Turncoats And Cold Fire

“Heya! I haven’t seen you for a while!”

Severus Snape paused as he walked through a small somewhat dank alley, almost certain that that brazen greeting had been directed at him. After all, he knew that voice—he just couldn’t remember who it belonged to. He kept on walking, deciding that the man who’d called out could just follow him if he really wanted his attention. He had things to do, one of them being a visit to a vault in Gringotts for Dumbledore.

There was a pause, then he heard booted feet running in his direction. “Just as rude as ever, hey Severus?” a voice asked breathlessly from somewhere behind his right shoulder. “Or do you just not want to admit you don’t remember me?”

Severus gave the person a disdainful glance, quickly summing up the man following him. Then he looked forward again. A very familiar face…but he couldn’t stick a name…oh, wait. Saturn. Saturn Santalope. “What do you want, Saturn?” he growled out of the side of his mouth, irritated.

He couldn’t see it, but he was sure Saturn was giving him a big grin when he heard Saturn’s chuckle. He remembered Saturn now. The man was…like a stocky teddy bear. Too friendly, too nice. He was for the most part a normal guy, but one of those intense normal guys with pale blue eyes that almost could have stared a hole through you, if they’d not been set in a gentle broad face. He could see Saturn’s face being the kind that hid the mind of a killer. Not that Saturn was a killer; he liked blowing up buildings and muggle vehicles more than people. He was more of an amateur explosives guru. In the last war against Voldemort he’d been one of the underground support men on the Ministry’s side; the kind of guy who did a lot of the dirty work but since the work was dirty got nothing more but a quiet little pat on the back, and was packed quietly away in some corner when everything was all through, to watch as Aurors were given all the hero-worship. Vaguely he wondered what the man had been doing with himself in the past years. Not that he really cared. It was just surprising he’d not blown anything up important enough to get him sent to Azkaban for a little stay once he realized the Ministry liked to screw people over.

“What do I want?” Saturn repeated Severus’s question, jarring him out of his thoughts. “Can’t I just say hello to you without getting the cold shoulder?”

“No,” Severus told him as they walked down an alley that connected Knockturn Alley to Diagon Alley, just to be perverse.

“Damn. And I thought you were hot for me.”

At this Severus stopped and whirled, giving the man a glare that would shut most people up if not make them start to run the other way. And it did. Saturn stared into his eyes for a long second then glanced nervously away, realizing that he had stepped over the line. Good. Severus had enough trouble dealing with his moronic and hyperactive students without them whispering that he was gay behind his back.

“What do you want?” he repeated, his voice soft.

“Uh…to say hello.”

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say hello and then get the hell out of here!” Severus snapped angrily. Saturn drove him nutty; the sooner he realized he was not wanted the better. Plus, considering what he was going to get out of the Gringotts vaults he didn’t want any witnesses who may guess what he was doing or what was happening. He was supposed to alert certain people to Voldemort’s rising, not to throw the entire wizarding world into panicked chaos. Which Saturn, even if he would not panic himself, would cause by some inadvertent slip of the tongue when he was in some dance club getting pissed as a newt and pawing the showgirls. Hic. Yeahs, m’ old friend was doin’ somethin’ strange…thing he’s gonna go spy on old Voldie again…ooh…don’t stop that dhearie…why’d you sthop? He gave Saturn a baleful look. Saturn winced.

“Um…hullo. But a hello is usually followed by a conversation, isn’t it, rather than you scaring me off?” He grinned a bit at the Potions Master, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m an antisocial bastard; go away.”

“I won’t dispute the antisocial bastard part but I want to talk to you, Severus.” All timidness and airheaded-humor was gone from the man’s voice. Severus looked at him in vague surprise. Saturn? Deciding a confrontation was worth his anger? For a second the two men stared at each other, Saturn’s blue eyes intent and Severus’s fathomless. Perhaps Saturn already knew something. It was probably all around the gutters that many suspected Death Eaters had disappeared at the same time during the Triwizard Tournament. “Talk then.”

“Aren’t you going to get your green outfit? For the Dance?”

Even though he managed to keep his face stony, Severus felt his stomach drop. Damn the man. How’d he guess? Severus knew damn well that there wasn’t a sign above his head flashing “Look! Ex-Death Eater is getting his Green Flame uniform! Flee for your lives! You-Know-Who has returned!” and he knew his stance and expression did not give anything away. Saturn had, it seemed, grown much wiser over the years. Either that or he’d been a fly on the wall when Severus had set out for the latest gossip. “I’m not very good at Dancing,” he finally said.

Saturn’s eyes flashed. “I wasn’t talking about that!”

Severus sneered. “I know exactly what you’re talking about, and I don’t Dance. I make my own rules.”

Understanding flashed across the other man’s face. “Oh.” Severus didn’t dance along to the enemy’s rules well, so he made his own.

Well perhaps the man hadn’t wised up as much as Severus had thought he did. “Slow today?” Severus asked with purposeful malice.

The man glared daggers, which didn’t bother Severus at all. “Look…” the man said. Saturn was obviously angry again, but he didn’t back down or leave now either. Instead he pulled out a bit of parchment and pressed it into Severus’s hand and took a breath. “If you’re around tomorrow maybe we can catch up on things, no?” Saturn asked, anger fading from his face and his usual smile turning up the corners of his lips and wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “I know a wonderful bar…” The man wasn’t a half bad actor, he noted reluctantly.

That was it. Angrily he stuffed the note in his pocket and stalked away. Bloody idiot was either going to babble something important because he didn’t understand that Severus understood, or he was going to attempt to drag Severus into some strip joint.

“Wait! I still need to tell you something.”

“I wasn’t born with my head up my rear…I think your parents named you after the wrong planet,” Severus called back in a lame insult. Good grief, he was tired. He was falling to the level of his students; he might have just called the dunderhead “Uranus” in the first place. Or maybe, even more directly, a dumbass.

Saturn sputtered behind him, but he paid no heed.

* * * *

“Did you get the key?” The headmaster’s blue eyes peered over his half-moon spectacles at Severus intently…and almost a little worried.

Severus fumbled in the pocket of his robe and came out with a perfectly oval stone. Right now it was red; it had been green then bronze earlier. Apparently it rotated between the house colors. He’d picked it up from Gringotts before he’d headed back to Hogwarts. It was a precaution the headmaster believed they had to take; the key was the control stone for all the shields and charms on the school and its grounds. Normally it was just stored away, since the shields did not need it to work but just for the shields to be changed—modified, strengthened, or added to. They couldn’t even shut the shields down; nothing could, he thought, save total destruction of the entire school and most of the grounds. But it did do something important, apparently, or Dumbledore wouldn’t have wanted it. What that thing was Severus didn’t have the privilege of knowing…yet.

He raised an eyebrow at the headmaster. A little smile played at the corner of Dumbledore's mouth and he shook his head a little. "You'll know soon enough, Severus, or I'll eat my hat collection."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Sounds like something's going to happen to make me 'know' rather than you telling me."

Dumbledore took the stone from his hand and examined it, not answering. Severus grunted to himself. So he was right. He sighed. Wouldn't it just be easier if he was told about it?

"So what's the latest juicy gossip down in Knockturn alley?" Dumbledore asked him suddenly, leaning back in his chair and motioning Severus to take a seat. "Did you get in contact with anyone?"

Severus shook his head and brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into his face and was tickling his nose. "Not really. I'll be visiting during lunchtime, however, tomorrow. I did run into an old member of the underground. Saturn Santalope." Severus suddenly remembered the parchment the man had thrust at him, and dug in the pocket of his robes to get it out. All it said was "Madam G. a las doce y media." Severus curled his lip at the pitiful attempt at putting the message in code; Spanish wasn't exactly an obscure language. Although he did have to figure out whom "Madam G" was. Hopefully it wasn't far from Madam Zelna's. And hopefully it wasn't a trap.

"Care to enlighten an old man?"

"As much as you care to enlighten me," Severus said testily.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I think you have a totally different intent in hiding that from me than why I won't tell you what the key to the shields can do."

"True." Severus walked over to a seat across from Albus's desk and collapsed in it, wincing as the cushioning was not quite as thick as it looked and he hit the hard wood right on top of his sore behind. He was horribly out of shape for a man in his mid-thirties. The only thing he lacked was a little potbelly and that was only because his metabolism devoured calories at such a high rate there was no fat on him to make a potbelly. The Green Flames would laugh, could they see him now. No doubt starting a personal training program was in order—a thought which he detested. He could just see some person come upon him in the small staff gym and start laughing their head off at him trying to do a pull-up with his long lanky body strung out toward the floor like a string bean. But he had to start training himself, just like he would have to start the mental exercises again (which thankfully he could do in his bedroom, alone). He frowned to himself. Decisively he vowed to just hex anyone who laughed at him.

"Severus?"

He looked up at the headmaster and realized he'd just fallen off into his thoughts. He mentally shook himself, yawned, then tossed the wrinkled piece of parchment onto the other man's desk. "Doesn't say much."

Albus read it then grunted. “It could be a trap.”

Severus began to curl his lip up but stopped as Dumbledore smiled at him. The old man was teasing, knowing exactly how Severus would react to any barb against his intelligence—of course Severus had considered it might be a fact.

“But then you know that, don’t you, Professor. You’ll take precautions?”

“In the form of spelled items yes. In the form of people, no.”

“No one could go with you anyway. The Aurors are still at the Ministry’s beck and call—except for Moody, who’s staying here, and he’s too jumpy after what’s happened to go with you—and I highly doubt Remus would be a good choice to go as your backup. Remus, while good at doing defensive spells, never learned how to do real fieldwork. No one trusted him not to turn suddenly and join Voldemort like the giants and dementors did. So yes…until you find backup you will go alone”

“Good.”

“I expect you to find those people quickly, though,” Dumbledore told him. “It’s far too easy to die from a shot at the back.”

Almost automatically, he started to form a cutting reply along the lines of “How nice to know you care” but he didn’t as he remembered that Dumbledore was one of the few people who really did care. Instead he cleared his throat. “You make it sound like I should form a gang or something.”

The headmaster raised his eyebrows as if that was a possibility. Then he steepled his fingers and taped them thoughtfully on his lips as he pondered. “I think that would be in order,” he said after a few long seconds.

Severus slouched down in the chair, unsure if he were surprised or not. “A gang.”

“If I recall correctly, that’s what was aiding us underground last time—it’s a shame Wheaton Wellaby was killed a few months before the end. We could use him now.” Dumbledore’s eyes were a bit sad.

“Wheaton Wellaby?”

“A Hogwarts dropout—Ravenclaw, if I remember it right. He got involved on the gang scene for a while, but decided being caught by the Ministry for inappropriate use of magic as well as more mundane charges wasn’t a good thing once he hit thirty or so and decided to use his street skills for our side in exchange for a few pardons. Anyway, he got a lot of the people who were left in Knockturn alley and those parts to join our side instead of Voldemort’s. The Ministry wasn’t happy about it, but concurred that sometimes you had to fight fire with fire. He was basically the leader of an underground guerrilla force. When he died, though, we lost many of those underground people and that’s part of the reason right before Voldemort was banished he pretty much had the upper hand.” Dumbledore looked at him quizzically. “You never met Wheaton?”

Severus shook his head. “I think I remember the name mentioned but I didn’t know his rank; I didn’t mix much with the upper ranks of our underground—they knew damn well I had been a Death Eater and they didn’t trust me. They only let me mingle with the lower men who, frankly, they could replace.”

“People can’t be replaced, Severus.”

Severus looked up and caught Dumbledore’s eye. But in this kind of war some are more expendable than others. He didn’t say the thought, but he knew Dumbledore knew what he thought—and that the headmaster disapproved. There were many things they did not agree on, sometimes, especially when it all came back to Voldemort. But there were also some surprising places where they did agree. This was not one of them. He sighed. No use flogging dead horses. “Anyway, no, I never met him.”

“Mmmm. Too bad; I would have liked you to emulate him.”

“I don’t emulate anyone, and I was never a gangbanger. The street-warlocks would never trust me.”

“As Severus Snape, ill-tempered professor of potions with a penchant for being blind to petty cruelty, perhaps not, but maybe as a man brave enough to double-cross Voldemort and smuggle precious information to our side.”

Severus’s lip curled up in a bit of self-mockery. It hadn’t been heroism, in his mind, that had made him turn tail and spy for Dumbledore. It’d been pure fear and desperation. Sudden clear-eyed knowledge that Voldemort’s side was not the wise side to be on, no matter if he won or not. Dumbledore, Gryffindor all the way, either didn’t understand that, or ignored it in favor of believing Severus had made some show of heroism rather than an act of frantically saving his own ass. Their eyes met and this old argument, too, was conducted wordlessly, and as always, reached a stalemate.

“I’m not particularly charismatic,” Severus murmured finally, his voice low.

Dumbledore flicked up an eyebrow. “Swishing around in black antiqued robes with hair lank from potions fumes and a surly scowl doesn’t tend to make a man that, no. But if you gave it an effort, you could command. Look at how your students obey you. It’s not my style, but a tall, dark, brooding wizard can cut just as large a swath as, say, Lockhart, if he plays on his natural talents.”

“I can’t decide if you’re trying to tell me I’d be handsome if I made some changes or if my latent ability to command men equals that of a hair-brained pansy’s,” the potions master said.

Albus laughed. “Handsome? You? About the same as me,” the old man said, ruefully touching his crooked nose. “What I meant is that character is what really draws people; Lockhart wasn’t the brightest firefly in terms of brains but he certainly had character.”

Severus grunted. “I like to work alone. People annoy me.”

“Unfortunately that’s not a freedom you will have for long. You do have the ability to command men, and combined with your intelligence and knowledge of this situation, I can’t afford to keep you aside as a non-mainstream special agent. There are four sorts of people I need leaders for: one, the outgoing cocky all-for-good-and-morals type, for which I have Minerva, Harry, and Remus; two, the everyday homebody witches and wizards who realize everyone needs to pitch in, in which Arthur Weasley is helping me out with; three, the rather studious smart type, for which I have Filius for; and your type—the men and women who know that sometimes a lesser evil must be done to prevent a greater.”

“The tainted.”

“I think of you and your sort as extremely realistic, and knowledgeable about real humans, and not stylized dreams of what man should be.”

“The dirty-deed doers.”

“Severus.”

“The gray?” Severus twitched up the corner of his mouth. “Personally I liked the first—tainted sounds somewhat spiffing in a sort of gothic way.”

“You are certainly gothic.”

“Perhaps, then, those are who I should start my little ‘gang’ with. The Goths of the wizarding world.”

“They’ll probably be most forgiving of your first mistakes, and they’re the sort I’d like to recruit to our side before Voldemort seduces them to his side. Talking about seducing—“

“We were? My…we’ve nearly gotten our heads out of the intellectual clouds and down near the gutter to talk about what normal men usually do when they get together,” Severus said in a bit of sarcastic wit.

Dumbledore blinked at him, and Severus wondered right along with him about where that had come from. He cleared his throat. “Don’t mind me…go on, headmaster.”

“Er…”

Dumbledore eyed him, and Severus realized with chagrin that he’d interpreted two of Dumbledore’s innocuous remarks tonight as sexual in some way. First, connecting his remarks about tall brooding wizards and Lockhart to come to the conclusion that Dumbledore might be complementing in a way—as absurd as it was—his looks, and now referring to the womanizing talk men were supposed to do when alone. He felt a rare flush tinge the tips of his ears. Damn Santalope—his amorous tendencies seemed to have somehow rubbed off on Severus in his short contact with the man. Or was it just his own dirty mind? Damn Dumbledore for noticing it and giving him strange looks. Severus knew perfectly well what kinds of rumors flew about the two of them, and personally he felt the idea of them together was just somewhat gross—Dumbledore had been over a century old when he’d been born. Not to mention the fact that Severus certainly didn’t look at men that way! When Dumbledore didn’t resume speaking, his irritation got the better of him. “Well?” he demanded. “Speaking of seducing?” It didn’t sound any better even with his annoyance behind the words.

Dumbledore’s eyes flicked to the door behind Severus, and the man realized that someone had just come in, and that line, heard in a manner outside of their real conversation, sounded rather…bad.

“Bill told me to come right up when I arrived—I can leave and come back, if you want, Headmaster,” a hesitant male voice said from behind him.

It was a small relief that the voice wasn’t Potter’s. Or even no one he knew. Turning his head just a little bit to the left, Severus glanced at the newcomer into Albus’s office. The wizard standing there was lanky, balding, and redheaded. A Weasley, and probably the man who’d sired the litter of Weasleys that’d been collecting among the ranks of the Gryffindors.

“Ah, no, Arthur. Come, sit down. I need to talk to both you and Severus anyway. Severus, this is Arthur Weasley. Arthur, this is Severus Snape, the Potions Master here at Hogwarts, as well as my third.”

Arthur’s eyebrow had flicked just the tiniest bit when Severus’s name and rank had been introduced—stuff the boys had said about him?—and Severus’s eyebrow had joined the other man’s in reaching for the ceiling when the headmaster said, “as well as my third”. He’d always known he’d become Deputy Headmaster if Dumbledore ever stepped down—or something—but to have the man actually state it, when Severus didn’t even formally assume the title even when the Headmaster was off the grounds and Minerva took charge, was surprising. Of course, with all Weasleys being Gryffindors and nearly foster parents of Potter perhaps Albus thought he needed to assert his trust in Snape, give him more than the usual rank of Professor or even Head of Slytherin House. Especially if he thought the two would have to work together in the future, which was the only reason he’d want to talk to both of them at the same time.

“I thought I would be working alone for now,” he murmured out of the side of his mouth at Albus.

“Third?” Arthur asked at the same time.

“Yes you will Severus, for now, and yes, Arthur, Severus becomes Deputy Headmaster when I’m away and Minerva becomes Acting Headmistress.”

“Ah.”

“So, has Bill brought you up to speed on what’s happened? And what’s the scuttlebutt at the Ministry, Arthur?” Since the only chair currently before Dumbledore’s desk was occupied by a surly potions master—and Severus didn’t plan to give his slightly uncomfortable seat up to a Weasley—the wizard withdrew his wand from his sleeve and summoned another for Arthur. Of course, unlike the one Severus was currently possessing, it had a much nicer and thicker cushion on it. Figures.

Thinning red hair glinting in the light of the random floating candles arranged around the room, Arthur sat down with a little sigh. “Yes. And Charlie got his note. I’m hoping he’ll be home tonight, if he’s willing to Apperate or can find a fireplace hooked up to the Floo network, or tomorrow by the Knight Bus or something at the latest.”

“How’s Ginny doing?”

“She’s scared—heck, we all are—and worried about Harry but otherwise alright,” the man said, looking worried himself. “Bill’s supposed to keep by her, and we’re all watching to make sure the thing with the diary doesn’t make her vulnerable to You-Know-Who now.”

Dumbledore nodded, as Severus quietly took it all in. His eyes met the Headmaster’s, and Severus could see that neither of them believed it was likely Voldemort would try to work through Ginny—if he even could, now that he had a body again. If Ginny started acting strange in any way, it would be discovered quickly, and both of them believed the stuff Voldemort had been able to do with Quirrel and the diary could only be done by a disembodied spirit, which was not what the Dark Lord was now.

What most wizards and witches—especially ones that were muggle-raised—didn’t realize was that there was a big gap between your ordinary wizard and witch and somebody who spent their life learning and doing magic. It was similar, Severus thought, to the gap between muggles who could operate technology like their cars and TVs and those could make new kinds of cars, TVs, and other technology-based things. Certain simple things were learned as a matter of course by all in basic schooling, but only deeper studies did a wizard learn the kinds of magic Voldemort and Dumbledore knew. Those studies weren’t often taken on by wizards and witches anymore than every muggle took deep complicated classes on math and computer science in college. But those who did undertake that sort of life had an easier time understanding the feats of others when it concerned their specialty. Voldemort did awe-inspiring things with his magic, but if you had the training you could see it wasn’t some supernatural force but the cumulation of the Dark Lord’s charisma, wits, studies, and lack of morality. It was something that could be fought.

Though it was damned hard, Severus admitted to himself once he got off his mental soapbox. Especially when you were already made an outcast for being different in the first place and Voldemort offered you—or pretended to—a family of a sorts who would not judge you by the ways normal society judged you. With Voldemort, Severus had been “self-controlled”, “inner-focused”, “realistic”, “intelligent” and seemingly useful. His looks didn’t matter as much—there were plenty of Death Eaters uglier than he was. In normal society, he was “cold”, “antisocial”, and a cruel bastard who didn’t sugarcoat things just to keep all of life so sweet-and-light when it wasn’t. And he was an ugly skinny Slytherin with greasy hair and a big nose. He couldn’t help any of those five things; he’d been born ugly, skinny, and with a big nose. The Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin, and why bother taking five baths a day to clean his hair when it was naturally somewhat greasy in the first place and hovering over the slop his students called potions didn’t make it any better?

Vaguely, he realized that Albus and Arthur had carried on the conversation while his thoughts wandered and tried to tip him over into mild depression. However, he hoped he hadn’t missed anything important—surely Dumbledore had seen his mind was wandering and would have cued him in if he needed to hear something.

“—stry is being anal and keeping mum on the whole damn thing for the most part. Not that with what I heard happened with Fudge, that was unexpected. A few of the Aurors are getting paranoid, but without Ministry consent they can’t go rampaging through houses looking for evidence. On the good side, they can’t search us either, should we arm up for this next conflict with You-Know-Who,” Arthur was saying to Dumbledore. “Not without good reason, and you and the professors are cleared to keep items of magic around. They can’t do anything if you choose to pursue projects that deal with stuff from the last war, since their official stance is that You-Know-Who isn’t back. So why wouldn’t they let you do studies on what Voldemort and the Death Eaters left behind? It’s been fifteen years—about time someone got over their fear and started to try to put together the pieces. And if they change their stance to that he is back, well, who is better to put the pieces together than you?”

As Arthur paused to take a breath, Dumbledore nodded. “Anything to add, Severus?”

Severus blinked. He currently had no contacts with the Ministry; they didn’t like him even though Dumbledore had backed him up long ago when he’d become turncoat, and he didn’t like them because he knew there were more than a handful who would be happy to dig up the bones of his past and get him in Azkaban for it, even though he’d been on their side for nearly half his life now. He shook his head. “I have nothing to do with the Ministry.”

Dumbledore raised a brow, and suddenly Severus realized he’d actually been asking if Severus got information from other people connected to the Ministry. He shook his head again. “Ask me tomorrow.”

Arthur gave a questioning look.

“Like you, Severus is re-establishing old contacts,” Dumbledore told him.

The man nodded.

“Well then,” Dumbledore said. “Not right away, but soon, I’m going to have you two working together. I know the two of you have never done so, but for this particular thing that I need done I think you would be the best pair. Arthur—do you have any knowledge in any kind of fighting, martial arts, or the like?”

Arthur looked surprised. “Well…uh…no, Headmaster.” He scratched at the beginning of red stubble on his jaw. “Never had the need—I’m not much of a fighter.”

“I plan to send you and Severus out to do some work in the muggle world. The problem is, you may have to go into some rather shady places, and be able to defend yourself from muggle footpads without your wand.”

“Without?” Severus asked with a raised eyebrow, breaking his silence.

“Yes. Magic can be traced, and that wouldn’t be wise. Well, you know, Severus. Teach what you know to Arthur—and teach him some basic self-defense skills.”

Arthur gave Severus another look. It was beginning to get annoying, but he bit his lip and didn’t retort. If he absolutely had to work with a Weasley, it wasn’t wise to start off with a disagreement.

Dumbledore smiled at him. “Off with you Severus. You had it easy today, easier than I thought you would; go take a rest because pretty soon the cauldron’s going to explode. And as one of the Potion Masters stirring this cauldron, you’re going to get splashed. Must I carry on this little comparison farther?”

“Oh yes, the way you weave in little references to my profession is dazzling, say more, please,” Severus said, his tone sounding sincere, but his expression saying something between “Moron.” and “Shut the hell up.”.

Dumbledore flicked his fingers at him in a command to leave. Severus, getting an urge to do something to Arthur, whose eyes were curiously taking too much in, obliged the Headmaster and rose out of his chair and left.

* * * *

The last days of the school year flew by, more subdued than normal, and filled with scared speculation about what was going to happen, with Cedric dead, the teachers being close-lipped about Moody’s whereabouts, and Harry’s unexpected win at the Triwizard Tournament. Dumbledore’s frank remark to the students at the feast stating that Voldemort was back did little to return the atmosphere to normal. When the students left, it wasn’t with thoughts of their failed tests and parental disapproval—it was with thoughts wondering if they would be safe at home. After all, Hogwarts was one of the safest places in England. The only way you could get safer was to get a box at Gringotts and lock yourself in it.

Sometimes Severus was tempted to do just that, to get a large Gringotts vault, put some kind of preservation spell on himself, and just go to sleep. Of course, there was the problem of waking up—the most reliable potion that did that needed a princess to kiss him awake and in the twentieth century princesses were in short supply, much less princesses who would want to kiss him awake.

Bah.

The meeting with Saturn at the mysterious Madam G. didn’t turn up anything—he was never able to figure out who Madam G. was and Saturn had dissappeared as if he’d been something that Severus had hallucinated. That worried both him and Dumbledore, but a through search for hexes, curses, and other Dark Magic on Severus, the paper, and nearly everything else he’d come into contact to after meeting Saturn turned up nothing. It irked Severus, having a loose thread like that still waving around. He couldn’t afford loose threads.

For about a week—during which Severus forced himself to start doing physical training, even if he was able to persuade himself to put off mental exercises—he hung swaying in the wind, as the “old crowd” Albus had been referring to slowly and discreetly gathered in the nearly-empty school. Most of the teachers, except the ones that usually stayed around doing work put off during the school year but that had to be done now, had gone home or had taken up summer jobs. Of all the Heads of Houses, Severus was the only one still around; Minerva had gone home to her family in upper Scotland, Filius had gone on a vacation to New Zealand (Severus wondered how he could go on vacation now of all times, unless the man was having serious thoughts about the whole situation and wanted to get as far away from England and Voldemort as possible), and Professor Sprout went with her usual research group to some remote islands somewhere as their botanist. Trewalney stuck around, but then she always did. She was about as mysterious as he was—no one knew if she had any relatives or even friends besides a few of the staff. No one remembered her going to Hogwarts, yet she was hardly as old as to have graduated so long ago there just wasn’t anyone around anymore who had gone to Hogwarts then. Filch, of course, stayed, retreating to his quarters after receiving a few parcels from Magic Inc., which was a well-known company that sold magic-enhancing things to wizards with little magic or squibs. That actually was a bit fun—Severus had quite a time giving Filch looks. Perhaps the man had helped him a time or two, as another person who believed the school was not strict enough, but Severus hardly counted him as a friend.

Dumbledore stayed too, a quirky spider rapidly re-spinning a network of friends and allies to help fight this new war with Voldemort. Remus, and Sirius Black—hidden in the form of a dog, of course—soon returned with Arabella Figg, Fletcher, Bill and Charley Weasley, and a bunch of other people Severus vaguely knew but had never been friends with. Dumbledore introduced him to them, and the other handful of people still in the castle, but Severus didn’t become a part of their little group. Instead, he started to spin his own web of informants, much slower than Albus since he had to figure out whom to trust and whom not to, but steadily. He never saw the key to the Hogwarts shields again, although in a few meetings where he’d been present the man had brought it up offhandedly as something protecting Hogwarts and had given both him and Remus significant looks. He just hoped that that didn’t mean he’d have to work with wolf-boy.

Then one morning Arthur showed up in the doorway of his classroom. “Er…” the man said, clearly unsure of how to address him. It was easy to see the wizard’s thoughts in his eyes; would it be Professor Snape, Mr. Snape, or Severus? Severus let him hang, ignoring the man until he reluctantly choose Professor Snape, even though it was obvious the man wasn’t in favor of saying that mouthful each time he addressed the Potions Master. “Professor Snape?”

Severus looked up from a potion he was making—a healing drought, to restock Pomfrey’s stores—and nearly laughed at how much the man resembled his son Ron. “Yes, Mr. Weasley?” he said, his tone making clear that if what Arthur wanted to say wasn’t important than to go away.

“Albus said that perhaps we should start my training.”

Severus’s hand stopped stirring the potion. “Really.” He thought a moment. “Did he say anything else?”

“Just to concentrate on self defense and muggle society.” Arthur looked happier when he said the last. “I know quite a bit about muggles already,” he added, enthusiastic only as a man who suddenly has a chance to blabber away on his hobby could be.

“Spiffing,” Severus said dryly. “You can go call Mother Janslaw’s then and make sure there’s muggle clothing in our size.”

“Call?”

“By telephone.”

“Ahhhh! I’ve used a fellytone—“

“Telephone!”

“What?”

“It’s telephone, not fellytone, Mr. Weasley,” Severus said as if to a student. Good grief—this man was an amateur, wasn’t he?

“I’ve used one once—“

“Once?”

“To call Harry, with Ron. I’d say it was a success, except that we lost the connection somehow.”

Severus snorted, guessing he’d probably been hung up on. “Never mind then.”

“Couldn’t we just—“

“No, no magic. I’ll teach you how to use a telephone.”

“I know how—“

“Go sit down.”

“I’m not your student, Professor Snape.” The man was starting to get angry. Good—Severus had the urge to dump him in his cauldron. At least he wasn’t the only one feeling surly.

“Then why did the Headmaster send you here to learn from me?” Severus said rationally, giving his potion a few last stirs and then removing it from the fire as it turned a healthy green.

The man didn’t answer, and Severus looked up to meet a level, if ticked, gaze. “I know I’m not the brightest light in some things, Mr. Snape, but I’d appreciate it if you treated me as a human being. I don’t need your attitude.”

“I’m not going to let you get me killed.”

“Who said I would?”