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christmasspirit) wrote2024-01-19 01:36 am
christmasspirit) wrote2024-01-19 01:36 am
Entry tags:
- autumn,
- beginnings,
- christmas spirit au,
- daphne greengrass,
- disillusionment,
- draco malfoy,
- ella wilkins,
- endings,
- fanfic,
- first term,
- friendship,
- gryffindors,
- harper hutchinson,
- harry potter,
- headmstrs' map,
- healing,
- hermione granger,
- hogwarts,
- hogwarts eighth year,
- hunter hutchinson,
- hurting,
- minerva mcgonagall,
- moving on,
- notice-me-not,
- pansy parkinson,
- portrait phineas nigellus black,
- portraits,
- post-war,
- prefecthood,
- severus snape,
- slight angst,
- slytherin house privacy charm,
- slytherins,
- start of term,
- the bloody baron,
- trace
"soaring part 14" by gingerbred
chapter 14
Characters: Severus Snape, the Bloody Baron, portrait Phineas Nigellus Black, Minerva McGonagall, Harry Potter / Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Ella Wilkins, Harper Hutchinson, Hunter Hutchinson, Hermione Granger
17 September, 1998. The Bloody Baron has some things to explain to Severus, who still has a lot of work to do. He isn't the only one, and Minerva, too, is casting the midnight Lumos. Phineas Nigellus lends both of them some company. Meanwhile the Slytherin Prefects and the Harry and Hermione return to their respective homes. Daphne Greengrass and Hunter Hutchinson have stayed up waiting.
Originally Published: 2024-01-19 on LJ / DW
Words: 8.5 k
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Characters: Severus Snape (Head of Slytherin and Deputy Headmaster), the Bloody Baron (Slytherin's House Ghost), portrait Phineas Nigellus Black (portrait of the one-time Headmaster and ex-Head of Slytherin), Minerva McGonagall (Headmistress), Gryffindors: Harry Potter (8G, Captain, Seeker), Hermione Granger (8G, Head Girl), Slytherins: Draco Malfoy (8S, Prefect, Captain, Seeker), Pansy Parkinson (8S, Prefect), Daphne Greengrass (8S, sparkly), Harper Hutchinson (7S, Prefect, Chaser), Ella Wilkins (7S, Prefect with an interest in Healing Charms), Hunter Hutchinson (5S, Imp, Harper's little brother)
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Professor Peek (yet another DADA Professor of questionable worth), Students: Ron Weasley (8G, Prefect, Keeper), misc. portraits, Other: Stan Shunpike (Knight Bus conductor, sentenced to Azkaban)
Previously:
The previouslies are very robust. If you've recently read the Christmas Spirit stories, skip them, if not, no worries, I've got you covered. You can find links to the individual stories / chapters in the "christmas spirit index" (LJ / DW / AO3).
Mid July, 1998. Refusing to accept the excuse he'd been Imperiused, the Wizengamot erroneously sentences Stan Shunpike to Azkaban, and Hermione, unable to accept many of the vagaries of wizarding law, is taking it far too personally. S 01, S 06, (S 09), S 10
12 September, 1998. A group of masked individuals attack Draco and Pansy, the 8th year Slytherin Prefects, as they make their rounds. S 02
13 September, 1998. Hermione and Harry report the attack to Minerva, and as a result, with the input of the portraits and ghosts, some changes for the school's security are suggested. S 03 - S 04
17 September, 1998. Hermione and Harry decide to follow the Slytherins on patrol - to be on hand to provide backup, if necessary - which sounded fine right up until they're spotted by those Prefects. As they're understandably on edge, and the Moggies failed, completely, to make their intentions even remotely clear in advance, a scuffle ensues during which panicked seventh year Ella Wilkins performs a Bandaging Charm on Granger. It was perfectly acceptable, under other circumstances anyway, and then there was always the question of the sheer amount... S 11 - S 13
24 December, 1998. We make the acquaintance of the Headmstrs' Enchanted Map, the official version of and inspiration for the Marauder's Map. CS and S 04
Thrusday, 17 September, 1998
the Corridors of Hogwarts"What exactly do you believe they were trying to do?" Severus asks the faintest manifestation of the Bloody Baron he believes he's ever seen as they wind their way back to his office. He's at a loss to explain the Moggies' behaviour this evening, or rather, he has a number of potential explanations for it, most tried and true over the years, but all of them are at odds with what the House ghost seems to believe occurred. Or was meant to occur. Most likely the latter, all things considered.
Yes.
"Just how was that intended to be helpful? And why?"
The 'how' was easy, it was clearly a failure, and the Baron has little trouble conveying that or convincing the generally skeptical Head of House on that count. No, 'failure' seems an adequate descriptor that he's all too ready to believe (and yes, Potter's exploding cauldron from that morning makes that belief just that little bit easier). The 'why' the ghost doesn't even begin to understand himself. It was a jumble, and he'd only bits and pieces, and too imperfect an understanding of the characters involved. The Head accepts that, knowing his predicament only too well. He'd failed to understand those two nearly as thoroughly as they failed to understand him over the years. Their frames of reference were... had been... too different. War, sadly, has a way of changing things. He spares a thought to wish for their sakes that weren't the case, he probably owes them that much, but of course it can't be helped.
The 'what' on the other hand... That's where things get interesting. The Baron launches into a recitation of the various bits and pieces he's overheard from the Estrays from the times he'd followed them about the castle since the attack on Miss Parkinson and Draco. Incredibly enough, and entirely of his own volition, too, the ghost has evidently spent a good portion of the past week doing just that. Severus can just picture the chaos that would have erupted had the Gryffindors spotted the Slytherin House ghost fading into view in their Common Room, or worse, one of their lavs. He'd have never heard the end of it, he is sure. Minerva would have seen to that. But having eliminated the possibility the Estrays had tried to mislead the ghost by staging their conversations... No, highly unlikely when his presence was undetectable... The Baron is quite certain about what he has to relay, and Severus, too, comes to accept what seems to have been their intent.
Protection.
Effectively - or ineffectively, as was - a human Protego. An invisible guard of sorts, ironically having arrived at the same conclusion as his Slytherins and himself as to the necessity for one, and near identical solutions as to the best way to implement it.
Well.
That was unusual.
Those frames of reference may be more similar at present than he'd suspected.
Indeed.
He's not sure how he feels about all of it, but he has the better portion of a week before he'd be pressed to act, either way. He pushes it to the side of his mind, resolving to consider it again later, and sets about trying to discover how the Baron had been aware of his presence - Disillusioned as he is - in the corridor where the students had... fought? No, no. 'Assisted' one another, he scoffs, but the next conversation leads to a number of shocks, none of which were the expected or feared answers, making it somehow worse in that he hadn't anticipated any of it.
Blast.
Things are going just swimmingly.
Severus' Disillusionment may be perfect, and if not, it's exceedingly close to it, every bit as good as the Dark... Voldemort's or Albus', if not better, but then his life had rather depended on it often enough, hadn't it? What could be achieved by skill, he achieved. What could be improved by practice, he honed. And what relied on raw power... Well that last was the source of his uncertainty. He's powerful. He knows that. He always has been. He suspects the adversity of his youth had only served to increase that power, certainly in as much as it sharpened his intent and determination. But lately... Since the thrice damned Snake's attack... He knows he isn't up to snuff, his physical performance is subpar, his par, and he's worried - yes, worried; he can admit it - that his magic had... flagged.
Except that wasn't it at all.
If he had been visible, even a little, the students would surely have remarked upon it. Miss Wilkins might even have attempted to bandage him the way she'd approached things this evening. And naturally the Baron wouldn't have collided with him. Twice. No, his Disillusionment held.
But Invisible as he may be, he isn't a ghost. That was never in question. He can't simply float through a wall, or floor, or in this case: a door. And although he'd cast a Notice-Me-Not on his office door before exiting, either that hadn't worked, which seems unlikely - it was a far simpler piece of magic than the Disillusionment or precision Protegos he'd cast just minutes ago - or, and this is really doing his head in, it had had no effect on the ghost. By his own account, the ghost had seen his door open, made the proper assumptions - it helped that they were both Slytherins - and assumed Severus had felt the Prefects needed to be watched, just as he had, and then set about following him and them in turn.
Merlin's bloody beard.
They spin in conversational circles for a while, with Severus periodically applying Notice-Me-Nots as they go, which will lead to some confusion tomorrow morning when Argus Filch reports a fair few suits of armour have evidently gone walkabout. The armour was especially useful, from Severus' point of view, as he instructed each in turn to hold up a number of fingers. It truly was the work of mere moments - well worth the ever so slight delay - and exceedingly informative as the Baron's consistently correct answers as to those fingers proved either Severus' Notice-Me-Not was rubbish (more tests to that effect will follow on the morrow; breakfast could prove entertaining), this ghost was immune - thoroughly unsatisfying, as answers go, for its inelegance - or potentially all ghosts were. Which was...
Groundbreaking.
Earth shattering.
Frankly he's not sure how he survived the war.
Very likely because there were far fewer ghosts about than Hogwarts led one to believe.
Still.
Mentally he tries to list the occasions he'd employed the Charm - a sheer Herculean task, ridiculous in premise, never mind its application - and calculate the difference it may have made...
If anyone was aware of this vulnerability... There was exceedingly good reason not to have published or otherwise documented this fact. He wonders how many have made the discovery before him... Always assuming he hasn't just suddenly forgotten how to perform the Notice-Me-Not Charm, that is. There were Spells that could do that.
If he had less to do, he'd dedicate the semester to investigating the matter.
How intriguing.
How worrisome.
Well perhaps not just at the moment.
Still.
In his preoccupation, thoroughly justified, it's understandable that he neglects to end the - potentially imperfect - Notice-Me-Nots as he goes. Minerva will investigate once Argus reports to her tomorrow, both positive certain students have been at it again, although their short lists for suspects aren't quite the same. She'll view her suspicions as all but confirmed when the first suit she Finites the Notice-Me-Not on proceeds rather confrontationally to wag its raised middle finger under her nose, insolently demanding, if only to itself naturally, 'How many fingers, eh? How many fingers do you see' having grown rather irked by that point that absolutely everyone has continued to ignore it all morning long. Breakfast seems to demand their full attention in a way a creature without a stomach - or mouth, for that matter - can little imagine.
Severus is fortunately kept from disappearing down this particular rabbit hole by the potions waiting in his laboratory, and he and the ghost continue on to his office. Plus there's still the matter of the Moggies to settle... It could be useful to consult Phineas in the matter. He's been one of the portraits tasked with watching the Headmstrs' Map, and of course he was overseeing the Slytherin portrait coalition's network in both its original and presently modified forms... He knew the players well enough, and was likely properly incentivised to have the situation managed for reasons of his own.
Severus is already envisioning a way to save some time while seeing Phineas updated as accurately as possible. It wouldn't do to have his own prejudices tainting the narrative, why not let the portrait hear it from the source? Possibly the brews in need of the Potions master's attention are motivating him here, but that makes the premise no less correct. He evaluates the pros and cons and ultimately decides if the idea proves ill advised, he can always reverse his position later.
"Would you be so kind as to brief Phineas as to the events of the evening and what led up to them? I'd like him to form his own opinion, without my influence, as to the Gryffindors' aims."
The Baron agrees without hesitation - the Head has always found him exceedingly accommodating - and asks if he should seek out the erstwhile Headmaster's portrait in the Grand Stairwell immediately, but Severus shakes his head, scoffing at himself as he recalls once again how useless that is when Disillusioned. "No, there's a portrait of his in my office. I'd prefer the conversation to take place without quite so many prying ears."
And while the reasoning is absolutely sound - eminently logical, really - the Baron nearly drops his chains in surprise.
Minerva's Office
Minerva sits alone at her desk save for a small army of portraits peering with great interest over her shoulders as she studies the Headmstrs' Map, spread out completely across the surface before her. It's become a common enough sight. Even those portraits that hadn't had the luxury of such a tool in their times are all quite familiar with it by now.
It was the Slytherin Prefects' first night patrolling since the... unfortunate events of last Saturday. As part of the regular duty exchange, given the weekend service was covered in rotation, in a carryover from last week's assignments, the Hufflepuffs had had to take the Slytherin fifth and sixth years' shifts the previous night, but now it was the seventh and eighth years' turn again. Precisely those eighth years that had been attacked only a handful of days ago. Hmm.
Minerva had left it to Severus to speak to his Prefects, to make whatever offers he felt appropriate as to other arrangements if they no longer felt safe on their rounds. That would have been a perfectly reasonable response on their parts to the situation. Who could hold it against them? She felt certain any suggestion of that nature would be a good deal more welcome coming from him, and neglects to consider that amongst all the other myriad issues, perhaps they wouldn't wish to make a display of weakness in front of a man whose bravery had been so widely touted last summer. Not everyone had been willing to accept that version of events or characterisation of their Head, not by half, but if any were, surely they could be numbered amongst the students in his House, and unlike most, they were best positioned to understand just how brave he had been. Exacerbating the problem nontrivially, the perception of that alleged bravery, whether its depiction was accurate or not, had indisputably been one of the primary qualities that had kept him from Azkaban, unlike too many of their families and friends. It's a lesson learnt.
They aren't wrong, but that doesn't mean it's healthy.
Judging by the Map, none seem to have taken him up on the offer, all are out on patrol; still, she's quite certain he'll have extended it - of course he would have - but then she hadn't honestly expected they'd be interested in any arrangements of that nature no mattered who suggested it. Ambitious lot, by nature; the result was practically preordained. It mightn't have hurt, however, had she explicitly coordinated the response with the Slytherin Head. Whether or not she's aware of it, her feelings of guilt arising from last year, subsequent avoidance, and the resultant pretext of excessive and often misplaced consideration of his sensibilities comes at the cost of leaving him with the sense he's in this alone, they're in this alone, same as it ever was. That in turn had led to him not attempting to convince the students that there'd be no repercussions if they took him up on his offer. He hadn't believed it for a minute, and neither had they.
And so here they were, snaking their ways through the corridors of the castle, late of an evening.
That left her sitting here, carefully monitoring the Map to ensure their safety; she can always Apparate to their sides should the need arise. It's not that she hadn't a hundred other things to do, heavens know she does, but anything less than this, now, after what had occurred only days ago under her watch? That would be a dereliction of duty. There'd been too much of that under Albus. She was resolved not to make the same mistakes.
The portraits have helped keep an eye on the Map, and by and large she's satisfied with the protections they've put into play since Sunday. Phineas Nigellus had done an excellent job of coordinating the portraits; so much so one might even suspect this isn't the first time he's overcome that particular challenge. The ghosts, too, were contributing as best they could. They were obviously very limited in terms of actions, but they were more intelligent than the vast majority of the paintings by far, and they relayed information quickly. Well, perhaps not the Bloody Baron, but he was the quickest to appear if there was any question. That was a start. Naturally she needed to be able to follow their movements as well. A single tap of the Map with her wand revealed the students', pets' and the poltergeist's locations. She'd had to tap the Map twice so the ghosts were visible, and in doing so, so was staff. It constitutes only a minor invasion of privacy, she's sure, hardly of consequence once one accepts the invasion even just the constant display of the students' whereabouts represented... But then a loss of privacy is typically one of the first concessions in the interests of safety. Quite.
Unfortunately the current solution doesn't really allow her to do much of anything else besides sitting here just now, demanding her attention as it does. She imagines with some organisation, by next week she could make better use of the time with the aid of a Dicta-quill to at least dash off some correspondence, but it will require a little preparation work, as she can't afford to take her eyes off the Map for long.
And of course part of the effort was determining what one needed to watch for.
The eighth years had apparently decided to accompany the seventh years on their rounds, and vice versa, evidently feeling there was safety in numbers. There was something to be said for that. Well there was obviously no need to respond to that, even the portraits behind her agree, and the Baron was on hand should an issue arise. They're less certain when Hermione and Mr. Potter join the group, inexplicably enough, and Minerva has quite a number of questions, but Severus appears almost immediately after, bringing the number in the strange little procession up to eight, and he undoubtably has everything under control. Compared to what he was used to? Monitoring students was a doddle.
Reassured by his presence, she pulls a fresh piece of parchment from her desk drawer after all, Summons a quill and inkwell, and begins making notes about some of the issues with the seating assignments for meals in the Great Hall, and the corresponding adjustments to the rules she wishes to make. Once yet again. Frankly she'd expected the Slytherins to present a much bigger problem than the Ravenclaws, so this had come as a surprise; whatever else, the life of an educator was seldom boring. She's questioning the wisdom of allowing those Ravenclaws to rouse her ire over something this insignificant, but she can't back down now or she'll have them thumbing their noses at her all year long... Just this week she'd assigned a number of students detention with Hagrid for tomorrow night, her instructions to the half-giant clear: they weren't to wish to risk such a punishment again hereafter. Then again, with Hagrid it truly was luck of the draw how that went. They'll have to wait and see.
Ah! And here was an interesting... well, something. The portraits had called out for her attention, and she spotted the issue immediately. Most of the small clutch of students on patrol have come to a halt, with two proceeding. In as much as no one else joined them and Severus has remained with the stationary group, it's unlikely to require their... her intervention. And if the students, and Severus, had somehow been trapped - she's trying to imagine it and failing - the other two Slytherins would hardly have just casually continued on, now would they... And of course such a bit of magic, whatever its precise nature, was unlikely to apply to the Baron in any event, and surely he would alert them if necessary. There was a potentially problematic alcove a story below him that a portrait was observing. It was the work of moments for him to drop to that floor and send word if trouble arose.
Presupposing he kept that word short, at any rate.
No, it had probably been too much to hope for that Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter could work together in close quarters without there being some manner of dust up. Eventually even the other two Slytherins return, a relief in that she needn't worry about them either, and finally Severus and the Baron depart. Whatever it was, it was clearly managed. She wonders fleetingly if he'll tell her what it was all about and doubts it. Well it's not as though things have changed significantly. In years past, they very clearly hadn't been in one another's confidences either.
But this gives her and the portraits something to discuss, it was the unusual, the changes they needed to be alert for, and the portraits had performed admirably.
Severus' Office
"Phineas!" Severus calls as he enters his office, rather unnecessarily as the portrait has been following his every move - as best he's able anyway - on the Headmstrs' Map in Minerva's office and appears in his portrait almost immediately, the speed with which he does so belying the assumed casualness of his demeanour. If the portrait accurately reflected even half the man he used to be, considering Minerva has the Map clapped open in front of her, he wouldn't leave as soon as Severus enters his office, but as is, he's overeager not to miss any information the Map provides nor the likely exceedingly small window of available time Severus will have to spare for him, all things considered. Of course if Minerva had even a fraction of the natural curiosity either Phineas Nigellus or Severus had had when they occupied her office before her, she would launch a series of experiments to determine where a second portrait of Phineas' might lie, or if she had a fraction of their innate caution, she'd have asked the portraits such questions directly at the outset, relying on the Geas of Service to force compliance; alas, she has and does neither. Then again she, too, has rather a lot to contend with herself just at the moment, and can reasonably justify some distraction. As is, the portrait can count himself lucky and needn't fear being Banished to some storeroom overrun by mice or a grumpy stairwell.
The Potions master is just Finite-ing his Disillusionment when Phineas arrives. The man proceeds to untie a piece of thread from his wrist and with a skilled twist of his hand flips the button dangling from it just above the floor high up into the air and elegantly plucks it from the arc of its descent. He follows by tossing it into the odd bobs tray on his desk, the thread curling up tidily behind at the flick of a somewhat compulsive finger. Phineas doesn't bother to ask. He's seen a great deal in his time, an extra button, however unusually worn, doesn't warrant the mention to his way of...
Well.
What he's never seen before is the House ghost in this office.
And yet there he is.
While Phineas can only speak to the relatively short length of time his portrait has hung here, obviously, the way the ghost peers about the room with scarcely concealed curiosity would suggest he hasn't set foot... er, hasn't been in this office in the seventeen years, give or take, Severus has occupied it.
Interesting.
To the best of Phineas' knowledge, Severus has always strictly barred all ghosts from his office, and his classroom, too, for that matter. The potential for something to go catastrophically wrong while brewing was just too great otherwise, and the present Head was much too sensible to chance it, unlike some the portrait could name. (Horace immediately comes to mind...) And of course equally unlike his predecessor, Severus was a very private person as well...
In the wake of the hearings last summer, however, Phineas has come to suspect a substantial portion of the reason for such restrictions was the potential threat deliberate spying or even comparatively innocent loose lips had posed for a double agent. He can see where that might be a stronger source of motivation. It hadn't been a simple bit of magic, the banning of ghosts. Salazar had been the only Founder to apply it to his House in his time, and to the best of Phineas' knowledge, the Potions master was the only one in the building to have applied it to his rooms now.
The door to the corridor falls to behind the ghost, breaking the spell, as it were, as Severus Banishes his cloak to the coatrack in the corner.
"You have access to my office," Severus informs the ghost. "The classroom, I'm afraid, must remain off limits." A deprivation with which the ghost is resolutely determined to cope. Quite.
"Phineas, the Baron will brief you." The ghost may just be bobbing with his version of glee. It's disconcerting and rather noisy, particularly as he's forgotten to keep his chains from rattling in his excitement. Clearly the portrait will need to have a word of his own. "I need to see to three of my potions."
"Are you on time?" Phineas asks, apprehending the chief problem.
"Only just," Severus replies, heading for the door to his quarters without so much as pausing, glad of someone who understands the issues he's facing nevertheless. It's so much easier than dealing with individuals likely to be offended by his curt manner. More so than usual even.
"If you would be so kind as to wait for me here when you've finished," Severus asks of the ghost as he reaches the door. "We'll need to decide how best to address this." That... rictus spreading across the Baron's face at the request could even be what passes for a smile. Frightening. Yes.
The fact the former Headmaster is willing to even entertain the notion of considering their input, however little he ultimately does so... It's just one of many signs both of how much has changed with the threat of He-Who-Shall... Riddle no longer looming over him on the one hand as well as how poorly he still is and just how much Minerva's meddling in the curriculum is affecting him on the other. As much as the former is a relief, the latter is cause for not some little concern.
Cautiously, he shouldn't like to offend the man, Phineas asks, "Wouldn't his time be better used patrolling the corridors?"
Severus stops now and shakes his head, "On another occasion, certainly, but this stage of the brewing won't take too long as yet. I've one base to finish and decant, a second in need only of decanting," as simple as it might sound, that had required the precision timing of a master potioneer to arrange, "and a third that requires tending and minor additions. That one will demand a good deal more attention later tonight however," there's a heavy sigh he's just too tired to bother to suppress, and with that he's gone into his chambers, a private laboratory undoubtably opening off of them.
Not for the first time, Phineas wishes he could follow.
the Slytherin Dungeons
Hunter Hutchinson and Daphne Greengrass are both curled up in their pyjamas on one of the couches by what's left of the fire; it's after curfew, and even the portrait of old Professor Swoopstikes can't complain too much about their attire, not that it always stops him. Daph is pretending somewhat fitfully to read her book on Enchanted Embroidery as Hunter desultorily sorts his Silent Snap cards - he and Wilfred had played earlier, his roommate kindly attempting to distract him from his concerns about his big brother and their friend Ella - when the seventh and eighth year Prefects clamber into the Common Room.
Most would assume Daph is waiting there to see that Harper returns safely - for a Slytherin, she's exceedingly transparent as a rule - the rest simply won't have considered it, except for the boy himself, who wouldn't believe it even if they all took Wand Oaths on the matter. There are always ways around those if only one puts their minds to it. His natural insecurity with regards to the pretty eighth year and the reason for her presence only increases along with his doubts when she leaps up at the sight of Ella, who is still visibly shaken and nearly as pale as their House ghost.
"Ella! What happened?!" Daph runs to the younger girl and begins to check for obvious signs of injury, as though that wouldn't have occurred to any of the others. Pfft. Daphne has a way of getting under Pansy's skin with gestures like that, not that she's noticed. If she hasn't realised it in the seven years they've roomed together, she isn't likely to this year either.
"She Hexed the Head Girl," Pansy supplies, sardonic smile playing about her lips and sounding more like herself than she has in days.
Ella keens, all but confirming that version of events to Hunter's mind. He's going to require details, and plenty of them, because that doesn't sound like his friend at all. He glances at his brother who is forced to shrug; in essentials, Panse wasn't too wide of the mark. "It wasn't a Hex," Ella wails at a volume situated somewhat perversely between a whimper and whisper.
"Trying telling that to Granger," Pansy laughs. Ella whimpers again, sinking her head into her hands. "She's alright," the eighth year reassures Daphne as she heads off towards their dorms. "Come along, you two. It's late."
"More like 'she will be alright'," Harper corrects, mostly for Hunter's benefit. "Bit of sleep should make all the difference. I'm sure it will look better in the morning, Ella."
"Absolutely," Draco agrees. "Right up until we get to Charms class with Granger," he adds with a chuckle, rather less than helpfully, Harper feels. He's not wrong, though. "So... First period? Assuming breakfast isn't an issue, that is. You might want to change seats." Ella practically whines.
"Feel better soon, Ella," Hunter wishes her, fairly convinced it won't actually help by this point, but he has manners, doesn't he?
She manages what was probably a muffled 'thanks' in reply, a little difficult to discern mumbled into her hands as it was, but possessing perfectly passable manners of her own. Her mother had taught them both.
Daph Summons her book from where it had fallen on the couch, pats Ella reassuringly on the back, and tries leading her up the stairs, the younger girl stumbling slightly as they reach the dais where the stairways to the girls and boys dormitories separate, attempting to take a step that simply isn't there. Harper just shakes his head, his friend really should watch where she's going.
He stands there observing the girls until they disappear from view, and if his gaze is predominantly drawn towards Daphne - surely it's attracted by the sublime stitching of the silver snakes slithering across the deep forest green of her pyjamas, that last in flattering contrast to her fair complexion - well, his interest is very nearly as transparent as the girl's on the issue. Naturally he'd say it was the curious selection of embroidery subjects that warranted his attention and not the soft waves of brunette undulating across them as she moved, nor the petite shoulders, nor delicate waist beneath... No, obviously not. It was clearly the unusual juxtaposition of those silvery snakes and what Harper assumes are rainbows, which is a little curious as they were rendered exclusively in shades of purple, a judicious selection, however, in as much as it was no one else's House colour, and therefore unlikely to offend...
Oddly, most people don't feel pressed to analyse sleepwear in quite that level of detail. And certainly not when it belongs to someone else.
"I asked, 'what did she use?'" Hunter is at his side, and sounds pretty amused.
"Hmm?" Harper queries, genuinely lost.
"You're not going to make me repeat myself a third time are you?" Hunter laughs.
"Might just be necessary," Draco chuckles again. "Ferula," he answers for the seventh year, still struggling to catch up. "We should be getting to bed ourselves." He starts up the stairs, and the brothers fall in almost automatically behind him.
"Ferula?" Hunter looks confused as he reviews his nearly encyclopaedic knowledge of Hexes. "That isn't a Hex, is it? I don't even think it's a Jinx..."
"Healing Charm, if we're being technical, although in this particular instance I suspect that's a distinction without a difference." Harper's brain finally kicks in. "As Pansy suggested, we'll likely need more luck than we have to explain that distinction to Granger."
"You're assuming she doesn't know..." Hunter points out.
"No, I think we're assuming she won't forgive," he quips with a smirk. He looks to Draco for confirmation, but the blond goes strangely quiet on that count. After last summer, he certainly can't make a claim like that anymore. Not for either of the Gryffindors who'd apparently meant to help them tonight. Yet again. He's going to have to give them some thought. Some more thought. In fact, he finds himself thinking about them a lot more than he'd ever expected these days. It's strange.
They reach the eighth years' room and he wishes the Hutchinson boys a good night before retiring. They continue a little further down the hallway until they reach the seventh years' door, but instead of following Draco's example, Harper turns to his little brother and says, "I'm going to need your help with something..." and proceeds to explain his idea. Hunter, quite typically, is eager to be of assistance in any way he can.
the Gryffindor Tower
The portrait of the Fat Lady closes behind them, and Harry removes his Cloak from himself and Hermione, shrinking and pocketing it once more. It's not that they weren't allowed to be out after curfew - thanks to Hermione, that was no longer a concern - but it probably wouldn't do to have people speculating as to what they'd got up to.
"Thanks, Harry," Hermione smiles at him. Thinking about how little use he'd been as she was transformed into the mummy of a giant slug... Initially he's not sure why she's thanking him. "I appreciate your coming along tonight. I really do." She pauses a moment, nibbling her lip, working up the courage to get around to whatever she wanted to say. He smiles at her fondly; it's sweet that she's still hesitant like that after all they've been through together.
As though finally taking a decision, she launches into it at speed, "You don't have to join me next week, though, not if you don't want to. Really.
"Really," she emphasises again as though worried he won't take her word for it. "I honestly hadn't meant to drag you into this in the first place. I just wanted to borrow your Cloak, that's all..."
He laughs. Knowing Hermione, that was quite probably true. "It's alright, 'Mione. I didn't mind." And thinking more of Malfoy's grunt when his Protego had clocked him but good than his friend's squeak as she flopped floorwards, he chuckles, "We had some fun, didn't we?" She doesn't seem to have quite the same understanding of the word, and her lack of immediate and wholehearted agreement brings him to other thoughts... "Just, uh, maybe don't mention it to Ron, would you?"
"Believe me, I wasn't planning to," her eyes widen at the very thought of that row. No, she certainly doesn't need the aggro any more than Harry does, he's sure of that.
"Good night then," he gives her a hug, but as he turns to leave he realises she isn't doing the same, electing to head for one of the study niches instead. He stops, waiting for her explanation, not that it should still be necessary at this point. "Not going to bed yet?" He encourages when none is forthcoming.
"I still have some work to do," she tells him vaguely as she slips into the seat, cool to the touch not so much due to the hour as their criminal underuse in the dorms.
"When do you sleep?" Harry teases and proceeds towards the stairs.
"One of us is taking more N.E.W.T.s," she calls after him, failing to answer the question, and although perfectly true, she says it as if she hasn't done her anticipated homework a couple of weeks in advance. By and large that works; Peek has proven a little unpredictable, but it remained good preparation for the N.E.W.T.s. Truth be told, she still has some reading she wants to do on Stan's case, and she Engorgios a stack of texts she removes from her robes. It bothers her that she's made no progress.
And if it gives her an excuse not to lie in bed avoiding nightmares?
All the better.
Severus' Office
By the time Severus returns from his brewing, a number of phials floating in tow, Phineas has a far better understanding of some of the inexplicable things he'd seen play out on the Map this evening. It was certainly... unexpected. Having spent more time than he cares to with both of the Moggies in question... Well he certainly feels for all the rest involved, Narcissa's boy chief amongst them. As the last of the Blacks, living, still at the castle, Phineas has a soft spot for the lad. And truth be told, he's rather jealous he hadn't been able to watch the Binding of Miss Muggleborn. After nicking his portrait from his eminently respectable ancestral home and dragging him on that wretched slog through the Forest of Dean? He still hasn't forgiven her for that.
"Successful?" He asks Severus with a nod at the still glowing glass tubes wafting along behind the Potions master, the door automagically closing behind them.
Phineas should be able to tell just by the glow, to say nothing of the potion base's appearance as a whole, and if he had more of the knowledge of the man he'd been, he'd certainly know. Aside from a minor improvement which changed nothing about either of those factors save rendering them a mite more intense, this particular brew hasn't changed since long before Phineas' day. This will be yet another bit of knowledge in a sadly long list of memories that had been lost to time. The portrait's glance more than leading, his interest obvious, Severus relents and gives him a more than cursory answer. It wasn't but a moment, and Phineas is teaching his portrait after all, it's only efficient. Not, mind, that Severus has decided if he's eventually burning his portrait or not, obviously. That was still very much up in the air, cheers.
"The glow will fade shortly, but in the minutes after decantation it helps to prove the success of the brew, saving some time and effort in analysis. I've made a small alteration to the use of the Sopophorous Bean, squeezing to extract the juice as opposed to slicing and steeping which I find less potent in that instance, to say nothing of more cumbersome. I apply the same technique with both the Boom Berries in the second potion base," he raises the flask in his right hand almost gingerly at the mention, "as well as with Carnivorous Calendula in similar draughts to even better results."
"Oh, now that is a change..." Phineas replies with open admiration. His calculations all too clear, Severus rewards him with a dry smile.
"It's a fair bit safer, too." He wriggles the fingers of his left hand at the portrait as if in emphasis. Not that either would expect him to have suffered any actual injuries from handling such recalcitrant ingredients, or not to have healed them if he had, but his point is taken. The less contact with such things, the better.
"Safer? Squeezing? Boom Berries?"
"Only with the use of silver implements to render them momentarily inert. Vastly preferable to the alternative where they are anything but, I'll grant you. I'll cover that in class tomorrow when I assign the potion," not that Severus expects any of his students to care; pearls before swine, "if you'd care to listen in." Phineas very much does.
Severus Banishes the phials to his desk where sure enough their glow begins to fade. Closer to the portrait now, he raises the decanter in his right hand for the painting to better observe the results of the second potion. "The shimmering quality of the flecks in suspension speak to its success." It's rather pretty, really.
Beginning to remember something, Phineas asks, "But the green note..." He's almost certain the potion is usually silver hued.
Severus smiles in appreciation. The change was subtle; it's good Phineas has retained his eye for such things. "And that would be the result of the squeezing. A decidedly better potion, and more cost efficient as well, as it requires fewer of the Boom Berries." Yes, they were rather dear. Harvesting and shipping were both fraught with difficulties. Even the question of storage wasn't significantly better. It's why ingredients such as those generally had to be ordered in very shortly before the lesson plan necessitated their presence.
Phineas smiles to himself, pleased that he's once again able to piece so much together. Yes, he's making rather satisfying progress in this arrangement of theirs. Most suitable.
Turning to include the ghost in their conversation, Severus asks. "Brewing aside for the moment, the question remains, what's to be done about our Prefects and the Gryffindors?"
Having discussed it some amongst themselves, the ghost looks to the portrait to take the lead. Truthfully, he hadn't entirely understood the issue with all the extra brewing anyway - such an unparalleled imposition, as the painting had it - and all this discussion of the methods applied was even worse, all of which has left him feeling... wrong footed, or whatever the spectral equivalent is. In any event, he's... glad they find themselves back in familiar terrain. In as much as Phineas' pleading their case is likely to accelerate the conversation by a factor of two or three, Severus thinks wryly as he observes the silent exchange, he's not discontented with the solution either.
"I appreciate things went perhaps... less than... smoothly tonight..." Phineas begins a touch tentatively, and soon has Severus revising his estimation of the time this would save downwards. And 'less than smoothly'? That was an understatement if Severus has ever heard one. He reserves judgment, at least vocally, although his eyebrow doesn't quite seem to have gotten the message, and Phineas worries he's overplayed his hand straight off the mark and shan't be asked for his input again. Bother. "Nevertheless... we still thought the idea might have some merit..." The Baron shoots him a glance at the 'we', suggesting he'd as soon not be drawn into this, as poorly as the portrait's argument is going. Phineas can't really blame him. "Leaving the guarding of the Prefects to the Moggies, that is.
"Just think of the time you'll save..." He casts a regretful look at the potion still in Severus' right hand, they both know how little extra time he has just now. He's not wrong, not remotely, but it's such a sore point it might have been better not to mention it. Bygones. There's nothing to be done for it, and little use in second guessing himself. "You needn't acknowledge it either..." He continues, calling to mind a horror Severus hadn't even envisioned. He can just picture the conversation with Potter and Miss Granger now, in all its graphic detail. "Let them proceed as they evidently intend, that's one argument spared, and should they stop accompanying the Prefects on their rounds, the Baron can report so you'd be in a position to do so in their stead.
"Um, not that you'd be filling in for them, obviously, no, it's, uh, more they're filling in for you, naturally, um, now anyway... Until such a time as they stop..." Phineas sputters, while Severus' eyebrow explores new heights, and the Baron has long since begun to wonder if he wouldn't have managed this better. Considerably. How could he not have? "If you could just keep those nights sort of free..." That finally draws an audible response from Severus.
He snorts.
"'Sort of free'?" Yes, even Phineas realises that was suboptimally put. Rot.
"So you'd be available if need be..." And as if Severus hadn't comprehended his meaning, Phineas flails valiantly onwards, evidently determined to do so until Severus finally relents and agrees. Merlin's beard. "Just attempt to arrange your brewing on those nights so that you'd be able to follow them should the need arise..." But of course that alone was half the difficulty, the scheduling around large blocks of time when he wouldn't be available. It's Severus' turn to look at the flask still in his hand. Gazing at it as if it holds the answers, or at least poses the questions more succinctly, he carefully sets the result of all his hard work down on his desk by the phials as he gives it some thought.
It wasn't that most of the potions required him to stir incessantly, and he'd magicked stirring rods enough to see to all but the most delicate of potions in any event, it was the need to keep adding ingredients in irregular intervals to say nothing of the ridiculous amounts of preparations work... Still, it would save him time, and if he gained confidence in this arrangement - not necessarily the Moggies, per se, but the arrangement - he could take to brewing the less crucial precursors during that time. If an emergency arose, and he was forced to abandon his brewing, that was on Minerva's head, and the ruined potion and the knock on effects with it. So be it. Yes, that was a compromise he could live with.
But were his students safe enough with the Moggies? His hands were undoubtably more qualified, but, metaphorically, also incredibly full. At the latest after last summer, he had to acknowledge that the two Gryffindors were exceedingly determined, and if they had resolved to keep the Slytherins safe, as the Baron insists, if only as a matter of pride, they would, at the least, buy him time to respond. No, reservations aside, this, too, seemed a compromise they could likely all live with.
At least he hopes so.
"How much notice am I feasibly to receive?" He asks the Baron, who had long since given up on any chance of success. It surprises him enough that he has to gather his chains again to keep them from rattling. Phineas Nigellus had been most clear on that count.
"If I were to... wait for them... in the dungeons... perhaps a few minutes... at best... if the Estrays... or their ankles... failed to... put in an appearance..." The ghost wheezes at the effort. This is the most he's had to converse with anyone in a very, very long time. "If I try... to intercept them... elsewhere... in the castle... and follow them... to the dungeons... I assume... it would be possible... to discern their intent..."
"Yes?"
"A few minutes more... Still quite likely... less than ten."
"Unless you overheard them changing their plans at some other point during the day." Phineas prods.
"Improbable... I can hardly dedicate myself... to following them... about the castle... all day long." He'd sound scandalised were he capable of stringing a sentence together more quickly. As is, it's a strange effect.
Severus is good enough to avoid pointing out the irony of the objection in light of his activities this past week. And of course the ghost has a point, just because he'd done so doesn't mean he should reasonably be expected to continue in that manner moving forward.
"Let's try for the second option, then," he replies, decided. "Pick them up at the Tower or wherever they're likely to start from," for the life of him, he can't picture Potter starting from the library with Miss Granger. "I imagine we'll be able to discern a pattern to this soon enough.
"Very well, thank you both for your assistance. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get some rest before the next potion demands my attention." He'd grown very adept at stealing bits of sleep where he could in recent years; it's a skill that's unfortunately still proving extremely useful. "Good night," he wishes them, disappearing once more into his chambers for the night. They're both perfectly capable of letting themselves out.
Written with oodles of love for lostangelsoul3 and
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erexen.
no subject
One question, does the Headmistress' Map show the RoR occupants?
A thoroughly hilarious amount of circular mental acrobatics for Severus, trying to wrap his head around the Moggies abject failure at attempting to protect his Snakes. The Baron & Phineas are written as wonderfully filled out characters, so much more depth & personality are involved in their parts to play. The Baron acting as spy in a way that blows Severus' mind, which is already in a bit of a tumble due to questioning Severus' own magical abilities & strength. I love the distracted forgetfulness of leaving the spells in place, Argus' confusion & angst will be well worth a fair few giggles, and what the resulting effects will be on Minerva's morning.
All in all, I love that there is a concerted effort by a Number of individuals to step up in a variety of ways to protect Draco, Pansy, & whomever else may be potentially targeted. Some misguided, but the desire to safeguard the Snakes is a beautiful blossoming of humanity, whether spectrally, 2 dimensionally, or physically present.
I enjoy the banterish respect between Phineas & Severus, especially considering Severus is trusting Black to teach his painting. Oh I Do hope Severus Doesn't torch his painting.