Well, it wasn’t precisely a catalogue, but Poppy had managed to get him some names of wizards who did the sort of work he needed and what few advertisements for their services were available. It would be a custom job, of course—not that many wizards lost eyes, and the few who did didn’t necessarily go looking for replacements—but he did have the funds for it if he cared to dip into them. Of course, first he had to select one.

Oh, this is promising. ‘We swear by our specially designed ocular replacements that allow the divination of future events from the dark shadows that surround the wearer.’ What in Merlin’s name is that supposed to mean; they plan to strap one of Sybil’s crystal balls to my forehead? He put that leaflet in the discard pile, on top of one that offered transplants from sources that…well, the translation wasn’t particularly good and Severus didn’t recognize the original alphabet so her couldn’t re-translate for himself, but from the way it was worded Severus suspected that their suppliers were at best fairly amoral and at worst clinically-diagnosed sociopaths.

There was a heavy bang on the door, and he glanced up. “Who is it?”

“Pretend you have manners and open the bloody door.”

Severus rolled his eyes, and put on a patently fake expression as he waved the panel open. “Good evening, Alastor, what may I do for you?”

“Die slowly of a horribly debilitating illness. Preferably a non-contagious one so I can enjoy the process.”

Severus snorted. I suppose it serves me right for asking. “Let me rephrase—what are you doing here?”

“That mediwitch sent me down. Said you needed help with something and then wouldn’t let me be until I agreed to come. Bloody menace.” He stamped over and sank onto Severus’ couch. “So what is it, and how long do I have to stay here to keep her from coming after me again?”

“I assume she’s talking about these.” He offered the list and waved at the piles of leaflets on the table. “As to the second…if I knew, I wouldn’t spend the majority of my time avoiding her.”

That got a chuckle, and Alastor scanned the names. “Finally going to do something about that patch then?”

“No, I was planning to interview them for the Daily Prophet. Thought it would make a good side career.”

“A shame they didn’t cut out your vocal cords instead of your eye.”

“Yes, well, the next time I see the Dark Lord I’ll be certain to pass along your suggestion. So?” Like it or not, Alastor probably had gone through a similar process at some point in the past and wouldn’t be a bad person to ask about it. It’s not as though I actually have to take his advice.

“First two would knock you out and then cut out your other eye for research purposes, but I suppose that would be an improvement.”

“You’re hardly one to talk,” Severus muttered.

“Got mine from the third—” Alastor continued as though he hadn’t heard.

“Suppose I’d best cross that one off as well.”

“The fact that you’re still alive amazes me on occasion.”

Join the crowd. “You may enjoy sending people screaming at your appearance; I prefer a slightly subtler approach.”

Alastor snorted. “Haven’t looked in a mirror lately, have you? He does good work.”

And if Alastor had actually allowed this gentleman to work on him, he probably wasn’t much in the way of a security risk. Annoying as it was, that was a consideration. Of course it’s entirely possible that he’d recruited an entire squad of Aurors to stand by during the procedure and make sure he didn’t do anything ‘suspicious.’ Like blink. “Recognize any of the rest?”

“Not these three…that one’s a known supporter of your old master though. Turned over half his fortune in the first war.”

“Wonderful.” He rubbed his forehead. “Assuming I actually find someone who is reasonably competent, how long is this process going to take?”

“If he’s got a spare on hand—don’t count on it—probably a day or so to get it in and a couple weeks for you to get used to it; if he doesn’t or you want something customized, a few weeks to get everything prepared. Bloody headache at first, though, let me tell you…spending your whole life with two eyes combining to give you one image, and then ending up with two separate images that may not even be coming from the same direction….”

“Brilliant.”

Alastor snorted. “More than worth it.” Both his eyes focused on Severus for a moment. “Heard you got into a bit of a mess at St. Mungo’s the other day.”

It was a fairly neutral observation, but Severus glared anyway. No doubt Albus was the one to blame for informing Alastor, but he didn’t precisely appreciate Alastor bringing up things that weren’t any of his business either. “It’s a toss up as to whether the elder Goyle is that stupid or the Dark Lord is that desperate.” If it hadn’t been for whoever hit him from behind, he’d have been inclined to believe the former, but since he obviously hadn’t been acting alone….

The hand not holding the list banged the cushion. “Constant vigilance!”

Severus glared. Hexing Aurors is bad. Hexing colleagues is frowned upon. Hexing other Order members is counterproductive. No matter how badly they deserve it. “Just out of curiosity, how many times have you been hexed by someone on our side when he finally lost patience with your paranoia? No need to be specific, a round number will do.”

///////////

“Professor!”

Severus set down the sixth year quizzes he’d been grading—much as he enjoyed the looks on his students’ faces whenever he announced a surprise quiz, the bloody things were always royal pains to grade—and glared at the boy who’d stepped into his rooms. “Yes, Harry, please feel free to come in uninvited whenever you please.”

The brat turned back to glance at the panel that had shut behind him and then shrugged. “Sorry. But did you hear about Mr. Weasley?”

“I received word from the St. Mungo’s potions masters that they’d solved the mystery of his injuries, yes.” The skin sample was still sitting in his laboratory; between grading quizzes and student potions he’d had more than enough to do without it these past few days. He was a little surprised that Harry and the Weasley children were only being informed now, but…well, who knew how long those wounds had actually taken to close.

“They won’t let us visit, though.” He made a face. “Mrs. Weasley said it would be too tiring for him right now and maybe we can come later.”

“Well, I’m sure she’d know.” So Albus hasn’t told them about the attack or the fact that the floos are still being monitored. Personally he didn’t think that that was particularly wise—well, the part about the floo, anyway, the attack was in no way their business and more people already knew about it than he felt comfortable with—but presumably the headmaster had some reason for it. Hopefully a decent reason. Merlin knows he’s come up with some idiotic ones in the past.

“It’s not like we’d ask him to play Quidditch with us or something,” Harry continued in a tone that bordered on whining, “And he’s Ron and Ginny and the twins’ dad for Merlin’s sake!”

“Molly Weasley is well known for being a bit overprotective. I’m sure as soon as things have calmed down a bit—” and we’ve found and disabled whatever spell is being use on our floos—“all of you will be paying him a visit.” As of breakfast this morning Minerva and Albus were still working on that.

“I guess.” He kicked at the leg of Severus’ couch, and Severus glared.

“However annoyed you may be, you will kindly refrain from assaulting my furniture.” He considered for a moment. “And as long as you’re here, you might as well do something about that rabbit.”

“What? What am I supposed to do with him?”

“I don’t know. Take him back to Hagrid, feed him to your owl…he’s served his purpose as far as I’m concerned.”

“I can’t kill him,” Harry objected. “Why don’t you keep him?”

“Keep a rabbit? As what, a pet? No thank you.” That would be just perfect for his image; the scary potions master keeping around a fluffy little bunny rabbit. And in one of his good cauldrons, no less. He shook his head. “Take him to Minerva, then, maybe she needs a new pincushion or something.” Or dinner. He bit back a chuckle. Minerva would be incensed with him for suggesting it—he’d once asked if she went ratting in the attics in her spare time and for the next week every time he sat down to dinner he’d found spikes growing out of the seat and back of whatever chair he chose—but the idea of her as a tabby pouncing on a rabbit nearly her size was decidedly amusing.

“We could set it free.”

“In the middle of winter? Brilliant, either it freezes or starves to death. Or one of the owls gets it anyway. You’d be better off returning it to Hagrid.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, fine. I’ll think of something.” He shook his head and turned towards Severus’ lab and then stopped and turned back suddenly. “Professor?”

“What?”

“I mean to ask the other day, but could I borrow a couple of your books?”

“What, there aren’t enough in the library?” Or enough homework? I could fix that, though I’d have thought your detentions would be keeping you busy enough in your spare time.

“Well, I’d need to keep them for awhile, and Madam Pince….” Harry shrugged.

Severus shrugged in return. It wasn’t as though he was in the middle of any of them. “I suppose. Though if you know what’s good for you you’ll return them in the same condition that you borrow them, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry slipped his bag off his shoulder, and he’d obviously considered what he wanted in advance because he pulled three books off one of Severus’ lower shelves quickly and dropped them into it. “You know, I was thinking about the Department of Mysteries in detention the other day, and do you think I could go and request to look at my prophecy and then just accidentally drop it or set it on fire or something?”

“What?” Severus was temporarily distracted from trying to remember just which books had been on that particular shelf. How in Merlin’s name would you ‘accidentally’ set something on fire? Wait. Never mind. I don’t even want to know. “No. I think you need to stay well away from the Ministry. Haven’t you managed to get yourself into enough trouble of late?”

“I’m not trying to get into trouble! I just…if the prophecy wasn’t there any more, no one would have to worry about it.”

Severus closed the distance between them. Ah, those were defense books. Fair enough, I suppose, and there shouldn’t be anything in them more dangerous than normal defense coursework. They’re probably considerably less dangerous, actually, considering there’s a lunatic teaching the subject right now. He retuned his attention to the subject at hand. “Look at me, Harry. You are to stay away from the Department of Mysteries. In fact, stay away from the Ministry in general. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he agreed after a moment.

Severus couldn’t detect any sort of deception in his gaze, but he glared anyway. “Just what sort of detention were you serving that made you think about the Department of Mysteries, anyway?”

“It was supposed to be one of the ones with Professor McGonagall, but she only needed one person to scrub the desks so she kept Ron with her and sent me to Filch.” He made a face. “Cleaning trophies again. I think we have the cleanest trophy room in Europe.”

“Yes, well, with such a constant supply of volunteers for the task….” He nodded to the lab. “The rabbit, if you please. And then you’d best hurry back to your tower, it’s nearly curfew. And be careful with my books.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rabbit dealt with, he turned back to his papers. Their normal exams were frustrating enough, but with these sorts of quizzes the students hadn’t even made any of their oh-so-valiant attempts to memorize their textbooks the night before as they did with exams that he announced in advance.Because Merlin knows actually learning the material as they go is no way to go about getting an education. And, of course, as a result the quiz answers tended to be even more dunderheaded than usual. For example, Mr. Andrews here, who seemed to be under the impression that one used powdered dragon scales in the Enchanting Elixir even though he’d listed in the previous question—approximately half an inch above the current one—each of the precise properties of powdered dragon claws that made them the activating ingredient. And Albus always said that he graded his students too harshly…what in Merlin’s name was he supposed to do when they missed such obvious connections? Stand at the front of the classroom and shout out ‘The question in number four is a ridiculously blatant hint for the answer in number five’?

There was a light knock at the door, and he waved the panel open. Presumably Harry had come up with another ridiculous notion about—

“Professor?”

Years of practice kept his expression calm. “Mr. Malfoy. Can I help you?” There was no sign of threat in the boy’s posture, but he was still maintaining a rough Occlumency barrier and Severus slipped his wand unobtrusively into his clamp. He’d seen Lucius smile and converse politely all the while holding the Cruciatus on one of his victims, and while he didn’t think Draco had fallen so far just yet….Better safe than sorry, I suppose. I’ve spent far too much time in the infirmary this year as it is.

“I…I heard there was an attack the other day.”

Heard from whom Severus wouldn’t mind knowing—from his father, from his mother, from one of the other students?—but he didn’t bother to ask the question. He stood a better chance of getting answers if he didn’t put the boy on the defensive from the outset. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m perfectly fine. It was a clumsy attempt, all things considered.” Draco shifted uncomfortably, and Severus nodded towards the quizzes. They weren’t from the right class, obviously, but the boy didn’t know that. “From what I’ve seen, your potions work has if anything improved in quality since last year.”

“Thank you.”

Those manners were too far ingrained in him to do anything but answer courteously, Severus knew, but he nodded slightly to the couch and took on a conversational tone anyway in the hopes that it wasn’t just his training guiding his responses. “Are you still considering pursuing a Mastery after Hogwarts?”

“I….” Draco’s face hardened momentarily, and then he nodded politely and took a step back towards the panel rather than towards the couch as Severus had hoped. “I suppose I am. I…I’m glad you’re all right. If you’ll excuse me, it’s nearly curfew.”

And then he was gone again, and Severus gritted his teeth. Occlumency barrier or no, he was going to figure out what was going on in that boy’s head. And Merlin help me, I’m still not done with these bloody quizzes.

///////////

“Severus, if you could come to my office after dinner?” Poppy asked as she passed his seat at the High Table heading for an empty one.

He nodded slightly. He’d sent off notes to the two most promising looking eye specialists three days ago, and this was about the appropriate time frame for a response. It was more than slightly annoying that they’d sent said responses to the mediwitch rather than directly to him—he was an adult, after all, and the one who’d be making the decision—but then considering that they’d need some knowledge of his injury to fashion an appropriate replacement perhaps it was to be expected. “Minerva, could you inform Harry that I won’t be available for detention today and that he should see Mr. Filch for an appropriate assignment?”

“Of course.”

Severus smirked. The boy would be annoyed—especially since he’d probably get stuck scrubbing trophies again—but then he was supposed to be being punished, after all.

When the meal was over he followed Poppy up to the infirmary, considering when the best time would be to get his eye fitted. He wanted to do it as soon as possible, but if Alastor was correct about the adjustment time required it might be better to wait until the students had a holiday so he wouldn’t be trying to teach classes while he was recuperating. Somehow I don’t think Slughorn will be willing to substitute again until the temperature rises, and there isn’t precisely a line of capable potions professors beating down the door.

A young woman—not one he recognized, but she couldn’t have finished school more than a year or two ago—stepped out of the office at their entrance and shook his abruptly out of his musings.

“Healer Pioche, this is Severus Snape; Severus, Yvette Pioche,” Poppy said with a smile for the woman.

“Hello, I am working at St. Mungo’s on an exchange program with the Maison de Guérison in France.”

Severus jaw tightened. She can’t possibly be serious. “How nice for you.”

“I understand that you have been in a…dark place…emotionally speaking. I am trained to help—”

Wonderful. Brilliant. He glanced over at Poppy, but she was observing the two of them with an unconcerned look on her face. This is her idea of a competent mindhealer? I’m supposed to be the one with the issues! “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t need any help I apologize for your wasted trip.”

The smile the girl turned on him was more than slightly condescending. “I really don’t think you’re in the best position to judge what effect this experience might have had—”

“I do not need help,” he repeated, voice dropping an octave. “Particularly from a child whose idea of a traumatic injury is probably a stubbed toe!”

She lifted her chin and crossed her arms across her chest. The gesture was probably intended as a sign of confidence, but it only succeeded in making her look even more like a particularly stubborn student. “I assure you that I have some experience in these types of events, and—”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I very much doubt that. Now, if you will both excuse me, I have the sudden need to be…elsewhere.” He shook off Poppy’s hand and stalked out. As if the first two mindhealers weren’t been bad enough—at least they both lived through a war! Maybe not in the same way that I did, granted but that creature…she’d probably run screaming from a bar fight. She can’t have been all that much more than a toddler when the Dark Lord fell. And she was living on the Continent at the time! Merlin knows what ridiculous ideas she has about—

“Severus!”

He ignored Poppy’s shout, hurrying back to his dungeons. Maybe there was still time to track Harry down…he was in a mood to torment someone, and detention was a perfect opportunity. Or he could go out to the gardens; even in this sub-zero weather there were always a few lovesick idiots out there that could stand to be shouted at just on general principle. He was rounding a corner on the second floor when hit something heavy and both he and his victim rocked back slightly. “Watch where you’re going!”

“I’m not the one careening through the halls like a rogue bludger,” Alastor snapped back, releasing brickwork he’d caught to keep himself from falling and resettling his crutch more securely under his arm. “You don’t appear to be rushing off to someone’s rescue, so what in Merlin’s name is wrong with you?”

Severus sneered. “Leave me alone, Alastor. I’m in a dark place, emotionally speaking.”

The ex-Auror eyed a storage closet and then Severus for a moment, obviously sizing it up. “You’re about to be in a dark place, physically speaking, if you don’t watch your mouth.”

Severus’ fingers closed on his wand, and he was very tempted to take Alastor up on that challenge. There didn’t appear to be any students about, and Merlin knew he needed some way to burn of his irritation.

“There you are! Now that was uncalled for!” Poppy came up behind him, ignoring Alastor as she caught Severus’ arm and tugged him back around to face her. “I understand that you are against the idea of speaking to a mindhealer based upon some ridiculous notion that you can deal with the trauma you suffered on your own—despite the obvious evidence to the contrary, might I point out—but however you feel about the matter you have absolutely no right to behaving in that manner in front of—”

“In front of whom? That was a child—she can’t have been out of school for more than a year or two. I teach children, I don’t get ‘counseled’ by them, or whatever other ridiculous notion it is that you’ve come up with!”

“She finished at Beaubaxtons and started an apprenticeship at the French House of Healing five years ago, and we were fortunate that they offered her the opportunity to come here to expand her horizons a bit!” Poppy snapped. “And she isn’t the only one you’ve insulted, unless you’ve forgotten the last two gentlemen I brought in. Now I have tried to be patient, but—”

“You’ve tried to drive me barking mad, and you’ve damn near succeeded! None of those people have the faintest idea about what I’ve dealt with. This one’s idea of a war injury is probably a bloodied nose, that Kerrigan idiot wanted me to sing and dance as though my life was some damn musical, and….” Well, he didn’t know a great deal about the first once since he hadn’t given the man enough time to get a word in edgewise, but no doubt he’d have come up with some equally ridiculous notion given time.

“These are professionals, Severus, not strangers that I’ve picked up off the street! Whether you believe it or not, they have training to deal with traumatic and life-changing events, and I insist that you speak to one of them! Now, if you have actual reasons why none of them are appropriate—for example I agree that Healer Kerrigan probably wouldn’t be appropriate, as it happens—I will attempt to find others, but I will not tolerate any more of these deliberate snubs. These are my colleagues, and I expect you to behave in an appropriate manner.”

He glared at the finger that had been wagging in his face for the second half of that little speech. “I am not a child; I’d appreciate you ceasing to treat me as one.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

Severus transferred his glare to her face, but she’d apparently finished speaking. With a sniff and a swirl of her robes, she turned and swept back down the halls in the direction from which she’d come.

“What in Merlin’s name was that about?” Alastor demanded.

Severus swiveled to glare at him. “None of your business.”

“I expect not, but since you’re stamping around like a three year old and nearly drew on me—did you actually think I wouldn’t notice?—you can damn well explain anyway.”

Debating whether or not to push past him gave Severus pause for a moment. He was in no mood to talk just now, and while Alastor might have the weight advantage…well, how hard can it be to knock over someone with a bloody crutch? Unfortunately then his back would be to Alastor when he retaliated and…. Severus hid a wince. That probably wouldn’t end well. “I was rather hoping you would notice, actually.” Alastor raised an eyebrow and he waved a hand and checked the corridor quickly for any sign of students approaching. He obviously wasn’t going to get out of this without some sort of explanation, but the shorter the better as far as he was concerned. “Poppy has come to the conclusion that I need some sort of ‘help’ to get past what the Dark Lord did, and to that end she’s assembled a remarkable collection of idiots to drive me insane.”

“Well, I’d say insanity would be an improvement in your case, but—”

“You’re hardly one to talk,” Severus muttered.

Alastor ignored him, raising an eyebrow with a decidedly skeptical look on his face. “You’re telling me these idiots actually wanted you to dance?”

“And sing,” Severus confirmed with a smirk. “One of them at least; the one who came last time. Tonight’s visitor was a child younger than most of my robes.”

“Well, considering your usual attire, that’s not saying a great deal.”

“I haven’t completely ruled out hexing you as an appropriate tension reliever.”

“There are a fair number of empty classrooms around if you’d care to try. Though flashback or no, if you set another fiendfyre on me I’m bloody well going to thrash you properly and fair play be damned.”