His First Month
He does not stare upon the air
Through a little roof of glass:
He does not pray with lips of clay
For his agony to pass;
Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek
The kiss of Caiaphas.
And thus we rust Life's iron chain
Degraded and alone:
And some men curse, and some men weep,
And some men make no moan:
But God's eternal Laws are kind
And break the heart of stone.
Some days she swore he lived to vex her.
Most days, it seemed, he found something to criticize her over.
Today it was Jamison Hawthorn’s shoes of all things.
“They do not meet the safety standards for my classroom.” He’d repeated coolly for the dozenth time.
The two of them were in her office, each standing opposite each other with her desk in between them. Neither of them had bothered touching the tea a kindly house elf brought. Minerva wished it had been a bottle of mead instead. She needed something to help her deal with her irrational young colleague.
“It’s a damned hole in his shoe! You could have a little more empathy for a family struggling to make ends meet.” He hadn’t even let Hawthorn participate in the lesson that day.
He exhaled sharply though his nose and watched her expressionlessly. It was eerie, and she somehow got the feeling he was waiting for her to do something.
“Why does it not surprise me that you allow your scruffy little lions to run around looking like vagrants?”
“Pardon?” Her hand itched for her wand as her temper flared.
“While you may allow subpar standards in your classroom, I do not.” His nostrils flared and Minerva couldn’t believe he had the audacity to be angry at her. “If he were in my house, the issue would have been addressed before it led to him being dismissed from class.”
She’d grind her teeth to nubs before her retirement, she just knew it.
“I’ve told you his folks haven’t got two sickles to rub together. How do you expect them to afford this?” Minerva was sure of it now, Snape was watching her expectantly, as if waiting for something. It was the same expression she’d worn many times in the classroom while listening to a student stumble their way to the right answer.
He slammed his hands on her desk when the silence stretched on too long. “Why are you being so obtuse? Buy him the damned shoes!”
Her face flushed and Minerva crossed her arms across her chest. “I am a teacher, Professor Snape, not a charity.” Of all the cheek! She was a respected educator with decades of experience, she had worked extremely hard.
Snape’s face flushed as red as hers and he bared his teeth. “You are a stubborn old cow. Fine! It is no concern of mine if Hawthorn passes his O.W.L or not. He will not be allowed in my classroom until this issue has been resolved.” He retreated to her office door and paused with his hand on the heavy metal handle. “I did not realize ensuring the students of your house have what they need to participate in their classes was beyond your scope of practice.”
“I’m not his sodding mother!” Her chest heaved and the buzzing sensation in her ears were a sure sign she was about to lose her temper. Didn’t he see, it was hard enough to be a woman in academia? Oh, it was alright for women to teach soft subjects such as astrology or herbology, but she was the first female transfiguration professor in three centuries. She couldn’t go chasing after students, wiping snotty noses or tying their shoes! “I am his head of house— it is his parents’ responsibility to provide these things.”
He seemed disappointed. “I’m sure that will be a comfort to you when Hawthorn loses a toe to frostbite during his next Care of Magical Creatures lesson.”
Snape left. She poured herself a glass of wine and wrote an owl to the cobbler in Hogsmeade.
Jamison’s obvious delight with his new shoes took away most of the indignant sting.
“Would you like to explain to me why you’ll be in detention with Professor McGonagall and subsequently missing my lab time this Saturday?”
She stopped in her tracks upon hearing her name and stood quietly aground the corner to listen in on the conversation. She could not see either figure but could guess who they were by context. Severus Snape and Melinda Faversham. She was a Ravenclaw, practically obsessed with potions — but she was in danger of failing Minerva’s class. The detention wasn’t so much a punishment as scheduled time for her to make up missing assignments. The girl was undeniably bright, but did not apply herself to subjects that didn’t interest her.
Minerva could think of another former student with a talent for potions who had been the same way.
“It’s not my fault McGonagall thinks her subject is the best thing since self-preserving bread.” The fourth-year student groused. “I’d much rather be in lab. Transfiguration is such a waste of time.”
“Professor McGonagall.” He did not raise his voice, on the contrary, his voice deepened and she had to strain to hear what he said next. “Miss Faversham, if I wanted a fifteen-year-old’s opinion on the validity of an entire branch of magic, I would have asked.”
The daft girl laughed. “Sorry Professor, you’re right. Couldn’t you tell her that my potion is time sensitive? I’ve been waiting for it to cure for ages, and I’m afraid it won’t come out right if I wait another week.”
“You’re right, you’ll have to start again.” He answered dryly, and without a hint of concern. “I do not make it a habit of undermining the other professors here. While I appreciate your dedication to potions, you will find that your progress will be hampered without knowledge of herbology, charms, and transfiguration. There are potions at the highest levels that require transfiguration magic. If you are satisfied with your current abilities, then by all means, continue to shirk your responsibilities to your other classes.”
There was silence for a moment, and when Melinda spoke again, her voice was quieter. “I didn’t know that. Transfiguration just… doesn’t make sense to me! I study and study and still can’t get my spells to come out right. It’s frustrating when everyone else in my house seems to pick it up so fast. I think I’m just no good at it. Will I really not be able to do potions without it?” She pressed anxiously.
“I didn’t realize that instantly succeeding at anything you attempt was a requirement for Ravenclaw.” His tone was sarcastic — but when she was forced to listen and couldn’t rely on his, no doubt, foreboding expression — Minerva thought she detected a softness beneath the scathing comment.
Apparently, Melinda could as well. “Well, when you put it like that — I sound quite stupid, don’t I?” Minerva could hear the smile in the student’s voice.
“A bit.” He agreed. There was another pause, Minerva almost left the way she came, but he continued. “I have essays to grade and would not be averse to grading them in the laboratory on Sunday. If you’ve managed to avoid another detention, you will be invited to work on your potion then. An additional day should not result in any adverse effects. I do have one condition.”
“Yes, of course, Professor! What is it?”
Minerva felt a jealous flower bloom in her chest, she’d never heard Faversham sound so excited or eager about extra work.
“You will speak to Professor McGonagall about your concerns during your detention. You can hardly expect your teachers to be able to read your mind. You are old enough to take some responsibility for your own education.”
“Do I have to?” Melinda’s voice dropped, nearly to a whisper, and Minerva had to strain to hear her. “It’s just… it seems crummy to skive off her class for weeks and then come in expecting extra help. What if she says no?”
“Do you believe she will?” He sounded genuinely curious, Minerva didn’t know he could show curiosity for anything to do with another person.
There was another pause while Melinda considered her answer. “I suppose not.”
“If the issue is your conscience rather than rejection, perhaps an apology would resolve the issue?”
That about bowled her over with surprise, but before she could process what she’d heard, Snape continued.
“Do not shrug your shoulders at me, it’s an abominable habit. We are wizards, not monkeys, and do not need to rely on crude gestures to communicate. A proper answer, if you please.”
“Yes, professor.” Melinda sounded like she was suppressing laugher. “I guess I do owe her an apology.”
“You do.” Snape agreed briskly. “I will see you on Sunday at eight. Do not be late.”
Minerva walked back the way she came, unable to help the small smile on her face.
She rapped her hand aggressively against the wooden door of Snape’s private quarters, resisting the urge to tap her foot impatiently while she waited. It was early, the sun had only just come up.
After several attempts, and several minutes later, his door finally cracked open. She could see a dark eye peer at her in the small slit he’d made. When he saw who it was, the door swung open slowly with a creak.
“What could you possibly want at this hour?” It was half past six, hardly the crack of dawn. His hair was messy and hung in lank strands past his jaw.
“Slytherin is playing against Hufflepuff this morning.” She was already bundled up in her warmest robes, a pair of rabbit fur lined gloves waiting in her pocket. The day would be frigid but clear and would make for excellent conditions for the players.
He looked at her passively. “Good for them. I don’t see what that has to do with me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was working late last night.”
He began to close the door and she wedged her foot in the way. “You’re their head of house, of course you need to be there.”
Snape sighed and rubbed tiredly at the dark circles under his eyes. “I’m sure they do not require my presence. I can think of a few dozen ways I could better spend my time. Not all of us are so… enamored of quidditch.” The last word came out with a sneer, as if it were a dirty word and not one of the most popular wizarding pastimes.
“Watching your students play is far more enjoyable than a random game.” Minerva spoke dismissively. “How do you think Slytherin will feel, knowing their head of house didn’t even care enough to make an appearance?”
He actually growled at her, but she refused to budge and was not intimidated. “You are a meddling old harpy. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve never been especially popular, even with my own house. I doubt the little brats would give two shits if I was there or not.”
She ignored his foul language and general negativity, Minerva could be every bit as stubborn as he was. “Yes, I’ve noticed. Your students still consider you their peer. You haven’t earned their respect. It’ll be an uphill battle when you’re barely a few years older than most of them. What better way to acknowledge your role than to do something you never would have done as a student? Come to the game, support your Slytherins.”
Snape glared and she felt an odd pressure, as if a headache was starting to bloom behind her eyes.
He held eye contact for another moment and looked away. “You are determined.” Snape muttered this more to himself than to her. “Fine. I may make an appearance.”
Minerva responded with a tight smile and did not move her foot from the door. “Excellent try, Severus. I’ll wait here. I’m sure it won’t take you long to get ready. Dress warm.”
His glare intensified and so did her smile.
“Is it too early to start drinking?”
She reached into a deep pocket, pulled out a metal flask wrapped in leather, and gave it a gentle shake so he could hear the liquid slosh.
He visibly perked up at that, and Minerva thought she caught the ghost of a smile.
“If Slytherin wins, I think it’s only fair you take my evening hall monitoring duties for the week.” For a moment he looked younger, mischievous and curious to see how far he could push her boundaries.
Minerva snorted, “You obviously haven’t been paying attention. Your team hasn’t won a game all year. I’ll take that bet. You’ll be covering for me on Monday and Wednesday.”
He snorted quietly and withdrew back into his dark rooms. “I know my team is sick of losing and will do whatever it takes to win. I’m looking forward to a couple of early nights.” Snape watched her again, assessing her. Minerva thought she was getting used to his scrutiny. “I’ll be out in a moment.”
“Good,” she smirked and raised an eyebrow. “I won’t even be cross if you complain the entire time.”
“I wouldn’t have cared if you were.”
They sat together in the teacher’s box and ignored some of the whispers of the other staff. Albus was in attendance and beamed with disgusting happiness to see them together.
Snape’s commentary and ignorance of the sport proved to be more amusing than irritating. Once she even burst into laughter at one of his more caustic comments, helped, no doubt, by the nearly empty flask they’d passed back and forth.
She watched with only vague horror as Slytherin proceeded to cheat — or ingenuitive strategizing as Snape put it — their way to victory.
Minerva elbowed him in the ribs and encouraged him to stand and applaud while his team flew a victory lap around the pitch.
Dinner was the first clue something was wrong.
It was not unusual for Severus to be absent from meals, he often took them alone in his rooms — or at least, she assumed he did.
What was unusual was the heavy silence that hung over the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables. They whispered between themselves, casting speculative looks at the staff table.
She pushed her plate away and followed two of her seventh year Gryffindor girls out of the great hall.
“—dunno.” Minerva heard one of them speaking quietly to the other. “He was so scary. I know potions are dangerous, but I still don’t think he should have kicked us all out. Just because Trevor’s got two left feet doesn’t mean the rest of us should have been punished. My potion was fine and I’m probably not even going to get a grade for it!”
The disquiet she felt only settled deeper in her chest. She’d think of some excuse to see him and would suss the story out of him.
Minerva checked the potions classroom first and felt her alarm grow when she read the nearly illegible piece of parchment tacked to the heavy door.
Warning:
Hazardous chemical spill.
Only trained and authorized personnel may enter.
PPE required for entry.
Hazard assessment in progress.
The top of the parchment displayed a symbol she’d never seen before — a triangle with a potion vial dripping onto a hand. Minerva’s unease grew when she noticed the hand was misshapen, as if parts of it had been eaten up by the potion.
She knocked on the door for over a minute, when there was no response, she tried the door and found it locked. Minerva briefly considered calling for help from another staff member but decided to try his personal rooms first.
At first it seemed as though she’d have as little luck as she had at his classroom, but eventually his voice called out from the other side of the door. “What the hell do you want?”
She felt something loosen in her chest at the sound of his voice. It couldn’t have been that bad if he still had the energy to shout at her. “Are you going to make me stand out here, shouting like a fool?” She asked the heavy oak door.
After a heavy silence, the door swung open on it’s own — the owner had given magical permission to admit entrance.
It was dark inside except for a roaring fire in the hearth and Snape’s wand, brightly lit with a lumos that he held between his teeth while he picked at some odd sleeve over his right arm with a pair of tweezers. It took her a moment longer to realize he was shirtless and wasn’t wearing a sleeve. The skin of his right forearm was an alarming shade of red, the flesh pocked and cratered in places.
Her stomach lurched while she watched him use the tweezers to gently pull a melted piece of fabric from the ruin of his arm.
“Severus—” she did not recognize her own voice, it sounded choked and harsh. “You need the hospital.”
He took his wand from his mouth with the uninjured left hand and looked at her over his shoulder. “You think I’m incapable of dressing my own injury?” Snape’s voice was smooth and hid danger, like a raging river under too-thin ice. One misstep and she thought she’d fall through.
“Cut that out,” she snapped at him and came around the side of the couch to get a better look. The burns were the worst on his arm, but had splashed over the right side of his abdomen as well. The skin looked a bit cratered, like the surface of the moon — where it wasn’t bubbled in places. The smell was ghastly. “You don’t get to have a go at me just because you’re in pain.”
His face was pale and twisted in anger, but he seemed to reconsider whatever poisonous retort he’d had ready to let fly. “Well what use are you then?”
She was mostly sure he was joking.
“I’m going to get Poppy. She can help you dress that, at least.”
Minerva started for the door but he shook his head. “Don’t bother. I’ve everything right here. By the time you get back I’ll have finished and she’ll nag at me for at least half an hour — time I’d rather spend resting.”
Minerva looked down at the floor and saw his potions kit open at his feet, along with what looked like a mediwizard’s kit. Even as she watched, he flicked his wand and a thick roll of bandages rose up from the bag. Severus ignored her as if he didn’t expect an answer and began slathering the burns with a thick cream that smelled of menthol.
She imagined the absolute fuss he’d put up if she tried to force him to accept help, and figured his energy could be better spent on healing. “I’ll help you wrap that. Do you want to tell me what happened today?”
He gave her a look that made it clear he’d rather move on, but he was reluctantly willing to humor her. Perhaps he didn’t have it in him to fight her, at the moment. “Potions accident. A student backed into his cauldron and sloshed it over me as I walked past. I should have been paying closer attention.”
The silence sat heavy until a log in the hearth cracked as the fire ate away at it. “Was it an accident?” Minerva finally asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer.
The fire continued to crackle as he considered her question thoughtfully. “I can’t be certain. It can be difficult to know when to ascribe maliciousness when incompetence is just as likely.” He hesitated for a moment longer and finished his train of thought. “However, nothing in their brew today should have caused this.”
Minerva winced, not appreciating the implications. “His muggle mother was killed by Death Eaters. They left him and his father alive. I heard it was so they’d have the opportunity to make better choices in the future.” Severus nodded and did not look surprised by this information. “I take it no one else was hurt in this accident? The sign on your door was quite thorough.”
He looked mildly offended by her comment. “It’s industry standard. If Slughorn was too lazy to ensure compliance with regulation, that does not mean I should emulate him. And no, no one else was hurt. I was rather insistent they leave immediately.”
“No doubt.” Minerva agreed dryly, imagining the scene it must have been. “It looks terribly painful. Will it scar?” He was nearly done with the grizzly work and had begun wrapping bandages around his forearm.
The young man stayed attentive to what he was doing and did not look at her as he responded. “Unlikely. Once I’d cleared the classroom I was able to attend to the injury immediately. I won’t know for sure until I analyze exactly what went into the potion, but the burns are already responding favorably to treatment.”
She watched in fascination as the damaged skin moved and shed itself as if it were healing at tremendous speed. “That is incredible.”
He shrugged and handed her a roll of bandages to help with his torso. “It’s magic.”
Minerva frowned down at him and couldn’t help noticing he hadn’t put on much weight since starting here and guessed he was skipping meals rather than taking them privately in his rooms as she’d assumed. “What have you done with your house-elf?” Staff members were each assigned a house-elf to see to their rooms and complete other tasks and errands they might require.
He gave her a sour look and sneered. When he made an ugly face it was easier to see the pain he must be in. “The last thing I need is some pathetic servile creature to trip over. I sent it to the kitchens.”
Minerva frowned disapprovingly, the poor thing would have seen that as a terrible slight. The elves assigned to staff were recognized for their exceptional skills and work-ethic. To be summarily dismissed from its post was disrespectful. “What was their name?”
“How should I know — shit, have you ever done this before?” He twisted to look at her and winced as the movement pulled at his skin. “It’s too tight.”
Minerva loosened the bandage around his torso and continued again, more gently. “You really are hopeless.” She cleared her throat and called out, “Severus Snape’s house elf!”
Immediately, an elderly female elf popped into the living room. She appeared highly nervous and clutched at her garment. “T-Tootsie is coming when she is called, even though she is told not to come here again. She is a good old elf.”
Minerva gave the young man a scathing look for mistreating his house-elf. “Tootsie, I am using my authority as the Deputy Headmistress to ask you to ignore Professor Snape when he banishes you from his rooms. He’s recovering from an injury and will need help keeping this dump clean.” He scoffed and the movement jostled her hands as she fussed with his bandages. “Additionally, if he does not take his meals in the Great Hall, I’d like you to bring him whatever was served and place a warming charm on it.” She pinched him when he rolled his eyes at her. “Apologize to Tootsie.”
He batted her hands away and secured his bandages with a muttered spell. “I’ve nothing to apologize for.”
The house-elf perked up hopefully. “Master Snape does not need to apologize for throwing a bottle at Tootsie, Tootsie is not minding!”
Minerva smacked him across the back of his head, not caring that he was injured. “You will apologize, and if I hear of you abusing your house-elf again, I’ll give the Slytherin elves a holiday and you can clean the dorms.”
“It didn’t hit her!” He smacked her hands away and summoned his dressing gown from his bedroom. It zipped into his hand and Severus finally covered himself. “I don’t want it. I should have the right to decide who has access to my rooms.”
“Pish. You can have the right to decide who has access to your rooms when you’ve proven you can care for them, and yourself, appropriately.” Now that he was wrapped up, it was nearly impossible to tell he’d been hurt at all — except for the tightness around his eyes and mouth. “Now, apologize, or I’ll assign an elf to follow you about and tattle to Poppy if you so much as stub your toe.”
She’d expected him to shout at her, call her names, and was prepared to whether his temper. The fact that he gave in as easily as he did showed how exhausted he was. Melting a quarter of his skin off apparently took it out of him. “I should not have lost my temper. Next time I tell you to leave, I recommend you heed me.”
Tootsie sighed in obvious relief, delighted to be on better terms with her assigned staff member. They were simple creatures, and felt happiest when they had a clear job to do. “Master Snape is not needing to be sorry, Tootsie should not have been thinking she knew more than he.”
Minerva looked down at the elderly elf with her tufts of white hair sticking up in all directions. “Tootsie, Professor Snape is not allowed to be cross with you. It is not your job to let him bully you. Feel free to remind him of what I’ve said. You are a valued member of staff and I appreciate your efforts. I’m sure Severus will come to feel the same in time.” Minerva gave him a warning look. “You will treat this privilege with the respect it deserves, Professor Snape. Do we have an understanding?”
At some point he’d tipped his head back against the couch and looked close to falling asleep. He nodded tiredly and Minerva felt uneasy at how weak he looked.
“Excellent. Tootsie, bring Professor Snape some of that soup from dinner. Clean this place up as best you can.”
The little elf beamed up at her, the wrinkles around her eyes changed the geography of her face when she smiled. “Yes Deputy Headmistress. Tootsie is thanking you for bringing her back to work. It will be done now.” The elf popped away for the soup and Minerva had no doubt that if she cared to come back in the morning, the place would be back to its spotless state. Severus had never struck her as an untidy man, and she wasn’t sure if she should be more concerned by the state of the place. Still, he was a young man, a bachelor. Poor housekeeping wouldn’t be unusual.
She glanced down to chastise him over the state of the place, but he had already fallen asleep. Whatever potions he’d needed must have truly taken it out of him. Minerva sighed and draped an afghan over him, it wouldn’t do for him to catch a chill on top of everything else.
“I suspect you are far more trouble than you are worth, you know.” She sighed and left him to recover, hoping that the rest of his tenure would not be so eventful.