The Headmaster of Hogwarts

Phoenix Tears, Chapter Seven : The Headmaster of Hogwarts

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.

Please thank both of my completely brilliant betas...LAxo and WriterMerrin...they do much for this story that makes it better.

When his misplaced spell sliced into friendly flesh, the shock caused Severus to lose altitude. Moments later, he urged his broom higher once again, desperately keeping pace with Lupin and subtly deflecting several nasty hexes which threatened to topple the two Order members from their broom. Blood was everywhere; it covered the face of the Potter decoy.

Assuming it was a decoy.

Severus was desperately, cravenly afraid that he'd hit Hermione. He was terrified that she'd die.

The moment that Lupin and his unknown companion crossed the boundary and disappeared behind the resilient shield of multiple protective wards, Severus turned his broom towards the ground and fled, mindless of Voldemort's probable reaction. He knew of only one place where Death Eaters were unable to follow and Order members were unlikely to show up: Grimmauld Place, and as soon as his feet touched down, he Apparated to London.

The familiar square looked ominous in the infrequent light of the municipal streetlights. While his behaviour thus far qualified as reckless by almost any measure, Severus retained his instinct for self-preservation, pressing his back against an undernourished tree and scanning the area for any sign of movement. He saw no-one. Severus took the opportunity to indulge in several deep breaths, forcing away the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.

Let Granger be alright, he thought, pressing his eyes shut for an instant. Let it not have been her.

Glancing around once again, Severus made his way up the stairs of number twelve and tapped his wand against the door. He heard the metallic crunch as the tumblers of several locks clicked open and a chain withdrew, then the door swung open. He stepped quickly inside, pulling the door shut behind him and pausing for a moment on the threshold. In the flickering light of the Black house's gas lamps, everything looked as it always had. The row of decapitated house-elf heads were as cobwebbed as ever; the troll's leg umbrella stand stood to one side, sporting a long, purple umbrella that was highly reminiscent of Dumbledore's taste in accessories.

"Homenum revelio," he muttered. Nothing. Emboldened, he took a step forward.

"Severus Snape?"

Severus recognised the hatred in Mad-Eye's voice, and for a second he almost believed the scarred man present before the curse passed over him like a chill breeze and his tongue rolled back into his mouth. A Tongue-Tying Curse. The sensation was unpleasant, but also one he'd endured previously: it would be twenty-four hours before he could speak again, and if he was not mistaken, his ability to speak about the location of Grimmauld Place would be permanently affected. All in all, that might work in his favour.

He took another step forwards. As his foot struck the ground, a shadowy puddle at the far end of the hall flew upwards, resolving into a gaunt, grey figure. An awful echo of Albus Dumbledore swept towards him, wand held out menacingly. Though Severus couldn't speak, he slashed out with his wand. His magic was erratic, yet effective, and the spectre blew into a million shards, which gradually drifted down towards the floor. Severus swallowed heavily and forced himself to step forward and examine the remains of the spell, prodding it with his wand. Fools. Whomever had laid the jinx had keyed it not only to Dumbledore's form but also to his desire for revenge. Had they used anyone else as model, he would not have survived so easily.

Straightening up, he aimed a vicious kick at the troll's leg umbrella stand. The crash woke Mrs Black, who began to shriek...until she caught Severus' glare, whereupon she snapped her curtains closed and fell blessedly silent. Severus strode up the stairs and into the drawing room. It looked like the Order had left in a hurry; most of the contents remained untouched. He quickly located a bottle of Firewhisky and drank a generous mouthful straight from the bottle. He almost choked as it hit the back of his throat, but quickly caught on to the trick of swallowing with the shrunken stub of his tongue. He decided to carry the bottle with him.

Let Granger be alright. The sick dread that had motivated his flight remained unabated. For a moment, he was tempted to hurl the Firewhisky bottle he was holding at the wall, but a strong desire for the oblivion it promised held him back. Instead, he swept a row of dusty ornaments from the mantle piece; they made a satisfying crash as they broke against the hearth. Severus took another swig of burning alcohol as he stalked towards the door. He could search the whole house: the memories would satisfactorily explain his time away to Voldemort, and the rough energy thus expended might soothe his guilty conscience and frazzled nerves.

Let Granger be alright, his heart recited once again. Severus did his best to push the thought away, but it seemed to have moulded itself to his heartbeat, echoing on through his body despite his efforts to the contrary.

Several floors up, a swath of destruction trailing in his wake, Severus entered the room that he remembered had been Granger's and the Weasley girl's. The twin beds were neatly made, the few personal items that remained were lined up precisely on the shelves.

The movement of a wizarding photo caught his attention, and he picked up the frame. Potter, Weasley and Granger stood at the side of the Hogwarts' lake, their arms thrown around each other in the awkwardly excessive intimacy typical of photos, intermittently smiling and waving at the camera.

Concentrating carefully, he balanced his whisky bottle on the mantle piece. He was drunk enough that he needed to concentrate, not so drunk that he was in real danger of knocking it over. He took a few minutes to extricate the photo from the frame. With his tongue shrivelled back into his mouth, even his nonverbal magic was less controlled than he liked, and he didn't want to damage the object of his attentions. Once the photo was safely out, he gave Potter a rather vicious poke with his index finger, causing the boy to scowl and shake his fist. Severus ignored him, turning his attention to Granger, and sank down onto the nearest bed.

Let Granger be alright. In his mind's eye, he saw her with her face slashed open, blood streaming down her neck. Let Granger be alright. He saw her dead body stretched out in the Weasleys' living room. He saw her as an adult, many years from now, turning towards him. The side of her head was hideously scarred, and the gaze she turned on him was full of reproach. Let Granger be alright.

Photographic Potter and his sidekick had noticed the attention Severus was paying Granger, and they'd each slung a protective arm around her, glaring at their Potions professor for all they were worth. Sniffing back an unbidden tear, Severus scowled back at them, giving Potter another poke for good measure. Watching the image duck out of reach and then leap back towards Granger, Severus was struck by an idea. He balanced the photo on his leg and used all eight of his fingertips to shepherd Potter and Weasley off to one side, leaving Granger on the other. Her fifteen-year-old self looked up at him with some apprehension, her chin raised in a gesture that was achingly familiar. Then, holding Potter and Weasley at bay with the edge of his left hand, he tore the photo cleanly down the middle and dropped the half with the two boys onto the floor. He ran the tip of one finger lightly over Granger's frizzy hair. Tentatively, the girl in the picture smiled at him; his heart clenched painfully. Please, please, please, let Granger be alright.

Severus was going to take the photo with him. He looked up, scanning the neat room with a new purpose. He had to cover his tracks. He had to search the whole house. There must be no reason for anyone to suspect that he had found something important in this room. Tucking the photograph tenderly into an inside pocket for safekeeping, he pulled the sheets and covers roughly from the two beds. He threw the contents of the shelves onto the floor. For good measure, he picked up the handful of abandoned textbooks...Ginevra Weasley's he noted; Granger probably kept all of hers closer to hand...and shook them out violently. Then he scooped up his bottle of whisky and continued upstairs.

By the time he reached the top floor, his Dark Mark was hurting. Not with the agonising pain of years past, but with a dull ache that communicated Voldemort's desire to see him at his earliest convenience while indicating that Severus had retained his position among the favoured. There wasn't much point going until he'd regained his power of speech, so Severus ignored it, drinking more Firewhisky in an attempt to numb his senses even further.

Regulus' room brought back a host of maudlin memories: he'd been such a sweet, good-hearted boy, much better behaved than his troublemaking brother. His nonchalant Black-family good looks and submissive behaviour had made him a firm favourite of the Dark Lord, who, in his earlier, much more humanoid and handsome incarnation, had sucked in Regulus...hook, line and sinker. As Severus understood it, Regulus had killed himself at the distressing realisation that there was more to being a Death Eater than Pureblood rhetoric and wild sadomasochistic sex parties.

Indeed, this time round there hadn't been anything of the sort. Severus was hugely relieved that Voldemort's sex drive had perished along with his original human form.

By this point, Severus was unequivocally drunk. The cocky, Gryffindor bravado of Sirius' room stirred a deep-seated store of adolescent resentment, and he set at the contents with wild abandon. Only the shock of recognising Lily's handwriting stilled his rage. Sinking to his knees, Severus collected the pages of the letter and the accompanying photo with trembling fingers. The letter was addressed to Black, and Severus read it from start to finish, though the words themselves meant almost nothing to him. Even after so many years, the familiar strokes of her handwriting brought back his guilt and the pain of their fractured relationship with almost frightening intensity.

She wrote this from the safe house, thought Severus, only months before she died. Tears ran down his face, dripping off the end of his long nose. I wish I'd managed to save you, Lily, he mourned as he turned to the photo. He stroked one finger tip against her hair as he had with Granger's picture. Please, please, please let Granger be alright. In the first war, he'd as good as killed the woman he had loved; in this one, he might just have been the one to commit the deed itself.

What a way to have betrayed her parents' trust.

Severus threw the first page of the letter onto the floor. He had no desire to hold onto the comments about Potter's precocious broomstick skills, and he couldn't bear to re-read the mention of Wormtail knowing that the vermin had gone on to betray her, but Lily's signature and her loving words of farewell were another matter; those he would keep. Tearing the photo in half, he let the infant Harry flutter to the floor. Then he tucked Lily and the second page of her letter in beside Granger. Let Granger be alright. Let her be alright, and this time...I swear it...I will make sure she survives this war. If it's the last thing I do.

Severus rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve and glanced around him. The room was a disaster. He picked up the very-nearly-empty bottle of Firewhisky and shakily got to his feet. Moving with the careful focus of the drunk, he navigated downstairs to the drawing room, where he stretched out on the couch to sleep it off. Before his eyes closed, he pulled out the two half photographs from his pocket and examined them, then tucked them safely back away. He fell asleep with one hand pressed against his heart, the pocket and its contents sandwiched between his palm and his chest.

By the time Severus regained the use of his tongue, the worst of his hangover had passed, although his entire arm ached from the pain of his Dark Mark and he still felt like arse. Grimacing, he concealed himself among the sparse foliage of the square at Grimmauld Place and pressed his wand on the throbbing tattoo. He Disapparated, unsurprised to find himself outside the gates of Malfoy Manor.

He ran into Lucius on the walk up through the grounds. His eyes stood out prominently, the whites showing more than usual, and it caught at Severus' attention.

"Severus," exclaimed Lucius. His name came out in a rush, as if Lucius had been holding his breath.

"Lucius," he replied.

Lucius stepped close and took hold of Severus' upper arm. The pressure of his hand magnified the pain in the arm, and Severus flinched, attempting to pull away. Lucius seemed not to notice and stepped closer still.

"He broke my wand," he whispered urgently.

Severus froze, the pain momentarily eclipsed by surprise. "Who? The Dark Lord?"

"No. Potter."

"How?" Severus was genuinely shocked.

"He . . . I . . . truly, I don't know." Lucius paused, his heartbreak evident. "The Dark Lord was not pleased."

Severus drew in a sharp breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring. "Ollivander?"

"He'll live, but only barely." Lucius stared off over Severus' shoulder for a long second before continuing. "The Dark Lord made Draco do it."

Severus pulled a small felt roll from one of the side pockets of his robes and extricated several medicinal phials. The movement reawakened the pain in his arm, and he momentarily pressed his eyelids shut. He thrust the bottles into Lucius' chest. "Healing potions," he explained. "With you wandless, you've an unassailable incentive to keep Ollivander alive."

Lucius grasped the proffered bounty like a drowning man clutches a lifebuoy. He nodded vigorously.

"We also need to talk to Runcorn...it's possible we might be able to get you a replacement." Severus clapped Lucius on the arm reassuringly. "Slytherins look out for their own," he commented. "Once school goes back, Draco will have some measure of distance."

Lucius nodded again, and Severus turned to go.

"Thank you," called Lucius belatedly.

Severus waved him away. With so few friends, he mused as he approached the steps of the manor, protecting those I have has become something of a priority.

When Severus entered the drawing room where the Dark Lord sat, the pain in his arm finally eased. It was with a sigh of relief that he dropped to one knee in greeting.

"Severusss!" exclaimed Voldemort. "Where have you been?"

"Once the Potter clone I was pursuing crossed the security wards into the safe house, my Lord, I went immediately to the Order headquarters in the hope that I would find someone or some information as to where the irritating boy was headed." Severus looked up into Voldemort's eyes, carefully underscoring the truth of his account. "Unfortunately, the building had been jinxed, and I was struck by a Tongue-Tying Curse." Severus punctuated his story with an eloquent shrug. "I utilised the time I spent otherwise incapacitated to search the premises thoroughly, although I uncovered nothing of interest to your cause."

Voldemort looked mollified. "Sit, Severus," he commanded, waving at an adjacent chair. "You did well. Although now, even once we kill the Secret Keeper you won't be able to reveal the location." He paused, looking pensive. "Not to matter. It's a shame Dumbledore wasn't the Secret Keeper."

"Had Dumbledore been the Keeper," replied Severus in a neutral tone, "I would have been able to tell you the location as soon as I'd killed him."

"I know, I know," sighed Voldemort. "I am very happy with you, Severus," he added in a different tone. "You alone managed to injure one of the decoy Potters. None of my other worthless Death Eaters were capable enough to rise to the task."

This was news to Severus and he allowed himself to look surprised, raising one eyebrow. "Surely, you, my Lord . . . ?" He let the question linger.

"Oh, yes. I killed Moody, and Rastaban and Bellatrix enjoyed his remains. But the others all escaped...Potter included."

Mad-Eye, dead. Please, please, please let Granger be alright.

And if she wasn't, it would be entirely his fault.

"Lucius continues to irritate me," remarked Voldemort, leaning forwards and lifting a silver dish cover from a decorative side table as he spoke. Lying on the platter beneath was a white rabbit, completely dead, though still intact. He lifted the dead animal and placed it on his lap. "Bellatrix tells me he adopted a Mudblood bastard."

From the hallway came the slithering sounds of Nagini's approach. Her long body undulated through the narrow gap where the door was ajar and approached Voldemort's chair like an eager dog.

"It's true; I filed the paperwork myself." Severus tried not to wince as Voldemort tore the rabbit's body in two with his bare hands. Blood spurted out over the Dark Lord's lap and onto the floor. Nagini's forked tongue flickered out and dipped into the viscous red liquid. "He would have been the first to kill her had she turned out to be a Muggle. But it seems that the Malfoy code of honour includes legitimising the family's claim to the child if the alternative is to send her to Azkaban."

Voldemort held out a bloodied morsel of meat, crooning to his familiar as she opened her mouth wide, almost horizontal in fact, and waited for the treat to be lowered into the gaping cavity.

"The child is clever, a half-blood, a Slytherin." Severus didn't want to push his luck.

"Hmm." Voldemort hummed an acknowledgement of Severus' words as he fed the other half of the rabbit to Nagini and rubbed the less-scaly flaps of skin under her chin. "Do you think she's really his?"

"Her hair is a particularly distinctive shade of blonde, my Lord."

Voldemort smiled, a nasty grimace that pulled his lips back from his teeth. The room stunk of the slightly fetid smell of the mutilated rabbit. "Do you think he cares for her, Severus?" he hissed.

Severus shrugged. "I don't think he's ever met her."

"Hmm." Voldemort sounded disappointed.

"To be honest, my Lord. I think her continued presence in his life will be punishment enough. Admitting his predilection for Muggle women to Bellatrix and Narcissa can't have been pleasant. And that way the girl will finish her education."

"True."

Nagini, her cylindrical shape distorted by the two large lumps of rabbit she'd consumed, slithered up an onto Voldemort's lap, winding herself into a tight knot of curled-up snake. The Dark Lord patted her head fondly.

"Once again, your advice is sound, Severus. She will be much more useful to me as an adult."

Severus curled his lips up at both sides and tried to relax back into his chair. He forced himself not to think about Draco and Jocelyn, who, once again, were spending the day at Spinner's End. He tried not to think about Granger and the gaping wound that might now be draining her of her life's blood.

The first time Severus walked into the headmaster's office as the designated headmaster, the portraits applauded. He froze with surprise. His initial fear of an attack faded quickly and was replaced with a hard, tight concern that he was being mocked. Albus Dumbledore was on his feet, beaming with pride; Phineas Nigellus Black was practically capering with glee and several times shouted, "Slytherin!" over the noise.

"Enough," said Severus, raising one hand. The portraits fell silent at once. "Thank you," he added politely, a slight uncertainty undercutting his words. Abruptly, he strode towards the desk, standing behind it and running one hand across the blotter.

"I am very proud of you, Severus," said Albus quietly from behind him. "You have played your part admirably."

For a long moment, Severus said nothing. Then he raised his head. "Phineas," he said, his voice back under his rigid control, "there is something you can do for me."

Phineas sat forward on the edge of his chair, his eagerness was palpable. "Anything!" he exclaimed.

"I want you to keep an eye on Grimmauld Place. Let me know if anyone turns up there and what they want."

"The brats are there right now," replied Phineas. "Making a noise and complaining about the mess you left it in."

At his words, Severus gripped the surface of the desk, his knuckles gleaming white. "Am I to understand, Phineas, that you have seen Miss Granger? And Potter and Weasley?"

"That's right," Phineas confirmed, pursing his lips as if the presence of the trio in his family home pained him.

"How do they look?" asked Severus urgently. "Their faces? Their heads?"

Phineas looked at him askance, his eyebrows pulled together with surprise. "They look no better groomed than they have on previous occasions," he replied. "What are you getting at, Severus?"

"It was George," interpolated Dumbledore gently. Severus span towards him. "He lost an ear, but he's otherwise fine."

Severus' shoulders slumped forward with relief, and he ran one hand roughly down his face. "It was an accident," he offered weakly. She's alright. The rush of relief threatened to undo him, and his throat tightened with unshed tears.

"You did well, Severus," replied Dumbledore. "You maintained your cover."

It took a moment for Severus to recover himself, but eventually he stood upright once more, his face familiarly impassive. He turned back towards Phineas. "Keep careful tabs on Miss Granger, Phineas," he instructed. "Anything you can glean may prove vitally important."

Phineas was delighted to comply.

"As for the rest of you," continued Severus, "I will need you to communicate on my behalf with the other portraits of the castle. It is imperative that I know as much as possible about the movements of the Carrows and of any students likely to endanger themselves. At the same time, the portraits must not know of my interest...there are far too many of them who cannot be trusted to keep my participation secret."

Privately, Severus was dreading the first staff meeting. Thus far, he had managed to avoid all of his previous colleagues, but with school starting back tomorrow, that was no longer an option.

Severus threw the staffroom door open with a satisfying bang. The Carrows sat to one side, isolated from the others, but his eyes were drawn unerringly to Minerva. She stood to her full height, with her arms crossed over her chest. Her face blazed with anger, and her lips were pressed thin with disapproval. She looked magnificent. Hooch stood just behind and to the side of her, and like Minerva, her arms were crossed. Poppy sat not far away; her face was grim.

Severus had expected the sight of his friends to cut like a knife. It did. He hadn't expected to feel cheered by their defiance. In a room of wary faces, where body language screamed awkward deference and fear, Minerva's rage burned like a beacon. He could do this: arguing with Minerva was one of his favourite pastimes, and with their ruthless interaction as focal point, he could keep the rest of the staff distracted.

"Minerva," he drawled, "what a pleasure to see you."

Minerva scowled. "It would be my pleasure to see you in Azkaban, Snape," she replied.

"And yet that seems so unlikely; how disappointing!" Snape smirked. His gaze swept around the room, noting how few of his colleagues met his eye. "I see that you've taken the opportunity to become friendly with the newest members of our teaching staff: Alecto and Amycus Carrow, who will be teaching Muggle Studies and Defence Against the Dark Arts."

The Carrows waved cheerfully, and Amycus giggled.

"I don't think much of your choice of staff, Snape," spat Minerva. "Given their marks at school, I would count the Carrows as severely under qualified."

"Oy! Shut it!" snarled Amycus, rising out of his chair.

Severus gestured to Amycus to be still with a leisurely upraised hand. "Why, Minerva," he needled, "it's not like you to be so squeamish about the teaching staff...after all," he paused for effect, "there has been a Death Eater teaching here for the last sixteen years."

Hooch gripped Minerva's upper arm warningly, although the flying mistress seemed to restrain herself only barely. Severus smirked and turned away, beginning the staff meeting in earnest. He had little desire to stretch the proceedings out and managed to summarize the changes to the syllabus far more quickly than Dumbledore would have. As he drew to a close, he graced his audience with a vicious smile. "If you have any concerns or questions, you shouldn't hesitate to come and talk with me. You will find me in the headmaster's office; my door is always open."

He knew such an outrageous claim would wring some commentary from Minerva, and he was not to be disappointed.

"Nonsense," she snorted.

"I beg your pardon?" he inquired, a model of urbanity.

"The office wouldn't open for Umbridge, Snape, and it won't open for you." Minerva had a vindictive look in her eye.

"Would you like to put that claim to the test?" he inquired, waving towards the staff room door with the entirety of his left arm.

"Absolutely!" she replied, her eyes snapping.

Snape sketched a mocking bow as she swept past him towards the door. Hooch and Poppy went with her, and after exchanging several uncertain looks, the rest of the staff followed. Severus waved them through the doorway and stalked along behind. Flitwick gave him an apprehensive glance over his shoulder, his short legs hurrying to keep well ahead.

The group clustered awkwardly in the hallway in front of the headmaster's gargoyle. Most of the assembled teachers tried to give Severus and the Carrows a wide berth yet simultaneously give the impression that they weren't trying to do so. Minerva stood by the statue, her arms still crossed, with Hooch and Poppy flanking her like security guards.

Severus shouldered his way to the front. "Stand aside for the rightful headmaster of Hogwarts," he instructed the gargoyle, who leapt aside obligingly. He turned and raised an eyebrow at Minerva, who, for the first time, looked defeated. Come on, Minerva, he urged silently, fight back. Severus rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. "I should set a new password," he mused aloud, "something easy . . . so that everyone will remember. Perhaps . . . ah, yes: Dumbledore."

Minerva looked as if he'd physically slapped her. He heard Alecto and Amycus laughing almost hysterically.

"You arsehole," muttered Hooch, rocking back on her heels slightly.

Severus saw what was coming with just enough time to twist his head slightly, so that Hooch's fist slammed into his cheekbone and the side of his eye socket, rather than his nose.

"No!" screamed Poppy, leaping forwards and throwing her arms around Hooch, wrestling her back a pace, away from Snape.

Severus had his wand out in an instant, but he trained it at the Carrows, not at Hooch. "Put it away," he hissed at them. Reluctantly, they tucked away their own wands, though they both scowled. "I can fight my own battles," he warned. Then he turned towards Hooch. She still had one fist up, but she was no longer struggling against Poppy, and the knuckles of the hand with which she'd hit him were red and swollen. Minerva had a restraining hand on one shoulder. All three women looked flushed and frazzled, their breathing was slightly laboured.

Severus touched his cheek gently with the fingertips of his left hand. His eye was already swollen to a slit, but he was pretty sure nothing was broken. He let his gaze trail over Hooch's body, from head to toe. "I hit a man, once," he remarked.

Poppy flinched, Minerva gasped, Hooch remained impassive. Severus was pretty sure that all of those present knew of the event to which he referred. Poppy, of course, had testified at his manslaughter trial. Poppy and Hooch exchanged a long look without speaking. Eventually, Hooch acquiesced to the other woman, lowering her head slightly and relaxing her fisted hand. Poppy, in turn, let go of her lover and pulled out her wand.

"Severus," she said, her mouth twisting slightly as his name passed her lips, "let me heal that."

Severus sneered at her. "I don't need your help, Poppy."

The matron stiffened. "Fine," she replied and turned towards Hooch, moving her wand towards the other woman's battered knuckles.

Hooch twitched her hand away. "No thanks, Poppy," she stated, her eyes on Severus. "I'd rather hold onto the reminder of that rather satisfying moment."

"My, my," he drawled, "what an admirably Muggle sentiment."

Hooch looked coolly back. "I'm no more or less Muggle than you are, Snape."

Snape merely smiled, which seemed to unnerve the audience of other staff members even more successfully than a sarcastic comment might have. "I look forward to your company at dinner," he commented in his best impression of Malfoy manners. "Don't forget, my door is always open."

At that, he turned and swept away. Like Hooch, he chose not to heal his injuries, though he did conjure an icepack once he was up the staircase and out of sight. Over the following week, the visible bruises had the useful effect of distracting and unsettling the other members of the staff, as well as the students, and the ache was an unexpected balm to his guilty, guilty conscience.

"Severus!" shouted Phineas in excitement as he bounded into his Hogwarts portrait.

Severus looked up from a pile of paperwork and peered at Phineas through the swollen slit of his black eye.

"She put my portrait into her handbag!"

A rush of triumph flushed through his body, and Severus flopped back into his chair for a moment and stared up at the ceiling. Good work, Granger.

"Brilliant, Phineas," he replied. "Keep up the good work. She may try and send a message; if so, make sure you're around to receive it."

"Severus?" inquired Dumbledore pointedly, the twinkly old man completely absent. "What exactly does Miss Granger know about you?"

Severus sighed. He'd been avoiding this question. "She knows only what she figured out for herself."

"You told her," stated Dumbledore flatly. "I thought we'd agreed that you wouldn't."

Severus span in his chair and stared at his irritating taskmaster. "I told her nothing of the sort: what she knows she worked out for herself. Miss Granger is far from stupid."

"What did you tell her, then?" persisted Dumbledore. "You must have told her something."

Severus let out a long breath through his nose. "I told her," he acknowledged finally, "how to destroy Horcruxes." He looked at Dumbledore challengingly. The old man was shocked into silence by his response, and with a wry grimace, Severus turned back to the unending paperwork of the new academic year.