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Severus swept into his N.E.W.T.-level double period with his usual, suffer-no-fools efficiency. His satchel thudded onto his desk as he turned to face the class. Because the volatility of the more advanced N.E.W.T.-level brews had the potential to level a classroom, Severus opened each and every one of these lessons with his trademark the perils of idiocy preamble.
Today, however, in lieu of his usual speech, something horrifyingly cheerful unexpectedly tumbled out of his mouth:
“Good afternoon, my clever little stars!”
Two Gryffindors in the front immediately looked up, slack-jawed. A Slytherin one row back made a small, wounded sound, and dropped his quill.
Severus went still, his hand flying up to his throat.
After a long moment, he tried again: “I bet your creativity is positively bubbling today, and I can’t wait to—”
He cut himself off, panic visibly moving across his face.
Thea Rosier, a seventh-year Hufflepuff, emboldened by the fact that the world was plainly about to end, bravely ventured, “Headmaster…are you feeling all right?”
He looked at her blankly for a long moment.
Thea was a sweet girl, but he still felt he needed to shut down her mother-henning with a customary it is no concern of yours.
What his mouth produced instead, though, was: “I just love to see that kind of big-hearted classroom citizenship, Ms. Rosier.”
Someone in the back of the classroom sobbed, and rasped out: “What’s happened to him?”
Severus closed his eyes, inhaled slowly through his nose, then cleared his throat.
Bracing himself for whatever his mouth’s next comment might be, he opened his eyes and very carefully tried again: “Everyone, please pick your Potions Buddies, and let’s all find that extra-special magic that lives inside of us, and all make some sparkly science, together.”
Severus’s body, at least, still behaved like itself. He prowled between the students’ cauldrons, his hands clasped behind his back.
He paused beside Kiran Patel, a Ravenclaw who had gone completely still over his sopophorous bean.
That bean will not cut itself, Mr. Patel, is what Severus’s brain wanted to say, but his mouth, of course, substituted with: “I super-duper-believe in that big, magnificent, problem-solving brain of yours, Mr. Patel.”
In response to this, Mr. Patel’s hand jerked so violently that his bean ended up shooting clear across the room.
And, of course, things only got worse from there.
When Benjamin Abbott, a Gryffindor, misread a measurement, Severus’s mouth decided to swap out his usual you sloppy dullard standard with: “Your mistake is such a big, beautiful rainbow, and will only help all of our brains grow up to be even more sparkly and strong than before.”
When Kiran Mottlebottle knocked his scale to the floor, Severus’s mouth replaced his customary try not to be an imbecile with: “Remember, Mr. Mottlebottle: today’s accidents are just tomorrow’s successes, dressed up in Silly Shoes.”
And then there was Thea, who simply would not be put off.
When he rounded her station, she looked up at him with wide-eyed concern and said: “Sir, I really think we should go fetch Madam Pomfrey.”
Severus could at least rely on his head to accurately deliver a firm, unmistakable shake of no.
“You might’ve been poisoned, you know,” she persisted, staring at him intensely.
Feeling more than a little exhausted at this point, Severus decided to surrender to his fatalistic mood, and opened his mouth simply to find out what what fresh horror might spill out of it next:
“Let’s all just take this moment, Ms. Rosier, to properly hydrate, and practice a little mindfulness and self-care.”
Thea’s mouth was pressed into a thin, worried line.
Blindly, Severus finished up with: “And just really, really believe in ourselves, okay?”
Tightly gripping the edge of his desk, and with his jaw madly ticking, Severus ended class with: “I want you all to finish strong, my little potion pumpkins! Please make sure to turn in your magical masterpieces to me!”
As the class filed out, he realized he needed to remind them about the material they needed to review for next week’s class, and said: “Remember to channel all your brew-tiful brilliance into revising Chapter 14 for next week, my little potion pop-stars!”
Two students were openly crying as they set their vials on his desk.
“You’re all CAULDRON-RIFIC!” he tried to reassure them.
Hermione sat at the long table in the staff room, one ankle crossed neatly over the other.
Cheek propped on fist, biro in hand (Muggles clearly won that contest), she was chipping away at the stack of essays beside her needing marking. Minerva sat beside her, tackling much the same.
Suddenly, the staff room door flew open with enough force to rattle all the British porcelain-y tea things in the room.
Predictably, everyone turned in the direction of the noise.
And there stood Severus, filling the doorway, his face positively thunderous. His eyes found Hermione’s, and immediately narrowed into menacing little slits.
“YOU.”
Minerva let out a weary sigh, pinched the bridge of her nose, and set her quill aside.
“Me?” Hermione let out a half laugh, one hand coming up to her chest to gesture to herself.
“Yes, you,” Severus spit out through clenched teeth.
“I require an extra-special private heart-to-heart with you, you delightful human being,” he hissed. In stark contrast to his words, his tone promised some kind of truly terrible consequence.
Hermione’s eyes widened, and she looked over at Minerva. Minerva merely rolled her eyes, truly not having any of this.
Filius’s face, however, broke into a huge grin and he clapped his hands.
“Oh, I have absolutely no idea what any of this is about, but it is magnificent.”
“Filius,” Minerva’s attempt at correction sounded almost whiney in tone, and it was truly so half-hearted and lacking conviction that it hardly counted.
Severus started his slow stalk across the room, towards Hermione, his shoulders squared, and each step menacingly paced.
“You’re just the brightest, shiniest, sparkliest little star in the whole wide world, aren’t you?” he meted out each saccharine syllable with icy precision.
Hermione’s mouth fell open, and then she had to look away for a second.
“Good Gods,” she laughed as she turned back. “That’s just horrible.”
“What is horrible, you luminous blossom of pedagogical radiance?” Severus hissed.
“Well, you sound like you’re twelve, for one thing,” she laughed.
Severus had finally reached the opposite side of the same table she was seated at, nothing in his face softened. He planted both his hands on the tabletop and leaned in.
Hermione looked up at him.
For a very long moment he did not move or say anything, and it very much felt as though he was only one ill-chosen adjective away from flipping the table.
Finally, leaning in a shade closer, he bit out: “And I wonder what audaciously clever, truly magical, once-in-a-lifetime little miracle of life is responsible for that, hmm?”
There was a pause.
“Little miracle?” Hermione lifted a brow.
He closed his eyes in annoyance.
“Yes. Little. Tiny. And yet somehow bursting with endless kindness and sunshine-fuel and helper-hero hustle.”
She bit back a grin.
“And please let me assure you—in the most encouraging words imaginable—that your extra awesome and unstoppable commitment to making all of our lives extra, extra awesome—mine especially, it seems—is just so very, very…galvanising.”
Hermione’s lips twitched. “Well, it’s always a pleasure to galvanise you, sir.”
At this, a small prickle of alarm finally landed in Minerva’s chest. Her eyes moved from Severus’s face to Hermione’s, and back again.
“Forgive me, Severus,” Minerva cut in, flattening her hands on the tabletop. “But are you hreatening Hermione, trying to seduce her, or is this something else entirely?”
Severus’s eyes snapped to Minerva’s, as though he’d only just realized she occupied the same room as him.
“Because if this is a seduction attempt, Severus,” she continued, “I must advise you to retire whatever defective thesaurus you’ve been using, as well as that dreadful murder-voice thing you’re doing. Even with Hermione’s considerable eccentricities, that is likely still a bridge too far. And if, instead, you are threatening Hermione, still toss that dreadful thesaurus. It’s not doing you any favors, either way.”
Severus’s jaw clenched. “What marvelous theories, Minerva,” he said. “But no—I’m simply here to express my profound gratitude to Professor Granger for the bright and sparkling gift she made of my afternoon today. She used her astonishing, super-duper talents to transform my ordinary N.E.W.T. lesson into a radiant rainbow celebration of sunshine and self-improvement and self-esteem.”
Minerva frowned. “Okay then—so to be absolutely clear—this is not a seduction attempt.”
Severus shook his head.
Minerva narrowed her eyes at him. “Because I’ll remind you, Severus, that if you end up categorizing whatever this is—” and she made a vague circling motion at him “—as some sort of professional grievance, that paperwork will belong to you alone. I won’t touch a line of it.”
Severus made another quick nod of acknowledgement.
He turned back to Hermione and leaned in on both hands.
“Professor Granger, you absolutely radiant pillar of instructional charm,” he growled, “while my students’ morale now soars on the wings of your sparkling initiative and ingenuity, would you be so wonderfully considerate as to remove this charming upgrade to my communication style? I would be eternally grateful to you for the restoration of my—”
It was at that moment that the staff room door suddenly burst open behind him.
Harry hustled through, looking down at a sheet of parchment, his robes and hair in its usual disarray.
“Minerva, I’m so sorry to just burst in like this, but—” but as Harry looked up and saw every single head turned in his direction, he broke off mid-sentence.
Severus shut his eyes.
Hermione’s expression, on the other hand, brightened with a kind of malicious, predatory cheer. “Harry. What perfect timing.”
Harry’s gaze ping-ponged from Hermione to Severus, then back to Minerva.
Severus’s hands remained flat on the table.
“Er… am I interrupting something?” Harry said.
Yes, Severus’s brain attempted to say.
But, of course, what actually came out instead was: “Harry, you marvelously earnest young man. What a delight to see you.”
Harry froze. “I beg your pardon?” Harry spluttered out, turning to Hermione in naked alarm.
“Hermione,” Harry blinked. “Is he all right?”
Hermione lifted one shoulder. “Well—he’s having a bit of a difficult afternoon, actually.”
“Yes,” Severus hissed. “And all because this exceptionally accomplished, quietly indomitable engine of warmth has turned my whole afternoon into a super-nova of sunshine, gratitude, and rainbows.”
Harry gaped at Hermione. “You did this?”
“Might’ve,” she replied with a shrug.
Severus rolled his eyes.
What do you want now? Severus’s brain tried to snarl.
What emerged instead: “Harry, you radiant young stalwart, what happy twist of fate brings us your heart-warming sincerity and scruffily heroic energy today?”
A short, terrible silence followed.
“I think,” said Harry, very slowly, “I’d much rather be shouted at.”
“I would also much rather you be shouted at,” Minerva agreed.
Severus’s brain tried for I already have a migraine, Potter, so kindly piss off before you make it even worse.
Instead his mouth produced: “You beacon of plucky perseverance. Please—run along so you can continue being a splendid example of gutsy leadership, to all.”
Filius had removed his spectacles long prior, but was now wiping tears from his eyes.
“Right,” Harry said faintly. “Clearly I’ve walked into something much stranger than I thought.”
Severus’s brain intended: Then fuck off already, you Potter-haired fuck-face.
But Severus’s mouth supplied: “You’re always so committed to doing your best when finally cornered. And—might I add—your hair remains such a wonderfully spirited celebration of your individuality.”
Harry backed towards the door. “And I think I’m going to leave and let all of you sort out whatever—” he made a vague gesture, “—this is. Yourselves.”
I don't see anyone objecting to your departure, so why are you still here? Severus’s brain tried.
His mouth chirped: “Keep believing in yourself, Harry! Gold stars, all around!”
Harry nearly walked into the doorframe on his way out.
When Harry left, Severus immediately turned back to Hermione and hissed out: “Professor Granger, that extra-special heart-to-heart I asked about earlier? Might I rely on your legendary spirit of cooperation?”
Hermione’s eyes lit up. “An extra-special heart-to-heart, you say?”
“Yes,” he ground out.
Hermione rose from her chair and began to gather her possessions to put them in her bag.
“Oh, Headmaster, I’d really love to, but the thing is—I’m almost late to class. Of course, I’m available immediately after my class. For that extra-special heart-to-heart,” she taunted.
She had, in the meantime, circled around the table, and was now standing directly in front of him. He did not step back to make any room for her.
“Very well,” he said. “Please bring your sparkling self to my office the moment you’ve finished inspiring the next generation with your unbelievably magnificent magic.”
Severus had decided to return to his office to catch up on some marking while killing time until Granger finished her class, and she could finally lift her blasted rah-rah-rainbows glitter-up-your-arse sunshine-straightjacket jinx. Upon getting to his office, though, he found Thea Rosier, the same Hufflepuff who had urged him earlier to visit Madam Pomfrey in his N.E.W.T.-level class, sitting outside his door. Her homework was spread across her lap.
“Miss Rosier?” he said.
She startled and looked up, surprised.
“Oh! Headmaster…there you are. I just wanted to—” she paused, sweeping her gaze down the length of his body, head to toe, in a brisk, unapologetically motherly appraisal. On finishing, she met his own gaze, apparently satisfied he wasn’t at death’s door.
“I just wanted to check and make sure, sir, that you’re not dying, or dead yet,” she concluded.
Severus sighed.
Thea was a Hufflepuff through and through, and her mother-henning instincts were so strong and unyielding that Severus could easily imagine a scenario in which the girl might corner Shacklebolt in some Ministry corridor, quiz him about the frequency and texture of his BMs, and then unapologetically lecture him into finally adopting a stone-fruit regimen if he was actually serious about addressing his chronic backlog problem.
Severus realized that if he wished to quiet Thea’s unrelenting if well-intentioned concern-clucking, he would have to provide her with a far sturdier explanation than he had this morning.
And, Godsdammit, his tongue still remained unreliable.
He opened the door, motioned Thea into his office, directing her to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk. He crossed over to his desk for a blank sheet of parchment, and returned to take the seat beside her. His quill hovered over the parchment for a moment, and then bent over to scratch out the words professor granger in firm, disapproving strokes. He held the page up so Thea could read it, tapped on the name, and nodded to see if she was following so far.
He was going to launch into the more extended explanation when he noticed that, upon seeing Granger’s name, Thea’s worried look instantly vanished, replaced instead with a conspiratorial, knowing sort of ohhh grin.
“Ah. Right. Professor Granger,” the girl smirked at him. “Got it. That makes total sense, sir.”
And then Thea made to stand, somehow apparently satisfied with that paltry explanation.
Severus was shocked and, frankly, unnerved by how quickly Thea had accepted the professor granger scribbling as a somehow complete and satisfactory explanation for the whole mess of this morning—no additional context demanded from her, no follow-up questions asked.
“That makes total sense, sir,” the girl had said.
Sense? Exactly what kind of sense did that make?
How, precisely, did that add up to anything?
What kind of invented data points and imaginary anecdotes and back-of-the-napkin maths was this girl relying on to find his anemic explanation of professor granger in any way sufficient?
This was, after all, a girl who could fretfully out-cluck even a caffeine-and-cocaine-supercharged Molly Weasley.
He put a hand out to halt Thea’s retreat, then tapped on Hermione’s name, and shrugged. A clear invitation for Thea to elaborate further.
“Oh,” Thea said, then pausing for a beat. “Well. I suppose it’s just that—we’ve all just noticed she’s rather fond of you, sir.”
Severus’s expression screwed up in a silent What are you on about, you lunatic?
“Oh, c’mon, Headmaster,” Thea scoffed gently. “You must have noticed.”
He answered her with an emphatic no shake of his head.
Thea seemed skeptical of this claim, but after considering him for a very long moment, she said: “Well, you know how she’s always turning down all those guys who ask her out?”
Severus had no idea how to process any part of that sentence.
Somehow, he found himself scratching out the word GUYS? on the parchment.
Thea blinked at him. “Well, yeah,” she said, frowning at him. “Lots of them. I mean, she’s, like, constantly being asked out, you know.”
Thea looked at him like he was particularly slow. “I mean, sir—she’s awesome, and smart, and pretty, and funny, and just so nice, but not boring nice, and just—”
Thea cut herself off when she saw the sudden wide-eyed panic in Severus’s eyes, and his brows knitted in alarm.
Before he could even recognize the impulse, Severus scratched out, in block capitals: REALLY? He then tapped his finger against the parchment, looking utterly alarmed.
Thea looked confused. “Really, as in her being such a hot commodity?”
Severus shook his head.
Thea grinned. “Oh yeah. Really. Really-really. I mean—no offense, sir—but I am not alone in her being my favorite professor, if you know what I mean. But like, but in a different way for the guys. Like, Auror Dawlish, for example? He still shows up in Hogsmeade every weekend with daisies just on the off chance she might be on duty there that weekend. And then Governor Brassington—ever notice how he always manages to wrangle a spot on the monthly inspection team? Well, he’s sent her those pricey gala tickets for two years running, even after she’s already politely refused him multiple times. And then Professor Sharma—” Thea paused to give Severus a mildly judgemental look, “—no offence, sir, but that was one pretty crummy hire—anyway, he keeps doing that dumb ‘accidentally’ reserving her favourite library carrel, as if that is somehow going to charm her, rather than just tick her off.”
Thea rolled her eyes at the abstract incurable hopelessness of the male gender.
Severus looked positively horrified. His quill hovered for a moment, then he gave into his impulse once more and scratched out in an uncharacteristically large, unsteady hand: AND HAS SHE?
Thea frowned. “Has she what, sir?”
He scratched out again: GONE OUT WITH ANY OF THEM?!?
Thea’s face split into a huge grin.
“Oh, no, sir—not even once,” she whispered, clearly delighted to have the honor of briefing half of Hogwarts’ favourite speculative couple. “She always just smiles sweetly, and sends them on their way with her standard, matter-of-fact ‘Thank you, but no.’”
Severus’s shoulders visibly eased, but he still looked somewhat stricken.
“But, sir,” Thea leaned in, offering in a conspiratorial whisper, “you do realise that she only ever plots against you?”
Severus could feel his cheeks color, and a flush climbing up his neck. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“She always saves allllllll of her plotting energy, for you. Always.”
Severus sighed. Thea continued to study him in silence.
Finally, she said: “Look, sir—I don’t want to be presumptuous here, but I’m pretty sure you’ve also got it pretty bad for her, and so I don’t really get what your holdup seems to be.”
After a moment, he shrugged helplessly.
She grinned and said: “Maybe it’s just a case of you needing to listen to your own the perils of idiocy speech? You know, the one you always give us before class?”
She cocked a challenging eyebrow at him.
Severus shot her a frosty, offended look, but she just met it with an unblinking and precociously challenging Really? until, after a long beat, his expression eventually wilted into one of reluctant and embarrassed concession.
Thea raised a hand to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly, encouragingly.
“You know, sir, most of us Hufflepuffs, and all of the Ravenclaws—we all totally ship the two of you,” she said, her grin widening. “Me included.”
Severus looked equal parts mortified and, perhaps, a teeny tiny little bit pleased.
After another moment of studying his face again, she asked: “So you’re all right, then, sir? Not dying after all, I mean?"
He shook his head.
And then she fixed him a stern look, adding: "And—going forward—you're going to stop acting like a big, fat idiot, right?”
He rolled his eyes at her, but then gave her a stiff nod.
She grinned. “That is very good to hear, sir."
He pointed at the door and made a gentle shooing motion towards it.
She smiled, gathered her books, and then practically skipped out of his office, humming the bridal march under her breath.