The Lego Advent Calendar Fic Part 2
Dec. 28th, 2019 12:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gingerbredshausMAKE SURE YOU START WITH PART 1
Day 16
'Oh, well this looks like fun.'
What did we get today, Ms. Bred? Somehow by the cold light of day, back in the familiar confines of the castle, the more formal form of address seems... proper.
''Ginger', if you please, Severus.'
Thinking back - he's naturally testy and can't quite help himself - he feels compelled to ask, When precisely did I give you permission to call me by my given name?
'You haven't,' she laughs. 'But as you weren't likely to, I took the liberty.'
You enjoy that, do you? Taking liberties?
She simply smiles avariciously in answer, and the room suddenly strikes him as uncomfortably warm, improbable given the Great Hall's size, even with Albus' perfectly serviceable Heating Charms.
Severus has to clear his throat before he can continue. And yet you call Minerva 'Professor McGonagall'. The observation is very much a statement and not a question. She answers him anyway.
'Strangely, I can see any number of differences between you.
'And I also haven't invited her to dinner.'
He grows quiet, considering the possible nature of those differences and their ramifications, but in deference to their surroundings, she redirects his attention to the pieces before them. 'Would you care for a game?'
What is it? a small voice from the side asks, as if to irrefutably prove that the moment was less than ideal for their previous exchange.
Do you mean to imply, Miss Granger, that you do not know everything? Severus growls, annoyed at the girl's timing, presence, interference and unmanageable hair for that matter. Cauldron meet kettle, but then he's disinclined to do things in half measures.
With some irritation, the little witch turns to the Potions Master and replies, I should have thought that perfectly clear from the question. Sir. There's no implication about it.
The older woman manages not to chuckle. In addition to being likely to scotch any progress she's made with her taciturn Slytherin, it simply isn't done to expose colleagues to ridicule, and certainly not in front of students. Most unprofessional. Admittedly, that's not to say that stops a good many members of staff from doing so, but still.
Severus remains unaffected by the retort, far too accustomed to the largely unmitigated cheek of Moggies. Looking at the DADA apprentice, he merely drawls, I feel the pressing need for a new paradigm. She wrinkles her nose in reply, amused, before addressing the student.
'The colours don't suggest anything to you, Miss Granger? Or the preponderance of one by one plates?'
Well, it's all very checkerboard...
'Close, but try thinking less Muggle.'
Wizarding Chess! She exclaims with some satisfaction. The withering glance Severus casts over her shoulder would presumably put a bit of a dent in that gratification, but she's lucky enough to miss it entirely, a clear advantage to her height if ever there were one. He's not completely wrong, however, in suggesting she'd basically been led to the conclusion. (Now whether that leading needs to be described as 'by the nose' as he phrases it in the lounge when they speak of this later, is another matter altogether.)
'I take it you don't play?' The teaching assistant asks the younger witch not ungently, after casting her older a colleague a look suggesting he might behave. Severus remains patently unconvinced.
Did I hear someone say 'Wizarding Chess'? comes the next interruption, presumably even less welcome and not only because the mouth uttering it is all too clearly still full of barely chewed food.
Shockingly, Weasley, it would seem your ears function superbly. It could almost lead one to question why they fail to do so, routinely, in a classroom setting, although I'm tempted to ascribe that to cognitive failings.
Ron just throws him a dirty look, not expecting anything else from the greasy git... Actually, he's not nearly as greasy just now for some reason, although Ron fails to see any causal relationship to the current lack of classrooms brimming to the rafters with simmering cauldrons.
Fine, the stupid old dungeon bat then.
Hermione whispers to their DADA apprentice, I find the game sort of brutal, plus I never really learnt how to play. And, um, Ron isn't exactly a... um, gracious winner.
A certain ginger chuffs in amusement, 'Yes, I could picture that.' Turning to include the others, more loudly she enquires, 'Would either of you care to help us put this together?'
I don't think 'Mione knows how, Ron laughs a bit dismissively.
Hermione looks panicked for a moment, she'd only just explained this, her reticence, and she really has no desire to listen to Ronald crow about his very narrow and near irrelevant, highly specific superiority. If she boasted even a fraction as much about her academic and intellectual supremacy, why, they'd be here all night! Not, she suspects, that anyone would stand still to listen to it, but then that was hardly the point, now was it?
'Trust me,' the DADA instructor whispers.
Soon they've assembled the board, and she gently takes Severus' arm. 'Come, our job's finished here.' If she thought Miss Granger looked panicked before, well, she's flown well past that now.
But... comes the very faint objection, and a certain ginger winks before half dragging the Potions Master with her behind the nearest of Albus' many stands of trees.
Want to play then, 'Mione? Whaddaya say? It's easy. Ron seems to taunt her. They may not be of an opinion on that front, but then they so rarely are, and often it's in the ear of the listener.
Ms. Br... Ginger, may I ask what you're doing? Severus practically hisses as they draw to a stop. Oddly, he fails to demand she unhand him. The promise of watching Miss Granger being thoroughly trounced was quite probably the only redeeming aspect to their otherwise bothersome presences...
'Nonsense. It's the expected result. Where's the fun in that?'
With a finger to her lips to silence him and a subtle swish and flick of her wand, she casts a Perception Charm, making their voices lowly audible in a certain Gryffindor's ear, and only hers.
'Miss Granger, this is Ms. Bred. Can you hear me adequately?'
May I ask what... He doesn't get any further before a delicate finger is pressed to his lips to stop him, his surprise at the contact doing far more to silence him than that ghost of a touch.
Close by, the young witch nods faintly.
'Quiet, she can hear you, too.' And so their student thinks little of it, adds, 'One of us at a time, we wouldn't want to confuse her.'
Severus smirks, that sounds altogether too considerate for his reputation. No of course not. Never that. Confusing students! Heaven forfend. She playfully swats his arm until he's silent again.
'Very good, Miss Granger, now take a seat and accept Mr. Weasley's offer.'
Nervously, the young woman does as suggested.
Ron magnanimously, and perhaps a mite condescendingly, allows her to start, and a certain ginger chuckles before instructing, 'Move your left pawn forward one square.' When the witch hesitates, she adds, 'You're white.' Severus just pinches the bridge of his nose, but the girl finally does as told.
With the appropriate Finite, Ginger briefly lifts the Perception Charm to ask Severus, 'Would you care to continue?'
Grinning somewhat wolfishly, he replies, I believe I would, thank you. Care to cast the Charm again? She readily does so as Severus Summons refreshments and conjures them seating and the two spend a pleasant half an hour watching Weasley become increasingly frustrated with his complete inability to outmanoeuvre his Housemate.
When Hermione finally beats him, the outcome was never truly in doubt, she thanks the sputtering boy politely for the game as she rises. And you were right, Ronald. It was easy. I don't know why I haven't wanted to play before. Daring to push as she turns to go, but thinking she knows her best friend well enough to risk it, she adds, We should do this again sometime, certain it's the last thing he'll wish to do.
Just around the corner, out of sight, the two instructors take to their feet as well, ending the Perception Charm and Vanishing the conjured seating.
It seems Miss Granger was right once more. We should do this again sometime, Severus tells the witch.
'I was thinking we might start with a match of our own,' she answers, taking his arm (Severus finds himself not minding in the least) and leading him off to the staff lounge for just that very purpose.
You were right as well, you know. This was a decidedly more enjoyable result.
'I was quietly confident you'd see it my way in the end.'
Day 17
Well that must come as a relief, Ms. Bred.
'By now it was nearly a certainty, but yes, it's comforting to know they haven't forgotten Hufflepuff.'
All well and good, but it's the fourth exemplar of an unspectacular build. By now the children must be bored out of their gourds.
Know a lot about boring children, then, do you, Severus? Minerva chuckles.
Fleetingly, he gives her a dirty look while a certain ginger thinks suitable thoughts about professionalism in light of all the students present, but Severus merely replies with a smirk. Why, when they aren't blowing cauldrons sky high, I'd argue that most children are. Boring. The apprentice DADA mistress has to bite her cheek to keep from laughing, but Minerva catches the expression and shoots her a reproving look all her own. The Transfiguration Professor is so adept at them, she may as well have a mastery in the subject. Severus ignores the witches' silent exchange; it's hardly the first. After eleven years of teaching, he informs them a touch smugly, I feel eminently qualified to make that claim.
Severus, for all the complaining you do, how do you imagine Pomona must feel?
Truthfully he probably spends as little time as humanly possible wondering about Pomona's feelings, or those of most of his colleagues, for that matter, but as Minerva's raised the topic...
A small voice pipes up, interrupting before he deigns to reply. Just as well as it was doubtless another scathing comment that was unlikely to contribute to the festive spirit Albus seems so intent on conjuring. (Proof, to Severus' thinking, were any still required, of the Headmaster's decidedly questionable priorities.) In the Potions Master's defence, it should be noted that it had been an exceptionally trying term, what with the petrifications and threats, and the fact the blame was laid squarely at the feet of 'Slytherin's heir' quite naturally hadn't improved his lot in the slightest.
It's so unfair, really, the way some Houses get all the attention and some are so rudely neglected.
Your lack of self awareness, Miss Granger, is simply stunning. There's at least one woman at the table who can't help thinking she wouldn't mind the circumstances overmuch for the chance to hear him call her stunning, although a smidge less sarcasm might be welcome; Miss Granger, however, doesn't appear to be of the same opinion. She may yet grow into it. That a Gryffindor, of all people, should have the gall to comment on the disproportionate notice some parties receive...
She bristles noticeably. I never claimed we didn't get more attention. Every Slytherin in the building would readily agree they most certainly have done, time and again, the House cup theft of the previous year still too fresh in all their memories. The rest of the Houses seem to be more... forgetful.
Minerva smirks and offers her support, She's correct, she never said any such thing, Severus. Don't put words in her mouth.
Rallying, Hermione takes up her position once more, I simply meant some don't receive similar consideration, and as Head of Slytherin, Professor, you can hardly complain about not having more than your fair share of the spotlight.
He has two words for her that he has no intention of voicing (not 'bugger off', although it's a close second choice and ever so tempting), having no desire to remind anyone present of 'Slytherin's heir' and reopen that can of worms this morning. But they're emblazoned in his mind as surely as if someone had seared them there with a Flagrate, and he is thinking rather poorly of her much vaunted intelligence just at the moment. Quite. Because being almost thoroughly ignored is so much worse than near universal revilement.
Minerva at least has the grace to look a bit chastised at that. Not much, mind, but that was probably more than he'd had any right to hope for given the personalities involved. He'll take the win. The chances Miss Granger would see the light, or any of her little Moggie friends for that matter, were so slim as to not be worth contemplating.
The conversation soon turns to other topics, and Severus finds himself in the unenviable position of wishing school were in session. This utterly barmy idea of Albus' to sit together with the students over the holidays... It's putting him off his feed most effectively, and he hadn't any weight to spare. He's just feeling angry that he's been made to wish for the term instead of simply being able to enjoy the hols in peace when a certain ginger leans over to whisper, 'You know full well a good third of the House prefers notoriety to obscurity. Especially as you have to actually care about someone's opinion to mind if they think poorly of you,' she laughs softly.
Well *I* know that, and you know that, but they don't. He indicates the Gryffindors seated closest with a barely perceptible nod of his head. Besides, the remaining two thirds suffer rather a lot for the negativity. Arguably more, depending on the aspects considered. It artificially limits options, significantly, for too many of them, and I doubt there's a one who appreciates that.
She concedes the point, there can be no argument, and he smiles a small smile most present would miss. There are advantages, nontrivial ones, to dealing with other Slytherins, aside from the fact she seems to know enough to pass him the syrup without his asking.
A good dollop in his porridge, and already things are looking better.
Now if he could only find a way to jinx Albus' infernal Mistletoe to rain some of that very same syrup on its unwary victims, perhaps they'd soon be shot of the magical parasite, improving things all the more. Possibly, with a spot of luck, the DADA mistress in training might have some suggestions to make...
Day 18
Oh well now this is just perfect, he grumbles.
Severus, comes the Transfiguration Professor's admonition. She's rewarded with a baleful look for her troubles, but then he's an adult, and it was fairly predictable her attempt to reprimand him would be unwelcome.
'On the upside,' a certain ginger opines, 'at least they aren't all Gryffindors.' Given Albus must surely still be in the box somewhere, Severus fancies his own chances of putting in an appearance not at all. His face shows what he thinks of that almost as clearly as Ms. Bred's tends to, but he sees little advantage to hiding his displeasure at this box of stray cats. Ah, and one Turkey.
Oddly, I don't find that a consolation in the least.
Now, Severus, what's poor Pomona to...
Yes, yes, I know. But it isn't as though Filius hasn't been in a set or two already this round.
Professor Sprout was only ever in the one set, and that eight years ago, an all too familiar, young but confident voice squeaks up from the side.
Filius, however, has made more than a single appearance, and that as recently as last year. More relevant, you'll find, as arguments currently go, considering he's the individual behind today's door.
Once more.
Well it's only been three in total now, and the first was nine years ago, so perhaps it's his due.
Let me guess. 'Lego Hogwarts: a History'. She beams, which all present assume is confirmation. Do you know, Miss Granger, that in all seven books, 'Snape' is mentioned, explicitly, 1540 times.
'Explicitly?' The apprentice beside him asks, choking on her pumpkin juice.
Explicitly, he confirms, raising a single brow for emphasis. She briefly ceases to continue following the conversation as she considers it.
That doesn't include mentions of 'Severus' or 'he/his/him' in which I am meant, merely the surname alone. 'Flitwick', by contrast, isn't used even a third as often, meaning he isn't even in the top three hundred mentions.
By the same logic, that doesn't include mentions of 'Filius' or 'he/his/him' in which he is meant, merely the surname alone. There could be who knows how many references that have gone uncounted. She seems rather self-satisfied to have caught that.
And what strikes you as more probable? That he's being referred to obliquely as often as possible, or that *I* am, upon occasion, in keeping with the rate of direct use of our names?
Her expression, yet another witch with no Exploding Snap face, answers for her. A certain ginger to Severus' side takes pity and asks, 'And for the sake of completeness, just for reference, how often has Professor Snape been in a set?
Oh! comes the cheery little chirp, evidently exceedingly eager to have a chance to flaunt her research, Including Neville's Boggarts, Severus cringes at the very mention, not that Lupin has yet to subject him to that indignity, but demonstrating more prescience than Sybill on a good day, he can already picture it all too clearly, there are a total of eight different Professor Snape versions, in thirteen sets.
Oh! And one book.
Minerva snorts.
Ah, by all means, let's not forget the book, Severus drawls.
Well it did have a very nice Erlenmeyer flask.
In blue.
Yes, I can see where that made all the difference, Severus adds dryly.
That number is including one microfigure, however, she seems forced to allow. But for the record, neither Professor Sprout nor Professor Flitwick are represented as microfigures.
Arguably, Filius is always represented as a microfigure.
Severus! Minerva chides.
I merely meant to say they'd presumably have had difficulties rendering his microfigure more... micro, he assures those present with a chuckle. Filius, good natured type that he is, is the first to join in with laughter as he takes his seat with his colleagues.
Quite right. Quite right you are, dear boy. It'd have been a nanofigure for me. Unquestionably.
Minerva smirks as she addresses Miss Granger once more. And for the sake of true completeness, she gives Ms. Bred a significant look, how often have *I* appeared?
Oh, well, there've been five versions, in, um, six sets. Um, including the microfigure, but I'm sure it's nothing personal, she anxiously tries to reassure her Head of House.
Minerva just laughs, Don't you worry, Miss Granger. *I* certainly shan't take it that way. How about you, Severus?
'Come now, Severus,' a certain ginger adds lowly, 'it's not as bad as you seem to think.'
Boggarts, he refutes, shouldn't count. Clearly we're not one and the same.
She has to give him that, but when Miss Granger then goes on to describe the Boggarts' outfits, in full technicolour detail (because of course she does), she'd have to admit to wishing to see it, if only just the once.
But then that's what 'Legilimens' is for. Especially useful as Professor Dumbledore is unlikely to lend her his Pensieve for the purpose...
Day 19
'Guess what we have today!'
Another Gryffindor.
'After getting a minifigure only yesterday, not bloody likely. Now try harder.'
We've had enough food, well unless you're willing to address the syrup experiment...
'Oh, I am at your service for any and all syrup experiments, just name your time and place.' He squirms, she smirks, desired result achieved. 'But do try to apply yourself and guess first. Give it a go.'
Well we've exhausted the standards. Small mercies.
'Don't be like that.'
More furnishings?
'Getting warmer,' she smiles. He fails to take the hint, but she finds that's all too often the case with him, more's the pity.
Not another table?
'No, but look at it this way: you wouldn't want to sit with the students given a choice.'
Fair enough. I shan't object, then, should we get another. He gives it a bit of thought.
We haven't had any presents yet.
'Touch early, isn't it? The elves won't deliver them until the 25th.'
As there's no 25th door, and presents couldn't actually be opened, I suspect they'll pop up before then.
And it's just as well they can't be opened or with the way things have been going, the Slytherin gift would contain coal.
Ah, or it'd be the switch for us, whichever.
A certain ginger can't help thinking they'd need to pry the switch from Minerva's - figurative, and possibly literal - claws first, but keeps mum. Some things are best kept under a witch's hat, beyond just unruly hair. Plus the Potions Master spooks all too easily as is.
Well let's give it a shot then, shall we? Shall I apply the Wingardium Leviosa or would you care to?
'I saw the package, so it's sort of cheating. If you'd like a go?'
Don't mind if I do, and he sets about directing first one piece and then the next into position. She stands by watching - it's a pleasure to see him work - pleased to see he's finally come to embrace the calendar's fun.
Ah, well this is... cosy. He stands assessing the results.
'It is rather, isn't it?'
Not that we needed it, given Albus' Heating Charms on the Hall...
'No, strictly speaking it isn't necessary, but as you noted: cosy. There's something to be said for it.'
Hmm.
'If you'd care to conjure some seating again, perhaps we could make ourselves comfortable and get to work on the magical mistletoe parasite problem?'
Ah, and the syrup solution! I'm beginning to think you know just what I like...
'Working on it,' she winks.
Day 20
Bagsy! He cries, unaccustomedly cheerful as he snatches up the Slytherin tile.
''Bagsy'?' She asks in frank disbelief, wondering if one of the Perception Charms has done a number on her hearing and if so whether the Matron can sort it...
Slightly less sure, enough so that he casts a surreptitious look over his shoulders to make sure there are no students in sight, he repeats, Bagsy, with a still firm nod.
'You can't bagsy the Slytherin plaque,' she objects, still not over the fact he'd done so to begin with.
Clearly I can, ta, particularly in the absence of youthful ears. He beams not unlike Minerva when successful at mousing. It's a pity, really, the woman often doesn't seem to derive as much satisfaction from being human. Unlike most, however, she has other options.
'Speaking of youthful, how old are you? I haven't called bagsies since...' She trails off and he looks at her expectantly, brow raised in silent query. She just blushes and completes the thought, 'Well, it's been a while.'
He grins at her slight discomfort. Pre-O.W.L.s then? He smirks.
'Decidedly.
'Anyhow, it's not like you're the only Slytherin present,' she concludes, reaching for the tile herself.
You don't seriously mean to tell me that you feel your claim to it is stronger than mine as Head of House? If only as a matter of principle, she's bloody well prepared to argue it is, yes, not that he doesn't have a point...
Minerva, who has been quietly watching their exchange, chooses the moment to get her barb in, As opposed to the Heir of Slytherin, say? Surely he - or she - would be more entitled?
That's far from fair, Minerva. Even assuming there is such a person... It really has been a... challenging term to be a Slytherin.
A certain ginger shares the sentiment only too much. Instead of arguing with the Deputy Headmistress, she shows her support by immediately relinquishing her hold on the piece, 'It's all yours.' The clear advantage of saying that to a fellow Slytherin is he takes her meaning at once. A faint nod acknowledges his appreciation of the small demonstration of loyalty.
'Shall we set to assembling it then?' She asks her co-workers.
I'm happy to just hold onto my own tile. Filius, he calls to the man still seated at the table, can I interest you in the Ravenclaw plaque?
Filius, lost in discussion (not a particularly fruitful one, but it's the holidays, after all...) with his fellow Ravenclaw Sybill, hasn't been following the conversation. What's that you say, Severus? Oh! Gladly. Thank you very much. Sybill already begins securing their bounty before the words are out of his mouth.
I'd ask Pomona, Severus snarks to his Gryffindor counterpart, but as you've been so keen to have me understand, she is unable to weigh in on the topic.
And presumably feels badly about it.
Minerva just gives him one of her looks. He suspects it's one she reserves just for him, which provides an odd comfort of sorts. Say what you will, they're family. Often dysfunctional, to be sure, but then that aligns nicely with his thoughts on family dynamics anyway.
Nonsense, comes the prim reply. He just grins. Filius, I'm afraid you'll need to return it to the pile; we have something to build. It's telling that she doesn't even bother trying to reason with the Divination Instructor.
Filius is an eminently agreeable sort who upon sighting the remaining pieces is only too willing to return his, and soon joins the others in a communal build.
Well it's certainly... Minerva pauses, unsure what it certainly is.
Fair, supplies Filius. Assuming that's of consequence, he adds, sounding uncertain if it actually is.
Severus doesn't chuckle, merely lifts his brow again, Yes, I could see where the word might have escaped you, Minerva. Presupposing the concept hadn't.
A certain ginger has to fight not to laugh, and is now chewing her lip rather brutally in a bid to hold back her fit of good humour. Severus, although pleased at the nature of the response, takes slight issue with its manifestation. Some days he thinks she makes a positively rubbish Slytherin. Truthfully, he'd argue her ambition, insightful analyses of situations, and considered actions wouldn't allow her to be sorted elsewhere, but it is hard to believe she hadn't had more of these tells drummed out of her during her school years in the dungeons. He wonders that he hadn't noticed it more at the time.
Aside from 'fair', does anyone know what it actually is?
'I do,' the DADA apprentice replies. That's greeted by looks of surprise. 'I read the product description,' she clarifies with a shrug.
Care to share with the rest of the class then?
She hesitates. 'It might spoil tomorrow's build.'
Ah. In that case, right you are, my dear. Right you are. Tomorrow is soon enough, we'll discover it together then, Filius pats her hand reassuringly, although it's a bit of a reach to do so. He's used to it, and his avuncular tendencies override any potential concerns for his physical comfort.
And in the meantime, can I interest anyone in some elf wine? He offers the rest.
Unsurprisingly, Sybill is amongst the first of the takers.
Day 21
I say, that is quite a bit of gold, Filius says in a hushed tone, taking it in.
That it is, Severus rejoins. He sounds thoughtful.
'I don't think you need to worry. See? There's no crimson,' a certain ginger tries to reassure him.
While I... appreciate your concern, I wasn't 'worried', he smiles. I was thinking if everything were to go pear shaped, we could always grab the ingot and Disapparate.
'Not in Hogwarts!' She almost sounds scandalised, probably because the very thought he hasn't read and memorised 'Hogwarts: a History' (in which that's ever so clearly explained) strikes her as very scandalous indeed. 'At least not as long as you aren't Headmaster,' she amends. There's something odd about the way she says it that has him examine her more closely. 'Of course it you were, you wouldn't. Headmaster. Disapparate. Cut and run. Well not unless challenged and faced with...' Now he's giving her a very strange look - not unwarranted - and she just winds to a stop. 'Never mind. Pretend I didn't say anything. I assume you were being facetious anyway.'
Hmm. The brow lifts, and the Knut drops.
'Oh. Ah. Right. Not entirely facetious.
'Well as plans go, there are worse...' she concedes.
I should think so. He seems ever so slightly offended, his gaze ticking to a small disgrace of Gryffindors nearby. She can see his point. Goodness knows, those three have come up with some perfectly wretched plans over the years. Or will do, whichever.
'Oh I didn't mean to imply... Shall we simply get to building?'
I think we'd best. He's positively smirking now. After you. He waits for her to go ahead of him, his hand slipping - almost incidentally, the sneaky Snake - to the small of her back as she draws abreast. And if she was mindful to pass on his left, so as not to impede his wand arm and improve the chances, well, no one can fault her for being observant, now can they? It doesn't hurt, obviously, that she wields her wand with her left. The fingers of her right hand subtly trace an angular 'P' on his trouser leg as they walk, the rune Wunjo, reassuringly conveying comfort and her pleasure, or at least it would if he's better educated in Ancient Runes than he seems to be in the history of the castle anyway. His broadening smirk as he steers her gently towards the golden pieces on the floor would suggest that he is.
She tries, with modest success, to nibble back her smile, but her expression when she next addresses the Head of Ravenclaw is undeniably a hint warmer than usual. Filius returns the smile with some amusement, rarely surprised by anything anymore, a decided advantage of age and experience.
'Professor Flitwick, would you like to help us put it together?'
I'd love to, my dear. Just love to.
I swear that's Albus' beard. Severus says, taking a piece in hand. With the Midas treatment, but still. Clearly recognisable.
What's that they say? 'Everything old is new again.'
Or his tastes are that outdated. Whichever seems more likely.
Filius smiles kindly at that. You are incorrigible, my boy. Simply incorrigible.
I try, he replies wryly. Privately, the DADA apprentice is sure: he really doesn't; it comes all too naturally.
Ah, well here we are.
What's the... object? Severus waves a hand idly, indicating the leftover pieces forming... Well she has no idea what they're forming really. That was sort of his point.
I believe the problem is a question of scale. I suspect that's meant to be a micro representation of the castle.
'Oh. Uh. Alright.' She's clearly not seeing it.
Smaller than micro. A nanobuild at best.
I imagine smaller than that. But there's nothing wrong with being small.
'Professor, I'm sure Severus didn't mean to suggest there was.'
In the case specific, Ginger, I wouldn't be to sure of that. You didn't recognise it as the castle either. Too small, too abstracted. In some instances, size matters... She chokes, eyes widening, and he pauses fractionally, a faint smirk the only indication he'd heard. ...If only for the detail it can convey.
Subtlety. So not her strong suit. A fact made all the more obvious when she has to swallow before answering, which only has him smirking more.
Arse.
'But once properly assembled, the context helps us interpret it correctly,' she counters, doing her best to pretend she weren't a disgrace to her Slytherin jumper. Thankfully, the others are kind enough to play along, and the moment passes.
I suppose he should be holding the model... Filius suggests. Which, now that he says so, makes perfect sense, really. That's what hands are for, after all. Well... Yes. She has no idea why that hadn't occurred to her on her own. Presumably the season has her a little distracted, to say nothing of recent events.
With a flick and a swish, he guides it into place. And there we are, the Hogwarts architect.
The problem here is one House is always towards the rear.
'Which way should he face?'
Well which House was he? Sybill asks, not entirely unhelpfully, but perhaps she hadn't thought her question through all that well.
You realise this is the architect of Hogwarts? She nods, only slightly sherry addled at this hour. There were no Houses prior to Hogwarts, ergo, he has no House, and no House can claim him.
Sybill is so used to his disdain, she doesn't even bother looking chagrined. On the contrary, she holds the Potions Master in so little regard as to render his opinion nearly moot. She merely takes a long pull from her glass and turns her back on him, which flummoxes Severus not the least, having a similar opinion of the 'Seer' as she does of him.
In a perfect world, he'd be on a pivoting mount and turn, Minerva weighs in, approaching, steaming cup of tea in hand.
'In a perfect world, the House crests would turn and he'd remain facing front. Perhaps to show which House has the most points?' Minerva recognises the utility of the suggestion and nods appreciatively in agreement. It's all too easy with the apprentices sometimes to see them more as students than colleagues, and the young woman beside her is very nearly finished with her studies. It would probably do to remember that about her.
No, in a perfect world, Slytherin would constantly face front. Minerva snorts, tea shooting uncomfortably up her nose. Filius could swear that some days Severus lives only to get under the witch's skin. He certainly behaves that way at any rate, if that can be called 'behaving' that is. The timing of his remark had definitely been suspicious. If only because in a truly perfect world, Slytherin would always be ahead, he concludes smugly, while Minerva unobtrusively Tergeos her sinuses with some annoyance. He draws his wand and sets the statue of the Architect on its pedestal, the Slytherin crest facing the room. With the way the pedestal had been built, this leaves the Gryffindor crest facing the wall.
Minerva rectifies that almost immediately, twitching her wand and moving to Banish her tea, thirst forgotten. Filius Summons the cup en route, plucking it casually from midair and warms his hands on it. Before he can take so much as a sip, the pedestal has been turned back to front beneath the statue and Minerva stands there huffing in satisfaction. Their little contretemps won't keep the Ravenclaw from enjoying his purloined beverage; he has far too many years as a teacher under his belt for that. He simply steps back out of their way to better observe. Well, that and to avoid friendly wandfire. There are reasons he was placed in Ravenclaw all those years ago.
Severus has no intention of standing for Minerva's manoeuvre and flicks his wand once more, and in a trice the green tile is again front and centre.
And back and forth they go for a little while. Gryffindor. Slytherin. Gryffindor. Slytherin. Gryffindor. Slytherin...
'They're surprisingly easy to keep occupied,' a certain ginger whispers to the Charmsmaster.
Would the same were true of the children in their respective Houses, Filius replies with a wink.
Day 22
'Well the colours are suspicious.'
As are the shapes.
'Really? Do you think so?'
Give it a try and see.
It doesn't take her long.
And here you thought we'd have to wait for the gifts.
Only two doors left. He sounds contemplative.
And a bit morose.
What do you imagine the chances are that Albus won't be cast as Father Christmas?
'Severus,' her tone is gentle, but it doesn't quite reach him. She places her hand on his arm, and now he turns her way, eyes still downcast. 'You knew he was going to be in there from the outset. He's on the cover.'
His expression doesn't soften, and she tries again. 'Is it really so bad? Not being in the box?' Nothing.
'It doesn't begin to change who you are.' More of the same.
'Or how I feel about you,' she adds the last more quietly, a last ditch effort she regrets trying almost as soon as she has, but his eyes finally shift to meet hers and she can tell he heard.
Which isn't terrifying in the least.
Which probably means she'll now need to pretend she didn't say it. Hopeless case. Still, she gives him an encouraging smile before she completely loses her bottle, and although he doesn't return it - he can't, not yet, still far too annoyed - his hand reaches for hers and gives it a squeeze.
If a squeeze can possibly be grumpy, this one is.
He won't say he's been silly - that's a bridge too far - but she's probably not altogether wrong.
Hmm.
He makes an effort to pull himself together, to shake it off. He's wallowing, he knows it. All that's missing now is for Minerva to come along and tell him so.
Knowing her, it's probably only a question of time, too, before she does.
A certain ginger tries to make conversation, to distract him from his thoughts. 'So, made any progress tracking down your missing ingredients yet? Have you found the culprits?'
I don't think there's any question. It was Potter, beyond a doubt.
'But to be so certain...' There's a gently chiding note to it he means to address.
If it wasn't the boy himself - improbable, but supposing - then it was one of his friends at his behest, which amounts to the same. Ultimately he's always the root of the problem. And there's the small matter of a firecracker in Goyle's cauldron, which I believe served as the distraction. The timing fits and it's inconceivable that lot bested my wards to gain entry outside of when the class had access.
Now why he'd want the ingredients...
She gives him a quizzical look, she certainly knows what the ingredients could be used for, and he expands on that, Of course I know what they're for, but there's not the remotest chance he's brewing Polyjuice. None. I guarantee it. She smirks at his conviction, but wouldn't disagree with him either. It borders on a wonder he can walk and breathe simultaneously; advanced brewing? From him? The least of our concerns, I'd say.
He warms to the topic and begins to take her through his reasoning, So the question remains, what was the theft for? Is he selling them on? If so, why? He can't need the money. If the rumours are to be believed, the gormless halfwit is simply swimming in Galleons. Heir to the Sleekeazy fortune.
Trying to impress someone? Weasley wouldn't know what they're for... He glares over in the direction where Potter stands with his two cohorts, apparently attacking the recently assembled gifts although it's far from time to do so. And from the wrapping, it's unlikely the majority were even for them, come to think of it.
Evidently these facts are insufficient to stop them.
Naturally.
Entitled little tosspots.
He may be doing them an injustice, none of the boxes are actually being opened at present, but from a distance that distinction is harder to make.
He's about to launch into a tirade about the spoilt lackwits when a cry interrupts him, Ronald, give it back!
They turn as one to see Miss Granger, hopping rather futilely, trying to snatch a prettily wrapped red and gold package from the taller Weasley's outstretched arm. MMM mmm, is the only reply, typically eloquent, and he lifts the package up higher.
It's mine! The girl grows a touch shrill, and Ms. Bred winces minutely.
I don't think so.
It's probably books! It's not like you'd want them anyway... Secretly Severus couldn't agree with her more, but the boy still doesn't budge, and Potter, the little rotter, just stands there, looking on.
Disapprovingly, Severus continues his previous analysis of the theft, And if he were looking for an 'in' with Miss Granger, he'd be helping her now instead of standing idly by.
'Although I very much doubt Potter is, not in a million years, I also would never lay odds against the questionable decisions males have been known to make in courtship.' A loaded statement if ever he's heard one, but again the woman probably has a point that he has no intention of openly acknowledging.
Miss Granger's arm is raised and waving in her fruitless attempt to regain her present. Severus can't help thinking it's practically the girl's trademark; he'd know that flailing hand anywhere.
For goodness sake, it has my name on it! She shrieks to no avail.
Hardly a winning argument as success is predicated on Weasley's ability to read, Severus remarks quietly. It's not that he wouldn't agree that Miss Granger can be too... excitable, or that her earnestness can't be trying, Merlin knows it is, but it doesn't change the fact the boys can be unnecessarily... cruel from time to time. Certainly to hear Hagrid tell of it anyway, and heavens know, the half giant is incredibly partial to the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Irk-Severus-No-End.
Minerva, summoned by her cub's cries, joins them where they stand watching the display.
Don't you mean to see to that? Severus drawls, injecting as much disinterest into the enquiry as possible, which begs the question from more acute minds as to why he bothered asking it at all. Neither of the witches present overlook that, although one is perhaps inclined to give him some credit, the sight clearly isn't entirely to his liking. The other just takes him for deliberately difficult, assuming it's a bit of a poke at how she does her job. As the quintessential Slytherin, from Severus it's some of both. Anything else would be wasteful and unambiguous, and where's the fun in that?
She's a perfectly capable witch, and no blood has flown, Minerva answers somewhat tersely. He shoots his colleague a look - that attitude explains so much of his own school years - and Minerva feels compelled to justify her (in-)actions. Interference is rarely the answer, Severus. Surely you of all people know that. If I intervene, they merely continue the disagreement at a later point, out of my sight and reach, and generally with interest.
Letting these things play themselves out goes a long way towards keeping them from escalating.
It's not that there isn't some truth to it, but his face sours at the thought. And yet making limits absolutely clear also has its benefits, he mutters, but the witch still doesn't move.
It's from my parents... Comes Miss Granger's next complaint, and the litany goes on, but the young woman next to him suddenly takes a queer turn. He's just trying to formulate the best way to ask about it - witches, far from simple - when Minerva, not nearly as indifferent as he'd currently paint her, does just that.
Ms. Bred, is everything quite alright?
Hmm. It would seem there are advantages, some days, to being a Gryffindor and not having to weigh one's options prior to acting.
'I was just thinking about my parents. I...' She trails off and he notices her eyes have gone misty. Surreptitiously - cloaks hide a multitude of sins and the occasional good deed - he reaches for her hand and gives it another squeeze, less grumpy this time. 'It's been quite a while since I last saw them. I guess the holidays make me realise how much I miss them.' She sniffs, and he hands her his handkerchief, which earns him a watery smile.
Minerva has enough experience to pause before asking her next question, which is just as well. Severus looks over the young DADA apprentice's shoulder and just shakes his head ever so slightly in the Gryffindor's direction. She takes his cue. She won't ask the woman about visiting her parents now. Ms. Bred is an adult witch, perfectly capable of Apparating anywhere she wishes to go. If she doesn't do so, there are presumably reasons for that choice, the most probable being it isn't an option. If there's anything I can do, please just let me know.
In the near distance, Miss Granger appears to have lost her rag once and for all, Ronald Weasley, let go of it this instant! I told you it's mine.
Well it can't be that serious then. She hasn't used his middle name, Severus remarks dryly, keeping a gimlet eye on the young witch beside him to see if his approach works. It's not too different to her own earlier attempt to distract him.
'I'm not sure she knows it,' the woman answers. Her colleagues look at her and she explains, 'I think she's angry enough she would have done otherwise.'
Severus chuckles darkly, Ginger, the whole school knows his middle name. Weren't you there start of term when he received his mother's Howler? For thieving the family's car? He tries to jog her memory, although really it should have been memorable enough on its own...
'Oh, I'd forgotten all about that. It was widely discussed, of course, but I'm afraid I missed it. We were probably still working out the details of my contract for my practical with Gilderoy.' Severus eye twitches ever so faintly as it tends to of late at her mention of the man.
'He hadn't been pleased at the outset, more work for him, you see.' As all present know that glorified Puffskein has had her grading any and all assignments, they fail utterly to see how she represents a heavier workload, but then that's Lockhart for you. 'Professor Dumbledore eventually succeeded in making it clear how much he had to offer...' Minerva makes a soft 'tsk'ing noise; Severus is silently inclined to agree, and there goes his eye again, how annoying. The only consolation is he is quite sure the witch hasn't been taken in by that poncey charlatan. '... And what a gift it would be to our society were he to participate in properly training the next generation...'
Ronald Bilius Weasley!
Ah, it seems she was capable of becoming angrier. Who knew?
For goodness sake, what does a girl need to do to get through to you? She's passed exasperated and sounds near tears, and her wand is now firmly in hand. Severus doesn't fancy the boy's chances, but he'd brought this one on himself. Were the faculty less certain of the outcome, at this point more than one would be inclined to step in. But as things stand... It remains to hope the clean up won't prove too taxing.
And then in a fit of equal parts inspiration and desperation the harried little witch cries, Bagsy! which works like a charm inasmuch as Weasley finally relinquishes the gift, possibly only because he's startled she resorted to such measures or even knew the word.
A certain ginger just bursts out laughing.
Well there you go, Severus. Minerva quips, You're in excellent company. He seems less than pleased at the thought. You and the second years, how fitting. It's more teasing than biting, in keeping with their decade long rivalry as Heads of opposing Houses.
'Or do you still feel that was appropriate behaviour when you snaffled the crest the other day?' the DADA apprentice needles with a mischievous grin.
He gives her a look, it earns him a smile, and just like that, she's feeling more herself again.
He's not feeling too bad either.
Those two, I swear. Minerva sighs, shaking her head as she watches her little lions. At this rate, they'll end up married one day.
'Oh I don't think so, Professor. Not for a moment,' the DADA apprentice disagrees immediately. 'She'll outgrow him, I'm sure of it.'
I have to agree with her. Not that Miss Granger isn't an insufferable know-it-all, but she does actually know a fair bit and regularly apply herself, in glaringly stark contrast to Weasley. There's no conceivable way he satisfies her in the longer term. For the shorter term, however, Severus has learnt over the years that there's nearly no end to witches' idiocy, either, at least not where wizards are concerned. No, he shouldn't like to hazard a guess there.
Fortunately no one is asking him to.
Time will tell, Minerva replies as she leaves to see to her charges.
'We're right, I know it,' the DADA apprentice assures him quietly.
I should hope so. I'd hate for Minerva to have bested both of us. That gets him some side-eye, and he smirks and then continues, I would also be sorely disappointed in the young woman in question if we're mistaken. And just like that, he's on the receiving end of a brilliant smile.
It's rather nice.
She applies a Cleaning Charm to his handkerchief and returns it to him with thanks. He wavers a moment and then asks, If you require any assistance with your parents...
'I won't hesitate to ask.'
Somehow he thinks he can take her at her word.
Day 16
'Oh, well this looks like fun.'
What did we get today, Ms. Bred? Somehow by the cold light of day, back in the familiar confines of the castle, the more formal form of address seems... proper.
''Ginger', if you please, Severus.'
Thinking back - he's naturally testy and can't quite help himself - he feels compelled to ask, When precisely did I give you permission to call me by my given name?
'You haven't,' she laughs. 'But as you weren't likely to, I took the liberty.'
You enjoy that, do you? Taking liberties?
She simply smiles avariciously in answer, and the room suddenly strikes him as uncomfortably warm, improbable given the Great Hall's size, even with Albus' perfectly serviceable Heating Charms.
Severus has to clear his throat before he can continue. And yet you call Minerva 'Professor McGonagall'. The observation is very much a statement and not a question. She answers him anyway.
'Strangely, I can see any number of differences between you.
'And I also haven't invited her to dinner.'
He grows quiet, considering the possible nature of those differences and their ramifications, but in deference to their surroundings, she redirects his attention to the pieces before them. 'Would you care for a game?'
What is it? a small voice from the side asks, as if to irrefutably prove that the moment was less than ideal for their previous exchange.
Do you mean to imply, Miss Granger, that you do not know everything? Severus growls, annoyed at the girl's timing, presence, interference and unmanageable hair for that matter. Cauldron meet kettle, but then he's disinclined to do things in half measures.
With some irritation, the little witch turns to the Potions Master and replies, I should have thought that perfectly clear from the question. Sir. There's no implication about it.
The older woman manages not to chuckle. In addition to being likely to scotch any progress she's made with her taciturn Slytherin, it simply isn't done to expose colleagues to ridicule, and certainly not in front of students. Most unprofessional. Admittedly, that's not to say that stops a good many members of staff from doing so, but still.
Severus remains unaffected by the retort, far too accustomed to the largely unmitigated cheek of Moggies. Looking at the DADA apprentice, he merely drawls, I feel the pressing need for a new paradigm. She wrinkles her nose in reply, amused, before addressing the student.
'The colours don't suggest anything to you, Miss Granger? Or the preponderance of one by one plates?'
Well, it's all very checkerboard...
'Close, but try thinking less Muggle.'
Wizarding Chess! She exclaims with some satisfaction. The withering glance Severus casts over her shoulder would presumably put a bit of a dent in that gratification, but she's lucky enough to miss it entirely, a clear advantage to her height if ever there were one. He's not completely wrong, however, in suggesting she'd basically been led to the conclusion. (Now whether that leading needs to be described as 'by the nose' as he phrases it in the lounge when they speak of this later, is another matter altogether.)
'I take it you don't play?' The teaching assistant asks the younger witch not ungently, after casting her older a colleague a look suggesting he might behave. Severus remains patently unconvinced.
Did I hear someone say 'Wizarding Chess'? comes the next interruption, presumably even less welcome and not only because the mouth uttering it is all too clearly still full of barely chewed food.
Shockingly, Weasley, it would seem your ears function superbly. It could almost lead one to question why they fail to do so, routinely, in a classroom setting, although I'm tempted to ascribe that to cognitive failings.
Ron just throws him a dirty look, not expecting anything else from the greasy git... Actually, he's not nearly as greasy just now for some reason, although Ron fails to see any causal relationship to the current lack of classrooms brimming to the rafters with simmering cauldrons.
Fine, the stupid old dungeon bat then.
Hermione whispers to their DADA apprentice, I find the game sort of brutal, plus I never really learnt how to play. And, um, Ron isn't exactly a... um, gracious winner.
A certain ginger chuffs in amusement, 'Yes, I could picture that.' Turning to include the others, more loudly she enquires, 'Would either of you care to help us put this together?'
I don't think 'Mione knows how, Ron laughs a bit dismissively.
Hermione looks panicked for a moment, she'd only just explained this, her reticence, and she really has no desire to listen to Ronald crow about his very narrow and near irrelevant, highly specific superiority. If she boasted even a fraction as much about her academic and intellectual supremacy, why, they'd be here all night! Not, she suspects, that anyone would stand still to listen to it, but then that was hardly the point, now was it?
'Trust me,' the DADA instructor whispers.
Soon they've assembled the board, and she gently takes Severus' arm. 'Come, our job's finished here.' If she thought Miss Granger looked panicked before, well, she's flown well past that now.
But... comes the very faint objection, and a certain ginger winks before half dragging the Potions Master with her behind the nearest of Albus' many stands of trees.
Want to play then, 'Mione? Whaddaya say? It's easy. Ron seems to taunt her. They may not be of an opinion on that front, but then they so rarely are, and often it's in the ear of the listener.
Ms. Br... Ginger, may I ask what you're doing? Severus practically hisses as they draw to a stop. Oddly, he fails to demand she unhand him. The promise of watching Miss Granger being thoroughly trounced was quite probably the only redeeming aspect to their otherwise bothersome presences...
'Nonsense. It's the expected result. Where's the fun in that?'
With a finger to her lips to silence him and a subtle swish and flick of her wand, she casts a Perception Charm, making their voices lowly audible in a certain Gryffindor's ear, and only hers.
'Miss Granger, this is Ms. Bred. Can you hear me adequately?'
May I ask what... He doesn't get any further before a delicate finger is pressed to his lips to stop him, his surprise at the contact doing far more to silence him than that ghost of a touch.
Close by, the young witch nods faintly.
'Quiet, she can hear you, too.' And so their student thinks little of it, adds, 'One of us at a time, we wouldn't want to confuse her.'
Severus smirks, that sounds altogether too considerate for his reputation. No of course not. Never that. Confusing students! Heaven forfend. She playfully swats his arm until he's silent again.
'Very good, Miss Granger, now take a seat and accept Mr. Weasley's offer.'
Nervously, the young woman does as suggested.
Ron magnanimously, and perhaps a mite condescendingly, allows her to start, and a certain ginger chuckles before instructing, 'Move your left pawn forward one square.' When the witch hesitates, she adds, 'You're white.' Severus just pinches the bridge of his nose, but the girl finally does as told.
With the appropriate Finite, Ginger briefly lifts the Perception Charm to ask Severus, 'Would you care to continue?'
Grinning somewhat wolfishly, he replies, I believe I would, thank you. Care to cast the Charm again? She readily does so as Severus Summons refreshments and conjures them seating and the two spend a pleasant half an hour watching Weasley become increasingly frustrated with his complete inability to outmanoeuvre his Housemate.
When Hermione finally beats him, the outcome was never truly in doubt, she thanks the sputtering boy politely for the game as she rises. And you were right, Ronald. It was easy. I don't know why I haven't wanted to play before. Daring to push as she turns to go, but thinking she knows her best friend well enough to risk it, she adds, We should do this again sometime, certain it's the last thing he'll wish to do.
Just around the corner, out of sight, the two instructors take to their feet as well, ending the Perception Charm and Vanishing the conjured seating.
It seems Miss Granger was right once more. We should do this again sometime, Severus tells the witch.
'I was thinking we might start with a match of our own,' she answers, taking his arm (Severus finds himself not minding in the least) and leading him off to the staff lounge for just that very purpose.
You were right as well, you know. This was a decidedly more enjoyable result.
'I was quietly confident you'd see it my way in the end.'
Day 17
Well that must come as a relief, Ms. Bred.
'By now it was nearly a certainty, but yes, it's comforting to know they haven't forgotten Hufflepuff.'
All well and good, but it's the fourth exemplar of an unspectacular build. By now the children must be bored out of their gourds.
Know a lot about boring children, then, do you, Severus? Minerva chuckles.
Fleetingly, he gives her a dirty look while a certain ginger thinks suitable thoughts about professionalism in light of all the students present, but Severus merely replies with a smirk. Why, when they aren't blowing cauldrons sky high, I'd argue that most children are. Boring. The apprentice DADA mistress has to bite her cheek to keep from laughing, but Minerva catches the expression and shoots her a reproving look all her own. The Transfiguration Professor is so adept at them, she may as well have a mastery in the subject. Severus ignores the witches' silent exchange; it's hardly the first. After eleven years of teaching, he informs them a touch smugly, I feel eminently qualified to make that claim.
Severus, for all the complaining you do, how do you imagine Pomona must feel?
Truthfully he probably spends as little time as humanly possible wondering about Pomona's feelings, or those of most of his colleagues, for that matter, but as Minerva's raised the topic...
A small voice pipes up, interrupting before he deigns to reply. Just as well as it was doubtless another scathing comment that was unlikely to contribute to the festive spirit Albus seems so intent on conjuring. (Proof, to Severus' thinking, were any still required, of the Headmaster's decidedly questionable priorities.) In the Potions Master's defence, it should be noted that it had been an exceptionally trying term, what with the petrifications and threats, and the fact the blame was laid squarely at the feet of 'Slytherin's heir' quite naturally hadn't improved his lot in the slightest.
It's so unfair, really, the way some Houses get all the attention and some are so rudely neglected.
Your lack of self awareness, Miss Granger, is simply stunning. There's at least one woman at the table who can't help thinking she wouldn't mind the circumstances overmuch for the chance to hear him call her stunning, although a smidge less sarcasm might be welcome; Miss Granger, however, doesn't appear to be of the same opinion. She may yet grow into it. That a Gryffindor, of all people, should have the gall to comment on the disproportionate notice some parties receive...
She bristles noticeably. I never claimed we didn't get more attention. Every Slytherin in the building would readily agree they most certainly have done, time and again, the House cup theft of the previous year still too fresh in all their memories. The rest of the Houses seem to be more... forgetful.
Minerva smirks and offers her support, She's correct, she never said any such thing, Severus. Don't put words in her mouth.
Rallying, Hermione takes up her position once more, I simply meant some don't receive similar consideration, and as Head of Slytherin, Professor, you can hardly complain about not having more than your fair share of the spotlight.
He has two words for her that he has no intention of voicing (not 'bugger off', although it's a close second choice and ever so tempting), having no desire to remind anyone present of 'Slytherin's heir' and reopen that can of worms this morning. But they're emblazoned in his mind as surely as if someone had seared them there with a Flagrate, and he is thinking rather poorly of her much vaunted intelligence just at the moment. Quite. Because being almost thoroughly ignored is so much worse than near universal revilement.
Minerva at least has the grace to look a bit chastised at that. Not much, mind, but that was probably more than he'd had any right to hope for given the personalities involved. He'll take the win. The chances Miss Granger would see the light, or any of her little Moggie friends for that matter, were so slim as to not be worth contemplating.
The conversation soon turns to other topics, and Severus finds himself in the unenviable position of wishing school were in session. This utterly barmy idea of Albus' to sit together with the students over the holidays... It's putting him off his feed most effectively, and he hadn't any weight to spare. He's just feeling angry that he's been made to wish for the term instead of simply being able to enjoy the hols in peace when a certain ginger leans over to whisper, 'You know full well a good third of the House prefers notoriety to obscurity. Especially as you have to actually care about someone's opinion to mind if they think poorly of you,' she laughs softly.
Well *I* know that, and you know that, but they don't. He indicates the Gryffindors seated closest with a barely perceptible nod of his head. Besides, the remaining two thirds suffer rather a lot for the negativity. Arguably more, depending on the aspects considered. It artificially limits options, significantly, for too many of them, and I doubt there's a one who appreciates that.
She concedes the point, there can be no argument, and he smiles a small smile most present would miss. There are advantages, nontrivial ones, to dealing with other Slytherins, aside from the fact she seems to know enough to pass him the syrup without his asking.
A good dollop in his porridge, and already things are looking better.
Now if he could only find a way to jinx Albus' infernal Mistletoe to rain some of that very same syrup on its unwary victims, perhaps they'd soon be shot of the magical parasite, improving things all the more. Possibly, with a spot of luck, the DADA mistress in training might have some suggestions to make...
Day 18
Oh well now this is just perfect, he grumbles.
Severus, comes the Transfiguration Professor's admonition. She's rewarded with a baleful look for her troubles, but then he's an adult, and it was fairly predictable her attempt to reprimand him would be unwelcome.
'On the upside,' a certain ginger opines, 'at least they aren't all Gryffindors.' Given Albus must surely still be in the box somewhere, Severus fancies his own chances of putting in an appearance not at all. His face shows what he thinks of that almost as clearly as Ms. Bred's tends to, but he sees little advantage to hiding his displeasure at this box of stray cats. Ah, and one Turkey.
Oddly, I don't find that a consolation in the least.
Now, Severus, what's poor Pomona to...
Yes, yes, I know. But it isn't as though Filius hasn't been in a set or two already this round.
Professor Sprout was only ever in the one set, and that eight years ago, an all too familiar, young but confident voice squeaks up from the side.
Filius, however, has made more than a single appearance, and that as recently as last year. More relevant, you'll find, as arguments currently go, considering he's the individual behind today's door.
Once more.
Well it's only been three in total now, and the first was nine years ago, so perhaps it's his due.
Let me guess. 'Lego Hogwarts: a History'. She beams, which all present assume is confirmation. Do you know, Miss Granger, that in all seven books, 'Snape' is mentioned, explicitly, 1540 times.
'Explicitly?' The apprentice beside him asks, choking on her pumpkin juice.
Explicitly, he confirms, raising a single brow for emphasis. She briefly ceases to continue following the conversation as she considers it.
That doesn't include mentions of 'Severus' or 'he/his/him' in which I am meant, merely the surname alone. 'Flitwick', by contrast, isn't used even a third as often, meaning he isn't even in the top three hundred mentions.
By the same logic, that doesn't include mentions of 'Filius' or 'he/his/him' in which he is meant, merely the surname alone. There could be who knows how many references that have gone uncounted. She seems rather self-satisfied to have caught that.
And what strikes you as more probable? That he's being referred to obliquely as often as possible, or that *I* am, upon occasion, in keeping with the rate of direct use of our names?
Her expression, yet another witch with no Exploding Snap face, answers for her. A certain ginger to Severus' side takes pity and asks, 'And for the sake of completeness, just for reference, how often has Professor Snape been in a set?
Oh! comes the cheery little chirp, evidently exceedingly eager to have a chance to flaunt her research, Including Neville's Boggarts, Severus cringes at the very mention, not that Lupin has yet to subject him to that indignity, but demonstrating more prescience than Sybill on a good day, he can already picture it all too clearly, there are a total of eight different Professor Snape versions, in thirteen sets.
Oh! And one book.
Minerva snorts.
Ah, by all means, let's not forget the book, Severus drawls.
Well it did have a very nice Erlenmeyer flask.
In blue.
Yes, I can see where that made all the difference, Severus adds dryly.
That number is including one microfigure, however, she seems forced to allow. But for the record, neither Professor Sprout nor Professor Flitwick are represented as microfigures.
Arguably, Filius is always represented as a microfigure.
Severus! Minerva chides.
I merely meant to say they'd presumably have had difficulties rendering his microfigure more... micro, he assures those present with a chuckle. Filius, good natured type that he is, is the first to join in with laughter as he takes his seat with his colleagues.
Quite right. Quite right you are, dear boy. It'd have been a nanofigure for me. Unquestionably.
Minerva smirks as she addresses Miss Granger once more. And for the sake of true completeness, she gives Ms. Bred a significant look, how often have *I* appeared?
Oh, well, there've been five versions, in, um, six sets. Um, including the microfigure, but I'm sure it's nothing personal, she anxiously tries to reassure her Head of House.
Minerva just laughs, Don't you worry, Miss Granger. *I* certainly shan't take it that way. How about you, Severus?
'Come now, Severus,' a certain ginger adds lowly, 'it's not as bad as you seem to think.'
Boggarts, he refutes, shouldn't count. Clearly we're not one and the same.
She has to give him that, but when Miss Granger then goes on to describe the Boggarts' outfits, in full technicolour detail (because of course she does), she'd have to admit to wishing to see it, if only just the once.
But then that's what 'Legilimens' is for. Especially useful as Professor Dumbledore is unlikely to lend her his Pensieve for the purpose...
Day 19
'Guess what we have today!'
Another Gryffindor.
'After getting a minifigure only yesterday, not bloody likely. Now try harder.'
We've had enough food, well unless you're willing to address the syrup experiment...
'Oh, I am at your service for any and all syrup experiments, just name your time and place.' He squirms, she smirks, desired result achieved. 'But do try to apply yourself and guess first. Give it a go.'
Well we've exhausted the standards. Small mercies.
'Don't be like that.'
More furnishings?
'Getting warmer,' she smiles. He fails to take the hint, but she finds that's all too often the case with him, more's the pity.
Not another table?
'No, but look at it this way: you wouldn't want to sit with the students given a choice.'
Fair enough. I shan't object, then, should we get another. He gives it a bit of thought.
We haven't had any presents yet.
'Touch early, isn't it? The elves won't deliver them until the 25th.'
As there's no 25th door, and presents couldn't actually be opened, I suspect they'll pop up before then.
And it's just as well they can't be opened or with the way things have been going, the Slytherin gift would contain coal.
Ah, or it'd be the switch for us, whichever.
A certain ginger can't help thinking they'd need to pry the switch from Minerva's - figurative, and possibly literal - claws first, but keeps mum. Some things are best kept under a witch's hat, beyond just unruly hair. Plus the Potions Master spooks all too easily as is.
Well let's give it a shot then, shall we? Shall I apply the Wingardium Leviosa or would you care to?
'I saw the package, so it's sort of cheating. If you'd like a go?'
Don't mind if I do, and he sets about directing first one piece and then the next into position. She stands by watching - it's a pleasure to see him work - pleased to see he's finally come to embrace the calendar's fun.
Ah, well this is... cosy. He stands assessing the results.
'It is rather, isn't it?'
Not that we needed it, given Albus' Heating Charms on the Hall...
'No, strictly speaking it isn't necessary, but as you noted: cosy. There's something to be said for it.'
Hmm.
'If you'd care to conjure some seating again, perhaps we could make ourselves comfortable and get to work on the magical mistletoe parasite problem?'
Ah, and the syrup solution! I'm beginning to think you know just what I like...
'Working on it,' she winks.
Day 20
Bagsy! He cries, unaccustomedly cheerful as he snatches up the Slytherin tile.
''Bagsy'?' She asks in frank disbelief, wondering if one of the Perception Charms has done a number on her hearing and if so whether the Matron can sort it...
Slightly less sure, enough so that he casts a surreptitious look over his shoulders to make sure there are no students in sight, he repeats, Bagsy, with a still firm nod.
'You can't bagsy the Slytherin plaque,' she objects, still not over the fact he'd done so to begin with.
Clearly I can, ta, particularly in the absence of youthful ears. He beams not unlike Minerva when successful at mousing. It's a pity, really, the woman often doesn't seem to derive as much satisfaction from being human. Unlike most, however, she has other options.
'Speaking of youthful, how old are you? I haven't called bagsies since...' She trails off and he looks at her expectantly, brow raised in silent query. She just blushes and completes the thought, 'Well, it's been a while.'
He grins at her slight discomfort. Pre-O.W.L.s then? He smirks.
'Decidedly.
'Anyhow, it's not like you're the only Slytherin present,' she concludes, reaching for the tile herself.
You don't seriously mean to tell me that you feel your claim to it is stronger than mine as Head of House? If only as a matter of principle, she's bloody well prepared to argue it is, yes, not that he doesn't have a point...
Minerva, who has been quietly watching their exchange, chooses the moment to get her barb in, As opposed to the Heir of Slytherin, say? Surely he - or she - would be more entitled?
That's far from fair, Minerva. Even assuming there is such a person... It really has been a... challenging term to be a Slytherin.
A certain ginger shares the sentiment only too much. Instead of arguing with the Deputy Headmistress, she shows her support by immediately relinquishing her hold on the piece, 'It's all yours.' The clear advantage of saying that to a fellow Slytherin is he takes her meaning at once. A faint nod acknowledges his appreciation of the small demonstration of loyalty.
'Shall we set to assembling it then?' She asks her co-workers.
I'm happy to just hold onto my own tile. Filius, he calls to the man still seated at the table, can I interest you in the Ravenclaw plaque?
Filius, lost in discussion (not a particularly fruitful one, but it's the holidays, after all...) with his fellow Ravenclaw Sybill, hasn't been following the conversation. What's that you say, Severus? Oh! Gladly. Thank you very much. Sybill already begins securing their bounty before the words are out of his mouth.
I'd ask Pomona, Severus snarks to his Gryffindor counterpart, but as you've been so keen to have me understand, she is unable to weigh in on the topic.
And presumably feels badly about it.
Minerva just gives him one of her looks. He suspects it's one she reserves just for him, which provides an odd comfort of sorts. Say what you will, they're family. Often dysfunctional, to be sure, but then that aligns nicely with his thoughts on family dynamics anyway.
Nonsense, comes the prim reply. He just grins. Filius, I'm afraid you'll need to return it to the pile; we have something to build. It's telling that she doesn't even bother trying to reason with the Divination Instructor.
Filius is an eminently agreeable sort who upon sighting the remaining pieces is only too willing to return his, and soon joins the others in a communal build.
Well it's certainly... Minerva pauses, unsure what it certainly is.
Fair, supplies Filius. Assuming that's of consequence, he adds, sounding uncertain if it actually is.
Severus doesn't chuckle, merely lifts his brow again, Yes, I could see where the word might have escaped you, Minerva. Presupposing the concept hadn't.
A certain ginger has to fight not to laugh, and is now chewing her lip rather brutally in a bid to hold back her fit of good humour. Severus, although pleased at the nature of the response, takes slight issue with its manifestation. Some days he thinks she makes a positively rubbish Slytherin. Truthfully, he'd argue her ambition, insightful analyses of situations, and considered actions wouldn't allow her to be sorted elsewhere, but it is hard to believe she hadn't had more of these tells drummed out of her during her school years in the dungeons. He wonders that he hadn't noticed it more at the time.
Aside from 'fair', does anyone know what it actually is?
'I do,' the DADA apprentice replies. That's greeted by looks of surprise. 'I read the product description,' she clarifies with a shrug.
Care to share with the rest of the class then?
She hesitates. 'It might spoil tomorrow's build.'
Ah. In that case, right you are, my dear. Right you are. Tomorrow is soon enough, we'll discover it together then, Filius pats her hand reassuringly, although it's a bit of a reach to do so. He's used to it, and his avuncular tendencies override any potential concerns for his physical comfort.
And in the meantime, can I interest anyone in some elf wine? He offers the rest.
Unsurprisingly, Sybill is amongst the first of the takers.
Day 21
I say, that is quite a bit of gold, Filius says in a hushed tone, taking it in.
That it is, Severus rejoins. He sounds thoughtful.
'I don't think you need to worry. See? There's no crimson,' a certain ginger tries to reassure him.
While I... appreciate your concern, I wasn't 'worried', he smiles. I was thinking if everything were to go pear shaped, we could always grab the ingot and Disapparate.
'Not in Hogwarts!' She almost sounds scandalised, probably because the very thought he hasn't read and memorised 'Hogwarts: a History' (in which that's ever so clearly explained) strikes her as very scandalous indeed. 'At least not as long as you aren't Headmaster,' she amends. There's something odd about the way she says it that has him examine her more closely. 'Of course it you were, you wouldn't. Headmaster. Disapparate. Cut and run. Well not unless challenged and faced with...' Now he's giving her a very strange look - not unwarranted - and she just winds to a stop. 'Never mind. Pretend I didn't say anything. I assume you were being facetious anyway.'
Hmm. The brow lifts, and the Knut drops.
'Oh. Ah. Right. Not entirely facetious.
'Well as plans go, there are worse...' she concedes.
I should think so. He seems ever so slightly offended, his gaze ticking to a small disgrace of Gryffindors nearby. She can see his point. Goodness knows, those three have come up with some perfectly wretched plans over the years. Or will do, whichever.
'Oh I didn't mean to imply... Shall we simply get to building?'
I think we'd best. He's positively smirking now. After you. He waits for her to go ahead of him, his hand slipping - almost incidentally, the sneaky Snake - to the small of her back as she draws abreast. And if she was mindful to pass on his left, so as not to impede his wand arm and improve the chances, well, no one can fault her for being observant, now can they? It doesn't hurt, obviously, that she wields her wand with her left. The fingers of her right hand subtly trace an angular 'P' on his trouser leg as they walk, the rune Wunjo, reassuringly conveying comfort and her pleasure, or at least it would if he's better educated in Ancient Runes than he seems to be in the history of the castle anyway. His broadening smirk as he steers her gently towards the golden pieces on the floor would suggest that he is.
She tries, with modest success, to nibble back her smile, but her expression when she next addresses the Head of Ravenclaw is undeniably a hint warmer than usual. Filius returns the smile with some amusement, rarely surprised by anything anymore, a decided advantage of age and experience.
'Professor Flitwick, would you like to help us put it together?'
I'd love to, my dear. Just love to.
I swear that's Albus' beard. Severus says, taking a piece in hand. With the Midas treatment, but still. Clearly recognisable.
What's that they say? 'Everything old is new again.'
Or his tastes are that outdated. Whichever seems more likely.
Filius smiles kindly at that. You are incorrigible, my boy. Simply incorrigible.
I try, he replies wryly. Privately, the DADA apprentice is sure: he really doesn't; it comes all too naturally.
Ah, well here we are.
What's the... object? Severus waves a hand idly, indicating the leftover pieces forming... Well she has no idea what they're forming really. That was sort of his point.
I believe the problem is a question of scale. I suspect that's meant to be a micro representation of the castle.
'Oh. Uh. Alright.' She's clearly not seeing it.
Smaller than micro. A nanobuild at best.
I imagine smaller than that. But there's nothing wrong with being small.
'Professor, I'm sure Severus didn't mean to suggest there was.'
In the case specific, Ginger, I wouldn't be to sure of that. You didn't recognise it as the castle either. Too small, too abstracted. In some instances, size matters... She chokes, eyes widening, and he pauses fractionally, a faint smirk the only indication he'd heard. ...If only for the detail it can convey.
Subtlety. So not her strong suit. A fact made all the more obvious when she has to swallow before answering, which only has him smirking more.
Arse.
'But once properly assembled, the context helps us interpret it correctly,' she counters, doing her best to pretend she weren't a disgrace to her Slytherin jumper. Thankfully, the others are kind enough to play along, and the moment passes.
I suppose he should be holding the model... Filius suggests. Which, now that he says so, makes perfect sense, really. That's what hands are for, after all. Well... Yes. She has no idea why that hadn't occurred to her on her own. Presumably the season has her a little distracted, to say nothing of recent events.
With a flick and a swish, he guides it into place. And there we are, the Hogwarts architect.
The problem here is one House is always towards the rear.
'Which way should he face?'
Well which House was he? Sybill asks, not entirely unhelpfully, but perhaps she hadn't thought her question through all that well.
You realise this is the architect of Hogwarts? She nods, only slightly sherry addled at this hour. There were no Houses prior to Hogwarts, ergo, he has no House, and no House can claim him.
Sybill is so used to his disdain, she doesn't even bother looking chagrined. On the contrary, she holds the Potions Master in so little regard as to render his opinion nearly moot. She merely takes a long pull from her glass and turns her back on him, which flummoxes Severus not the least, having a similar opinion of the 'Seer' as she does of him.
In a perfect world, he'd be on a pivoting mount and turn, Minerva weighs in, approaching, steaming cup of tea in hand.
'In a perfect world, the House crests would turn and he'd remain facing front. Perhaps to show which House has the most points?' Minerva recognises the utility of the suggestion and nods appreciatively in agreement. It's all too easy with the apprentices sometimes to see them more as students than colleagues, and the young woman beside her is very nearly finished with her studies. It would probably do to remember that about her.
No, in a perfect world, Slytherin would constantly face front. Minerva snorts, tea shooting uncomfortably up her nose. Filius could swear that some days Severus lives only to get under the witch's skin. He certainly behaves that way at any rate, if that can be called 'behaving' that is. The timing of his remark had definitely been suspicious. If only because in a truly perfect world, Slytherin would always be ahead, he concludes smugly, while Minerva unobtrusively Tergeos her sinuses with some annoyance. He draws his wand and sets the statue of the Architect on its pedestal, the Slytherin crest facing the room. With the way the pedestal had been built, this leaves the Gryffindor crest facing the wall.
Minerva rectifies that almost immediately, twitching her wand and moving to Banish her tea, thirst forgotten. Filius Summons the cup en route, plucking it casually from midair and warms his hands on it. Before he can take so much as a sip, the pedestal has been turned back to front beneath the statue and Minerva stands there huffing in satisfaction. Their little contretemps won't keep the Ravenclaw from enjoying his purloined beverage; he has far too many years as a teacher under his belt for that. He simply steps back out of their way to better observe. Well, that and to avoid friendly wandfire. There are reasons he was placed in Ravenclaw all those years ago.
Severus has no intention of standing for Minerva's manoeuvre and flicks his wand once more, and in a trice the green tile is again front and centre.
And back and forth they go for a little while. Gryffindor. Slytherin. Gryffindor. Slytherin. Gryffindor. Slytherin...
'They're surprisingly easy to keep occupied,' a certain ginger whispers to the Charmsmaster.
Would the same were true of the children in their respective Houses, Filius replies with a wink.
Day 22
'Well the colours are suspicious.'
As are the shapes.
'Really? Do you think so?'
Give it a try and see.
It doesn't take her long.
And here you thought we'd have to wait for the gifts.
Only two doors left. He sounds contemplative.
And a bit morose.
What do you imagine the chances are that Albus won't be cast as Father Christmas?
'Severus,' her tone is gentle, but it doesn't quite reach him. She places her hand on his arm, and now he turns her way, eyes still downcast. 'You knew he was going to be in there from the outset. He's on the cover.'
His expression doesn't soften, and she tries again. 'Is it really so bad? Not being in the box?' Nothing.
'It doesn't begin to change who you are.' More of the same.
'Or how I feel about you,' she adds the last more quietly, a last ditch effort she regrets trying almost as soon as she has, but his eyes finally shift to meet hers and she can tell he heard.
Which isn't terrifying in the least.
Which probably means she'll now need to pretend she didn't say it. Hopeless case. Still, she gives him an encouraging smile before she completely loses her bottle, and although he doesn't return it - he can't, not yet, still far too annoyed - his hand reaches for hers and gives it a squeeze.
If a squeeze can possibly be grumpy, this one is.
He won't say he's been silly - that's a bridge too far - but she's probably not altogether wrong.
Hmm.
He makes an effort to pull himself together, to shake it off. He's wallowing, he knows it. All that's missing now is for Minerva to come along and tell him so.
Knowing her, it's probably only a question of time, too, before she does.
A certain ginger tries to make conversation, to distract him from his thoughts. 'So, made any progress tracking down your missing ingredients yet? Have you found the culprits?'
I don't think there's any question. It was Potter, beyond a doubt.
'But to be so certain...' There's a gently chiding note to it he means to address.
If it wasn't the boy himself - improbable, but supposing - then it was one of his friends at his behest, which amounts to the same. Ultimately he's always the root of the problem. And there's the small matter of a firecracker in Goyle's cauldron, which I believe served as the distraction. The timing fits and it's inconceivable that lot bested my wards to gain entry outside of when the class had access.
Now why he'd want the ingredients...
She gives him a quizzical look, she certainly knows what the ingredients could be used for, and he expands on that, Of course I know what they're for, but there's not the remotest chance he's brewing Polyjuice. None. I guarantee it. She smirks at his conviction, but wouldn't disagree with him either. It borders on a wonder he can walk and breathe simultaneously; advanced brewing? From him? The least of our concerns, I'd say.
He warms to the topic and begins to take her through his reasoning, So the question remains, what was the theft for? Is he selling them on? If so, why? He can't need the money. If the rumours are to be believed, the gormless halfwit is simply swimming in Galleons. Heir to the Sleekeazy fortune.
Trying to impress someone? Weasley wouldn't know what they're for... He glares over in the direction where Potter stands with his two cohorts, apparently attacking the recently assembled gifts although it's far from time to do so. And from the wrapping, it's unlikely the majority were even for them, come to think of it.
Evidently these facts are insufficient to stop them.
Naturally.
Entitled little tosspots.
He may be doing them an injustice, none of the boxes are actually being opened at present, but from a distance that distinction is harder to make.
He's about to launch into a tirade about the spoilt lackwits when a cry interrupts him, Ronald, give it back!
They turn as one to see Miss Granger, hopping rather futilely, trying to snatch a prettily wrapped red and gold package from the taller Weasley's outstretched arm. MMM mmm, is the only reply, typically eloquent, and he lifts the package up higher.
It's mine! The girl grows a touch shrill, and Ms. Bred winces minutely.
I don't think so.
It's probably books! It's not like you'd want them anyway... Secretly Severus couldn't agree with her more, but the boy still doesn't budge, and Potter, the little rotter, just stands there, looking on.
Disapprovingly, Severus continues his previous analysis of the theft, And if he were looking for an 'in' with Miss Granger, he'd be helping her now instead of standing idly by.
'Although I very much doubt Potter is, not in a million years, I also would never lay odds against the questionable decisions males have been known to make in courtship.' A loaded statement if ever he's heard one, but again the woman probably has a point that he has no intention of openly acknowledging.
Miss Granger's arm is raised and waving in her fruitless attempt to regain her present. Severus can't help thinking it's practically the girl's trademark; he'd know that flailing hand anywhere.
For goodness sake, it has my name on it! She shrieks to no avail.
Hardly a winning argument as success is predicated on Weasley's ability to read, Severus remarks quietly. It's not that he wouldn't agree that Miss Granger can be too... excitable, or that her earnestness can't be trying, Merlin knows it is, but it doesn't change the fact the boys can be unnecessarily... cruel from time to time. Certainly to hear Hagrid tell of it anyway, and heavens know, the half giant is incredibly partial to the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Irk-Severus-No-End.
Minerva, summoned by her cub's cries, joins them where they stand watching the display.
Don't you mean to see to that? Severus drawls, injecting as much disinterest into the enquiry as possible, which begs the question from more acute minds as to why he bothered asking it at all. Neither of the witches present overlook that, although one is perhaps inclined to give him some credit, the sight clearly isn't entirely to his liking. The other just takes him for deliberately difficult, assuming it's a bit of a poke at how she does her job. As the quintessential Slytherin, from Severus it's some of both. Anything else would be wasteful and unambiguous, and where's the fun in that?
She's a perfectly capable witch, and no blood has flown, Minerva answers somewhat tersely. He shoots his colleague a look - that attitude explains so much of his own school years - and Minerva feels compelled to justify her (in-)actions. Interference is rarely the answer, Severus. Surely you of all people know that. If I intervene, they merely continue the disagreement at a later point, out of my sight and reach, and generally with interest.
Letting these things play themselves out goes a long way towards keeping them from escalating.
It's not that there isn't some truth to it, but his face sours at the thought. And yet making limits absolutely clear also has its benefits, he mutters, but the witch still doesn't move.
It's from my parents... Comes Miss Granger's next complaint, and the litany goes on, but the young woman next to him suddenly takes a queer turn. He's just trying to formulate the best way to ask about it - witches, far from simple - when Minerva, not nearly as indifferent as he'd currently paint her, does just that.
Ms. Bred, is everything quite alright?
Hmm. It would seem there are advantages, some days, to being a Gryffindor and not having to weigh one's options prior to acting.
'I was just thinking about my parents. I...' She trails off and he notices her eyes have gone misty. Surreptitiously - cloaks hide a multitude of sins and the occasional good deed - he reaches for her hand and gives it another squeeze, less grumpy this time. 'It's been quite a while since I last saw them. I guess the holidays make me realise how much I miss them.' She sniffs, and he hands her his handkerchief, which earns him a watery smile.
Minerva has enough experience to pause before asking her next question, which is just as well. Severus looks over the young DADA apprentice's shoulder and just shakes his head ever so slightly in the Gryffindor's direction. She takes his cue. She won't ask the woman about visiting her parents now. Ms. Bred is an adult witch, perfectly capable of Apparating anywhere she wishes to go. If she doesn't do so, there are presumably reasons for that choice, the most probable being it isn't an option. If there's anything I can do, please just let me know.
In the near distance, Miss Granger appears to have lost her rag once and for all, Ronald Weasley, let go of it this instant! I told you it's mine.
Well it can't be that serious then. She hasn't used his middle name, Severus remarks dryly, keeping a gimlet eye on the young witch beside him to see if his approach works. It's not too different to her own earlier attempt to distract him.
'I'm not sure she knows it,' the woman answers. Her colleagues look at her and she explains, 'I think she's angry enough she would have done otherwise.'
Severus chuckles darkly, Ginger, the whole school knows his middle name. Weren't you there start of term when he received his mother's Howler? For thieving the family's car? He tries to jog her memory, although really it should have been memorable enough on its own...
'Oh, I'd forgotten all about that. It was widely discussed, of course, but I'm afraid I missed it. We were probably still working out the details of my contract for my practical with Gilderoy.' Severus eye twitches ever so faintly as it tends to of late at her mention of the man.
'He hadn't been pleased at the outset, more work for him, you see.' As all present know that glorified Puffskein has had her grading any and all assignments, they fail utterly to see how she represents a heavier workload, but then that's Lockhart for you. 'Professor Dumbledore eventually succeeded in making it clear how much he had to offer...' Minerva makes a soft 'tsk'ing noise; Severus is silently inclined to agree, and there goes his eye again, how annoying. The only consolation is he is quite sure the witch hasn't been taken in by that poncey charlatan. '... And what a gift it would be to our society were he to participate in properly training the next generation...'
Ronald Bilius Weasley!
Ah, it seems she was capable of becoming angrier. Who knew?
For goodness sake, what does a girl need to do to get through to you? She's passed exasperated and sounds near tears, and her wand is now firmly in hand. Severus doesn't fancy the boy's chances, but he'd brought this one on himself. Were the faculty less certain of the outcome, at this point more than one would be inclined to step in. But as things stand... It remains to hope the clean up won't prove too taxing.
And then in a fit of equal parts inspiration and desperation the harried little witch cries, Bagsy! which works like a charm inasmuch as Weasley finally relinquishes the gift, possibly only because he's startled she resorted to such measures or even knew the word.
A certain ginger just bursts out laughing.
Well there you go, Severus. Minerva quips, You're in excellent company. He seems less than pleased at the thought. You and the second years, how fitting. It's more teasing than biting, in keeping with their decade long rivalry as Heads of opposing Houses.
'Or do you still feel that was appropriate behaviour when you snaffled the crest the other day?' the DADA apprentice needles with a mischievous grin.
He gives her a look, it earns him a smile, and just like that, she's feeling more herself again.
He's not feeling too bad either.
Those two, I swear. Minerva sighs, shaking her head as she watches her little lions. At this rate, they'll end up married one day.
'Oh I don't think so, Professor. Not for a moment,' the DADA apprentice disagrees immediately. 'She'll outgrow him, I'm sure of it.'
I have to agree with her. Not that Miss Granger isn't an insufferable know-it-all, but she does actually know a fair bit and regularly apply herself, in glaringly stark contrast to Weasley. There's no conceivable way he satisfies her in the longer term. For the shorter term, however, Severus has learnt over the years that there's nearly no end to witches' idiocy, either, at least not where wizards are concerned. No, he shouldn't like to hazard a guess there.
Fortunately no one is asking him to.
Time will tell, Minerva replies as she leaves to see to her charges.
'We're right, I know it,' the DADA apprentice assures him quietly.
I should hope so. I'd hate for Minerva to have bested both of us. That gets him some side-eye, and he smirks and then continues, I would also be sorely disappointed in the young woman in question if we're mistaken. And just like that, he's on the receiving end of a brilliant smile.
It's rather nice.
She applies a Cleaning Charm to his handkerchief and returns it to him with thanks. He wavers a moment and then asks, If you require any assistance with your parents...
'I won't hesitate to ask.'
Somehow he thinks he can take her at her word.