Postscript: 'Like Gold'

The cold, damp air of the dungeons was making him ache after the many weeks he had spent living in the sun. I must be getting old, he thought, rotating a shoulder and stretching the muscles and tendons of his hands. He made a mental note to mix up a batch of liniment before going home, and went about the business of gathering supplies for the next class. The brass cauldron that occupied a shelf in his office caught his reflection as he passed, and he paused to examine the image.

A spare, serious face gazed back at him: pale skin coloured gold in this mirror, dark intent eyes, a nose made even more prominent by the curvature of the reflecting surface, and clearly-etched lines of aging and stress drawn down to the corners of his thin mouth. He appeared less careworn than he had a few months ago, but certainly not in his first youth. It was a used face, practiced at hiding agonies and joys, cautious in guarding its many identities.

Professor Severus Snape. Potions Master. Acting Headmaster of Hogwarts School. The first two titles had been his for years, the last by Voldemort's will his for several months, but occupiednow for the first time by his own will and that of his colleagues. He had been surprised atMinerva's refusal to reassume the position of Headmistress; she had said only that she was tired,and that he would do the job better than she could now. So he had accepted the honour, on a provisional basis, as well as shrugging back into the long-worn habit of teaching, now possibly a poor fit for his new, expanded self.

He caught himself peering at the cauldron more closely, to see if that really was a strand of grey in his dark hair. Leave it, it makes no difference. Turning, he left his ruminations and his reflection behind, and, as he did so, heard the first students entering the classroom. He felt uncommonly reluctant to join them. Glancing down to check the clutch of parchment sheets he held in hishand, he noticed a long white-gold hair on the front of his black robes. He hadn't worn these for months... in fact, he was only wearing them now because every other stitch of clothing he owned was packed away: the new robes in indigo, dark rich green, even, daringly, a red so dark as to be almost black. He nearly brushed the hair to the floor, but stopped his hand in time; taking out his wand, he first made the parchment disappear, and then, muttering another spell, let the hair curl and twist itself into the semblance of a ring, which he slipped onto a long, thin finger.

Gathering his supplies once more, he strode into the classroom, where Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth years were finding seats at tables: Gryffindors on the right side of the room, Slytherins on the left, in the accustomed fashion. Snape sighed with resignation.

"Stand where you are, ladies and gentlemen," he called out, the old sternness in his voice returning with unexpected ease. "A new seating arrangement for today, I think. Mr. Baddock -- here, next to Mr. Halifax. Miss Esher, with Miss Lindley. Mr. Liversedge, next to Mr. Farnsworth. That's the way, you get the point. No, Mr. Creevey, not next to Miss McDonald. Not today. Sit with Mr. Pritchard. Thank you." They stared at him in amazement, but they did seem to understand, and Gryffindors moved to sit next to Slytherins with only a few baleful glances.

It would be more difficult with this group. Giving his oft-repeated speech about the importanceof potion-making to the first-year students, earlier this morning, he had surprised himself by smiling at the line about the "softly simmering cauldron," and, when he had suggested a momentlater that the students might be dunderheads, they had smiled back. While maintaining his customary strictness and high expectations, he had not once snapped at a student or indeed had to raise his voice above a conversational level. He had given points to both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw for well-researched answers from very promising students, and had felt a satisfying munificence in doing so. But those students had never seen him before, had never known a different Professor Snape. The students facing him now had spent their fourth year at a Hogwarts threatened and torn by the forces of the Dark, had lost a beloved Headmaster in their third year,had never known Snape as anything but a bully, a hypocrite, a suspected Death Eater. He would have to prove himself to them: to the Slytherins, many of whom had secretly supported the pro-Voldemort stance of Draco Malfoy's gang, as much as to the Gryffindors, ardent followers of all things Potter.

He sat down at his desk, steepled his fingers, and scrutinised the students, all of whom were nowseated. When he was certain of their attention, he spoke, quietly, but in a practiced tone which hewell knew to be mesmerising. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "today we are going to learn about trust."

Drawing his wand, he swept it quickly in an arc (several of the students flinched), and a piece of parchment appeared in front of each member of the class. "Each of you now has a recipe for a potion," he went on. "I have not appended the names of these potions, but they are not among those you have covered in your studies to this point, so those of you who go so far as to remember what you have learned after leaving your exams will possess no advantage in this exercise. Each potion has some effect on the human frame or countenance, none," with a vulpine smile, "fatal, or even particularly dangerous, in fact quite the opposite. As long as the instructions are followed correctly, that is, which I am certain each of you can manage to do. If you so choose."

The students were transfixed by his eyes like small creatures hypnotised in the glow of a lantern. Snape continued, "When your potion is brewed, each of you will give a cupful to your partner to swallow. I will be able to determine -- easily -- whether the recipe has been complied with. If both partners choose to follow instructions, both Slytherin and Gryffindor will gain five points. If neither partner follows instructions, and the potions both have an unexpected and negative effect,neither partner will gain any points for his or her House."

He raised his voice slightly. "If, on the other hand, one partner chooses to adjust his recipe, in a spirit of experimentation and -- I'm sorry to say -- ill-will, but the other partner concocts the recipe as written, the experimenter will gain ten points for his House, and the careful cook will lose five. As well as suffering whatever effects result from his partner's... innovation." Bringing his hands down flat onto the desk, he rose to his feet in one smooth movement, causing Alina Kramer, in the front row, to utter a small squeal. "Do you understand? Any questions?"

A lanky, brown-haired Gryffindor named Stanley Puckle raised his hand. "Sir," he askedtentatively, "will you be doing this lesson with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw as well?"

Snape let his lip twitch up in a slight smile. "Very good, Mr. Puckle. No, I will not be. Any more questions? Very well. Think carefully before you make any decisions, and then begin. No talking, please."

He sat down at his desk once more and regarded the class thoughtfully. Some of the students were looking puzzled, others, on whose faces he had noted growing comprehension as he spoke,had already begun the search for ingredients. Dennis Creevey was emptying a small bag of caterpillars onto the table and sending little questioning glances in the direction of Graham Pritchard, who sat in the next seat perusing his recipe with a small smirk twisting his thin lips. Callum Cockleroy looked as though he couldn't wait to make his Slytherin partner, Septimus Scugg, throw up or turn into a bat; and Natalie McDonald just looked rather lost as she began chopping beetles with an ivory-handled knife.

It was, at first glance, a simple puzzle in logic: the Prisoner's Dilemma. Defection from the rules brought about either a prize or no gain or loss; cooperation could earn you points or lose you the same. If viewed as a non-zero-sum game in which competitors could become cooperators and merge their total gains, there was a slight advantage to cooperation, but in the cut throat environment of real life and House Cup races, defection was logically the way to go, even with the non-participation of two other Houses figured into the equation. There was, however, a human element which was usually ignored by practitioners of pure logic. Defectors were not, in the end, looked on with much sympathy or good will by their colleagues. Snape had played the Prisoner's Dilemma many times in his own life.

The students worked away with a surprising level of concentration: measuring, chopping, weighing ingredients, adding them to their cauldrons; Snape rather wished he had thought of providing assignments of this import and logical complexity before. But he had to retract the wish when an image came into his mind of what, say, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy could have done to each other as enforced partners. Or Neville Longbottom and Vincent Crabbe, for thatmatter. The students in front of him might bear resentments toward one another -- and toward him -- but the climate of outright antagonism (and the frightened stupidity that often accompanied it) that had coincided with Potter's time at Hogwarts was gone with the downfall of Voldemort. Subtlety and trickery, however, had not vanished. They were here in this classroom; he could see them, on her face there, and his, and his...

His examination of his students' characters was interrupted when his eye caught a flash of green atthe doorway. A young woman with long white-gold hair, wearing robes that, he well knew, exactly matched her eyes, entered the room silently, holding a finger to her lips as she smiled a greeting in his direction. He nodded slightly, his eyes holding hers, and then turned his gaze away with difficulty, his heart racing. A mere two days' separation, and he was longing for her with an intensity that threatened his concentration and disturbed his sleep.

A whispering between two girls in the second row jerked him back into his role as professor in a timely fashion, and his voice remained steady as he drawled, "I said silence, Miss Grimsbold, MissLeakey." Although, he thought privately, any effort at communication did mean that someonehad got the point of the exercise.

His eyes flicked involuntarily back to Maud; she was seated now, far at the back of the room, not visible to the students, and she had her head cocked sideways onto her folded hands, eyes closed, simulating sleep. It took him a moment to realise that she was recalling the very first Potions class she had taken with him, during which he had accused her of taking a nap. She winked an eye open, then lifted her head, resting her chin on her hands and her elbows on the desk. He mouthed, "Thank you, Miss Moody," and she smiled.

Two nights ago he had kissed Maud goodbye and Disapparated to Hogsmeade, while she remained at her uncle's home for a visit. His uncomfortable sleep was at least partly the result of missing her warmth in the bed next to him, a sensation and comfort he had become accustomed to in the two months of their marriage. He was also missing the bed. They had left the feathery four-poster behind in Sussex, to be revisited at another holiday, and did not yet have a new one,or even a house to put it in. Returning to his old narrow bed in the cold, damp dungeon had perhaps been a mistake, but he could not yet bring himself to use what he still thought of as Dumbledore's bedchamber, and since the new -- rather reluctant -- head of Slytherin House, Professor Sinistra, had chosen to remain in her quarters in the Astronomy Tower, his old cell-likeroom was empty. Waiting for the return of the prisoner, he thought wryly. He rotated the stiff shoulder again, pressing his hand to the side of his neck, then noticed Maud looking at him, and desisted.

Turning his attention to the class once more, he assessed their progress. Most of the cauldrons were simmering with brewing potions. There were some further attempts at communication, some related to the exercise at hand -- Ada Grimsbold and Lucy Leakey were exchanging signals under the table, Stanley Puckle had passed a note to his partner -- and some not, like the gaze as intent as an Accio spell Natalie McDonald was casting at Dennis Creevey. He felt an unlikely empathy with the nature of that gaze, if not its object.

He cleared his throat. "May I have your attention," he said in a firm voice. "When your potion is ready, I should like each of you to sit back and raise your hand. Do not -- repeat, do not -- drink any of the potions until I tell you to do so. I will be coming around the class when everyone is ready." A couple of hands shot up right away, then more over the next few minutes. Finally, the entire class was sitting expectantly with hands raised.

"Thank you. You may lower your hands." Snape walked over to a pair of students in the back row, snatching a glimpse of Maud out of the corner of his eye as he did so, for reassurance. "Mr. Baddock and Mr. Halifax. Let us test your... skills."

The two students darted suspicious glances at each other. Malcolm Baddock furrowed his brows in what Snape, with an agonising tug at his heart, recognised as one of his own withering expressions, then took a ladle and scooped liquid out of his cauldron, filling a cup and handing it to Halifax. Halifax did the same for Baddock. They raised the cups to each other in an ugly parody of a toast, and drank simultaneously. Within seconds, Halifax's face sprouted an astonishing crop of pimples, and Baddock's nose turned green. They looked at each other and began to laugh, not in a very nice way.

"Sorry, gentlemen," breathed Snape, in a fair echo of his old menace. "No points to either House."

He moved to the next pair of students, who had, unfortunately, also chosen to cheat one another. Miss Lindley finished the experiment with purple hair -- it had been blonde, rather like Maud's -- and Miss Esher was clutching her stomach pitifully. Snape began to wonder if he had made an error of judgment. But the next two, Farnsworth and Liversedge, had chosen to cooperate, and collected five points for each House, along with pleasant expressions on their faces from the -- entirely internal this time -- effects of the potions.

The real challenge would come with the first pair who had made differing choices... ah, yes, this would be it: Creevey and Pritchard. He could not imagine Dennis Creevey making a choice that would harm another person or creature, and he could not imagine Graham Pritchard -- a nasty little twerp who reminded Snape painfully of himself at that age -- doing anything to benefit anyone but himself. Pritchard evidently had the same idea, because he seized the cup Creevey handed to him and drained it quickly, before making any move toward his own cauldron. The effect of Creevey's potion on Pritchard was certainly pleasant, although, Snape noted with amusement, not exactly discreet. It must have been a Prettifying Posset: Pritchard's angular features softened, his stiff dark hair smoothed itself, his eyes widened and became a more pleasing shade of brown, his acne disappeared; even the spatulate knuckles of his hands thinned and his fingers became more delicate and sensitive in appearance, an effect Pritchard was noting with alarm. Several of the girls in the class tittered as they looked over, nudging one another.

"A short-term effect only, alas, Mr. Pritchard," Snape commented. "Now, your potion...?" and he gestured toward Pritchard's cauldron. Pritchard dipped in a ladle and filled his cup. He handed it to Creevey, who took it happily enough and raised it to his lips. The liquid in the cup was pale gold in colour, shimmering and swirling, calling up glorious memories and images... Snape shook himself out of his trance, realised the danger at the last second, and shouted, "Stop!"

Dennis Creevey, startled, lowered the cup shakily, spilling several drops on the table, where they formed neat circles of polished gold on the wooden surface. He looked up at Snape. "Sir...?" hesaid.

"I do believe," said Snape after a deep breath, "that Mr. Pritchard has accidentally invented what we may call a Midas Mixture." He looked about for an object on which to test his theory, noticed the little ring of hair adorning his finger, and pulled it off. Selecting a twig of lavender from Creevey's supplies, he threaded the ring onto it, and using the twig as a handle, dipped the ring into the cup. When he pulled it out, it was solid gold.

He wrenched the golden ring from the golden twig, held it up to the class in silence, and then, on an impulse, walked to the back of the classroom. Taking Maud's hand, he pressed the ring into her palm and folded her fingers over it, caressing them as he did so. Still holding her hand, he spoke to the class, every member of which was staring at him and Maud with unflattering incredulity.

"Experimentation without the approval of authority does not always yield predictable results. In this case, it would have resulted in a gold oesophagus for Mr. Creevey, an uncomfortable if enriching condition, one which I am certain Madam Pomfrey would have been equal to... with time. Mr. Pritchard gains ten points for Slytherin, Mr. Creevey loses five from Gryffindor." There was a murmur of dissent among the students, and Snape quirked an eyebrow at them, producing immediate silence. "You have objections?" he went on. "Let me remind you who sets the rules in this class. I have been completely fair and open with you; how you choose to behave amongst yourselves is your own choice. And it is a choice you have already made. We will see what the consequences turn out to be."

Several of the students were still staring openmouthed at Maud; Lucy Leakey looked as though her chin were about to drop onto the table. Snape focused his gaze on her, and she quickly shut her mouth and looked down. "Miss Leakey," he said, "Did you have a question?"

She looked at him in alarm, and then, witless, blurted out, "Who... who is that?"

Snape raised his eyebrows and gave her a half-smile, apparently a quelling one, as she blushed madly and subsided. "My wife," he said evenly, squeezing Maud's hand, then placing it gently on the table. As he turned and moved toward his desk, he could feel the eyes of every student on him, the aura of reassessment and reconsideration like a palpable change in the atmosphere of the room, a warm dry breath in the cool dampness.

"Now then," he said, turning swiftly on them, "who will be next?"

The rest of the lesson proceeded smoothly, the potions producing many interesting effects, some quite entertaining, none dangerous. In the end, Slytherin was ahead of Gryffindor by twenty points, but the students who had chosen to "experiment" were being eyed warily by their classmates, and some had tried very hard to add new ingredients at the last moment. Snape sent the students off to lunch, exhorting those with altered appearances to wait until after eating before visiting the hospital wing, and breathed a sigh of relief as the last student left the room.

"And now," he said, turning to Maud, and then she was in his arms. They held each other for along moment, nearly long enough to make up for the separation; it felt marvelous. She smelt of lavender; he buried his face in her hair, seeing that swirling gold death-water potion in his mind'seye. He murmured in her ear, "Two hours detention this evening, I believe, Miss Moody; or no,"nibbling at the lobe, greedily, "make that five."

Maud laughed. "Would that be in Mr. Filch's office, then, or the Owlery? The broom shed? Or right here," she went on, giggling helplessly, "under the desk?" She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "Or would a bed in our own house in Hogsmeade be too trite and unoriginal?"

"You did manage, then..."

"Of course. Didn't you have any confidence in me? I wasn't about to let you sleep in the dungeons any longer, not with that incipient rheumatism of yours," and she touched his shoulder gently.

"I was going to ask you if you would rub it with liniment tonight," he said in a mockingly pathetic tone, "just before I put on my nightcap and socks and climb into bed with my hot-water bottle..."

"I will rub you anywhere you like," she returned, with a very serious expression on her face but a teasing look in her eyes, and he answered her by pulling her back into his arms and kissing her throat.

"I am shocked, Maud, shocked," he said, feeling her laughter there, and he moved his lips up her neck a centimeter at a time, his voice muffled. "Well -- not really shocked; I know you too well by now," he whispered into the corner of her mouth, "although perhaps not quite well enough yet," and then there was no space for any more words.

The kiss was interrupted, however, by a slight rustling at the door (which Snape realised too late he had forgotten to lock) and he pulled back abruptly to see Dennis Creevey frozen in the act of reentering the classroom. Surprisingly, though, his face did not register astonishment, or disgust, or trepidation; it was filled with an unholy delight, as though a wild idea, or several of them, had just occurred to him, and it was a moment before anyone spoke. "Yes, Mr. Creevey," said Snape finally, in a husky voice, and cleared his throat abruptly.

"I just came back..." Dennis stammered. "I forgot..." and he moved quickly to his seat, picked up a book from under the table, and left the room, throwing them a quick backward grin over his shoulder.

Snape moved swiftly to the door after him, closed it firmly and locked it with a pass of his wand. "That child will be the death of me," he said, shaking his head, and looked at Maud, who seemed unable to do anything but smile today.

"He likes you, you know," she said quietly. "I spoke to him for a few minutes after he woke up --after Voldemort's curse -- and he asked me if you would be all right. Then he said, 'Do you think Professor Snape will be less angry now?' I'm not sure why he said that. I think," smiling evenmore now, "he has his answer, though."

He could think of no reply but to kiss her again, and this time they were not interrupted. "Do you have to teach this afternoon?" she said, sounding rather breathless, moments later.

Snape loosed his fingers from Maud's hair, and sighed. "Yes," he said, "unfortunately. I am a working man again, Maud. And you'll be off to the lab tomorrow; we will have to get used to this. Somehow." He brushed his lips against her cheek. "You have news, I gather."

"I rented a house, yes. A cottage, rather, with a large sunny garden, perfect for growing herbs. Not very many rooms, but big enough for two; which is all we will need, for a while at least, until we make other plans," and she smiled up at him shyly. He leaned his forehead against hers, picked up both her hands in his -- she had put the gold ring on, he noted -- and pressed his mouth to them, his heart overflowing with conflicting emotions.

"I deserve none of this, Maud," he said after a long pause. "You -- especially you -- plans for the future, a house, a garden, furniture -- we do possess furniture, do we not?" She nodded, gulping laughter and tears. "I am relieved to hear it -- these students, some of whom looked at me withrespect just now... Dennis, Minerva, Poppy, even the house-elves seem to like me... I don't..." His voice failed him.

Maud seized his face between her hands. "You deserve every ounce of it," she said fiercely. "Weigh yourself on the scales as though you were the chopped-up slug parts you seem to think yourself; you'll see. Put all of us on the other side: me, and Dennis, and the house, and the furniture, and the house-elves; we won't outweigh you. We all balance each other." She kissedhis lips tenderly, and let him go. "Just like your students -- you made a choice. You could have made the choice for yourself alone, but you made it for everyone, even those you didn't love, even those you didn't particularly like: you chose to do good. And good comes back around...eventually. And now that you're raising the potion to your lips, you still can't believe you're theone who's supposed to be drinking it. Well, believe it." She looked exasperated. "I said thatbefore, as I recall. For a brilliant man, you're a slow learner."

Something broke in him then, a dam holding back a flood, and he laughed out loud. "Give me thepotion, my love, and I will drink it; I am quite certain that if you give it to me it is for my own good. If it turns my insides into gold I could not feel any more... valued." He paused, then spoke more seriously, "It feels as though the last two months have been a vivid -- and extremely pleasant-- dream, and I am only now awakening to real life. Which seems, in some ways at least, like acontinuation of the dream, so you can understand my confusion."

"Not only understand, but empathise," Maud answered. "It is my dream as well, you know."

"I know and am amazed," he replied, "if you will excuse that remaining measure of self-doubt which seems inevitably to creep into my conversation; I believe it's the only thing lending meenough weight to keep my feet on the floor."

"Then hold on to it," Maud laughed back at him, "the cottage has low ceilings. Here," thrusting a piece of parchment into his hand, "is the address. Home by five for dinner?"

"Home," he repeated, and kissed her, and let her go.