sinews give way”). The story of Alastor Moody escorting Severus back to Hogwarts after the battle is mentioned in Death’s Dominion, but it’s told in-full in the one-shot, “Enter, Peacetime.” If you’ve read Resolving a Misunderstanding, you’ll recognize the reference to Malcolm McGonagall and his duel with Albus. It takes place in Chapter 135: A Spree, if you’d like to refresh your memory of it. You may also recall that the story of the Niffler invasion of Venice was one of the stories Malcolm first told Gertrude the day that they met—much to Minerva’s mortification—but getting Gertrude to laugh. And that’s what made Gareth McGonagall possible! |
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