It Takes a Miracle

Chapter 13 – The things you know and the things you don’t


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She stood for some time, staring unblinking at Snape’s body. It was curled in a big black ball at the base of the bookcase, unmoving since the moment his leg folded under him and he slowly and quietly slid down. Her wand was trembling, and the hatred thoroughly mixed with utter misery was filling her heart and prickling in her eyes. She wasn’t sure who it was she hated here more – Snape, his defeated form so helpless, so vulnerable at her feet, or herself for not hating him enough. Shit.

The whole situation was wrong. Gerry ground her teeth. How was it possible that he was waltzing freely around the school like that? He was not supposed to be here at all. He should be rotting somewhere in Azkaban. Or at least in the Ministry’s jail, waiting for a trial. How the fuck did he manage to worm his way out of it? Bastard.

Her wand pointing at him, Gerry considered possible courses of action. Go find Dumbledore? McGonagall? Jay? Enervate the scum and make him walk to the Headmaster? What if she was asked how she knew he was a Death Eater? What if they all were the Dark Lord followers here?

“No, don’t be stupid, girl,” she berated herself inwardly, “they all are famous for fighting him.”

She bit her lip, the rush from the confrontation slowly subsiding, and took a deep breath. “So, what do I do now?” The question unexpectedly got answered.

“I suppose we can start with a little chat.”

Gerry swirled around to come face to face with Dumbledore.

“Headmaster...” she whispered.

The old wizard walked to Snape’s still form and squatted next to it, his bright orange dressing gown with scarlet red phoenixes on it pooled around him, spilling over onto Snape’s black robes.

“Oh, dear,” Dumbledore said softly, touching the unconscious wizard’s forehead. Then, he shook his head and offered Gerry a sad smile. “It has to be a record. You’ve been here for less than two hours, and Professor Snape has already made you curse him. Well,” the old wizard sighed, “I reckon, we should take him to Madam Pomfrey.”

“No, Headmaster, don’t!” screamed Gerry seeing as the old wizard pulled his wand out and quickly removed the binding spell. He looked at her, his brow raised questioningly. “He...he...he is dangerous.” She didn’t know how much she should tell.

“He is?” Dumbledore continued looking at her, clearly waiting for further explanations.

“Yes! He is...he is...” Gerry glanced around the empty library hall and turned back to the Headmaster. “He is a Death Eater.”

“Oh.” Dumbledore’s expression became sad, and he repeated, moving his gaze to Snape’s form, “oh...”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Gerry started hotly, but was interrupted.

“I do, but we need to talk.”

“What is there to talk about?! We have to contact the authorities, don’t we? They have to take him away from school! From the kids!” She couldn’t understand why Dumbledore remained squatting next to the bastard, keeping his wrinkled palm on the pale forehead, instead of rushing to raise the alarm, or at least taking away his wand and binding the fucking scum.

“Ms. Ardant...Gerry, would you kindly lower your wand, please?” In her opinion the calm tone of his voice was completely out of place in this situation. Didn’t the old wizard hear her? Didn’t he know what the words Death Eater meant? Or was she right in her suspicions?

“Gerry, please, lower you wand, and let me explain something to you first...before we do anything...rash here.” The old wizard was looking at her intently, and suddenly she felt foolish. Yes, it didn’t look good at all to keep standing there pointing the blasted wand at the Headmaster of the school she had just been hired to work at. But then she mentally shook herself -- she wasn’t pointing at him, she was pointing at the fucking Death Eater.

“Gerry, please.” Under Dumbledore sharp stare she had to comply. However, the moment she did, as if on a cue, Snape moaned, stirred, and open his eyes. Gerry’s wand flew back up.

Snape slowly looked around and saw the old wizard. “Albus, what are...” His peripheral vision caught the wand pointing at him, and he scrambled to get up, glaring, his eyes shifting from the tip of Gerry’s wand to her face.

“Severus.” The old wizard, who also had straightened up to his full height next to Snape, gestured for him to stop, when the Potions Master made a move to reach for his wand. The dark-haired wizard sharply turned to Dumbledore and swayed, his shaking hand quickly grabbing the shelf for steadiness. “Severus, why don’t we take you to Poppy, and then we’ll offer some explanations to Ms. Ardant.”

“Explanations?” Snape practically spat.

“Yes, Severus, explanations,” patiently, as if talking to a child, said Dumbledore. “You see, Ms. Ardant believes that you are a Death Eater.”

Astonished and still wary about the situation Gerry, who silently watched the two wizards for the last several minutes, thought suddenly that Snape was going to fall again. But he didn’t. Just his hold on the shelf seemed to get tighter for a moment, but then he let go. He slowly gathered his black robe about him and, his eyes glimmering strangely, looked at the old wizard. Very slowly, as if each word was foreign to him, the dark-haired wizard uttered, “It is your call, Albus. Do let me know what information has been shared. Good night.”

With that, shakily, he began walking towards the door. When he passed Gerry, his face closed, completely void of any emotions, he barely nodded, without looking at her, “Ms. Ardant,” and continued on his way out of the library hall.

“Severus, I believe we’ll see you in the infirmary in a couple of minutes,” the Headmaster called after the dark-haired wizard.

“I can take care of...” jerked his head Snape, his unsteady step faltering, but the old wizard interrupted him in a very obvious “you do what I say” tone, “I’d prefer Poppy to check that nasty bump on your temple.”

The light thud of the closing door brought Gerry out of stupor.

“Headmaster, why are you letting him go? He will flee! We have to...”

“Gerry, please, listen to me,” the old wizard appealed to her. He stepped to her, putting his hand reassuringly on her wand hand, still at ready. “I promise he will not flee. Let us go to the hospital wing, and I will explain everything to you there.”

Gerry looked at him in total disbelief. “Explain what? That you are hiding dangerous criminals?”

It took the old wizard a good fifteen minutes to calm her down enough to persuade her to accompany him to the infirmary. Still horrified by the sheer thought of a Death Eater prowling freely around a school, Gerry followed the Headmaster, who, despite his respectable age, walked swiftly in an orange cloud of his dressing gown.

Once in the hospital wing, Gerry was ushered to Madam Pomfrey’s office, while the Headmaster headed to the infirmary to check on Snape and talk to the mediwitch. She paced around the empty room, frantically trying to think of one possible explanation that Dumbledore could give her, which would make Snape less of a criminal. But she couldn’t. The most annoying, though, was the fact that her mental vision kept offering her the image of his stunned face, his shaking hands bound in front of him, his eyes pleading to her... “Stop!” Gerry screamed inwardly. “He got what he deserved.”

She was about to storm out and again demand that actions be taken against Snape, when the orange-clad Dumbledore swept back accompanied by a very unhappy-looking woman in a white dressing gown.

“It has to stop, Albus. We are loosing him,” she was saying hotly before clamping her mouth shut at the sight of Gerry.

“Gerry, I reckon you might remember Madam Pomfrey,” Dumbledore said mildly.

“Yes, of course.” Gerry nodded, confused by the mediwitch’s words upon entrance. “How do you do?”

“Gerry, dear, it is good to see you again.” The older witch offered her a soft smile. “How do you do?”

“Poppy, Gerry has graciously agreed to come to work here,” continued the old wizard.

“That is wonderful, dear,” the mediwitch sounded pleased. “But I hope there won’t be any long stays in the infirmary this time. All right? In and out!”

Gerry forced herself to smile too. Then, the Headmaster and mediwitch excused themselves, and went to the window. They stood there for several minutes discussing something: Madam Pomfrey passionately, her cheeks turning pink; Dumbledore softly, almost sadly. Gerry could only hear bits and pieces, which made no sense to her. They most probably talked about Snape, who from what Gerry could surmise, was sleeping in the infirmary. The mediwitch was gesturing wildly, demanding that Dumbledore take some kind of action. The old wizard was nodding, quietly reassuring her that he indeed was planning on doing something.

At the door, Madam Pomfrey looked scornfully at Dumbledore and then turned to Gerry, her eyes softened. “My dear child, was it for you that Albus inquired about certain potions?” Gerry nodded clearly surprised, and Poppy continued, “Please come back tomorrow afternoon, so we can arrange that.” With that the mediwitch bid them good night and left.

Dumbledore sighed, pulled up a chair, and sat facing Gerry. “Well, I reckon it is time for our little chat, child.”

And Gerry couldn’t help but notice just how sad and tired the old wizard looked.


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When he woke up, he couldn’t recognize his surroundings. Neither his bedroom nor his living room was ever so nauseatingly white. Besides, he felt too rested to be anywhere but... Ah, of course, the infirmary. As a proof that his guess was correct, he saw Poppy pulling away the curtains around the bed, slowly levitating a small tray with a cup of coffee and toast on it.

“Rise and shine, Severus.” She smiled at him, disregarding his scowl.

“It’s Monday bloody morning, Poppy.” Snape threw her an icy glare. “Must you be so bloody cheerful?”

“You are to eat here, and, when I say you are done, you are free to go,” she continued unperturbed. “The Headmaster’s orders.”

Back in the dungeons, he went to his office first. On the top of the desk there was a parchment with the agenda of the morning’s staff meeting Dumbledore sent to him, having added some comments on the bottom of the sheet. Snape pushed the parchment to the side, as if its sight offended him. He had missed the meeting already, so the agenda could wait. He spent some time going through lesson plans for the week and the stacks of essays he still needed to grade. And then he just sat there, staring at one of the jars, trying not to think... Not to think... No... The heavy desk chair fell behind him, as Snape jumped up, grabbed the parchment from the side of the desk, and headed to his private quarters.

He took his time preparing coffee. The way he liked it, hot sand and all. Not the way the house-elves butchered it. But sooner rather than later, Snape was sitting in his living room, resigned, a piece of parchment in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.

He took a sip of bitter dark liquid, looked thoughtfully at the oversized mug he had to use now in lieu of a proper little coffee cup and swore. He glanced longingly at his scotch collection, but reminded himself it was still a Monday bloody morning and he had to get through another torturous week before allowing himself a short oblivion. Not to mention the fact that he just barely recovered from one.

Alright, the staff meeting notes. Just as Snape thought, there was nothing important. Another wasted hour of pointless talks, which he had no regrets of missing today. There was only one item on the agenda, though, that caught his eye: “Introduction of new Assistant Professors.” Now Snape remembered some discussion about hiring several tutors. So... That was, probably, why the girl was here again. His insides gave a tiny, barely perceptible flip.

Still he fought it for some time: took another sip of coffee, crumpled and threw out the piece of parchment, “accio’ed” a book. But he knew it was going to happen, no matter how much he wished it wouldn’t. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes – there, he gave in. From this point on, there was no holding back.

It had been such a long time since he allowed himself to think about the girl. Months. Almost a year. So much time of keeping this void, this sweet pain hidden in the darkest corner of his mind. He struggled, oh, how he tried all those long months, day after day, night after night, to forget her, to erase the memory of her, the feel of her...the smell of her...

Oh, he knew how sick, how twisted it was of him to indulge in these memories. How iniquitous. Even after the Dark Lord’s demise, when he could, without risking anybody’s life, allow himself to let his thoughts wander free, shedding the former survival-necessary censorship, he was well aware that his mere thinking of her dirtied the girl, lowered her to the filth he was.

But now at this intoxicating, longed-for moment of abandon, Snape’s head swam, and he was helpless, flattened by the flood of thoughts, emotions, memories, dreams he had long refused to admit having. He moaned and buried his face in his hands, but quickly pulled his head back up, annoyed, and glared at his shaking hands. Oh bloody Merlin, he really shouldn’t, mustn’t, but...it was already too late to stop...

The girl... The beautiful witch with insanely blue eyes... The red lip bitten to the point of bursting... Intoxicating aroma of vanilla and peach... A tender warm smile... A soft voice asking a question shyly... Bits and pieces of strange, alien, sweet dreams: their quiet walks in his mother’s garden, a trip to the stormy shore and a passionate kiss in the dark cave...

Merlin! Snape shook his head fiercely. He couldn’t stop. And the girl, the girl hated him so much. He rubbed his eyes - he didn’t even know it could hurt so. He wondered idly what part of that hate came from the knowledge about him being a Death Eater and what part from the knowledge of what he was capable of doing to a defenseless girl. Oh, Merlin...

He could imagine the disappointed look on Dumbledore’s kind face, when, after his reassurances that the Potions Master was not exactly a Death Eater, the young witch had told him what an animal Snape truly was. It actually was surprising that Dumbledore had not called him to his office yet to discuss his assault. He probably just thought Snape was still recovering in the infirmary.

Shit, what would he say to the Headmaster? “I am sorry?” A little voice chuckled and spat, “Coward!” Yes, he should have reported the incident, well alright, the assault on Ms. Ardant a long time ago. Then again, now it all might result in his speedy dismissal from Hogwarts. Wasn’t it what he wanted, after all? Of course, he never intended to finish off his career in such a disgrace, but what did it matter now? He just wouldn’t have to wait another two months.

Snape ran his shaking hand through the greasy hair, his thoughts coming back to the girl. The way her lips tasted all those long torturous months ago... The way her eyes shone when she cursed him last night...

He really should stop. He managed rather well for so long. Ever since she Apparated, holding hands with her bloody fiancé. Standing on the top of the Astronomy tower, he saw them, her warm smile, his sure caress. There was so much closeness in their demeanor, so much ease. They looked perfect together. Two beautiful, young, happy people ready to live a beautiful happy life.

He stood, watching them pause at the Apparating spot, his chest tighten. His hangover headache was watering his eyes and his empty stomach was lurching and twisting, pushing the non-existent content up and out. His guilt, settled firmly somewhere deep inside, was sending wave after wave of dulled ache to the surface of his consciousness. He stood, unable to breathe, unable to move, unconsciously murmuring, “Please, please, don’t... Please...”

He laughed at himself afterwards. He laughed for a long time, because it was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. So, he laughed...

Snape swore again. The coffee in his mug was cold. It didn’t taste like coffee anymore, but like chewed up and spit out coffee beans. He pushed the mug away with a scowl and swiftly got up. He wasted a perfectly good two hours, and it was time for his morning class. Snape had never been late to any of his classes, and he wasn’t about to change that now. With a customary scowl in place, he walked out of his rooms with a determined stride. He still had a job to do.

Sweeping down the corridor to his classroom his robes billowing behind him, Snape just couldn’t stop wondering if he wasn’t fired how the bloody hell he would be able to survive the next two long months.


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Sitting in her bed, ready to take the Dreamless Sleep Potion, Gerry couldn’t quite decide if she should be grinning or frowning. On one hand, there was no doubt that a heavy weight had been lifted from her chest, when Dumbledore told her about Snape. That he wasn’t a Death Eater. Well, technically, he was, but...he wasn’t. Thank Merlin. After months of agonizing over her stunt in the final battle, she finally could breathe easily. But on the other hand, it was still a bit confusing. A spy? She didn’t expect that at all. Although frankly, she couldn’t really say what she was expecting. Gerry was absolutely startled to find herself face to face with Snape last night. And after that everything went in a blur. One minute she was pointing her wand at him and the next -- Snape was a spy for the Light side, a secret war hero.

She had so many questions, but the Headmaster stopped her with a calming gesture of his wrinkled hand.

“Gerry, as much as I’d like to set your mind at ease regarding the true colors of our dear Potions Master, you just have to take my word for it. You see, there is something you have to understand. Regardless of what you read in the papers, the war against the Dark Side is far from over. And so is Severus’ role in this war. Hence, anything that can compromise his position has to be carefully avoided. The information you seek out of curiosity could become a dangerous weapon against him.”

“But the Dark Lord was defeated, wasn’t he? And his Death Eaters,” noted Gerry, astonished.

“Yes, and no.” The old wizard took off his glasses and continued, while carefully whipping the lenses, “Unfortunately, the Dark Lord’s organization grew way beyond the so-called “Inner Circle,” which we all heard about. There are still dark forces out there to be reckoned with.”

“Oh,” uttered Gerry and asked in terrified whisper after a pause, “Does that mean the Dark Lord could...er...rise again?”

“As a person, who participated in the fight against two, I can tell you there is always a Dark Lord waiting for his turn to rise.” He smiled but the blue eyes that were again looking through the freshly-wiped spectacles, stayed sad. “But hopefully it is not going to be the one whose demise we recently celebrated.”

“Oh,” was all could Gerry say again. “So, Professor Snape...”

“Yes, my child,” nodded Dumbledore. They were quiet for several minutes -- Gerry trying to absorb the old wizard’s words, the Headmaster patiently waiting for her.

Finally, she said, “Headmaster, I just can’t understand why... Shouldn’t the Ministry of Magic be responsible for our safety? Shouldn’t the Aurors be the ones who track down and fight the dark wizards?”

Dumbledore considered her for a moment before answering. “Of course, my child.” He stopped again as if doubting if he should continue. Finally, he sighed, and did, “But you see, Severus’ unique knowledge of the Dark Side renders him virtually irreplaceable.”

Gerry almost breathed out another “oh,” but managed to catch it on time. As it was, she feared she was coming across as a total idiot with one word at her disposal.

Before taking off the silencing charm around them, Dumbledore said, “I reckon you understand that everything we have just discussed here is not to be shared with anybody.”

“Yes, yes, sure,” Gerry violently bobbed her head.

“I would recommend it to you to use that special non-disclosure charm of yours. The one you use for Vita information.”

She looked at him, eyes wide open, surprised that the old wizard knew about the charm, but as if reading her thoughts, he smiled and explained, “Sometimes it pays to be old. The sheer number of things one gets to learn over the years is astonishing.” Still smiling, he suddenly asked, “What I do not know, however, is how you have found out about Severus?”

Gerry could feel her cheeks began burning and the fingers on one hand painfully squeezed the fingers on the other hand. “I am sorry, Headmaster, but... I can’t tell you that... I just can’t... Please, don’t ask me this, sir.”

She knew how foolish she sounded. Like a whining child refusing to admit his guilt. However, at such a short notice as this, it was all she managed to come up with without making a complete fool out of herself with some half-cooked tale. Of course, she should have prepared the believable story a long time ago. But who knew Snape was in Hogwarts? And who knew she would be caught attacking him the very first night here? And who knew she would be asked this question so soon?

Dumbledore cocked his head, eyeing her intently. Under his steady gaze Gerry began fidgeting, trying not to give in to panic. She made a conscious effort to keep her breath even, and not to avert her eyes.

For a moment they both sat silently. Then a wild thought flushed through her head, “What is he doing? Could he read my mind? Could he see my memories?” She quickly got up and moved to the window, away from the piercing blue eyes, away from the suddenly too hard chair.

“I am sorry, Headmaster, but I really can’t...”

To her relief, the old wizard didn’t push her for an answer. He turned to look at her, nodded slowly, and pulled out his wand. In a moment the wards were off, and Dumbledore stood up, pulled his bright robes about him, and said, “Would you let me escort you to your rooms tonight?”

...Gerry swirled a vial with the potion between her fingers. There were so many things to mule over, but she needed to get some rest -- tomorrow was her first day on the job, and she really didn’t want to mess it up...

Despite the best effort of her alarm clock, Gerry overslept. Horrified, she darted between her bedroom and bathroom, trying to complete the normal morning routine in half the time. Finally, out of breath and with only a faint hope to be able to make it to the staff room on time, she ran out the door.

In the hallway, she saw Jay, a look of surprise on his friendly face, exerting a considerable effort to regain his balance. Apparently, he had to jump away from the door that Gerry threw open in her haste. For a split second they were gaping at each other before Gerry, who recovered first, slammed the door shut, grabbed the sleeve of Jay’s robe, and was about to break into run, dragging the wizard along.

“Jay, what are you doing here? We are late for the staff meeting!” She pulled him with her for several steps. “Hurry up!”

“Stop. Stop!” Jay had to repeat before the word sank in, and Gerry halted. Then, he freed himself from her grasp, smiled widely and explained, “The meeting was postponed for fifteen minutes. Albus had to discuss something with Minerva. She asked me to tell you.”

“Postponed?” she repeated after him not sure if she could believe her luck and then breathed out with relief, “Thank Merlin.”

A quick check of the watch confirmed there was now plenty of time to get to the staff room and then some. Thoughtfully Gerry ran her hand over a not-so-tidy ponytail and considered if she should go back to her rooms to fix it. Meanwhile, Jay was smiling at her.

“Well, well, well, I thought you looked like shit at night...” Gerry frowned at him, “but believe me the morning look can beat the evening one just like that.” He snapped his fingers, and Gerry just couldn’t help but laugh.

Despite the usual worries of someone starting a new job, Gerry’s first Monday working at Hogwarts began smoothly enough. At the staff meeting she managed a dignified bow, when she was introduced as an Assistant Transfigurations Professor. She was so anxious she didn’t notice much else from the meeting, but Jay’s reassuring whisper, “They don’t bite on the first day. They’ll wait till the second one,” consoled her a bit.

At breakfast she was introduced to the students. She got up and stood only long enough to smile slightly in the general direction of the students’ tables. Then she quickly sat down as some random applause burst in different parts of the hall. From her place at the right-side table, which was attached perpendicular to the High Table occupied by senior members of the staff, she could see the familiar faces of the teachers smiling encouragingly and nodding at her. Jay’s seat was at the left-side table, so he was facing her across an open space in front of the High Table. When she sat, her face blushing, he offered a sympathetic grimace and a slight shrug “you’ll be fine”. After another Assistant Professor (Ancient Runes and Arithmancy), a rather old shabby-looking wizard, with long grayish hair, flopped heavily in the chair next to Gerry after his introduction, everybody happily dug in.


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The class was as trying as always. Who said that Gryffindors and Slytherins was the worst combination possible? Try to hammer a morsel of knowledge into the thick sculls of Hufflepuffs with Ravenclaws sneering in the background. Granted, nobody itched to hex anyone (not counting him, of course), but still... It always puzzled Snape. Why would Albus subject him to this torture? Him and all the other teachers in school. What was the point? For years he was asking the Headmaster about it, but could never get a straight answer. The old manipulating fox.

The scheduling was only one of those things that were done by the Headmaster “with the big picture in mind” and “for greater good.” What a bunch of bullshit! Deep down Snape was convinced that Dumbledore had never been sorted into Gryffindor House, but belonged to his own House of Snake. The sheer amount of scheming and deceiving, and veiling the truth, and playing people against each other had to come from the Slytherin. “For greater good,” my ass!

Snape stomped to the gargoyle, thoroughly annoyed. He stood at the door trying to recall a new password without disturbing the escalation of a customary headache he usually expected to get by lunchtime on Monday. The password lingered somewhere on the outskirts of his memory and refused to reveal itself. That was why his annoyance was slowly evolving into a simple anger. That and the overly-trying class of Ravenclaws with Hufflepuffs. Not the fact that he was about to get fired... Not the fact that he was cursed last night by...

“Easy, Severus,” snickered his damn little voice, “you do not want to think about that right now.” The bloody nuisance was right: he needed to be absolutely calm if he were to master at least a shred of dignity when Dumbledore delivered his verdict.

Snape ground his teeth in frustration, and was about to go look for somebody from staff who didn’t have the memory lapses, when the gargoyle shook a little and moved. For a moment, not completely comprehending what happened, he stood watching the stairs in the newly revealed staircase rotate up. Finally, he scowled and stepped forward: the Headmaster was expecting him.

“Ah, Severus, you look much better, my friend.” Snape was greeted with a warm smile and an inviting gesture. “Do come in. Lemon drop?”

Snape shook his head in disgust and gracefully lowered his body into a chair in front of the Headmaster’s desk.

“I am glad you stopped by,” continued the old wizard cheerfully, disregarding the Potions Master’s somewhat odd expression. “Tea?”

Snape refused and waited for the Headmaster, who got up and began pacing across the office. There was no need to rush his own demise, was there?

“So, how are you, my friend? Did you let Poppy feed you a bit?”

“Albus, please, get to the point,” hissed Snape through the clenched teeth. The old wizard paused at the desk, tapped his long finger at his silver inkwell, and smiled.

“I thought you had something to discuss with me.”

Snape swore inwardly and clasped his fingers together so the shaking of his hands wouldn’t be that pronounced, and tried, “My resignation...” This was a fitting topic of conversation.

“Yes, of course,” nodded Dumbledore as if he hadn’t been avoiding Snape for almost two weeks now, refusing to acknowledge his letter of resignation. The old wizard slowly walked to the window. “If you don’t mind I would like to talk about it later. Anything else?”

“Later?” Snape only raised a brow. “Later... All right than, let us see... Should we discuss last night’s incident?”

“Oh.” Somehow Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes were more annoying today than usual, and Snape surprised himself by managing to remain composed. “You don’t have to worry about the girl. I explained the situation to her, and she will not share her knowledge with anybody else.”

“She won’t share the knowledge...?” Snape narrowed his eyes.

“About you being a faux Death Eater,” explained Dumbledore and added with the barely noticeable twitch of the lip, “and the fact that she “stunned” you.”

Snape’s mind was quickly processing the new information. For a moment, the shame of being overpowered by a slip of a witch wasn’t the matter that bothered him the most. It looked like the girl didn’t mention last July. Why? Or was it possible the Headmaster decided to disregard... No, he would at least tell him, wouldn’t he?

“Severus, you don’t have to worry about her,” repeated Dumbledore. “She kept her word after last July, so I believe she can be trusted.”

“Last July...” thought Snape shivering slightly. “So did she or didn’t she?” He didn’t say anything, waiting for the Headmaster to continue. To his utter surprise, he heard a soft chuckle.

“Frankly, my friend, I expected you bursting in here first thing in the morning, screaming about an assault on the teacher of this school.”

Snape swallowed noiselessly – the girl didn’t say a word. Wait, he should be saying something. “I figured you’d give it some ridiculous excuse anyway. Why would I bother and waste my time?” he uttered gingerly, and added, “The Gryffindor is always right...”

“I don’t think she is a Gryffindor.” It looked like the Headmaster was enjoying the conversation tremendously.

“Well, she definitely behaves like one...” Now, he thought, now is the time to confess. Now...

“If we are finished with Ms. Ardant, Severus, there is something else I need to talk to you about.” The Headmaster’s merriment subsided, and his face acquired a sober expression. “I am afraid I have a bad news. It seems that one of your old...acquaintances will not be tried after all.”

“Who?” spat Snape.

“Mr. Malfoy, Sr.”

“Shit.”

“Precisely.”

The blue-eyed witch forgotten, Snape contemplated the news for a moment before asking, “What happened?”

“Nothing as of yet, but...But as you probably know a person can be kept for questioning no longer than three months before the law enforcement department has to provide some sort of proof to the allegation against him. Mr. Malfoy was apprehended at the beginning of January, so his three months of legally obtainable detention will expire in two weeks.” Dumbledore returned to his desk and looked at Snape warily.

“And?” urged him the Potions Master.

“And it looks like Mr. Malfoy is about to walk a free man. He was arrested before he implicated himself in the assault on Hogwarts, with a new wand that has no incriminating evidence on it. The Aurors have not been successful in recovering the wand, which he used in the final battle. Without it, they do not have much to go on.” Dumbledore regarded him very thoughtfully, the ever-present ever-annoying twinkling strangely missing from his blue eyes.

“Albus, I’ve told you...” uttered Snape tiredly.

“I know,” sighed the old wizard. “I know. At Hogsmeade you were incapacitated before the fighting really started, and you never saw Mr. Malfoy cast a single curse. I know. And there are no other witnesses.” His frail-looking hands hit the top of the desk with surprising might, the dull thud of the impact mixed with the ding-dong of the disturbed knick-knacks. Snape raised questioningly a brow, and Albus explained, “He wore a mask till the end, and no one can prove that he was the one under the mask. The two Aurors assigned to hunt him down got killed, so...”

“Shit.” Snape didn’t like to repeat himself, even out of the classroom, but sometimes the circumstances were too damn conducive. “Is he pleading a case of “the mind control”?

“Yes, they all do,” sighed Dumbledore, “and it does work for those who were captured before the demise of Voldemort.”

Snape flinched at hearing the hated name, but didn’t say anything. The Dark Lord was dead, and theoretically anybody should be able to use that name without fear. Let alone Albus Dumbledore, who still thought of the monster as of his former student.

“It also works for those who managed to dispose of their wands. Like our Mr. Malfoy Sr.,” continued the Headmaster.

Snape nodded absentmindedly, wrapped into his pondering over the news Dumbledore just presented to him. Then he got up and began pacing, mumbling angrily, “The idiots... Let Malfoy go... Do they want another Dark Lord? Fucking fools... Blind imbeciles... I’ll have to strangle the bloody shit with my own bare hands...”

The old wizard followed the younger one with his sad gaze, “Severus, calm down...”

“Calm down?!” shrieked the Potions Master. “They are letting Malfoy out, and you’re telling me to calm down?!”

“Severus, he will be punished,” Dumbledore said firmly, “and it will be done without you having to go to Azkaban...”

“Don’t Severus me!” Snape suddenly jumped to the desk and leaned over it, his face centimeters away from the old wizard’s. “Look at me!” He waved his shaking hands in front of the Headmaster. “Look at me! The bastard destroyed me, and you are trying to scare me with Azkaban?!”

“No one has destroyed you!” bellowed the old wizard. “Your hands are not you, they are only a part of something much bigger and much more important! You were, you are, and you always will be Severus Snape, the man I admire, respect, and love like my own son. No one, Severus, no one can take it away from you,” the old wizard finished softer, looking straight into the black eyes of the younger wizard.

Dumbledore waited for several minutes, before the Potions Master, who looked wild, almost deranged, continued screaming about “the bastard,” and what he was planning to do to him, and what it would take to stop him. Finally, Snape collapsed back into his chair, and quieted down.

Dumbledore spoke again, “No one will be able to take Severus Snape away from you, except for one person.” The old wizard looked his younger colleague straight in the eyes and pronounced, “You.”

Snape held the old wizard’s gaze for several moments, then looking at his shaking hands croaked, “Do we know who else will be freed?”

“I reckon that information could be obtained.” Dumbledore leaned forward and asked softly, “Do you think you will be contacted?”

“I guess that would be a good opportunity to get them.” Snape curled his lip and, suppressing the shiver that was about to sweep over him, after a short deliberation with himself, murmured through the clenched teeth yet again, “Shit.”

“Once more I have to agree.” The old wizard didn’t smile. “I believe a meeting of the Order should be called shortly. We could be standing at the beginning of another war, and there is a lot I would like us all to discuss.”

When Snape left Dumbledore’s office he had to lean against the wall and stay there for a moment. The cold sweat moistened his forehead, and the breathing that he managed to control in front of the old wizard was coming in short desperate gasps. He swallowed convulsively to keep the rising bile down, and swore. So, it’s begun. Again.
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A/N A huge thanks to my beta Odddoll