The Auspice of Mars

She and Persephone had reached a wary truce with Professor Snape over the month they had been at Hogwarts: the kneazle would sit in Zahirah's lap at meals and Snape would ignore them both. She had no doubt that Snape had first lobbied for the changing of the seating arrangement all together. She had made some discrete inquiries into the matter herself and found that the current set up had been determined by Hagrid's being the only person on the faculty willing to sit next to Snape, so certainly no one would be willing to trade with her. It really suited her just fine as long as he tolerated Persephone. Having the seat next to Professor Snape, who sat on the end of the table, meant that she only had to discourage one conversation partner. She had managed to get through an entire month without having to make polite small talk with Professor Sprout more than twice. The cheerful woman just learned to disregard Zahirah and Snape and consider Professor Vector as her only conversation partner. Zahirah wasn't by nature antisocial, but she saw little need for small talk, and even less for forming relationships with colleagues she'd only be working with for ten months. So, she remained aloof and was pleased that Professor Snape did the same and that Professor Sprout practically ignored her.

Unfortunately, Persephone didn't share the sentiment. Zahirah honestly couldn't tell if the kneazle liked the dour Professor Snape or if she just enjoyed bothering him. It was odd that the spotted feline paid him any attention, especially positive attention, with all the rumors she heard about him.

"Professor Zahir, I have asked you repeatedly to control that creature of yours--" Zahirah groaned inwardly as the much put out voice of Professor Snape interrupted her meal, which, until then, had been pleasantly undisturbed. "You can not be the expert the Ministry seems to believe you are if you can't control your own pet."

"Have you ever tried to control a feline, Professor Snape?" she asked, allowing a hint of humor to creep into her voice. Persephone had slipped a paw over onto Snape's lap and was looking up at him and purring loudly. Snape was looking at the kneazle like she was a disease.

"What gives you the idea that I would waste my valuable time with a cat?" The Snape-sneer accompanied the meant-to-be rhetorical question.

"Have you considered having interests outside of your job?" The comment was meant to be wry, but came out sounding amusedly friendly, and she knew her lips were turned up at the corners--damn that mouth. The warmth wasn't for him, but for the kneazle who had moved over entirely into Snape's lap and was nuzzling his arm and continuing to purr. Snape had stopped trying to eat entirely, and so had she--they were both staring at the kneazle in Snape's lap, half-turned towards each other, she with a look of fond amusement, he with a look of horror. "And she likes you, Professor, or has that happened so infrequently that you don't recognize the signs?" She had regained her bitingly neutral voice by that point and hoped that the friendly sound of earlier would be forgotten.

Snape glared at her and pushed Persephone away. Luckily the kneazle recovered quickly enough to keep her balance and to return to Zahirah's lap. Snape looked agitated and Persephone glared back, sneezing her indignation quietly at him. Zahirah turned away with a slight frown and they resumed their meal in blessed silence. She was going to have to have a long talk with Persephone this evening; many more scenes like that and she was going to loose her pleasantly unintrusive dinner companion.

Professor Snape was never a picnic to have a class under, but this Potions class was going to be absolute hell. Harry and his fellow Gryffindors shuffled nervously into the dark classroom all too aware of the mud they were tracking in and the animal odor hovering around them. The Slytherins watched from their seats with ill-contained glee, looking pristine and collected.

Harry didn't dare lift his eyes to look at Snape; he tried to be as unassuming as possible as he slid into his seat after Ron. He didn't have to work at being unnoticed for long, a loud clang drew the attention of the students and, unfortunately for Neville Longbottom, shaking above his dropped cauldron, the matte black eyes of Professor Snape.

"Longbottom," the Professor hissed his malevolent voice deceptively quiet. Harry thought that Moody's yelling last year had been less frightening, eye and all. Neville apparently agreed, because he squeaked and shook so much he knocked a--thankfully empty--beaker off of the table, too. Snape's expression didn't alter, as though he expected no better from Neville. "Will you please explain to me why you and your housemates have seen fit to bring your filth and stench into my classroom and disturb my lesson by straggling in late like a group of out of work squibs?"

Neville was sweating so much Harry imagined a giant magnifying glass focusing the heat of the sun on him. He flinched noticeably, even through his shaking, at the word _squib_. It took the boy four tries to get a word out, and Neville wasn't usually a stutterer, "P--Pr--Pro--Professor Zahir," Neville's voice squeaked on the 'i' sound, "made us clean out the stables, Sir." he gulped and kept his eyes on his shaking hands.

"You have Care of Magical Creatures with Slytherin; do you not, Mister Longbottom?" Snape was so calm Harry felt like holding his breath and waiting for the other shoe to plummet.

Neville nodded.

"I will assume that was an affirmative nod and not just your pathetic quivering, Longbottom. Ten points from Gryffindor for tardiness," Snape turned back towards his desk adding, "and as the Slytherins managed to arrive on time and clean, that is ten points for each of you."

Harry felt ill--eighty points from Gryffindor would give Slytherin the advantage going into their first Quiddich game next week. He refused to turn and look at the gloating he knew Draco Malfoy and his cronies were doing. He just started pulling out his potions supplies dejectedly.

"Potter!" Snape's voice came as a complete and unwelcome shock--like the helpless dread of realizing you've slept through an exam. He had thought that their scolding was over, punishment meted out. "What is that?" Snape didn't need to point: his nose did it for him. Harry looked down. Professor Zahir's kneazle was at his feet looking adoringly up at Snape. Harry thought the creature must be genetically off--weren't kneazles supposed to avoid dark wizards? It didn't take Harry long to notice the note fastened about the feline's neck. He reached for it, but the kneazle chose that moment to lazily rise and make her way over to Snape.

"He has a note, Sir," Harry said, feeling rather like tongue-tied Neville for stating the obvious.

Why couldn't that woman get a bloody owl like everyone else in the bloody wizarding world? Why did she have to send this fur ball into his sacrosanct classroom to disturb the lessons he strove to finish as quickly as possible? Snape's displeasure at seeing the animal approaching him colored his sneering response to Harry, "I can see that, Potter, thank you, if I ever need play-by-play announcing for class disturbances, I will be sure to send you an owl with an official notice." He didn't even see Potter's rebellious look or Weasley's furious one because he was bending down to take the note from Persephone. "Oh, and by the way Potter, I will be informing Professor Zahir that you can not even correctly identify the gender of her companion. Full marks for that blunder, don't you agree, Mister Malfoy?"

Snape largely ignored Draco's pompous, self-serving reply as he gave the kneazle a light pat and a scratch behind the ears before taking the note. Persephone wrapped around his ankles and purred while he read:

Professor Snape,

Forgive me for keeping the Gryffindors too late-- they

were learning the consequences of approaching an unknown

animal too quickly. I have at least Dean Thomas and

Seamus Finnegan for detention tonight, so you will have

to wait your turn.

Z. Zahir

Very interesting--the foolhardy were Gryffindors finally being held accountable for their idiocy. Too much of his valuable time had been wasted on it already, and he still had to get through the day's syllabus. Snape folded the note and placed it in his robes as he instructed the incompetents through the initial steps of a thawing potion.

Every once in awhile he felt a soft touch against his ankles as he stalked about the room and lurked over the shoulders of the damnably irrepressible Gryffindors and subtly directing the nearly equally as useless Slytherins. He ignored the sensation throughout the lesson, and snarled, "Get out," to the students before bending to touch the kneazle at his feet.

He looked curiously at Professor Zahir's companion--Persephone, she called the kneazle. Severus had never had a pet before; his father had considered them frivolous wastes of time and money, aside from his precious hunting hounds and horses. After he had gotten older, he had never particularly been inclined to get one, as most small creatures tended to be afraid of him, or to end up in jars of formaldehyde. This one, though, against all reason, seemed to be fond of him, and unfortunately, preserving Persephone in a jar was out of the question. It was only when she mewed because he had stopped that he realized he'd been petting her at all.

Severus jerked his hand away as if he'd touched a hot cauldron. Pets were for those who needed the reassuring love that stupid animals give to anyone who feed them. Severus didn't need reassurances from anything, and he certainly didn't need love. His face assumed its normal scornful look at the thought of needing love from an animal.

The sneer was in place during his brief journey to Professor Zahir's rooms. The creature had refused to leave his classroom, so he was glad he met no one on the way--sneer or no, he was unsure if a man carrying a purring kneazle could really be imposing. Reminded of that, he placed Persephone on the floor before rapping insistently on Professor Zahir's door.

He was the last person Zahirah expected to find when she answered that insistent knock. "Are you lost?" she asked snippily with her robe pulled tightly around her.

His unpleasant expression was enhanced by a scornful look, "I am not the one that is lost, Professor Zahir," she frowned even more deeply until he continued, "your creature made a nuisance of herself in my class--I came to dispose of her and remind you again that pets are not allowed if they cause a disturbance."

It was only then that Zahirah noticed Persephone peering from behind his black robes. "There she is," her voice full of delight in spite of her effort to keep it even, "I was afraid she'd wandered into the Forbidden Forest without me!"

It was all Snape could do to keep from shaking her, as charming as her delighted look was. He was trying to make a point, a point he had assumed she would understand, having shown every indication of being a reasonable human being--except, he should have remembered, when it came to her kneazle. "Professor Zahir," he said sharply, "she did wander into my Forbidden classroom. Next time you see fit to send me a message, do so by owl like the rest of the wizarding world."

She wasn't listening. He could tell she wasn't listening because she was down at his feet swooping Persephone into her arms. "Woman," he snapped, "I am a professor at this school, and as such, I deserve your respect and attention."

Zahirah looked up from where she had pressed her face into the spotted fur--Professor Snape's face was turning red with frustration. She hid her small smile behind Persephone. So the man could be gotten to. When his words registered, her smile disappeared and she drew herself up to her full height, shifting her arms so that Persephone climbed up and draped herself over her shoulders.

"And I am also a professor at this school and a Division head at the Ministry of Magic, not an errant student for you to reprimand. You can be assured that Persephone does not seek you out because I ask her to. You, as is your habit, have ignored the fact that Persephone is not a pet but my companion and as such is not subject to my every whim.

"You have somehow made her your friend, a credential I doubt many people would believe. Don't blame me if she seeks you out." She had assumed her centaur-like calm for the entire speech, letting her indignation show only in the cool depths of her eyes. It was a calm she only assumed, a calm she wore like a mask. Even anger is a passion, something that will be held on to after someone is gone, and she has no intention of attaching herself to anyone she'll be around only for a few months, however that attachment is made.

"Than, Professor," how does he manage to make an insult out of the title? "don't blame me for throwing her out of my classroom next time."

The look Persephone gave him was undeniably a hurt one, a look that quickly turned to haughty disdain. "Next time," Zahirah said, reaching up to comfort the kneazle, "try it." She was torn between amusement and anger, and so before she gave way to both, she shut the door in his sneering, hook-nosed face.

Thereafter, a complete lack of communication was the rule at their end of the top table. Severus stared morosely ahead as he ate his food like an automaton, and Professor Zahir only murmured little endearments to Persephone on her lap. The murmurs were unintelligible, however, and he found that more maddening than silence--the woman next to him refused to speak to anyone on either side of her, and the before-friendly kneazle ignored him utterly. It was damn near oppressive, even for a man who spent his adult life in self-imposed solitary confinement.

The hatred of students he had borne with little notice. He was well aware that the Wizarding World viewed him as a shady figure at the very best and that he was likely even still considered a possible Death Eater by many of the Ministry's officials. Severus had known isolation and disapproval and dislike, but even he was finding it hard to deal with the passive-aggressive scorn of a cat, at least, not for long.

It had hardly been a week since he offended the creature and here he was cutting the tiniest bit of meat from his prime rib with the intention of a peace offering. The truth was, he'd missed Persephone's pestering at mealtimes and occasionally feeling her rub against his boots as he walked along the corridors or sat in his office--it was a small pleasure, but surely even he deserved a small pleasure every once in awhile?

If he had been a religious man, he would have prayed Professor Zahir would keep her gaze fixed on whatever it was to her right that interested her. As he was not, he could merely hope while he held out the bit of meat in his two fingers. He was rewarded with the rough rasp of tongue against the tips of his finger and thumb and a deep purr of approval.

Persephone's sudden purr surprised Zahirah enough that she turned to look at the kneazle and caught a glimpse of an elegant, long fingered hand being drawn away in a rush. Her gaze traveled the length of the hand, up the arm, to confirm that, yes, it was firmly attached to the body of Professor Severus 'Cold-hearted Bastard Extraordinaire' Snape. Oh, he didn't appear to have moved from his normal position: back straight, eyes forward, with his free hand politely in his lap--but she thought she saw the ghost of a smile on his thin lips. She had unmistakably seen him move away from Persephone, and that combined with the kneazle's sudden fit of contentment...

"Did you just feed Persephone?" she asked, unable to keep the amusement from enriching her voice, unable to keep from asking the question. Persephone purred more loudly than ever.

Snape barely turned his head enough to look at the pair of them, even the memory of the smile gone from his angled face. Zahirah had grown used to his various scowls and sneers and so managed not to flinch at the hard look of hatred in his black eyes. "You seem to have forgotten to whom you are speaking, Professor Zahir." His voice was even colder than usual. She couldn't keep the smirk from her lips.

"Defensive, Professor Snape?" That really got him: he turned his face to the front again and glowered silently as if to say her query wasn't plausible enough to deserve a response. Zahirah chuckled quietly to herself and gave Persephone a choice bit of meat for providing the amusement.

The kneazle didn't refuse her gift, but didn't stay in her lap, either, apparently preferring the lap of one Professor Snape. Persephone hopped into the man's black-clad lap without interrupting her purr and proceeded to settle down with her long tail trailing off of his thigh.

A quick glance at the students made Zahirah believe that none of them noticed the feline face above Snape's plate. Professor Sprout, however, was looking a them in undisguised shock--their quiet, if biting, exchange must have caught her attention and now the sight of Snape with a kneazle in his lap kept it. Zahirah barely stifled the laugh that threatened to bubble over when Professor Sprout gasped because not only was Snape holding the kneazle, but he was also feeding it from his fingers.

Unsure if she could hold her tongue or her amusement if any of the others asked her or Snape about it, Zahirah thought a safe retreat was the best option. With a last look at the content Persephone, she pushed her chair back, folded her napkin, and left the table, sure the kneazle was in good hands with Snape.