Chapter 41

Severus swept through the headmistress's office, removing the log book from one of the many creaking shelves and placing it with a thud on the desk. The responsibility of deputy head came with tedious administration that Minerva herself did not want to deal with. Still, he couldn’t complain too much; the daily logging of incidents and detentions was still a thousand times better than having to grade another diabolical Potions essay. He opened the weighty red leather-bound tome and reached for the speckled quill resting neatly in the brass inkwell.

“You handled the episode with Lock and Bingham yesterday very well, Severus.”

Snape glanced up at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, his eyebrow quirking. He’d been aware of the old man watching the conversation with curiosity, but he hadn’t expected approval of his actions. Not that such approval was needed, or even wanted, of course.

“It was no less than they deserved. No doubt, if Minerva had been the one punish them, they would have escaped with nothing more than a week’s worth of detentions and bruised egos,” he sneered.

Albus inclined his head slightly, running a thoughtful hand over his long, white beard. “Yes, you may well be right. However, in this particular instance I can’t help but feel the end justified the means. I think that, under the circumstances, you were positively lenient.”

Snape gave a little cough of surprise. The word “lenient” in reference to his teaching style was somewhat of an oxymoron.

“What do you propose would have been the appropriate course of action? Expulsion? Thumbscrews? Crucio?” he asked, voice heavy with sarcasm.

The corner of Albus’ mouth flickered with a smile. “I would not have been surprised if you had expelled the two of them for their misdemeanour; I seem to recall you once were going to expel Potter and Weasley for a comparatively minor offence. What was it now? Ah yes, the Whomping Willow incident... Could it be you’re mellowing in your old age?”

Snape glowered up at the former headmaster, for the insinuation of the delivery of a lax punishment, the reminder of his intense dislike of the two insufferable Gryffindors, and at the jibe regarding his age.

“It appears that age and even death has not stopped your incessant meddling and offering of unwanted opinions,” he growled.

To his chagrin, Albus chuckled softly at this. “I am trying to pay you a complement, Severus. Your judgement was sound, and you made a bold statement to the whole school at the cost of your own house. Not an easy feat, I should imagine.”

“I’ve done worse,” he muttered darkly in response under his breath, loading the quill with ink and beginning to scribble away inside the ledger. For a few seconds, all that could be heard was the scratch of feather against parchment.

“Minerva tells me Sarah had a productive first day of lessons,” Albus continued lightly.

Severus closed his eyes momentarily and exhaled slowly. He could see where this was leading.

“Filius was almost levitating with excitement at her progress at dinner,” he replied, turning the page with a swooshing sound and continuing to scrawl.

“And how is Sarah?” the old man asked, steepling his fingers and looking over the rim of his spectacles.

“I’m not her keeper,” Severus spat, dipping the quill rather more forcibly than necessary back into the inkwell and causing a few drops of blue ink to splatter on the mahogany desk.

“No, but you are her lover.”

Severus glanced up again at the portrait and swallowed, unable to refute this statement. He saw Dumbledore’s face light up with a triumphant smile at the lack of protest.

“So you have made up? I’m so happy for you both. I had rather hoped Sarah would be able to cope with your past, and she hasn’t let me down.”

Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the old man.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked slowly.

Albus coughed. “Well, we know now that she is worthy of you, Severus.”

Snape blinked several times, his mind racing. Then, his expression changed into a mask of outrage as the light bulb went off in his head.

“You meddling, geriatric old fool! You actually WANTED her to see my memories, didn’t you? You wanted her to find them!” he thundered.

Dumbledore looked down sheepishly, tying a knot in the end of his beard.

“I admit, it was a very risky thing to do, to test her in such a way,” he conceded carefully. “But I knew from the moment I met her that you have a great bond together, even if you would be reluctant to acknowledge it. If she passed this test, it would prove to you that she really loved you. And it worked, didn’t it?” he asked evenly, blue eyes glittering.

Snape ground his teeth, making his jaw muscle flex.

“You interfering, reckless, manipulative bastard!” Snape shouted. “You had no right, NO RIGHT, to mess in my affairs in such a way! How dare you?” he began, sliding the chair back across the floor and stalking towards the painting.

“Severus, my boy, you have every reason to be angry,” Albus retorted, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Once again, I say to you, the ends justified means. She loves you. You love her. All's well that ends well… I think I remember reading that somewhere.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled benevolently at the man he’d come to regard as a son.

“You could have ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to me!” Snape’s eyes glowed fiercely up at the old man.

“With respect, Severus, I rather feel you were on the cusp of doing that yourself,” Albus replied quietly.

Snape fought the urge to blast a hole in the painting with his wand with exasperation. Once again, the meddling old man was right on the money; once again, he took a risk and it paid off. And, once again, his judgement of character was impeccable.

“I’ve a good mind not to invite you to the wedding for this,” Severus muttered, tearing his eyes away from the painting wearily.

Albus’ bushy white eyebrow sprang high up his wrinkly old forehead in surprise.

“You’ve proposed?” he breathed, face full of expectation.

Snape inwardly cursed himself for letting his secret slip. “Not yet. But soon.”

Albus’ crinkly blue eyes filled up with tears of joy. “Dear Severus, my dear, dear boy,” he began, choked with emotion.

Severus glanced up at the portrait. The sight of Albus’ joy on his behalf nearly made a tear spring to his own eye. He swallowed hard; now was not the time for silly displays of sentiment.

“I swear, Albus, if you interfere in my relationship one more time, I’ll rip your portrait off the wall and feed you to the Aramantula!” he snapped, turning on his heel and billowing towards the door.

“Dear boy,” was all that Dumbledore could whisper in return, mopping up his tears with the end of his long white beard.