37: The Return of the Students

Snape wasted no time reconfiguring his new Portkey to take him straight to Hogwarts. He had no desire to explore this new locale; history had proven time and time again that it was a dreadful mistake for an invading militia to attempt a crossing of the Russian steppes. If there was to be a confrontation between the Order and the Dark Army, it would not take place here. Besides, lingering might put him face-to-face with Bellatrix Black. Bleah. I'd rather kiss the Toadmistress.

That thought cheered him as he landed in his chambers. He was back at Hogwarts without that disgusting twat peering over his shoulder. True, Horace Slughorn was a scumsucking opportunist, but far more tolerable, and certainly not in a position of authority. Albus was here, Draco would soon arrive, and most importantly, he would see Hermione tonight.

Snape flopped onto his four-poster bed in a downright juvenile fashion, grinning from ear to ear.

Perhaps it was such a relief to be free of Ratso's constant prying, or perhaps his encounter with the Master had exhausted him more than he realized, but Snape drifted off quickly to sleep. He had a very distressing dream in which he was ordered to keep Hermione as a prisoner at Spinner's End. He was forced to maintain appearances of his loyalty to Voldemort, and thus had no choice but to starve and torture her as she looked upon him with horror. When Wormtail took a fancy to her, Snape had no excuse to stop him and had to permit the repulsive bastard to copulate with his Hermione, right under his own roof! When Snape awoke hours later, he was drenched in sweat and in an outrageously foul mood. The fact that it hadn't really happened did nothing to quell his murderous intentions toward Peter Pettigrew.

He had no choice but to change all of his clothes; there was even a damp outline of his body on the blanket. The house-elves had come during his nap and unpacked his trunk, which was usually a pleasant little "perq," but such was his mood after the nightmare that it felt more like an unwelcome intrusion. To make things worse, it dawned on Snape as he buttoned his fresh shirt that this would be his last Welcoming Feast at Hogwarts. Not that he had ever particularly looked forward to the students arriving, but he irrationally resented the fact that this silly annual ritual would be taken from him. My last Sorting, my last absurd opening speech from Albus... Snape's fingers paused on the current button at the first real wave of comprehension that his tenure at Hogwarts was ending.

It lasted for but a moment, and berating himself for foolish sentimentality, he looked up at the clock. Snape uttered aloud a string of four-letter words and redoubled his efforts at buttoning. He was late. He had missed the staff welcome (my last staff welcome); the Hogwarts Express was probably pulling into the station, if not already there! That confounded nap had sucked away the entire afternoon; what in the name of Merlin, Mordred or Morgana had he been thinking, snoozing like a pussycat upon his return?

Snape made it to the top of his collar and realized that the last button had no corresponding hole. Having exhausted his supply of foul language a moment earlier, he was forced to improvise some new phrases as he undid his work back to the renegade buttonhole and started over. Fuckses, precious, I WILL go to Gladrags and purchase ONE shirt of the "pullover" variety.

Snape wrangled his way through the buttons on the shirt, the vest, and the formal smock, then donned his cape and straightened everything before the mirror. At least I shaved this morning, thank the stars. He'd been forcing himself not to think about Hermione all summer, lest he go absolutely spare, but damn it, he HAD wanted to look nice for her at tonight's reunion. As if you could ever look 'nice,' you ridiculous old fool. He scowled at his reflection. Perhaps "less awful" was possible. Snape gave his collar one final tug and dashed out of his chambers.

Damn! The corridor was already humming with the voices of students in the Entrance Hall. He bolted up most of the stairway, then stopped to compose himself. Bursting out of the staircase in a fluster was unthinkable. He ascended the rest of the steps in his usual silent glide, not sparing the students so much as a glance as he strode icily into the Great Hall through the wide path that they made around him.

There were only a few students taking their seats at the long House tables, and Snape sighed quietly in relief; he was only a tad late. He could walk to the High Table with dignity and still have plenty of time to scout surreptitiously for Hermione. Settling into his chair beside Dumbledore, he soon spotted Draco, who was actually rather hard to miss, since he was practically bounding over to the Slytherin table. Snape's brows flew up despite himself; he'd rather expected Draco to be considerably more somber this year, given that his father was in prison and he'd been given some task dire enough to drive his mum to despair. Snape watched him curiously as the other Slytherins drew in to hear his latest secret, snorting and laughing and clapping Draco on the back when he finished the story. When Draco looked up and caught his eye, the boy's eyes flashed in a predatory fashion and he licked the tips of his front teeth.

And now I've been caught staring. Huzzah. Fortunately, the appropriate response in this case to any and all observers was simple, stony indifference, at which Snape was an expert.

After giving Draco the Chilling Stare, Snape turned his attention deliberately elsewhere, finding to his great surprise that Albus had turned his back and was peering intently at... a Patronus? Yes, that was no ghost that he knew, and it dissipated quietly into the air as Albus nodded. "What in seven hells was that all about?" he wondered as he caught the Headmaster's eye, and in his usual fashion, Albus not only understood the unspoken question, he replied volumes with a simple quirk of his eyebrow. Snape clenched the armrests on his chair, but nodded and rose from the High Table.

Dumbledore's errand boy... He permitted himself to feel the resentment; it was petty and infantile, but it would make good fodder for the Master later. Here it was, his last Welcoming Feast at Hogwarts, and Albus had dismissed him. It wasn't too serious--the width of his eyes had indicated that something was merely amiss--yet it required the attention of someone other than that obsessive Squib, Filch. Dumbledore's head had been tipped toward the main gates, nonetheless. He was going to have to leave the entire bloody castle to investigate this mystery.

Snape glanced around the Great Hall before slipping into the antechamber behind the staff table. The tables were nearly full, and only a few stragglers were finding their seats. He spotted Hermione at last; she was peering up and down the Gryffindor table with concern. Potter was not at the table, and a final scan of the Hall proved that he was nowhere to be found. So the Little Prat has been delayed, and now I have to go fetch him. Snape entered the antechamber and closed the door quietly behind him, and promptly punched the nearest overstuffed chair.

It took a few minutes to find a lantern. Though the castle had plenty of them in a closet off the Great Hall, this was the one night when they were used on the carriages and boats. There was only one remaining in the closet, and its door had been twisted such that one of the hinges was completely broken off. Snape had just enough time to slip down the stairs to the dungeons before the herd of first-years rumbled in behind Hagrid. He didn't want the firsties to see him prowling about with a wall-torch like some sort of janitor. Snape stomped down to his office and took out a proper lantern, the one he used when he gathered ingredients in the Forbidden Forest. By the time he returned to the main floor, they were filing into the Great Hall in a tidy, anxious column. There it is, then. I shall miss the Sorting for sure. There was little point in disrupting their ranks, so Snape simply remained in the shadows of the stairway until the last of them had scurried through the double doors.

He lit the lantern at the foot of the stone stairs and ambled down the path to the front gates. At first he could only see Nymphadora Tonks, which was odd; he knew her Patronus and it looked nothing like the indistinct spectre behind Dumbledore's chair. He then realized what this new shape was--or at least what it was supposed to be. By the blood of Merlin, woman, how can you stand to be such a sap? Do you honestly think he'll be impressed? Grow a spine if you wish to impress him! Snape had always liked her Patronus; a duck-billed platypus was certainly not something one saw every day, and the absurd little creature suited her in an aesthetic way--whereas the wolf was utterly contrived. Yet another irritating observation on a thoroughly annoying evening.

And then Potter slipped out from under his Invisibility cloak.

"Well, well, well. Nice of you to turn up, Potter." He gave the padlock a single tap and glowered at The Prat as the chains slithered apart. It was a tiny bit disconcerting to find the boy covered in blood, particularly since it seemed to be his own, but Potter had walked from Hogsmeade Station, so he couldn't be hurt too badly. Not badly enough to warrant dragging me away from my final Sorting, I'd wager. Snape dismissed Tonks with an insult to her lame Patronus and locked the gates, hoping that they could make it back to the castle in time for the last of the alphabet. Naturally, the Little Prat dawdled, calling out a sappy farewell to Tonks. Mother of Merlin, should I Summon a violin?

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for lateness, I think. And let me see, another twenty for your Muggle attire." Snape knew he was being petty, but damn it, he FELT petty. After enduring a summer of Ratso and wanting nothing but to settle into his normal routine at Hogwarts, this stupid errand was the last straw. Filch could have met these two idiots at the gate, he fumed internally, deliberately ignoring the voice of reason that attempted to squeak, "But Albus didn't know exactly what to expect!"

"I suppose you wanted to make an entrance, did you?" Snape mused aloud. Of course he did. Even Hermione knows he's an adrenaline junkie. Just like his father, the Golden Boy in the spotlight. Bloody hell, Slughorn must have him in his sights; I'm sure they spent the whole train ride drinking expensive Scotch and eating candied pineapple. But even that wasn't enough lauding for you, was it, Potter?

When they reached the castle, the Sorting was over; the sounds of light conversation and silverware on plates were bubbling from the Great Hall. Snape glanced at Potter in the full light of the Entrance Hall and noted with satisfaction that the boy looked like shite warmed over. The Prat twitched his fingers and Snape growled, "No cloak. You can walk in so that everyone sees you, which is what you wanted, I'm sure."

He let The Prat go in through the double doors, then put away his lantern before slinking back to the High Table through the antechamber. One peek at Draco assured Snape that Potter had been bettered in an embarrassing fight, not heroically injured during some fearsome assault on the way from the station. Good. Bloody hell, if I have to snog Draco later, at least I'll have a reason for it.

To Snape's satisfaction, the entire Hall went abuzz at the announcement that he would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts instead of Potions; Potter was so offended that he blurted out a most indiscrete, "No!" The Slytherins, bless their twistedly loyal little hearts, burst into applause, though it was impossible to tell if they were expressing their approval of his promotion, or of the fact that he would undoubtedly be departing at the end of the year. Most of their fathers were Death Eaters; the entire group surely knew the position was cursed. He acknowledged their accolades with a wry wave, thinking to himself that he would get the little bastards later.

When Dumbledore finished his speeches and the students rose noisily from their tables, Snape noticed Hermione dash off to her prefect's duties. He knew she had to shepherd the new students up to Gryffindor Tower and then patrol the corridors. She would undoubtedly stop by her room between those two tasks, and find upon her pillow a single rose which none of her roommates could see. He'd written instructions for the house-elves days ago, and had no doubt they'd set things up according to his specifications when they unpacked his bags earlier that day. Snape headed down to the dungeons for a brief appearance in the Slytherin common room, then hastily returned to his chambers for what he hoped would be a short wait.

A/N: Thanks to Averygoodun's "Traitor" for setting the tone of Severus's dream and getting his evening off to such a crappy start... ;) And to those of you whom I promised the next post would involve Hermione, my deepest apologies. But the next one REALLY will. REALLY!