That's What Friends Are For

Chapter Two: No, I Really Don't Want the Job, Really

Up at the High Table, Severus and Valence were continuing the potions-related discussion in confidential tones. Their mode of conversation would have been quite odd to anyone who had never seen them speak together on a subject they were enthusiastic about-- but all the teachers, who had seen said phenomenon before, spared only a amused, 'there-they-go-again' glance before returning to their own discussions.

The way they talked was like this: very very hurried, without the redeeming presence of even one completed, grammatically correct sentence. It was more obvious in the less-restrained and inhibited Valence, but Severus was guilty of his share of it too. One of them would commence with a rapid string of syllables that took concentration to understand as words (generally words of a technical and highly educated nature), and would keep talking until he ran out of breath, at which point the other would complete the thought with uncanny accuracy, and start on his own. A brief, attempted sample-- (Valence and Severus thought it was quite ridiculous that I wanted to note their conversation mannerisms at all, and refused to let me record anything. I'm attempting to reconstruct from memory here, and you'll have to forgive me, gentle reader, if the example does not truly convey.)

"--but, really," (this was Valence) "the fundamentals of clematis's properties can't be altered that radically! That's basics, Sev, that's--"

"--first year, yes yes. But omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis. Everything changes. All that is necessary is the catalyst, all that is necessary is an understanding of the structures involved and the potential reactions, if, if, you simply apply the catalyst, transfiguration without a wand, that's the whole--"

"--idea of potions-making, alright. Good as far as it goes, but that's external change, damnitall! I'm referring to the laws on which you base your catalysts, asphodel is still asphodel you know. Bloody hell, you and your bloody gestalt mindset-- a potion is nothing but the sum of its parts--"

"--and their reactions, Valence! More than the sum of, more than-- look at an Illuminus Draft if you need an example-- most common ingredients available, it's the work and the combinations and the change that makes the potion effective. Really, Valence, you and your old-school training..."

"Excuse me." This was Dumbledore, detaching himself from the conversation with Minerva McGonagall and leaning over to them. "Sorry to interrupt-- my, but you two really are indefatigable, aren't you?"

They both grinned at him, Valence with his wolfish smile and Severus with his trademarked smirk. "Our apologies, Albus--"

"--but the two of us so rarely get to speak with anyone--"

"--of intelligence equal to ourselves--"

"--that it's a shame to waste the opportunity."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "Well, much as I can respect that, and little as I hate to deny you entertainment, Severus, I must-- at least temporarily-- ask to borrow Valence. If you don't mind?"

Severus shrugged non-commitally, a wry smile playing in his lips. Albus momentarily paused at the sight of it, thinking to himself. It's been too long since I've seen him smiling. It really would be a good thing if I could convince Valence to come back, and not just for the students' sake.

"Thank you, Severus." He turned his attention to the other man. "Valence. I know how much you disdain small talk--"

"I only tolerate it when I've got something to gain from it, Headmaster."

"Precisely. So I'll get to the point. I didn't just ask you to visit today for the undeniable pleasure of your company--" (on the other side, McGonagall muttered something unprintable) "but because... well, to be honest, we want you back. I was never happy you resigned to begin with. And with... everything... well, I really do think you could be very useful here on staff again, Valence."

The other man snorted, light reflecting off his glasses at the movement of his head. "I knew you had some sort of ulterior motive, sir. Well, tough. I'm retired, both from teaching and... my other pursuits... and quite happy about it, Albus.

"Besides which," he added, taking a swallow of the fine wine the teachers had access to, "you've already got yourself a Potions Master-- and let's be frank: much as it pains me to admit it, Sev's better with potions than I ever was." He paused to glare at the younger man, who had a rare pleased smile on his face. "You never heard me say that, by the way."

Albus smiled. "Be that as it may. I wasn't actually considering you for the position of Potions, Valencian. No, where I need a teacher is in the area of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

The shorter man blinked. And blinked again. "Come again?"

"I need a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Albus said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. Valence continued to stare at him as if he'd lost his wits. Finally he said, "Whatever happened to Curry?"

"Curry was nearly as old as I, my friend. He eventually retired three years after Severus's first year teaching. I think you were in Asia at the time, so it's possible you didn't hear.

"Since then," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, prying open some shellfish on his plate, "we've had a string of less than... satisfactory... teachers for the post. Madame Cabal was quite... knowledgeable about her subject, in fact a little too knowledgeable. She held the post for three years before we finally caught her at a gathering of Death Eaters. Then came Lewis, a very decent man-- who held the opinion that the existence of Dark Arts should be admitted as infrequently as possible. So we only had him one year." Dumbledore was well aware of Severus's expressive snort on the other side of the table, but kept his eyes on the recalcitrant lobster on his plate, which was proving extremely stubborn to dis-shell.

"Then we had Grindal. An excellent teacher, but he chose to leave us for a more lucrative position in the Ministry after two years. Next came Sherwin. She was very eager and earnest, but, well, to be blunt, she didn't quite have the requisite skills to teach at seventh year level. She went off on a 'research trip' to the Yucatan four summers after starting here, and unfortunately didn't survive a run-in with some Dark creatures she met there.

"Finally, we hired Quirinius Quirrell. I think you might remember him, he was a first year during your last year teaching. He was a mistake-- though we didn't realize it until three years ago..." Dumbledore seemed very sad for a moment, then once more resumed wrestling with the shellfish. "And then we had Lockhart, and then last year Lupin. You've probably heard about them. In any case. Now, I'm finding it increasingly hard to hire people for the job...

"Well, what do you say, Valence, my boy?"

The wizard in question had listened to the whole narrative with a disbelieving, then incredulous, look on his face. Now he turned and shot a look at Severus, who was suddenly quite fascinated with the table-top. He turned back to glare at Albus. "With due respect, Headmaster," he said with a frown, "I am by no means the most qualified man for the position. By no means."

Albus pretended not to know what he was talking about. "Nonsense, Valence. You've worked against Death Eaters covertly for some years now, you're a more than capable combat wizard, and you're a proven teacher with an excellent record-- even if not in this subject. You're perfect for the job."

"Albus. Headmaster. If you have a vacancy for the position, Severus is more than 'qualified' and you know it," Feye said flatly. "Hell, he's over-qualified, if anything. And let us indeed speak frankly: Sev wants the job, and he has for-- what? Fifteen years?

"And you've been putting in everybody but him. Resorted to Dark witches and wizards, incompetents, just about everyone you could before putting him in. I don't claim to know what the hell you're playing at, Albus, but I am not going to help run a game like that on a friend of mine. That's final," Valence snapped, turning back with a grimace to his winecup.

Dumbledore sighed and opened his mouth to speak. But Snape beat him to it, leaning forward and putting a restraining hand on Feye's forearm.

"Look, Valence, don't be a stupid fool," he said in a low flat tone. "Albus Dumbledore has, in his infinite and all-knowing wisdom, decided that he wants me teaching Potions. So be it. No resolve of yours is going to change his mind, and you know it.

"And I don't want the job, truthfully. I simply want someone capable teaching it. When I was the only option for that, then yes, I did want to see the children being taught competently-- which meant by me. But you would do a fine job, and--"

"You'd be better. He wants someone with experience fighting Death Eaters and good in combat sitches? Then what the hell is--"

"Oh, shut up, Valence," the Slytherin Head hissed in a low voice. "Look, it's not just Albus. Enough parents-- and members of the governing board-- remember what I... was... to want me teaching their little brats that."

Valence was not to be budged. "If he wants you in the job, he'll get you there, and parents and board be damned. He has the clout--"

"--and has decided not to use it. Look, I really don't mind. I'll be content with you teaching it. Just take it already-- you're stubborn, but you're no match for Albus and we both know it. Take it, so we can get on with dinner," Snape said in exasperation, glaring at the other man.

Valence sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't really want to be teaching again," he said, partly to Dumbledore and partly to Snape.

Dumbledore sensed victory and wisely said nothing. After a few moments, Feye opened his eyes and glared at the imperturbable Headmaster. "I am not taking Slytherin House back."

"Of course you're not," said Albus cheerfully. "That would indeed be taking too much from poor Severus."

Both men glared at him, then Valence finally nodded with a sigh. "Very well, Albus. And, old man-- you owe me for this."

"Naturally. Thank you, Valence. I suppose I'll make the announcement now, then."

~|~*V/*~|~

Harry and the rest of the students looked up as Dumbledore stood, tapping a butterknife against his glass goblet. The resultant shrill pinging was enough to grab everyone's attention.

The headmaster smiled at the assembled students. "Well, how is everyone enjoying the feast?"

A wave of assenting murmurs, and a few of the usual dissenters, filled the room. Dumbledore smiled more broadly. "Excellent. Then, I have an introduction to make. Valence, will you stand up please?"

The shorter wizard looked mutinous, but at Dumbledore's insistent look, sighed and got to his feet. The headmaster nodded, pleased. "Ladies, gentlemen, civilized people, and students: it gives me great pleasure to introduce Professor Valence Feye, this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, as well as Hogwarts' former Potions teacher and Head of Slytherin House."

On the other side of the table, Sprout and Flitwick looked resigned. McGonagall looked like she was about to develop a nervous tic. But most of the students were looking at Snape, seeing how he'd react to having DADA taken out from under him again.

The Potions Master seemed extremely sanguine about the whole thing, leaning back in his chair with a glass of wine. The Slytherins assumed that meant it was safe to clap with everyone else, and were indeed the loudest. After all, hadn't Dumbledore just said the man was a Slytherin?

It was amusing to watch how house reactions tended to follow the teachers that each belonged to. Gryffindors were the most subdued in their applause, and the visible thought on most faces was, Oh no, someone who Snape actually APPROVES of can not be good. The Ravenclaws were cautiously enthusiastic, many having been won over by the potion-related discussion, which indicated the new teacher had a brain at least. (After Slytherins, they got on best with Snape.) The Hufflepuffs seemed to be a bit scared of the professor.

"Now, Valence," said Dumbledore, beaming, "I don't suppose you'd like to say a few words to your new students?"

Feye rolled his eyes but couldn't very well refuse in any tactful way. With an unpleasant smile at the headmaster, he stepped forward and began. "Hello. Dumbledore already told you all a bit about me. My full name is Vincent Valencian Feye. I am Valence Feye, however, only to my friends and colleagues.

"You... students will have the privilege of calling me by my first name, which is 'sir.' If I decide you're worthy of the honor, I may eventually permit you to address me as 'Professor.'

"Ask your parents about me, all you firsties and others. I taught a lot of them. They will tell you, quite truthfully, that I am hell to cross. Don't screw around in any class of mine you have the misfortune to be in. Not unless you intend to spend the rest of your time here as a test subject for my more dangerous attempts at potion-making."

An awkward, frightened silence settled over the Hall. Feye smiled viciously. "Enjoy the term."

His grey eyes glinting with glee, the new DADA professor sat back in his chair with a big smile. Dumbledore looked pained, then cleared his throat and said cheerily, "Well then. Professor Feye, everyone. You may return to your meal."

Nearly every student in the Hall hurried to duck their heads back down to their plates.

~|~*V/*~|~

"Was that really necessary, Valence?" Albus said with a sigh as he sat back down.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Feye said innocently, taking a bite of steak. On his other side, Severus was struggling to keep a straight face.

Albus looked heaven-ward. "Some of them are first years, they're going to be terrified of you."

"Good," said Valence with a smirk that was very much like Snape's. "Saves me the trouble of having to do it class by class, one by one. What'd you think, Sev?"

The Potions Master took a deep breath and managed to say calmly, "Inspired. I wonder why I've never thought of using the 'testing subject' threat?"

"Because I'm a lot smarter than you," said Feye with a self-satisfied smile, choosing to plunge on before Snape could get in a scathing retort. "So, tell me what students I have to look out for. Isn't the Potter boy here by now?"

Snape rolled his eyes, aware of the ploy, but ignoring it in favor of discussing Harry Potter. "Look at the Gryffindor table--"

"Figures."

"Indeed. About halfway down, next to the red-haired boy--"

"A Weasley?"

"Gods, yes... But you should have no trouble picking him out. Except for the eyes, he's the spitting image of the late, great James Potter," drawled Snape, his casual tone belied by the intensity of his dark gaze upon Harry.

"Oh yes. I see him. Christ, you're right, he looks exactly like his father. Hell. What's he like?"

"Annoying. In light of Albus's continual desire to torment me in the name of Making Me a Better Person, our oh-so-beloved headmaster had appointed me his unofficial nursemaid. As if the boy doesn't get enough attention."

"I heard that, Severus."

"You were supposed to, Headmaster."

"Ha. So anyways... you're not fond of him?" said Valence, his eyes alight with wicked glee. Severus spared him a glare before returning his gaze to the boy.

After a moment, he sighed, leaning back in his chair and raising his eyes to the Hall's starry ceiling. "I want to stomp on him, Valence. I am restrained from doing so, of course, and must make up for it by being as nasty as I can be within my legal rights-- which generally means I can take House points and give detentions. Poor comfort, indeed."

"Oh, come on. Is he that much like James?"

Severus gave a miserable shrug, the effect somewhat ruined by his position against the chair. "Yes. And no. Just when I could swear on Merlin's grave that I'm looking at nothing but a clone of James Artorius Potter, complete with broom, thoughtlessness, and chivalry... he does something wrong. Looks at me with Lily's eyes... or... says something, just the way she'd have said it. Laughs her laugh. Tilts his head the same way. Shows the odd flash of contextual intelligence...

"It's very rare. And it's horrible. I could stand 100% Potter, or an even half-and-half mixture... but 99 percent James makes the 1% seem like an insulting afterthought."

Valence paused and took a long look at his friend. "You hate him more than you did James."

Snape let out a sigh. "Sometimes, yes. If Lillian hadn't married the bugger, she'd still be alive-- Voldemort would never have come after her alone, you know. And she died to save young, stupid Harry... so it makes father and son equal. In a way. Equally responsible for her death."

His black eyes scanned the ceiling morosely, looking for some answer in the constellations represented there.

Finally he sat up with an abrupt motion, his face irritated and disgusted. "Let's not ruin a perfectly good meal and evening with this nonsense. We were discussing the catalyst changes the Americans are applying to their med-potions. You said Bowen's using the de la Motte Principle?"

"Oh yes. It's an extrapolation on..."

The two lost themselves once more in their mutual love of the art of potions.