His First Week
Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.
She slammed the staff room door so hard that Pomona startled and spilled her tea. Snape didn’t even look up from the Daily Prophet. “Four weeks!” She snatched the Prophet out of his hands and glared down at him, steaming. “You knew that Gryffindor has a quidditch match this weekend and you’ve placed my keeper in detention for the next four weeks?” His smirk, as if he were indulging her, got her blood boiling. “It was only your first day! What is your justification for this?” The headmaster would not let this stand.
The new head of Slytherin house reached for the teapot by Pomona’s elbow and filled an extra cup for her. She could not stand his cheek. “Bertram Belfry is an insolent lout. It is no concern of mine which extracurricular activities he engages in.”
“Generally, a teacher needs more cause than disliking a student’s personality to assign detention,” Minerva replied waspishly, ignoring the saucer and cup he pushed toward her.
“Belfry asked if I’ve washed my pants in the last five years.”
Minerva’s racing thoughts came to a screeching halt. “He said what?” Minerva did not like feeling so wrong-footed. “He didnae.”
“He did.”
For the first time, Minerva took stock of him. His robes were draped over the back of his chair and he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked done in. Pomona shot her a warning look from behind his back. “Pish. Why would he say such a thing?”
Dark eyes met hers and looked away. “You might not have grasped this, but I find myself instructing students with whom I attended school.”
It clicked into place for her. Minerva knew he was young, but she had not considered how young. Snape had graduated in 1978, only three years earlier. The fourth through seventh-year students had attended school with him and knew him as a student. That little shite Bertram had brought up that incident at the lake, in Severus’ classroom.
Her nails pressed hard into her palms. “Damn. Did you take points?”
The young man looked up at her with a dull curiosity and shook his head.
“Right.” Minerva smiled tightly. “Then eighty points shall also be taken from Gryffindor house. His detention stands.” She unclenched her hands and wiped them primly on her skirt. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some things to see to.”
She felt his eyes boring into her back as she left.
Minerva wished that had been the end of it.
Later that week she passed him in the corridor. The passage was crowded with students heading for the great hall. The pain in Sita Desai’s voice cut through the student chatter like a knife. Everyone froze and a silence fell upon the corridor. “I don’t care if the headmaster got you acquitted!” Tears shone in the seventh-year’s eyes, and her face was twisted with grief. Sita jabbed her wand in Snape’s inscrutable face. “You should have been kissed.”
Minerva was trying to push through the crowd to intervene, which was the only reason she was close enough to hear Snape’s quiet reply. “If you cannot continue in my NEWT course, I will speak to the headmaster about alternative arrangements so that you will be prepared for your exam in the spring.” He did not seem anxious at all about the Ravenclaw girl’s wand in his face. “I am sorry for your grief.”
Desai was furious but overcome with emotion, and Minerva pulled her into an empty classroom as Snape turned and left. “I suggest you go about your business.” She snapped at a group of gawking fourth-years and closed the door behind her so that Sita could have some privacy.
“He’s a Death Eater.” She cried, tears leaking from between her fingers. “They killed my uncle. And he got away with it. It’s not fair.” Minerva held her while the girl sobbed.
Minerva didn’t understand how someone so obviously brilliant could be so obtuse. “You still haven’t told me what your goals are.” She sighed, with no small amount of exasperation. They were in her office, the fire had long burned low. They’d been going in circles for ages.
“This is idiotic and a waste of time.” His teacup clattered against the saucer with more force than she thought was necessary.
“Yes,” she agreed sarcastically. “Much of what you will do as a teacher is idiotic and a waste of time. You still need to choose a goal that you’d like to reach by spring and turn in your plan. It could be anything. Surely there’s something about the programme you think could be improved on. Pass rates are already good, so choose something else.”
He scoffed and waved his hand dismissively as if her words were some irksome fly. “The pass rates are not good, they are too high. Students aren’t held to high enough competency standards. They will be woefully unprepared for a career or apprenticeship that requires potions.”
Minerva wanted to throw something. At his head. “You cannot have lower pass rates as your goal.” Had he listened to a word she’d been saying for the past hour?
He had the audacity to roll his eyes at her. He was so much a petulant teenager, that her instinct was to take points. “Yes, I’ve heard you quite well. I’m still blessed with my hearing.” He gave her a skeptical look as if he wasn’t sure she could say the same. “This is moronic. I don’t need to improve my competency, I have already proven this. Hogwarts is lucky to have an instructor with my credentials.”
Goodness, it was a wonder he could get out of bed in the mornings with that thick head of his. “You need to improve your competency as a teacher of the subject.”
Finally, he seemed to understand. “As long as they pay half a mind to their lessons, there’s no reason why my teaching should be insufficient, but if it will get you off my back I’ll choose a sodding goal.”
Merlin preserve her, she needed a drink.
“Lab safety is insufficient.” He leaned back in his chair and she had to resist the temptation to kick one of the legs out. It was her chair. “Slughorn had… what? Three to six accidents a year? Usually at least one of them was quite serious.”
There had been a boy— Masterton, perhaps five years back, who had needed to spend months in St. Mungo’s slowly regrowing the skin on his back after a potion's accident. No one had died in recent memory, but Severus was not wrong about Slughorn’s accident rates.
“Wonderful,” she said with no small amount of relief and stood to her feet. “Write up your plan and have it to the headmaster by the end of the weekend. I think we’re done for the night.”
He stood as well, smirking, not looking the least bit bothered by the late hour. “What did you choose? For your goal?”
She gripped the back of her chair and gave him a steely look. “I’d like to get through the year without strangling you. Goodnight, Professor Snape.”
The cheeky brat seemed delighted with her answer. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to manage. Goodnight, Professor.”
When she was finally alone, she sipped a drink and contemplated how badly she wanted this job.
It was one in the morning and someone was banging on the door to her rooms. She put on her slippers, wrapped herself up in a thick tartan bathrobe, and glared blearily at the intruder. “This had better be an emergency.” She growled at Snape.
He was fully dressed and looking far more awake than she felt. Snape had an air of nonchalance and did not look like this was an emergency in the least. “I’ve got a first-year girl who is homesick. I thought you’d like to talk to her.”
Minerva stared at him, not understanding. “…And why would I want to do that?”
He huffed in frustration and crossed his arms. “Well, she won’t stop crying.”
“And what do you expect me to do about it?”
Snape gave her a look that made it clear he thought she was being intentionally thick. “How should I know, I’m not a woman, am I?”
Minerva closed the door in his face. He started knocking again immediately. She thought about setting up a silencing charm and letting him stand there all night, but it was probably best to make herself clear sooner rather than later. She opened the door again, interrupting him mid-knock. “You,” she said emphatically, “Are her head of house, are you not? You will have to manage.”
He scoffed and for the first time, she saw that he did seem uneasy. Snape would never have asked her for help under normal circumstances. That didn’t mean she was going to give it. Still, if Snape had truly wanted to dispense with his responsibility he could have scared the girl into compliance or dismissed her entirely. Minerva was glad that he hadn’t.
“Sometimes, I sit with them while they craft a letter home. Even a short note usually helps them focus on something else, enough to calm themselves for sleep. Be empathetic. Everyone feels homesick sometimes. It’s hardest for them at the beginning of the school year and after the Christmas holidays.”
“Not everyone.”
No, she supposed Snape, who had stayed at Hogwarts nearly every moment he was allowed, had not been homesick. Minerva never thought Severus was especially happy when he was here, which only illustrated how badly he had wanted to avoid home. “You’ll be fine.” She reassured him with only a modicum of skepticism.
“I should have known better than to ask a barren spinster.”
Oh, she could kill him. No one would have to know. She had worked for magical law enforcement— she knew how to hide a body.
“You should have known better than to try and foist your responsibilities onto me. I am your mentor, not your house elf.” She drew herself up and glared at him fiercely, the torch light reflecting off her black hair. “If you dare to insult me again, I will have no problem transfiguring that nose of yours into something humiliating. Though I imagine anything would be better than that beak of yours.” She looked him over appraisingly. “A toucan’s might suit.”
“Fine,” she thought she saw an appreciative glimmer in his eyes. “I’ll amend my words. I should have known better than to ask anyone so ruthless, regardless of gender.”
“Well, now you know,” Minerva replied primly. “I’ll show you a spell Albus taught me. It creates an animated creature made of light. Most of the time that’s enough to draw them out of their mood.”
Snape wrinkled his nose and watched her wand warily. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Perhaps by now she’s quieted on her own.”
Minerva performed the spell anyway, just once. She suspected that was all he’d need to master it. A small jaguar made of red sparks leaped out of her wand and padded languidly down the hall. “Just in case. Please don’t traumatize the poor girl with your clumsy attempts to be soothing.”
“Well, how am I meant to do that?” He asked, with frustration and exasperation.
Minerva sighed, desperately wishing she was in her comfortable bed instead of standing in her doorway with Severus Snape. “You just have to be there. Try not to say anything, if you can avoid it. She just wants to know she isn’t alone.”
The young man signed as if she’d just told him he would need to complete some herculean feat. “If I must.”
“You must. You can tell me how it went in the morning at breakfast.”
“Assuming I don’t throw myself from the owlery first.”
“Definitely don’t say anything to the girl. Goodnight, Professor Snape.”
It took her longer than she thought it would to fall back asleep.