Happy Returns

Phoenix Song, Chapter Six : Happy Returns

DISCLAIMER : The characters and many of the situations described in this story are the property of the incomparable J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this story, which exists as a work of tribute. Where I quote dialogue from the original Harry Potter books I have marked it with an asterisk.

I'd like to thank my betas: LAxo, for persisting and insisting, and WriterMerrin, for knowing what a compound predicate is and not being afraid to use it.

Less than a minute after Narcissa and Bellatrix left, Wormtail sidled back into the sitting room, rubbing his silver hand against the flesh of his other palm.

"How lovely of the Black sisters to visit, purely a social call, I imagine?"

By that stage Severus had already put on his travelling cloak.

"Clear away the glasses," he ordered.

"Certainly, certainly. But where are you going?"

One word sufficed as a reply..."Out,"...before Severus put word to deed and swept from the house. Had Wormtail not been present, he would have left via the back garden, ducking through the hole in the fence for old-time's sake. Although even using the front door, it didn't take him long to meet up with the back lane. For about half a mile he travelled a meandering route that rarely obliged him to step out of the shadows. Then he stopped and glanced around. It seemed that he had arrived...if the dilapidated children's playground in which he stood could be classed as a destination. Eventually, Severus made his way over to a swing, one of the few pieces of play equipment that remained intact. Manoeuvring his narrow hips into the child's seat, he sat down. His left arm wound tightly around the chain, he leant his forehead against his hand.

It was late, it was dark, it was unseasonably cold. He was 36 years old and sitting alone in a children's playground. He had just sworn an Unbreakable Vow to murder Albus Dumbledore in the inevitable circumstance that Draco Malfoy failed to do so.

Hell, he told himself, it doesn't make a difference. Once Draco fails, my choice was always going to involve Albus' death or my own. He reviewed the terms of the promise he had made.

"Will you, Severus, watch over my son, Draco, as he attempts to fulfil the Dark Lord's wishes?"*

Done. Severus and Lucius had spent hours of their lives scheming to keep Draco from direct participation in the Dark Lord's battles. The boy had been a sickly child, preceded by three miscarriages, and was loved by both his parents to an obsessive degree. He alone was valued more highly by the Malfoys than their sycophantic allegiance to Lord Voldemort's cause.

"And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?"*

Again, this was nothing he hadn't already intended to do.

"And, should it prove necessary . . . if it seems Draco will fail . . . will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?"*

Well, it was safe to say that it already seemed as if Draco would fail. And Severus had already promised Dumbledore to complete the deed himself. Why then, did he feel so sick at heart?

Severus glanced around the desolate playground and imagined himself as a young boy. I must have looked frightful. It did help, though, being there in the park where, in a sense, it had all began. He sat there a little longer, letting the odd July chill seep into his bones and thinking over the moments in his life when he might have made different choices. He knew that he sat, poised, at a similarly important moment, with personally devastating consequences. This time he intended to act in full awareness of the possible ramifications.

It was close to an hour later when he finally stood. "Come, Snivellus," he spoke out loud. "You know full well where your loyalties lie."

Severus Snape walked out of the park and into the shadows, where he Disapparated with a crack.

That evening there was no cat to mark his arrival at Hogwarts. He stalked up to and through the castle without meeting a soul. He greeted the gargoyle with a long-suffering sigh. "Acid pops," he muttered.

Dumbledore was still up and, after viewing Snape's Pensieve memory, ridiculously delighted.

"Well done, Severus! No-one but you could have pulled off such a performance. Jealousy makes Bellatrix a harsher critic than Voldemort himself, but tonight you have gone a long way towards convincing her!"

Dumbledore busied himself pouring them both a drink, smiling happily. On the other side of the desk, Snape scowled. He tried very hard not to think of killing the headmaster or of how unpleasant his life would be once Dumbledore's plan came to pass.

Not since his first few years at Hogwarts had Severus been happier to see the holidays end. This year, leaving Spinner's End had been a pleasure, and in comparison with the ever-present irritant Wormtail, he was positively looking forward to spending time with his students.

He was standing to one side of the great doors, watching groups of students arrive at the castle. Hidden from sight by the light streaming from within the entrance hall, he was but one of the "extra security measures" put in place for the evening. At the sight of Horace Slughorn squeezing his portly body out from one of the carriages, Severus instinctively stepped further back into the shadows. A wave of resentment threatened his good mood, and he squashed a childish instinct to hex the man while he wasn't looking. Enough, he thought, and as Slughorn disappeared into the hall, Severus turned his attention back to the students. When Hermione Granger and the youngest Weasley boy emerged onto the stairs without Potter, arguing in furious whispers, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. When they walked past him, Severus fell into step behind them.

"I'm serious, Hermione, there's no way I'm telling Snape!"

"Ron! Firstly, it's Professor Snape, and secondly, if we'd just gone to him last year..."

Unbeknownst to the two students, Professor Snape was listening to every word.

"No bloody way! Harry wouldn't thank us for dobbing him in to Snape, you know!"

"Grow up, Ron! This is not about students versus teachers, and it never has been! It's about Order members versus Death Eaters!"

Time to intervene, I think. Severus reached out and took a firm hold of Ron's collar. Leaning down, he hissed in his ear, "Missing someone, Mr Weasley? Your kind of trouble tends to come in threes."

The look of shock on Weasley's face was comical and intensely satisfying. Granger, for her part, looked ridiculously relieved to see him. Idiot girl, anyone could be watching.

"Close your mouth, Miss Granger," he snarled, before she could speak, "I have no more use for your chatter here than I do in the classroom. Now then, Mr Weasley, where is Potter? Did you abandon him?"

"N-no," Weasely sounded choked and desperate. "He's gone up ahead." The lie was so blatant it was hardly worth calling him out on it.

"Leaving you behind to carry his belongings. Dear me, the famous Mr Potter gets more conceited each year."

"Sir..."

"Miss Granger, I said to be quiet!" He didn't even bother to look at her. The churning guilt and worry emanating from Weasley was so strong that he had no need for the details of what happened: Potter clearly hadn't left the train. "Twenty points from Gryffindor, Weasley, for lying to a teacher." He relinquished his hold on Ron's collar and spun away quickly so that his robes billowed, setting off for the station.

He was well across the grounds when he intercepted Tonks' Patronus, and with the knowledge that the boy-who-lived continued to do precisely that, Severus relaxed his pace somewhat. As he walked, Snape smirked to himself: he was going to enjoy escorting Potter back up to dinner. He really had missed Hogwarts.

Sitting at the dinner table that evening, Severus took no small measure of consolation in the student response to Dumbledore's introduction of Horace Slughorn. No-one applauded. Instead, eyes had turned his way, and his occupational transfer had caused a small scene. If only he could piss off Potter and cheer up his Slytherins to such an extent every night. And if only his replacement had been someone other than Slughorn.

Hooch had leant around Minerva and winked at him, "Ah, to be notorious," she commented.

Severus merely smirked.

Planning the new lessons had been interesting. It was an inordinate amount of work, of course, to compose new syllabi for the entire seven-year sequence, but it made a nice change from re-teaching Potions classes that he'd perfected years ago.

Once the students were dismissed...what kind of man actually uses the phrase "Pip pip?" Severus wondered...Dumbledore turned to the teachers. "I assume that everyone received word of the staff meeting this evening? I shall expect you all in the staff room shortly."

"Lovely," chuffed Slughorn. "We can all have a nightcap and get to know each other a bit better!"

Snape rolled his eyes as he got to his feet. "Albus," he said, with a slight bow, "I must first attend to my duties as Head of House."

"Jolly good, Severus," Dumbledore called after him as he swept away. "We can wait."

The Slytherin prefects had done a good job of shepherding the first years away towards the common room, and as Severus strode past the dining table, the stragglers leapt up and hurried. Late could be defined as arriving after Professor Snape did.

His entrance into the common room was met with applause. Several students rose to their feet, and a number called out their congratulations.

"Enough," he said, but gently, raising one hand slightly for silence. "Our first duty tonight is to welcome the new students. Please step forward." Seven very nervous-looking first-years stepped out into the space at the front of the room: four girls, three boys. Severus took the opportunity to examine them closely as he'd missed the sorting. Only one looked malnourished...and the Hogwarts food would fix that problem soon enough. She and one of the boys had the bluish, pinched look that spoke of neglect; he would need to make extra time to spend with them. A couple of the other new students were obviously siblings of higher-year students; they would have no trouble fitting in.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," he said, "and more importantly, welcome to Slytherin house. For the next seven years, this school will be your home, these students will be your family. I have no doubt that a number of you have heard terrible things about Slytherins...about dark magic and evil people. If so, put them from your mind. Such stories are spread by ignorant fools who know nothing of what they speak.

"There is a great deal of inter-house animosity at this school, encouraged by the point system and by the house Quidditch competition. Do not take it personally. Do, however, take pride in your house. Earn house points, beat the other teams at Quidditch. Slytherin is a noble institution. We are proud to have you, and you will be proud to be here. The Sorting Hat has chosen you from among your colleagues, and every one of you is here by equal right. As Slytherins, you will stand, or fall, together. Each of your fellow Slytherins will defend you whenever and wherever it is necessary to do so. You will treat each other with respect and there will be no bullying or teasing of your own housemates in any form. Do I make myself clear?"

The seven small children in front of him nodded obediently, and a number of the higher level students applauded and called out in encouragement.

"The door of my office is always open. If you need me...at any time...it is sufficient to speak with the portrait of Lady Florinda de' Medici that hangs by the door." He gestured towards the portrait, and Lady Florinda waved obligingly. "She will come and find me immediately."

"Very well then," he continued, turning from the first years and addressing the rest of the room. "Slytherins, may I present your new housemates." He paused for the outpouring of applause. "Now then, those of you in first year have had a long and surprising day. The second-year students will show you up to your beds. I expect you to use them. As for everybody else, you will retire before midnight. I do not want to find anyone awake when I return to the common room at that time. One last thing...Malfoy, Bulstrode, Nott, Parkinson, Goyle, Crabbe, Daphne Greengrass, Baddock, and Lorrelie...I want a word, in my office, now."

His office was crowded once they all trouped in. Draco took the only available seat (not including Snape's chair), and the others stood around looking uncomfortable. Severus sat, regarding them in silence until all chattering stopped and Parkinson began to look wary.

Finally, he spoke. "I have called you here this evening because each of you became involved in the so-called Inquisitorial Squad." Several other students developed nervous looks. Draco looked bored. "I am disappointed."

"But, sir,"...it was Millicent Bulstrode who ventured to speak..."last year, you told us that it would be useful to demonstrate our loyalty to the ministry."

"Incorrect. Last year I told you that it would be in your interest to appear loyal to the ministry. It is also in your interest to appear loyal to Dumbledore. Dolores Umbridge is a fool. A fool who is now mentally incapacitated and may never return to full-time ministry work. You...all of you...chose the wrong side. A consummate Slytherin is capable of seeming loyal in each and every instance; your primary loyalty is to yourselves and to your housemates. As members of the Inquisitorial Squad, you lowered yourselves to do somebody else's dirty work. You need to be far more careful before you abdicate mastery over your own choices and actions. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." Most of the responses were muttered, but several of the students were looking thoughtful. Draco, on the other hand, was staring up at him under long blond lashes, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Dismissed. Draco..."

"Sir?" His tone was cold. In conjunction with the blank look on his face, it bordered on insolent. A far cry from the warmth that had tinged their rapport in previous years.

"I want to see you tomorrow after classes finish."

Draco inclined his head and followed the others out.

Alone in his office, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose briefly and sighed. For a few moments he sat with his eyes closed, struggling to recapture the sense of joyful return he'd experienced only hours earlier. Giving it up as a lost cause, he sighed once more before heading for the staff room.

Unsurprisingly, he was the last to arrive. Speaking to the older students had delayed him longer even than Pomona, who tended to spend the most time with her new Hufflepuffs. The meeting had not yet started, and the other staff members were milling around or seated in small groups chatting. Severus caught sight of Slughorn expounding in one corner to a bemused looking Sybil Trelawney and immediately turned in the opposite direction, where Minerva McGonagall was watching him with an amused expression.

"Here, drink this," she pushed a cup into his hand, "I'll get myself another."

He sniffed it: tea, with a generous slug of brandy. "What on earth did I do to deserve your cast-off beverages?" he asked, his voice acidic.

"Oh, you just looked like you needed it."

Severus glared at her, but took a swallow anyway. The hot tea and the heat of the liquor burned on the way down, and the warmth of it loosened his body slightly.

In the centre of the room, Dumbledore clapped his hands and called for everyone's attention. "Now that we're all here, I think we can begin. Please find a seat and make yourselves comfortable." Only once everyone was seated did he continue. "Once again, I would like to extend a welcome to the new member of our staff. Horace, of course, will be no stranger to many of you as he taught here previously, several years ago." There was a brief smattering of applause. "Horace's presence has allowed Severus to take on the arduous and challenging task of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, imparting a set of skills that have, perhaps, never been so crucial than they are at this juncture. Precisely for this reason, I'm delighted to announce that...contrary to his usual practice...Severus will accept all students with a passing OWL grade at NEWT level."

Severus smirked at the several astonished glances he received.

"Well, that is good news!" exclaimed Filius, "I thought I might have to disappoint a number of Ravenclaws tomorrow who had hoped to continue with only an E!"

"Which reminds me, Horace," interpolated Dumbledore, "for the benefit of those working on scheduling tomorrow, what is the cut-off point for entry into your NEWT classes?"

"Why, Albus, I'd be happy to accept any students with an O or and E, even an A if they are prepared to work hard." Slughorn smiled at the assembled staff in a manner that Snape could only think of as fatuous.

"I would imagine that if you cannot be bothered to be selective about the syllabus," drawled Severus, "there is little point in being selective about the students."

"Severus!" McGonagall sounded outraged.

Hooch kicked him surreptitiously on the ankle. "Watch it," she hissed.

Slughorn spluttered, "Wh-what do you mean by that, Snape?"

"Do you need me to spell it out for you?" Severus was looking particularly vicious.

"Enough!" Dumbledore's voice cut commandingly through the uproar. "Severus! Horace! You are colleagues now, and you will treat each other with respect."

Severus held his tongue. Slughorn muttered, "Well, I never," under his breath.

"Gentlemen?" There was an icy insistence in Dumbledore's tone.

"Very good, Headmaster." Severus inclined his head toward Dumbledore and decided to ignore Slughorn completely.

Dumbledore moved on quickly to other administrative matters, and the meeting wound up around forty-five minutes later. Severus went to leave immediately, but was held back by Hooch, who caught at a handful of his robes.

"Oi, not so fast," she exclaimed and then lowered her voice. "Why don't you like Slughorn?"

"Hooch," he sneered, glaring at her handful of his clothes, "I don't like anyone."

She rolled her eyes, but didn't let go. "Yeah, right. Forgot that. What makes it so personal in this particular instance, then?"

"Slughorn," bit out Snape, savagely, "is a terrible teacher who can't be bothered to point out the mistakes that litter the textbook. He cannot think of anything beyond his own...limited...circle of influence and plays terrible favourites among the students."

Minerva, whom he hadn't noticed was listening in, sniffed loudly with disapproval. "Come on, Severus, you play terrible favourites yourself!"

Severus spun to glare at her, pulling his arm forcefully out of Hooch's grip. "My favourites, Minerva, are chosen for me, by the Sorting Hat! I look out for my Slytherins because no-one else will!"

"Even still," replied Minerva, undaunted, "we could all benefit a little from the kind of inter-house co-operation that Horace tends to encourage!"

"Tell that to your precious Gryffindors! How many Slytherins did they include in their inter-house vigilante group last year? None!"

Minerva's face softened and she reached out a hand towards Severus' arm. He flinched away. "Forget it," he snarled. "If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."