Quiet Authority

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: With Septentrion fast approaching the birth of her baby, Sempra has kindly offered to step into the breach to beta for me. Thank you Sempra.

Dedicated to Septentrion and Miss Bubbles.

'Like shifting sands, the Dark Arts are forever changing, mutating and indestructible. They prey on your weaknesses, promising unimaginable power, wealth or whatever else your heart may desire. Do not imagine for one moment that you are immune to their siren call. You are not; no one is.'

Hermione watched from the back of the room as Severus addressed the seventh-years. She need not have worried that he’d lost his touch; the class were as enraptured as she was. But there was no sneering condescension in his voice, now, only a quiet authority that commanded attention—not to mention respect.

'Were you really a-a Death Eater, sir?' one girl (a Gryffindor, Hermione noted) had the temerity to ask.

Hermione sucked in a breath, waiting for the explosion. It never came.

'Yes,' Severus replied, calmly rolling up his left sleeve. 'I was not much older than you when I pledged my life to the service of Voldemort.'

Hermione took an involuntary step forward as the others moved in for a closer look.

'The Mark is barely visible now. But when Voldemort was alive, so was this. It chained me to him—called me to him with the most excruciating pain imaginable.'

There was no reason for her to stay, but Hermione remained glued to the spot as Severus recounted his early years as a spy.

'I will say this once so you may benefit from my experience...'

You could have heard a pin drop.

'...I was seduced by promises of wealth and power. I was stupid and naive...' The hairs on the back of Hermione's neck prickled as Severus' low, melodious voice enveloped her. She could listen to it forever— but then she always could. '...constant vigilance...' He looked directly at her and smirked.

Smiling, Hermione crept out of the classroom.

* * *

Hogwarts at night held no terrors for Severus. He was at home in its empty corridors among the whispering portraits and the restless ghosts. In years past, he had often felt as insubstantial as those long dead individuals, a shadow amongst the shades. He walked to the castle's heartbeat, breathing its breath, at one with every creak and moan, knowing when something was out of place. Like now. Someone was following him. And whoever it was had never mastered the art of stealth. The footfalls halted when he stopped. Wand drawn, Severus slipped behind a suit of armour and waited.

'Can I help you, Professor Burbage?'

Burbage eyed the wand pointed at his throat before slowly shaking his head.

Severus did not drop his guard. 'Then why were you following me?'

'I-I was merely patrolling the corridors—like you.'

'I see.' Severus inclined his head. 'Then I'll bid you good evening.' He started to walk away.

'Wait...'

Severus turned to face the younger man, knowing what was coming.

'They never found her body.' Burbage looked at him pleadingly. 'Just answer me this. Was it quick?'

Severus considered lying, but the man deserved the truth, however painful. 'No, it was not.'

Burbage clenched his fists angrily. 'And you just stood by and watched!'

Yes, and her screams for help still haunt my dreams. 'I was powerless to save her.'

'You can look me in the eye and say that?'

Severus stepped towards Burbage, entering his personal space. Burbage flinched slightly.

'Charity was a courageous witch and a valued colleague,' Severus said evenly. 'But my priority above all else was the defeat of Voldemort. Always.' He looked away. 'Many good people died. You are not the only person to have lost a loved one.'

Burbage snorted. 'What do you know of love?'

Back in his rooms, Severus checked for any recent elf activity. Other than a bottle of elf-made wine on the table next to his chair, there didn't seem to be any. He drew the cork and sniffed. After his encounter with Burbage, this was one gift he had no objection to receiving. Pouring himself a glass of the ruby-red liquid, Severus sat down and contemplated the fruit bowl that had appeared earlier.

'Sodding elves.' Putting his feet up, Severus brought the glass to his lips. Whoever had first enslaved the little buggers had probably done it out of sheer desperation.

From his position, Severus could just about see the Headmistress' office. She was burning the midnight oil again. He didn't quite know what to make of Hermione Granger and her 'reforms'. And why had she felt the need to sit in on his classes, hmm? Did she think he no longer had it in him? Had she only given him the job out of pity? Grunting, Severus raised his glass towards her window: 'To Hermione Granger. Champion of the underdog.' He knocked it back and poured himself another one, noticing for the first time that the bottle was replenishing itself.

Half an hour later, without the faintest idea of how much he'd drunk, Severus was pleasantly sozzled.

'On the sauce again, are we, Severus?'

Severus squinted at the painting over the fireplace. 'Dunno 'bout you, you old fart, but I am. Cheers.'

Dumbledore smiled benignly. 'It was kind of Hermione to take you on—although, I advised her against it. But then, she always was a soft touch for a sob story.'

Severus hurled the glass at Dumbledore's face. It bounced off the painting and smashed on the grate.

Dumbledore was unperturbed. 'That's more like the Severus Snape I knew.'

'You may have pulled the wool over Hermione's eyes,' Dumbledore continued, 'but you're not fooling me. Once a Dark wizard, always a Dark wizard.'

'Sheesh got more brainsh than you give her credit for.' Severus wished he hadn't drunk quite so much. 'N’ sheezz not bad lookin', either. Fac', I wou’n't mind warming h-her bed onn-nocashun.'

'You disgust me.'

Nothing new there then. Sighing, Severus rested his head against the chair and was soon snoring softly. He didn't feel the gentle fingers prying the Reparo'd glass from his hand, nor the Levitation Spell that floated him carefully to his bed.