Chapter Text
When Albus Dumbledore informed Severus that he would be participating in an experimental trial alongside four other professors to determine who would make the best radio advice host, Severus was convinced the Headmaster had finally lost the last of his marbles. He was under no illusion that he would make a good therapist or counsellor; in fact, he suspected he would be spectacularly unsuited to the role. Unfortunately, he also knew from long experience that refusing Dumbledore rarely resulted in peace and quiet. The Headmaster possessed a remarkable ability to continue discussing an idea until resistance became more exhausting than compliance.
The concept itself was simple. For one week each, Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin, Rubeus Hagrid, Gilderoy Lockhart and Severus would host a support programme on the Hogwarts school radio, answering questions and concerns from students, staff and the wider magical community. At the end of the five weeks, the Ministry and the school would review the results and decide whether the programme should continue.
Severus had immediately identified a flaw in the entire process.
“One of the candidates is Lockhart.”
“Yes,” Dumbledore replied cheerfully.
“Why?” “He is very popular.”
“So is dragon pox.”
Dumbledore merely smiled, which Severus found deeply unhelpful.
Before the trial began, all five participants were required to attend a series of training sessions. They learned how to listen actively, respond appropriately, consider alternative perspectives, avoid jumping to conclusions and help people separate facts from assumptions. Severus privately felt that most of the material amounted to common sense. The instructor disagreed.
“People often arrive at conclusions before they have enough information,” she explained. “They do,”
Severus agreed. “Sometimes they become convinced of the worst possible explanation.”
“Yes.”
“They may misinterpret another person’s behaviour.”
"Frequently.”
The instructor looked pleasantly surprised.
“Excellent. Then you understand the purpose of this programme.”
“I understand the purpose,” Severus said.
“Whether the public is capable of benefiting from it remains to be seen.”
The instructor pinched the bridge of her nose.
During the second session, the participants were asked how they would approach a caller seeking advice. Lupin suggested listening first; Hagrid recommended showing empathy; McGonagall emphasised making the caller feel valued. Lockhart, predictably, announced that he would remind them of a similar problem he had solved during his travels abroad.
The instructor closed her eyes briefly. “Professor Snape?”
“If they are wrong, tell them.”
“Professor Snape, we are attempting to help people.”
“So am I.”
To Severus’s annoyance, the instructor wrote something down after that.
The practical exercises began with Hagrid and McGonagall. Their scenario involved a student who believed their friends no longer liked them because they had not been invited to a gathering.
Hagrid listened carefully and said, “I’m sure they didn’t mean anythin’ by it.”
The instructor immediately raised a hand.
“How do you know?”
Hagrid blinked. “I don’t.”
“Correct. Reassurance is kind, but it is not the same thing as evidence.”
Hagrid nodded thoughtfully, and across the room Severus wrote that down before he could stop himself.
The next exercise paired Lockhart with Severus.
The instructor hesitated, then sighed.
“Professor Lockhart, you are the caller.”
“Excellent.” Lockhart stood and began pacing dramatically.
“My roommate is driving me to despair.”
“Sit down,” Severus said.
“I feel movement communicates emotion.”
Severus simply glared.
Lockhart sat—reluctantly. Severus questioned him briskly, quickly concluding that the roommate was either inconsiderate or forgetful.
The instructor cleared her throat.
“You’ve reached a conclusion.”
“I reached two.”
“Without enough information.”
Lockhart looked delighted.
Severus did not.
When prompted to try again, Severus asked Lockhart to consider alternative explanations.
Lockhart thought hard and eventually offered,
“He’s untidy,” followed by, “He forgets.”
The instructor nodded approvingly. Lockhart looked absurdly pleased with himself. Severus muttered, “As I said—forgetful.”
Remus leaned over. “Does this remind you of anyone?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Remus pointed toward the pile of papers Sirius Black had left behind earlier.
Severus stared at them. “…I dislike this exercise.”
The afternoon moved on to more serious scenarios. They discussed callers who became angry, callers who felt hopeless, and callers who might be in immediate danger. The instructor reminded them that they were not healers, not emergency services, and not responsible for solving every problem themselves. Part of helping people, she said, was recognising when someone needed more support than they could provide. For once, nobody argued—not even Severus.
By the end of the day everyone looked tired. Even Lockhart had stopped performing. The instructor gathered her notes and addressed them all. They had strengths, she said, and weaknesses. Some needed more empathy; some fewer assumptions; some needed to spend less time talking about themselves. Lockhart appeared personally attacked. Remus laughed. McGonagall hid a smile behind her hand.
“The goal isn’t to become the same,” the instructor concluded. “The point is to help people feel heard while guiding them towards useful conclusions.” Severus considered that. It sounded suspiciously reasonable.
As the others stood to leave, Severus remained seated for a moment. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching. Unfortunately, Lupin was. “You were taking notes,” Remus said, smiling.
“So was everyone else,” Severus replied. “Of course.”
Severus stood, collected his parchments, and walked out before Lupin could say anything else.
Behind him, Lockhart was already explaining to Hagrid why he would almost certainly be the public favourite. The trial had not even begun, and Severus already regretted agreeing to it.