Portrait of a Headmaster

Disclaimer: The Potterverse is JKR's; no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

SEVERUS SNAPE EXONERATED, NAMED HOGWARTS HEAD

Dumbledore Death Called a 'Regrettable Accident'

by Titus Mortimer, special to the Daily Prophet

The tribunal was closed to the public, and the names of the Wizengamot members on the panel...and the witnesses they called...have not been released. But a source close to the process has told the Prophet that everyone present on the Tower that evening...including respected members of important Wizarding families...took the stand. All witnesses confirmed that Professor Dumbledore seemed weak and disorientated, even incoherent, and that he tripped on his own robes and fell over the parapet.

'We were all so shocked, we could none of us move until it was too late,' one witness testified. 'Professor Snape was the quickest, but his Wingardium Leviosa misfired, and Dumbledore hit the ground. It was terribly sad.'

Ms Umbridge would not confirm whether Minerva McGonagall, Acting Headmistress of Hogwarts, who has been one of the chief exponents of Harry Potter's accusations against Severus Snape, was one of the witnesses called at the tribunal. The Prophet's source indicates she was not, and she could not be reached for comment by the time this story went to press.

* * *

'All of it, sir?' squeaked the elf on the left.

Severus didn't bother to repeat himself. He simply stared at the elf for as long as it took...about two and a half seconds...for heads to start bobbing and hands to start wringing and chattering apologies to start pouring out.

'Shut. Up,' he said. They did. Then they all fell to their knees and started knocking their heads against the floor. 'Stop that!' he growled. They stopped.

'Send three more down to my old quarters in the dungeons. I'll meet them there in twenty minutes to tell them what to move. I'll give you until after dinner to shift everything except the pieces I just showed you, and move my things up here. I will arrange them myself.'

At ten past seven, he laid his hand on the gargoyle's stony head and murmured 'Turkish delight'...the new password. He had decided to keep using the names of sweets. It amused him, a little, and comforted him too, a little.

It was July, and the sun was still hours from setting. It filled the room with light, making the fire the elves had laid look pale and weak, even though the flames danced high. Dumbledore's personal things were mostly gone...the hundreds of clocks and other whirring, clanging objects, Fawkes's perch, the dragonbone chess set, astrolabes, inkstands, sweet dishes, piles of parchment, lone slippers, rickety little tables, and so on and on...and his own things were lined up in neat piles along two walls.

He sat down at the empty desk and placed his hands flat, spreading his fingers wide and staring at the web of skin between his right thumb and forefinger. How it cast its own barely perceptible little shadow. How pale it looked in contrast with the dark and gleaming wood.

He breathed slowly in and out, dropping everything that was beyond each instant or outside the borders of his breath. His mind calmed; his magic filled him like a glowing lake, still and deep.

He gazed at his hand, and attended to his breath.

'Severus.'

He froze, then flinched as he recognised the voice.

Already it begins. He let out his breath, and the world rushed back in.

'Albus.' He rose and turned round.

The portrait of Dumbledore looked a touch woozy, but the blue eyes were finally open, and gazing at him with a sleepy warmth. 'Severus. Merlin be praised, you are here. You brilliant, marvellous man, you did it.' Dumbledore closed his eyes and took a deep sighing breath.

'Evidently.'

There was a rustling of whispers. Severus glanced up to see the portrait frames crowded with visitors from all over the castle. All the paintings wanted to witness this. Brilliant. His calm of a few moments ago was quite gone.

The portrait's eyes opened, and now they held a glint of their old keenness. 'Severus. I am very grateful for what you did. Thank you.'

What reply could there be to that? Severus just bowed his head a little, so he wouldn't have to look at Dumbledore, but he was already simmering with relief, and reawakened guilt, and raw anger, and, most hateful of all, a craven gratification. Dead though he was, the old man could reach right in and twist.

Perhaps to give him time to recover, Dumbledore addressed the crowded canvases. 'You can all know it now, my friends,' he said.

'I apologise most sincerely for the Binding and Befuddling spells you had to endure last year. But until Severus could succeed in his mission to kill me and become Headmaster of Hogwarts, I couldn't risk anyone knowing that was his true aim, and that he was acting on my orders. I honour him profoundly, and hope you will forgive my secretiveness and work with us now to keep Hogwarts safe and free.'

There was instant uproar among the portraits. 'Atrocious overreach!' 'Madness!' 'Humph!' 'Whaaaaaat did he say?' 'Silence! SILENCE!' Painted babies wailed, knights clashed arms, public house–goers bawled out curses, dogs barked, young ladies swooned and old ones squawked.

Then Dexter Fortescue began applauding, and soon all assembled had joined in, and the calls changed to 'Bravo!' 'Well played!' 'I knew it all along!' and a ragged chorus of 'For he's a jolly good fellow.'

Hogwarts' portraits and paintings were magically bound to obey the rightful Headmaster of Hogwarts. Now Severus held up a hand, and the silence was immediate.

'Thank you,' he said dryly. 'But this must go no further. House-elves, ghosts, students, and staff all must continue to think as before. Celato! And now, if you please, all but Headmasters and Headmistresses will return to your own canvases.'

There was a bit of muttering ('Didn't need to do that!' 'Secrecy charms indeed!' 'Where's the trust gone, I ask you?') but Severus ignored it. He felt back in command of himself, his emotions on their leashes...except for the private burn of rekindled guilt and resentment...and, perhaps, a tiny flare of satisfaction that he was no longer so utterly without help.

When the crowds had dissipated, Albus said, 'Now, Severus. Tell me everything.'

* * *

Severus stood staring down at the lake, the surface of which was pock-marked by the late summer rain. The first years would have a soggy journey. Grimacing, he stepped away from the window and lay on his back on one of his leather sofas, one arm thrown over his forehead, eking out his last few minutes alone.

Embers flared in the fireplace and Amycus Carrow's face bulged and rippled over the grate. Severus swung his legs off the sofa and sat upright.

'The train is in, Severus.'

He twitched his coat sleeves down over his cuffs. 'Professor Snape or Headmaster, if you please, Professor Carrow. Let us preserve the forms.' Bored, cold. 'I'll be down presently.'

Carrow's lip twitched. 'Right. Headmaster.'

Severus stepped before a mirror and settled on his head a plain black conical hat with a single silver crescent moon at the front, and he straightened his black otter-lined hood. He'd worn these badges of office once so far, to the staff meeting the previous Monday.

Umbridge, temporarily in residence and insufferably ubiquitous, had said a few words about his Ministry exoneration. Then she sat at his right hand, smirking and making little mewling noises in her nose while he addressed the staff. It was the sort of thing that would have irritated him, back when he had the luxury of feeling irritation.

'I'll keep this brief,' he'd said, and paused. 'I will not pretend we're all friends at this table. We are, however, adults and colleagues. And I am the duly appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts. Our duties are what they have always been; to educate and protect the children in our charge in accordance with the policies and traditions of the school and the laws of the land.

'I expect each of you'...he looked around the table into faces that were mutinous, frightened, mulish, guarded, smug...'without exception'...lingering on Alecto Carrow's face, then flicking to Minerva's, who bristled visibly...'to do your duty. As shall I. Now. Let's review the first month's duty rota. Professor Flitwick, if you would start please.'

And so it had gone...an uneventful, dry-as-dust meeting with people who loathed and feared him.

The way to play it was this: stern words, and few; cold voice. Flat gaze. Strategic brief bursts of rage. Aloofness and personal indifference universally applied. Duty and formality the watchwords.

Other people's voices would flow into the vacuum his silences left; other people's assumptions about him would be his best concealment. He simply needed to give their beliefs about him space to roam in, and a bit of food now and then.

In some ways not so very different from before...except that then he had walked a broad plank over the abyss. Now he trod a knife edge, and he carried the whole of the pestilential, puling school on his shoulders. And he couldn't protect them all, all the time. Some of the time, he knew, he couldn't even seem to try to protect them, or to want to.

When he swept onto the dais that evening, the second to seventh years were seated at their tables, their ranks thinned by nearly half overall. Twenty-three new first-years came through the great doors, led, as usual, by Minerva. Five of them were Muggle-born, he knew; eleven pureblood. What in hell the seven half-blood families meant sending their children here, now, was beyond him.

Gods. It was not a good sign that on the first night of the year he was already so tired.

Here came the Hat; it was time. He stood, scowled, and intoned: 'Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

* * *

'That is suggestive, Professor Carrow, but circumstantial. Let me know when you and Mr Filch have some evidence I can work with.'

'Aw, Sev– Headmaster! I told you! They was trying to get into their common rooms after hours, the same night the writing went up in them toilets, and with no excuse.'

'Untrue,' snapped Minerva. 'Both students have stated they were in the library the whole evening. Four witnesses confirm it.'

'Witnesses!' Amycus's tallowy face was splotched with red. 'The same crew of blood traitors every time summat like this happens. Ow!'

'Oh, I beg your pardon,' murmured Minerva. 'So clumsy.'

'Professor Carrow,' said Severus. 'I am, as you know quite well, perfectly prepared to match punishment to offence. Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood are serving detentions for being in the corridors after hours. Bring me proof they vandalised the toilets and I will act on it. As I have now said twice.' He rose. 'Now excuse me. I have reports to write, and it's past midnight.

'Oh, and Professor Carrow, come see me in the morning before breakfast. Bring Professor Carrow.'

Alone, he activated the Map. The corridors were empty of students, the dormitories dense with quiescent dots. Minerva and Amycus walked side by side towards the main stairs. He'd noticed that most of the staff did this with the Carrows...stuck to them whenever possible. Keep your enemies closest.

The arrangement had worked well...he could never monitor or hinder the Carrows as effectively as the other teachers did, and for weeks now Hogwarts had still functioned more or less like a school.

That would shift in the morning when he gave the Carrows their new disciplinary responsibilities. The change in status should appease them for a while. Perhaps Potter would bring matters to a head before he had to give more ground.

Where is Potter? Is she with him? He had no way of knowing. He was blind to so much outside the castle. But he could see a great deal inside these walls, thanks to her.

On the map, he saw Filch, roaming. Septima, on patrol. The ghosts...Nearly Headless Nick drifting about up in the seventh-floor corridor... Shit. Midnight, and bloody Longbottom and his cronies were in the Room of Requirement, their House ghost serving as their lookout again. They were being far too reckless.

He watched until a little stream of dots appeared in the corridor...Longbottom, Lovegood, and Weasley...and here was Filch approaching the stairs from the sixth floor.

Oh FUCK this for a lark.

There was a tapestry at the top of the stairs. Severus pointed his wand down and at an angle and, through hundreds of feet of space and stone, Transfigured the tapestry into three fat rats, which scattered at the approach of Mrs Norris. And... the dots stopped... Nick's dot went to investigate... the dots doubled back to take the longer routes back to their towers.

Pain flowered in the centre of his forehead. 'Mischief managed.' Their escape was bloody well up to them now, the little shits. At least they wouldn't be found near the Room. Not that the Carrows knew about it yet, but plenty of students did, including those who curried the Carrows' favour.

Grim-faced, he sat down to his reports.

* * *

The Great Hall fell silent under his gaze.

'I have three announcements this morning, the first two to do with new rules in the wake of the recent spate of vandalisms and pranks at Hogwarts and in Hogsmeade. First, students visiting Hogsmeade may no longer take their wands. Vandals from Hogwarts will not be allowed to jeopardise the safety of their fellow students or the wellbeing of our neighbours in town.

'Second...silence! Second, it has become clear to me that discipline at Hogwarts needs to be restructured. The Heads of House and other staff are increasingly preoccupied with disciplinary tasks, and it impinges on their teaching duties.

'For this reason, and until further notice, I am appointing two Deputy Headmasters for Discipline and Order. These Deputy Headmasters will be the primary arbiters of punishments for the infraction of school rules, relieving the Heads of Houses of their customary duties in this regard. All detentions will be served with one or the other of the Deputies.'

He turned towards the staff table. 'Professors Carrow and Carrow, will you please come forward? Siiiiiiiilence. Both Deputy Headmasters share equally in the duties I have described; however, Professor Amycus Carrow will have general oversight of Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses and Professor Alecto Carrow will oversee Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Houses. I believe Professor Amycus Carrow has a few words. Professor Carrow, the podium is yours.'

As Amycus droned, Severus surveyed the room.

'Professor Snape!' Minerva was beside him, vibrating with fury. 'Why were we not informed...'

'Not here, Professor McGonagall, and not now. Come to me in my office later.'

'You may be sure I will.'

'Quite.'

* * *

'Where are they?'

'D-d-dunno,' sobbed the boy.

'Wrong answer,' whispered Alecto Carrow in his ear as her brother tightened the thumbscrew another two millimetres.

'Aaaaugggh!' screamed Morse, his body gone rigid. The thing would be just starting to bite into bone.

'And again, Mr Morse,' Alecto said, walking behind his chair. 'Your two Mudblood friends are missing. They did not leave the grounds. Where. Did. They. GO?' She stopped in front of him, so that she and Amycus were side by side, standing over him.

'I don't know!' Morse wailed. 'I told you, I...' He stopped. His streaming eyes opened wide, staring at something just over Amycus's shoulder. 'Tree?' He squinted. 'They said something about a, a tree, a mag-, a magic tree, er. Romping pill...oh! Whomping Willow, there's a, there's a hole. In the, in the Whomping Willow. They went, uh, there?'

'Riiight,' said Alecto, with a look of satisfaction. 'That rat-hole's plugged at the other end. They won't get far.' She leaned forward again, getting right up into Morse's terrified face. 'Things will not go well with you, you little half breed, if we find out you've been lying.' She smiled and turned to her brother. 'Professor Carrow, if you would?'

Amycus slowly unscrewed the thumbscrew from the boy's fingers. Morse gazed at them in horror.

'Episkey,' said Alecto brightly, and waved her wand over his wounds. He screamed as the healing spell did its work.

'You can go now, Morse. Thank you for your help. However, you do know that if it turns out to be the sort of help that's not at all helpful, we'll see you back here before dinnertime.'

Choking on sobs, Morse stumbled towards the door, not daring to glance at the painting on the wall...a group of brown-robed monks poring intently over a scroll in a dingy scriptorium.

'Well, Amycus? Now, or after lunch?'

'After lunch,' grunted Amycus. 'I'm starvin'. They can't go nowhere, any road. The Shack'll hold em.'

'Mmmmm,' hummed his sister happily. 'Let's leave the equipment here, yes? We'll need it one way or another. I do love the sound of little half-blood fingers cracking like wet sticks.' She laughed a tinkling laugh.

Amycus rolled his eyes behind her back. Mad bint. He had to agree about the bones though. It was a good sound.

When the door slammed behind the Carrows, the monks in the picture scattered.

Fifteen minutes later, Ginny Weasley slid into place next to Neville Longbottom at the Gryffindor table. Reaching past him for a sandwich, she murmured, 'The Fat Lady says we have to get Morse out now.'

'How much time?' Neville let his gaze wander over to the Ravenclaw table. Peter Morse, a third-year, sat there looking grey.

'An hour maybe.'

'Right. Luna takes him; Terry goes for his stuff.'

'Not Luna. She did the last two. Cho?'

'Yes.'

Neville slumped his shoulders and tried to look tired and dull. He pulled out his Galleon under cover of the table and sent three messages. Then he reached for an orange and started peeling it.

His heart was beating hard. He didn't know how many more times they could get away with this, but what could they do? The portraits didn't give warnings lightly; Morse must be in real danger, and it was probably due to the fact that his two Muggle-born roommates had disappeared in the last week...which was partly Neville's fault, but nothing to do with Morse.

From under his forelock he looked up at the staff table. The Carrows were both still there, and so was he. Neville had always been terrified of Snape. The man still scared Neville, but mostly now he just hated him. Evil, lying, murdering git. He would get his, though, when Harry came back. They just needed to hold out until then, somehow.

* * *

There was the Ministry break-in, and then there was nothing. Nothing, for weeks and weeks. Where the hell were they? What was Potter playing at? Severus couldn't hold on forever like this.

One raw day in late December, Phineas Nigellus came sliding into his Hogwarts portrait and looked sharply around the room before announcing, 'Forest of Dean! They're in the Forest of Dean.'

At last, something to do.

At the top of the stairs, Severus shrank the sword to pin-size; he stuck it carefully into the fabric lining his waistcoat.

Starlight lit his path across the grounds, and desiccated leaf mould crackled faintly under his feet as he entered the tunnel of trees just before the Hogwarts Gate.

Out of nowhere came the image of a girl by a shining pool in a dreamed forest, and it made him shut his eyes for a moment.

I might see her tonight.

True. But you can't see her tonight.

He stepped through the gates and drew his wand. Only the small night creatures at the wood's edge saw him vanish.

* * *

A/N: Celato: conceal it

I have the trio of Neville, Ginny, and Luna using the Room of Requirement earlier than they do in canon, though here it's not yet the bunker and refuge it is when Harry, Ron, and Hermione show up at Hogwarts for the final battle. They use it for meetings, and, as here, to occasionally take a student out through the Vanishing Cabinet, which is still in Borgin and Burkes and so is very dangerous to use, but they chance it in the middle of the night, with Fred and George as conductors and intermediaries on the Diagon Alley / Knockturn Alley side. They have no idea that Snape is actually helping them manage this, using his Map to keep them undetected while they use the Room.

How's that for an author's note full of extraneous detail that didn't fit into the chapter?