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Severus slammed the door to his dungeon classroom, nearly trapping the hem of the last Hufflepuff student who was scurrying out. The boy squeaked in alarm and pattered off after his classmates.
With his teeth gritted and his patience already hanging by a thread, Severus took long strides, heading up the stone stairs to the higher levels.
He hated hurrying. He hated administrative nonsense. So how had he got wrapped up into planning this guest lecturer evening? He loathed himself for not having found a way out of this task, which now had him rushing from his fourth-year lesson to meet Sybill, of all people.
Focus, just get through it. Severus had less than forty minutes to rush up the fifteen floors to the Divination Tower, make arrangements, and return to the dungeon for NEWT lessons. Severus took care to moderate his breathing as he strode—not jogged, strode—briskly up the stairs.
As Severus reached the hall with the moving staircases which would whisk him up seven floors... he halted.
There were no stairs. Instead, swirling stone slides twisted above the heads of a crowd of grumbling students.
Severus swore under his breath. He would terrorise Sybill, if he ever made it up there. In a moment of rare inattention he had folded under the pressure of Sybill's whining—something about a sore hip—and agreed he'd meet her in her classroom. Now here he was, struggling his way to her tower like an errand boy.
From the corner of his eye, Severus caught sight of Minerva's tartan robe. She was stooped over speaking to someone. He snarled at some children to make way, and with a billow of intimidating fabric, he swooped to her side.
"Professor McGonagall," he snapped in greeting. Minerva and Filius both turned, concern etched in the set of her mouth and the furrow of his brows. "Professor Flitwick," Severus acknowledged.
"It's mayhem," McGonagall said with a sigh, gesturing to the stairs. "It seems they've gone on strike again."
"This is the second time in three years," Filius added, arms crossed.
Severus's blood pressure was surely spiking. "What have you tried so far?"
Minerva shook her head. "All the usual charms to convince it, and we sent Rolanda up with a broom to look around."
Filius added, "Our best guess was that it was keeping the students away from something dangerous, but we've been over the whole area and come up empty."
Severus thought he knew the answer, but regardless, he asked, "Dumbledore?"
Minerva and Filius both looked at each other. "You know how he's been since the victory," Minerva said, the usual crispness of her voice turned threadbare.
Severus did know. It was... not a change for the worse, if Snape was pressed to comment. But the Albus Dumbledore who had marshalled a war effort, who had administered Hogwarts with an iron fist in a velvet glove—that man had gone soft. Frayed and loose as an over-worn pair of trousers. Nowadays, Albus kept himself tucked in various corners of the castle, tinkering, reading novels, sipping tea.
Filius fiddled with his cuffs and darted a watchful eye at a nearby huddle of his Ravenclaws. "The castle hasn't been the same since the post-battle restoration, either. I'm not sure if that's because its Headmaster is basically checked out, or it's gotten a big head from all the beautification and attention."
There was a clattering, and a nearby window burst open. A few students screeched at the sudden rush of chilling wind and snow, and Filius in particular was hit with a frosty blast that coated his eyebrows and moustache with frost. "I say!" he said, shaking his head and waving his wand to shut the window. "Uncalled for," he muttered to the high ceiling.
Severus was wasting time. "I must get to the Divination Tower in the next fifteen minutes."
The students around them were giving up on the idea of getting to class, and instead making nuisances of themselves by laughing and being insufferably social. Severus glowered. "Wouldn't it be best to have this rabble dispersed?"
Minerva pointed her wand at her throat, amplifying her voice. "Students, to the Great Hall while we sort out this mess." There was moaning and grumbling from the crowd about wanting to have a free period or return to their common rooms, but Minerva boomed, "Get a move on!"
"You might try that staircase near the Charms classroom. It connects up with a few other flights that might get you there quickly enough," Filius suggested.
Severus had hoped one of them had a cleverer idea up their sleeve. He nodded, and spinning with a swirl of black robe, Severus stalked away. Getting this upcoming speaker nonsense sorted out was of the utmost importance.
It was true that Severus rarely took a leisurely, scenic route to wherever he was off to, but how he detested running. His long legs were aching as he made turn after turn, heart thudding with the exertion.
"In a hurry, aren't you, old chap," said Sir Cadogan, who pulled alongside Severus riding his pony.
Severus didn't deign to reply. The daubed knight proceeded to follow Severus through the portraits along the corridor.
"Headed to my old haunt in the Divination Tower, did I hear? I say, this seems to be the wrong direction."
Severus stopped short and whipped his head around. No, this was the correct way; he'd been in this castle nigh on twenty-five years. "Don't distract me," he growled as he continued onwards.
Yet when he turned the next corner, the corridor had inexplicably led him to the Transfiguration Courtyard... the opposite direction of where he was heading. Severus swore aloud, and a portrait of a lady at a wash basin gasped. "Little ears!" she reminded him, wringing out a cloth and shaking her head.
Severus turned on his heel and tried another way. But as he headed into the next corridor, there was what could only be described as chaos.
The suits of living armour were—well, half of them appeared somewhat less alive than usual, their limbs and helmets scattered across the flagstones. The other half were cursing at each other in language so archaic that no one would have to worry about 'little ears'. "Thou clay-brained, pox-ridden gudgeon!" yelled one suit of armour in a tinny, highly offended tone.
Severus snarled in frustration. Sir Cadogan and his pony had caught up, peering out at the ruckus through a portrait of two terriers in bows. The terriers weren't happy to see the pony, growling and yipping.
"I say, I wouldn't risk that, young sir," Sir Cadogan said, whistling over the clanging of metal. "They do this sometimes—somewhat of a civil war. It gets out their aggression. They haven't been the same since the Battle, you know."
Severus looked up at an ornate clock on the wall. It was one seventeen... if he arrived in the next ten or so minutes, he'd still have time to bark orders at that crystal ball fanatic and then zip back to the dungeons for his next lesson.
"You might have some luck through that abandoned classroom. I do believe there's a secret passageway in the professor's backroom," Sir Cadogan suggested, darting out of an oil painting before a metal shin guard smacked against it.
Huffing and pressing his nails into his palm, Severus wrenched the door open and darted inside, the door closing with a thud behind him.
The room was a classroom like any other, though the décor was outdated. Not that an ancient castle in the Highlands easily lent itself to looking outdated. But something about the brocade curtains, and the style of the armchairs made Severus wonder if the place had been used in the last century.
Pale sunlight had warmed the wooden floorboards more than one could expect on an overcast November day. There was a hush that brought a stillness to Severus despite his panic to get to the tower.
He couldn't linger, and the disuse of the classroom had him second-guessing Sir Cadogan's advice. It was unlikely that any secret passage would be useable. Severus spun to open the door and return to the corridors and stairways, but as he tried to turn the brass knob, it wouldn't budge.
"Let. Me. OUT." Severus snarled, tugging on it.
Behind him, there was a snick. Severus glanced over his shoulder. There was a glossy wooden door tucked beside the blackboard, beyond the professor's desk. It had cracked open, the glow of firelight welcoming.
Severus sighed with annoyance and hurried over, hoping that if the castle didn't want him to turn back, there must be a way forward.
When he pulled open the door, the room that should have been a professor's private office was a den of cushions and silks. It was a wonder the drapery around the stone fireplace hadn't caught fire—magic did do wonders.
At the centre of the carpet-strewn room, on a colourful divan of faded saffron velvet, lounged Albus.
"Hullo, Severus," he said mildly, eyes not leaving the page of a muggle paperback which was open on a cushion. He was propped on his elbow, lazily turning to the next page as he waited for Severus to reply. The pale purple of his robes matched cheerily with the sofa.
Severus did not say anything. His brow scrunched of its own accord. Severus flicked his wand, making curtains and drapery and tapestry of all colours flutter and billow, revealing wood panel or stone wall beneath. There had to be another door out.
"There's the floo, if you'd like to use it," Albus commented.
The floo! There were so few fireplaces connected to the network at the castle that Severus hadn't even thought of it as a possibility.
"Thank you," he gritted, and took one step into the room when Albus tutted.
"Ah ah ah. Please kindly remove your shoes. I've just had the carpets cleaned."
Severus wrenched his black leather boots from his feet and stumbled in. He caught his balance, only to trip on the edge of a carpet his next step—as he fell to his knees, he darted a look back and saw the rich red pile of it smooth itself flat again. This meddling castle!
"You could use a breather," Albus pointed out as he put a bookmark in his novel.
Severus glanced up from where he knelt on all fours and found Albus's face hovering less than three inches from his own. Rearing back onto his haunches, Severus's face warmed with embarrassment.
"If I don't meet Sybill this week, we won't have anything arranged for Professor Kendra Stirling," Severus hissed, annoyed at the panic in his voice. "And it's already..." he looked over at a grandfather clock draped with silks, and saw that it was... "One twelve?"
That was odd. He was sure...
"Tempus," Severus cast, and the time shimmering in the air also read one o'clock, twelve minutes.
Hogwarts had shown him that incorrect time intentionally! Severus was going to give the castle what-for, somehow. Maybe strip some banisters with a particularly caustic varnish remover...
"I didn't realise this task would be such a burden on you."
"Of course it's not," Severus retorted. "Sybill is simply being difficult, as usual. She hasn't made time for us to arrange a thing, and Stirling's focus is more on trances than trance-enhancing draughts..." He was whinging now, for Salazar's sake.
"Sybill will do as Sybill does. You two will pull it together. Tea?" A tea tray floated over from a table.
"Just let me use the floo." The adrenaline rush was beginning to leech from his muscles, making his shoulders sag.
"You've time for a quick cup. Don't worry, no tea leaf reading required." Albus handed him a delicate china teacup.
Severus hadn't bothered getting to his feet. Kneeling there on the plush carpet with cushions surrounding him, he sighed and accepted the tea. It was prepared just as he liked it—no milk or cream, a dash of lemon.
The warm mouthful cascaded through him. It might have been laced with calming draught, the effect was so immediate. Severus slumped, and in a tired daze, folded his lanky legs beneath himself, sitting cross-legged.
Albus was still horizontal as he stirred milk into his own cup.
Severus frowned. "Albus. Has word reached you about the moving staircases?"
"Hmm?" Albus tilted his head.
Severus had thought not. There weren't any portraits in this room—or if there were, they'd been covered by the lacy curtains, and likely abandoned. He'd have hoped Minerva would have had the sense to send a patronus, but it seemed she had not. Albus's inattention to matters regarding the school had been quite discouraging.
"The moving staircases have gone on strike again. Many classes have had to be postponed."
"Hmm," Albus hummed, not seeming in the least interested.
Severus glared at him. "If you do not mind my saying so, Albus—you have been extremely cavalier with your duties since the war ended."
Shrugging, Albus sipped his tea. "I'm retired."
"You most certainly are not."
Albus set his drink back on the tray, and rolled onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling. His legs hung off the end, pink and gold socks with a floral pattern dangling. "I am certainly trying to be retired, at any rate."
Severus gulped his tea too quickly in his irritation. "Perhaps you should officially resign from your post, then. I am sure Minerva would take up the helm."
"Not you?"
Severus nearly spat out his mouthful of Darjeeling. "Never again."
Albus folded his hands across his stomach. "You see, I did make an attempt to retire. I felt I had done my part, both for the magical community and for the school. But the castle seems to think the timing isn't right."
That gave Severus pause for consideration. "The castle won't let you leave?"
"It's not all as dramatic as that. I haven't had to braid my beard and cast it out a window to scale the wall and escape. But it has made it abundantly clear that I am to remain its master for a while longer."
"To what end?" Severus asked. He agreed with Albus—Albus had done his part.
Albus had done more than his part, made many sacrifices and asked others to sacrifice yet more. What right did the castle have to demand his continued service? Perhaps it was simply power hungry, and wasn't willing to easily relinquish hold of the most powerful wizard of the last five hundred years.
To Severus's surprise, Albus said, "I think it's concerned for me."
Severus stared. "Concerned? This meddling old lump?"
The few candles around the room flickered with annoyance.
Albus nodded. "Yes. It seems Hogwarts has always been interested in what the transition to retirement might mean for its masters."
Whether it was the dim, colourful den or the new thought of Albus's inability to step down from his post, Severus found his anxieties had gone quiet—his meeting with Sybill, the compulsion to be exactly on time, all of it. He didn't particularly give a damn if his next class was kept waiting. Half of them probably couldn't get there anyway, what with the stairs.
Severus set his drink aside and counted on his fingers. "You are a wizard of immense power. Your prominent positions have meant that your wealth has been secured for decades... you now have no known enemies, and a lauded reputation. Since the ring debacle in '95, your health has given no cause for concern." A suspicion brought a lump to his throat, and Severus quickly asked, "You are well, aren't you?"
"Oh yes, Severus, I'm fit as a fiddle. Thanks to you and Miss Granger, that nasty business with my cursed hand was resolved neatly enough. I do have a bit of a twitch in the thumb, but that's hardly much of an inconvenience."
Severus relaxed, and instead threw up his arms. "Then what does this infernal stack of stone have to be worried about? Healthy, wealthy, and successful! And it isn't as though you'd be left staring at the walls. You have no shortage of ways to occupy yourself—we all know how many hobbies you have on the go. What better time to retire?"
"That is true..." Albus murmured, blue eyes still on the ornately carved ceiling.
Severus pinched his brow. He couldn't think, sitting here like a lump. He stood, folded his hands behind his back, and did his best to pace the small room, stepping over the cushions and watching that he didn't get tripped by the carpets again.
"Have you consulted the other heads' portraits? Did any of them have a similar predicament?"
"Hm... I've been avoiding them."
Snape stopped and glowered at him. "Avoiding them? Aren't they intended to be your key council?"
"I am ashamed to admit that they were getting under my skin. Would you like a lemon sherbet?" Albus sat up and materialised a tin of sweets from thin air, clicking open the lid.
Snape graduated from pinching his brow to rubbing at a temple. "Albus..."
"Severus," Albus echoed, with a twinkle.
Snape was always a little weak for the way the man said his given name. He rallied his sternness.
"Albus. Appease the castle and its portraits somehow, get the place under control again, then make your leave of this wretched place. God knows I should have done the same. No idea how you and Minerva talked me back here..."
Albus didn't immediately reply. He was diligently picking through the different wrapped sweets in the tin he'd opened, his long fingers gliding over colourfully wrapped paper. Severus was transfixed by the ordinary sight, and in a rush he remembered exactly why he'd let himself be talked into returning to Hogwarts.
It was mundane. And foolish. And sentimental. But he simply wanted to remain near Albus, which would have been nigh on impossible should he leave Hogwarts. How was he supposed to come up with an excuse to see the eccentric, busy old man otherwise?
To Severus's surprise, Albus actually gave up on the prospect of having a sweet, and set the box aside on the divan. He folded his hands in his lap, and looked down glumly at them.
Glumly. Albus was looking dispirited! Such a demeanour belonged to Severus and the other harried professors, not Albus.
Severus sat next to him before he realised what he was doing. What on earth was he expected to say? He didn't understand half of what Albus was thinking at the best of times, never mind when it was all tangled up in emotions.
"This is all very unlike you," Severus mumbled.
Albus sighed. "Yes. I seem to be in a slump. A very comfortable slump."
Severus clutched his own knees, eyes on the carpet, tracing patterns in the lush fabric. Snappishly, he asked, "What is it you really want? What makes you hesitant to leave if you're not happy?"
"Have I ever been?"
That made Severus pause. "Happy?"
"Happy."
Severus had never deeply considered Albus's happiness. Much like his own, it had been inconsequential for many years, at the bottom of his priorities. He had implicitly understood it was the same for Albus.
The scramble post-war had kept them all busy, with the reconstruction and new regulations and helping the student body adjust from all the... horrors.
Now, it had all settled, and here they were, with everything else ticked off their mental lists.
"Happiness," Severus muttered, a scoff and curl of bitterness in the word.
"I'm a very foolish old man." Albus's voice was sombre.
"If you're foolish, they'll need to invent a few more adjectives to describe the rest of us."
They sat quietly for a moment. The room's rich colours swam before Severus's eyes, and he realised how muggy the space was. The fireplace was putting out far more heat than the small room warranted, even for November. Severus hesitated before unbuttoning his robes to mid-chest, exposing the dark blue shirt beneath.
There was a rumbling, and suddenly the divan they were sitting on was rotating. It must have been on some sort of stone dais. Albus waved an unconcerned hand. "The castle is constantly trying to adjust to my needs. That, or prodding me between my shoulder blades. Pay it no mind."
When the divan growled to a halt, they were facing curtains which opened to reveal a low table lined with two plates, two goblets, a bottle of some alcohol, and various hors d'oeuvres. There was a candlestick casting a glow over the spread, and delicate pink, white, and—rather oddly—black roses as a centrepiece.
"I suppose you're hungry?" Snape asked, looking at the beautifully arranged bite-sized portions.
"Not particularly." There was a slight frown beneath Albus's moustache. "But, well, let's have a toast."
The alcohol turned out to be some sort of rosé wine, which was not to Severus's tastes, but apparently Albus was a fan. Albus poured their portions with magic, and then handed Severus one of the goblets.
"Whatever are we toasting to?" Severus asked, twisting the elegant phrase into sarcasm. "To happiness?"
Albus considered. "I'm not sure if what I really want will lead to happiness, or not. I suppose that's what my wallowing is all about."
Severus rolled his eyes. "I'd say fuck it then. If you're already wallowing, what's the point of inaction? You might end up unhappy, but you're in a sorry state now as it is—it can't be much worse."
With a tinkling laugh, Albus clinked his glass to Severus's. "Well spoken. All right then, here it goes. Mind your wine."
"My—?" But Severus's question was cut off, as Albus leaned over and nuzzled his nose into Severus's jaw, before the brush of whiskers and soft lips pecked a kiss onto his bony cheek.
Severus clutched his goblet desperately with both hands to prevent it from spilling as he flailed and then froze. "Albus!" he exclaimed, face warming—and he didn't even have the excuse of alcohol yet, as he hadn't taken one sip.
Albus's cheeks were pink too, giving a sort of dyed candyfloss effect where it faded into his snow-white beard.
"Well. Perhaps they can assign me one of those new adjectives more extreme than 'foolish', too," Albus said, and his voice was bright... too bright? Was Severus detecting false brightness, getting a glimpse beyond Albus's usually unshakeable facade of calm?
"No, I..." Severus found himself stumbling to say something. He carefully placed the glass down on the table, and raked his hands through his hair, unable to meet Albus's eyes.
His heart was pounding. That wasn't some sort of fatherly affection. Could Albus really mean...? Severus tried to yank down the soaring sensation in his chest, to ground himself, to not get carried away by the madness of the moment, of this room. He checked his senses; Severus was sober and unaffected by influences, he was sure, so—
"I do not mind," Severus said, in a soft voice that he struggled to keep from wavering.
And he didn't. Because really, what kept him going day in and day out was being a part of this mess that Albus was at the centre of. Of seeing him at meals, of meetings with him in his office—which had become less and less frequent as Albus's ennui unfurled.
Severus turned to Albus, who had also given up on drinking and set his glass aside. Albus's blue, blue eyes were sparkling with hope.
Something clicked into place: the frozen stairs, the changed corridors, this cosy den and gorgeous spread of food... the castle had an agenda, even when its master was aimless.
It took some courage, and daring, to jump on this sudden opportunity, but Severus was drawn to the idea in the same way one couldn't help but tug at a loose thread. He sat up straighter, and in a clear voice said, "I imagine... if you wanted to leave the castle, Hogwarts would have no objection to letting you leave, if it knew you wouldn't be leaving... alone."
Severus met Albus's eyes. Albus would understand his proposition well enough.
Albus wavered. "I've hesitated to suggest something similar because... well, Severus, you have so much of your life ahead of you. You don't need a retired, doddering sub-fool like me in your wake."
"Sub-fool?"
"Hmm, we'll work on the terminology."
Severus slid closer to Albus on the settee. "I've a life that's rightly mine to live. And if I want to see you on a regular basis, that's my prerogative."
With a mischievous tone, Albus asked, "Are we seeing each other now?"
Severus waved a hand at the table, the roses, the crackling overly hot fire that had Severus's collar loosened. "Someone clearly thinks so."
"I suspect it won't even let us out of this room unless we... cooperate."
Albus's eyes dropped to Severus's exposed throat, and Severus resisted the urge to clutch at his collar. He swallowed, which seemed to light something in Albus's eyes.
As Albus leaned close, Severus nervously curled his hands into fists and met him. Their first kiss was understated, and unrefined, but not hesitant. Severus hadn't known how much he'd enjoy the tickle of whiskers, but the softness of it sent tingles of excitement through him.
He found himself clutching at Albus's surprisingly sure shoulders as the kiss explored beyond affection and into something with heat for a few pulls of lips and teases of tongue. Then, a grin curled against his mouth, and Albus was laughing. Tittering at first, and when he drew back, a full-blown guffaw.
Severus clung to the other man's arm and tried to be stern as he asked, "What's so funny?" But he knew his own smile was wide, involuntarily unveiling his elation like a draw cord tugging a curtain open.
Albus sighed happily. "I'd need all the synonyms of fool in the world to describe myself. Why did I dither over this so long?"
Severus squirmed. "It's all unexpected, but not... unwelcome."
Feelings and impressions which Severus had never allowed his conscious mind to entertain were swirling, colourful skirt fringes dazzling him with their impossibility. Severus had long held respect for Albus, which deepened into loyalty—Albus in turn supported and encouraged him. Three years ago, at the war's end, Severus would never have imagined that these sentiments would layer neatly and be stitched into a tapestry that illustrated a surprising desire. Severus longed to be by Albus's side as an equal. An equal not in power, but in mutual support.
"Bugger," Severus mumbled, blinking back to his senses. "Sybill is waiting."
"Bugger to her," Albus said pleasantly, wrapping both arms around Severus's waist and pulling him close. With unnerving naturalness that was smooth as silk, Severus slid into him, head coming to rest on his shoulder.
"The castle has a reputation to uphold."
"I think Hogwarts isn't fond of guest speakers infringing on its territory, actually."
Severus let irritation bleed into his voice. "Why did I get volun-told to arrange one, then?"
Albus smoothed his hand along Severus's back, the comfort making Severus sag contentedly. "I'll have the dashed thing cancelled."
"Thank fuck."
A lovely silence fell, as they sat with their knees interlocked, Severus leaning into Albus's warmth and having his nose tickled by silky white locks. Severus felt as though he'd stumbled upon the golden fleece on a busy Tuesday. The past half-hour with Albus was wrapped in a shroud of watercoloured mythos.
In the same daze of joy, Albus drew Severus to his feet, still holding him tenderly. "I'll escort you to your next class," he whispered in Severus's ear, making him flush and wish he wasn't wearing so many layers of cotton.
The door to the unused office creaked open, the curtains around the room fluttering jovially. Albus chuckled and stepped towards it, hand gently around Severus's wrist to lead him along.
With his lips curved in an irrepressible smile, Severus floated after Albus, admiring the satin sheen of his long hair.
At the threshold, Albus leaned in to peck Severus on the lips again. "I'll send Fawkes this evening."
Resisting a contented sigh, Severus blinked. "What for?"
"To carry your things, of course. Get yourself packed before nine o'clock."
"Are we eloping?" The words slipped out before Severus could restrain them, further evidence of how much his brain had melted in the last extraordinary hour. "What about Hogwarts's Potions Master?"
Albus's beautiful blues shone bright as a button. "Well, when I cancel the guest speaker, I intend to make it up to her by offering her a job."
Severus suddenly saw no need for hurrying. He'd lost his senses, mired in the moment. How had he agreed to retire along with Albus, when he'd rushed off roughly thirty minutes earlier on an inane errand?
That was part of Albus's irresistible magic, sweeping Severus away into horizons he'd thought unreachable.
"We'd best get used to being called fools," Severus said, unable to resist running his palms across Albus's lavender lapels.
"Perhaps they will call us a good many fun things," Albus agreed.
Severus couldn't quite bring himself to say the words yet, but echoing them in his own heart was fortifying enough for now:
As long as they also call me yours.
He hoped Hogwarts was satisfied with the outcome of its meddling.