“Now, gentlemen,” Poppy began. “I’m sure there’s no need for this.”

No, I very much need to hex someone right now. And as luck would have it, there were three perfectly viable options right in front of him.

From the low sound that emanated from Alastor’s throat, he felt about the same way. Not that that made Severus feel any better—he couldn’t help but wonder what, precisely, Albus had over Alastor that had allowed him to convince the ex-Auror to be a part of this idiotic scheme—but at least he wasn’t the only irritated person in the room.

“Why don’t we all go sit down and have a chat?” Albus suggested, still smiling.

I would rather beat my skull against a stone wall. Repeatedly. Well, actually he’d rather beat their skulls against a stone wall repeatedly, until they forgot this ludicrous idea, but Poppy was already ushering them into his sitting room as though these were her quarters instead of his so with a decided lack of grace he conceded.

“Severus, Poppy said that you had been having some…trouble…dealing with the events of the fall,” Albus began, taking the cushioned chair. “I wish you’d come to me.”

Severus glared. Harder. ‘Events of the fall’; I suppose that’s one way to put it. And as for ‘trouble’…. “Poppy is delusional. I am fine.”

It was Poppy’s turn to glare, from her seat on the couch beside Alastor. “Flashbacks—even a flashback, as you insist upon repeating—would indicate otherwise. As do night terrors.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, his other options being attempting to squeeze onto the couch with Poppy and Alastor or putting forth the effort to summon a chair from the table. He didn’t have any urge to do either. “Presumably you are aware of what I’ve spent the vast majority of my adult life doing with regards to the Dark Lord and his supporters.” He waited a moment for her confirmation; he wasn’t entirely sure that he’d ever actually come out and told her that he was a spy. She gave an immediate nod, meaning that either she’d put the clues together herself—Merlin knew that there had been enough of them over the years—or she had been told at some point. If I didn’t, Albus no doubt did. Most likely after said events of the fall. “Well, given that, I would say that a lack of nightmares would be far more indicative of serious mental problems.” Bellatrix Lestrange sprang immediately to mind—that woman’s idea of a nightmare was probably a sunny spring day.

Poppy pursed her lips. “That depends entirely on the content of the nightmare, as well as the severity and frequency, as you’re more than intelligent enough to realize. And as I’ve said before, aside from the health benefits that therapy could give you, it also greatly reduces the chances of danger to the students here if you allow yourself to be properly treated. As the primary mediwitch in charge of those students care, I must insist upon it.” She sighed. “Speaking frankly, I would prefer that a properly trained medical professional was involved, but as you’ve had…difficulty…dealing with most of the mindhealers that I’ve introduced you to—”

You’ve frightened or offended the mindhealers I’ve introduced you to to the point where they refuse to return to Hogwarts, Severus translated, but he decided that it would be best to keep his opinion to himself as she continued.

“I would accept a lay person with some idea of what you’ve gone through.” She indicated Alastor, who turned his glare from Severus to her for a moment.

“And I still say you’re a crazy old bat. Boy’s nightmares are his own, and most of them well-deserved at that.”

“Now, Alastor, you said you’d help—” she began.

He slammed a hand down on the arm of the couch. “I said no such thing!”

Part of Severus relaxed a little at that. If Alastor had actually volunteered to help him, however reluctantly, he’d have been sorely tempted to pitch himself in the lake.

Alastor made a sharp gesture in Albus’ general direction. “He said I’d help, and then the two of you hauled me off down here without so much as a by-your-leave. If it hadn’t been for that other nutter you employ bloody well stalking me, haunting the halls outside my quarters,” he twisted to glare at Albus, “I’d have already hexed you both and made a break for it.” He shook his head. “Know damn well why you keep her here, but you might as well teach the students to play the dice for all the actual Divination they’re leaning from her. And I would love to know what caused her current fascination with my death!”

Severus smirked slightly—Sybil at her finest—and then cursed himself for an idiot as Alastor’s head swung back abruptly in his direction. Alastor was perfectly capable of turning to look at both Poppy and Alastor in turn with his good eye while keeping his magic eye on Severus, and Severus damn well should have remembered it.

“And just what are you laughing at?” Alastor growled, confirming Severus’ suspicions.

“I—” He was saved, if that was the word, from having to come up with a response as a sharp ‘crack’ echoed from his workroom. What in Merlin’s—the basilisk eye? The eye itself didn’t have any explosive properties, but it had been the only thing still in progress when he’d been so rudely interrupted. He frowned. He’d reduced half the sample he’d collected down to jelly and had put it on to simmer…the plan had been to store the majority and use the rest to increase the potency of the Pepper-Up potion Poppy had requested, but he couldn’t remember whether he’d turned down the heat when he’d left the workroom or not. If he couldn’t remember doing it, it was best to assume that he hadn’t, which meant— “Bloody hell,” he snapped. “Shield!” He summoned his own shields and hurried for the workroom door. Normally he shut it behind him out of habit, but he’d been so irritated with his visitors that he’d left it standing open.

A good portion of the eye—with all of its amplification potential—was probably vapor now, which wouldn’t be a major issue if everything in his workroom was stoppered as it normally was. A pain in the arse to ventilate the area to the point where he’d feel secure in using it again, certainly, but it would be more a matter of lost time than anything else. But he’d set out the seventh year vials of Ever-Burning Flame to let contact with the air reduce their potency to the point where it was safe to grade them without keeping his shields up the entire time, and if they reacted with the basilisk eye vapors….

He reached the door as a series of ‘cracks’ sounded, and then another, higher-pitched shattering sound followed. A sound that told him that, as he’d feared, pieces of the vials the seventh-years had used were being flung far enough and with enough force to damage or destroy some of the vials in the room that were appropriately stoppered. If some of those potions were amplified—he shook his head even as he caught the edge of the door. Once it latched closed, the wards would activate and contain whatever happened in his workroom. At least up to a point. Well, I suppose if I reduce Hogwarts to a pile of rubble I’ll be crushed in the process, so at least I won’t have to deal with any recriminations.

He was swinging the door shut when there was a low ‘boom’ and time seemed to slow as he found himself flying backwards. He’d put up shields intended to protect him from physical harm in the not-unlikely case that something glass struck him while he was shutting the door so his landing wasn’t particularly damaging, but the workroom door had been blown open again, and— “Shut it!” he yelled at the other three, fumbling for the wand in his sleeve. Not that he particularly wanted to cast spells around reacting potions, but things were getting worse by the second and none of them were in a position to easily reach the door.

All three of them had come to their feet when he’d moved…Poppy was now in front of Alastor having obviously moved to assist Severus, and Alastor snarled at her to get out of his way at the same time that there was a bright flash of light from Albus’ wand and the workroom door slammed shut.

The wards sprang up not a moment too soon as a series of loud explosions sounded almost immediately afterwards. Severus winced as the primary wards buckled and finally collapsed under the onslaught, but the emergency wards—the ones strong enough to withstand almost anything—sprang into place instantly. He pushed himself to his feet, and all four of them stood in silence, listening to the increasingly violent sounds of destruction emanating from the workroom.

“What in Merlin’s name did you have in there?” Alastor demanded, as the sounds finally started to die away.

“Primarily the things that I considered too hazardous to keep in the storeroom.” Especially given the number of times he’d had things stolen from it in recent years. But his books were in there too…his private collection that he’d spent years putting together. He bit back an unhappy groan. The bookshelves had been shielded from the rest of the room, of course, but considering the strength of some of those explosions, he had little to no hope that those shields had held. I’ll never find replacement copies of some of those volumes, damn it all.

He sighed, counting the seconds until a full minute had passed since the last explosion, and then flicked his wand in a diagnostic pattern. Given what had happened, he’d almost certainly have to vent the workroom to remove any fumes before he’d even be able to enter and start cleaning up never mind start working again, but if they were particularly noxious simply opening the vents to the outside air wouldn’t be an option. And won’t that be a royal mess to deal with. I know there are filters in one of the storerooms down here….

“Just what do you mean by ‘too hazardous?” Alastor asked in a dangerous tone, suddenly beside him on his blind side.

“Too many syllables for you?” I really need to see about getting that eye replaced.

“Maybe you’ve been planning this.”

“Yes.” Severus rolled his eye, making certain that the motion was visible. “You’ve discovered my evil plot. Congratulations. Now go away.” His diagnostic spell hadn’t revealed anything that wouldn’t be diluted well beyond the danger threshold upon contact with open air, and he flicked his wand to start the activation of the venting system.

“You’ll watch your tongue.”

Unlikely. “Alastor, you can take that paranoia and shove it u—”

“Severus!” Poppy interrupted. “There’s no need for that sort of language. And maybe you should wait a bit before you try going in there.” She nodded at the door. “Just in case.”

‘Watch your language’, ‘watch your step,’…what am I, five? “Well, I certainly don’t plan to go storming in now, if that’s what you’re thinking.” As he’d already noted, the majority of the harmful fumes had already burned off—which, given the number of explosives in there probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise—but he wasn’t an idiot. “Aside from the smoke, I’d just as soon wait until things have had time to cool down.”

“That’s sounds wise,” Albus said after a moment, putting his wand away as he finished his own set of diagnostic spells. “Please inform me before you do decide to open it up.”

Severus nodded automatically. He’d have to strengthen the shields on his quarters before he did so anyway, just in case anything dangerous did remain, and he wouldn’t mind adding Albus’ power to his own.

“Well, then, I suppose if you gentlemen will excuse us….”

Severus was still processing ‘gentlemen’ when Poppy pulled the panel shut behind she and Albus before Alastor could reach the door. “They wouldn’t.”

Alastor seemed to reach the same conclusion, tugging futilely at the panel, but it refused to open again.

“Bloody hell,” Severus groaned, when the series of unlock spells that Alastor tried had no effect either. Because the day just hasn’t been bad enough.

Alastor whipped around, his good eye flashing dangerously while the other rolled wildly in its socket.

“Yes, Alastor,” Severus said before he could start barking accusations, “aside from harboring evil plots to destroy my own workroom, I’m also a part-time masochist who’s just been dying to spend more time in the company of a lunatic Auror with deductive reasoning skills on par with those of your average horned toad.”

Alastor’s wand twitched, and then he snorted and relaxed slightly. “I’m not so sure I don’t believe that masochist bit, given some of the things that come out of your mouth. Just asking to get put in the hospital wing for a few days.”

Severus made a rude gesture in Alastor’s direction, but most of his attention was focused on the panel blocking the entrance to his quarters. He tried a few unlock spells of his own, but they had no more effect that Alastor’s had, and he lowered his wand with a sigh. Somehow he couldn’t even manage any real surprise that Albus had locked them in his rooms—and it had to have been Albus; Poppy didn’t have that much power.

An idiot could see that neither of them was going to cooperate with this ‘therapy’ idea on his own, and once Albus decided that he wanted something done, he could be rather absurdly underhanded in how he went about doing it. He was probably planning this from the start; the explosion just provided a convenient distraction. Damn that man. Although…given what had happened to his workroom, he was a little surprised that Poppy had been willing to go through with it. He would have expected her to insist that the door be left open in case something else went wrong. Perhaps she’s more frustrated than I realized. Or….

He hurried to check the Floo, only to find that it would only access the hospital wing. Specifically, the office of one mediwitch who entered a moment later looking entirely too pleased with herself. He wasn’t surprised to see wards against travel on the Floo, but presumably she had a quick way of releasing them in the event of an emergency. So how quickly can I create an emergency? “Let us out,” he demanded when she finally saw him glaring up at her.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared right back. “I don’t think so. You have yet to make a serious attempt at dealing with what happened to you, and as your workroom has been sealed for the foreseeable future and neither of you were injured in the blast—”

“I can fix that,” Alastor muttered from somewhere behind Severus.

“—I see no reason that you shouldn’t begin now. Albus agrees.”

She cut the Floo connection abruptly, and Severus glared into the darkness for several minutes, debating whether to re-open the connection and start shouting, before pushing himself to his feet and turning to face Alastor. “I don’t need help.”

“Good, because I’ve no interest in helping you.”

They glared at each other in silence for a minute or two, and then Severus gave a mutter of disgust, summoned a book off the shelf in this room without looking, and stalked back to the couch. Alastor could do whatever the hell he felt like; Severus wanted no part of it.

Of course, on par with the rest of his luck today, he realized as soon as he looked at it that he’d managed to select one of the elementary-level Transfiguration texts that Minerva had given him at Christmas. His pride wouldn’t let him exchange it, so he sat down and started to read.

Alastor took his actions as an invitation to snoop around, and Severus glared over the top of the book as the older man prowled around the main room. It wasn’t—quite—as thorough a check as he’d given Severus’ things when Severus had first started teaching at Hogwarts, but seriously, what did the man expect to find behind the framed sketch hanging on the wall?

“I keep henbane in there,” he couldn’t help commenting when Alastor opened the lid of the teapot. “The better to poison unwelcome visitors.”

“Don’t doubt it,” Alastor returned. “And you can just stop glaring at me. This whole bloody thing is your fault.”

As though he was some sort of innocent victim. Severus shook his head as he realized he’d somehow managed to put ‘Alastor’ and ‘innocent’ in the same sentence and then went back to glaring. “Oh? And just what do you base that on?”

“If you weren’t such a pain in the arse, maybe one of those mindhealers that Poppy kept dragging here to see you would have declared you healed or cured or whatever it is she wants, and I’d not be involved at all.”

Severus tossed the Transfiguration book aside with some force. “Well, if you’d had any sort of situational awareness, you’d have made yourself scarce when she started talking about helping me instead of letting those two drag you down here. What, don’t they teach Aurors anything about ambushes?”

“Know a damn sight more about ambushes than you,” Alastor snapped back, finally turning to face Severus. “But even I wasn’t expecting it from Albus Dumbledore.”

Which meant that he had the same blind spot that several on the side of light did concerning their fearless leader. Interesting, although not particularly useful at the moment. “Constant vigilance,” Severus sneered.

Alastor dropped his wand down into his hand. “You’ve already managed to destroy one room of your quarters today, do you really think picking a fight with me and having a second destroyed is such a—”

“I did not destroy my workroom.”

“Oh?” His wand disappeared again as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I certainly don’t recall bringing any explosive—and I very much suspect restricted so you’d best watch yourself—substances me when I was hauled down here. So who was it then, the house elves?”

“Those voices in your head really don’t like you, do they? If you people had been minding your own business and staying out of mine, those substances would have been perfectly safe.” Although I cannot believe that I didn’t remember to turn the heat down.

“Told you already, this damn well wasn’t my idea.” He shook his head. “Ambushed by my oldest friend.”

Severus gave a derisive sniff. “Well, I suppose that it wouldn’t have done any good if you had been expecting an ambush anyway…the only sort of tactics I’ve ever seen you display are charging straight ahead spellcasting.” He fully expected another threat if not some sort of hex for that and wasn’t entirely certain what to think when Alastor just looked faintly amused.

“Tactics? Tell me, boy, do you play chess?”

* * * * *

Severus frowned at the board. This was absolutely ridiculous. Granted that he wasn’t a chess player of Minerva’s caliber, but he was hardly a novice, either. His loss in the first game had been due primarily to a particularly bad decision that he’d made a dozen or so moves in—a bad decision that he wouldn’t have made if Alastor hadn’t kept harassing him, but then he should have been expecting that. Unfortunately, while he’d done nothing so idiotic in this game, Alastor was still winning.

“A—ow!”

Severus looked up sharply as one of the black knights that Alastor had captured went flying across the room, bouncing off the stone wall and clattering to the floor. “Would you kindly cease abusing my chess pieces?”

Alastor muttered something under his breath about just who he’d prefer to abuse and then examined the pad of his thumb. “Bloody thing stabbed me.”

“Can’t imagine why.” He smirked. “Perhaps that’s how you’re going to die—has Sybil suggested it?”

“You are getting far too much amusement out of this fixation of hers.”

Severus forced himself to hold his gaze steady. And his Occlumency shields tight. He wasn’t entirely sure what the retaliation would be if Alastor figured out who set Sybil on him in the first place, but he was sure that he didn’t want to find out. “Wouldn’t you?”

Alastor snorted. “Point. But are you planning on making a move sometime today, or are you just going to glare at my queen until she keels over from fright?”

Severus returned his attention to the board, doing his best to ignore Alastor’s smirk as the white queen made an impassioned declaration that she would never do such a thing. Unfortunately circumstances hadn’t magically altered since the last time he’d considered his options. There had to be something there…after a moment more, he sighed and sacrificed his last rook. It was only delaying the inevitable, and they both knew it.

The student chime sounded at the entrance to his quarters before Alastor could make a countermove, and Severus turned towards it. “Who is it?”

“It’s Harry, Professor. Can I come in?”

“Let him try,” Alastor ordered. “Maybe Albus didn’t spell-seal it from the outside.”

As though Severus hadn’t already thought of that. Although if he didn’t…congratulations, Albus, you may have just set two of your best fighters up for a particularly excellent ambush. There obviously hadn’t been one, of course, but it was the principle of the thing. “You may,” he called back to Harry.

The panel swung inwards a moment later. “Hold that door!” Severus and Alastor snapped at the same time.

Harry grabbed it obediently as Severus cast a quick spell to hold it open, and then stared at the two of them. “Um...hello, Professor. Professor. Is something wrong?”

“Never mind,” Severus said with a shake of his head. “Alastor, have a pleasant evening. Elsewhere.”

Alastor shook his head and got to his feet, tucking his crutch under his arm before reaching back down towards the chessboard. He completely ignored the rook that Severus had just shifted into his queen’s line of fire, instead moved a pawn up a space. “Check in two moves; mate in four. Tactics. Huh.” He snorted again and then hurried towards the open door.

“Feel free to fall backwards down a flight of steps on the way back to your rooms,” Severus muttered after him, and then shifted his attention to Harry who still looked more than slightly confused. “Harry, was there something that you wanted? No, leave that door alone!”

Harry broke off his attempt to shut it. “Um…why?”

Because the headmaster has joined Poppy on her quest to drive me insane. He settled for glaring. “Because I told you to, that’s why. What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in detention.”

“I was. I mean, I am. Professor McGonagall took Ron and the twins to help her move a couple portraits down from one of the attics, and Ginny and Neville and Luna and Hermione are supposed to be helping Professor Sprout in the greenhouse, but she thought you might have something else for me to do.”

“Hm.” Severus stood and went to examine the door panel. No signs of a locking spell in place…. Harry yelped as Severus shoved him back through the panel and shut it again. If it did stay locked, he would order Harry to open it a second time and then go convince Albus—by whatever means necessary—to take off whatever spell was on it. This time, though, when he pulled on it, it opened easily. Apparently Albus’ spell had been a one-closed-only. A simple enough spell to dispel, provided that you were on the right side of the door. He opened the panel the rest of the way and pulled Harry back inside.

“Professor, are you feeling all right?” Harry asked, staring at the now-closed panel.

“I am perfectly fine.”

Harry didn’t look entirely convinced, but he did have the sense to let the subject drop. “Well, do you have anything for me to do? Chopping, or dicing, or….” His voice trailed off as he indicated Severus’ workroom. “If you don’t, I’m supposed to go find Mr. Filch.”

And his tone of voice indicated just what he thought of that idea. Severus summoned the Transfiguration book he’d been reading off the floor and then the second elementary level text Minerva had given him off the bookshelf. “You may take these to the library and inform Madame Pince that I’m making a donation.” He frowned. “And then fetch me an owl.” He hadn’t thought of it before, but there were a few potions masters on the continent who specialized in the more outré ingredients available—basilisk parts, for one—and they might have some insight as to what lingering effects the eye vapors might have. He didn’t think there would be anything particularly harmful, at least not after the workroom was fully ventilated, but it wouldn’t hurt to make certain.

“Do you want to borrow Hedwig?” Harry asked as he tucked the books under his arm.

The snowy owl was a bit bigger than most of the Hogwarts owls, meaning that she would make the journey faster, and with the amount of attention the boy paid to her she was no doubt in excellent condition, but this wasn’t precisely a flight to Hogsmeade. “It would mean that you would lose her company for at a week at the absolute minimum,” he warned. “Very probably longer.”

“She’d probably like a long flight. For the last year or two she’s been flying letters to and from the Burrow once a month or so—Errol used to do it, but it takes him forever and he gets lost sometimes—but since Sirius gave Pig to Ron last year, she hasn’t been doing that lately. And I haven’t had as much time to spend with her as usual…I think she’s getting bored.”

Severus wasn’t entirely certain who or what ‘Pig’ was—although if anyone was going to be idiotic enough to name an owl ‘Pig’ it would probably be Black—but he was fairly certain that Errol was the large owl who occasionally visited the Gryffindor table and seemed utterly incapable of making a proper landing. He nodded slightly. “In that case, I would appreciate her services.”

Harry nodded quickly. “I’ll bring her down as soon as I’ve given these to Madame Pince.”

* * * * *

“Good night, Professor,” Harry called, echoed almost immediately by Granger and Weasley.

Severus watched the panel swing shut behind them and shook his head. So far they hadn’t made much progress in how to get the Horcrux out of Harry, although they probably now knew more about the things than just about anyone else in the magical community. He wasn’t sure whether the new Occlumency techniques he’d found were doing a great deal of good either—of course it was hard to say if he was teaching them correctly since most of those books had been kept in his workroom—but at least they were doing something. That was probably helping the boy’s mindset as much as anything.

He glanced down at the stack of papers he’d collected in class today and then shook his head and stood. He had yet to receive a reply from the potions masters he’d sent a message to, and in the interests of self-preservation he was refraining from opening his workroom until they did, but without being able to go back and forth between grading and working, he was finding his quarters rather dull. Of course, the loss of so many of my books isn’t helping either. He could already see the joy on the faces of the booksellers in Diagon and Knockturn Alleys when they saw the amount of gold he was going to be spending to replace even a quarter of the lot. He shook his head to banish the image and then took his papers and headed out of the dungeons.

Minerva, Devon, and Alastor were all in the staff room when he arrived, sets of papers on each of their laps. Minerva and Devon greeted him, and he nodded in return and took one of the remaining seats.

“Staying here, as usual,” Minerva said, continuing a conversation with Devon that his arrival interrupted. “Head of House duties, also as usual. What about you, Severus, do you have plans for the Easter holidays?”

She flushed as soon as the words were out of her mouth, obviously remembering that not so long ago he’d had Head of House duties of his own, but Severus ignored it. “I’ll be going to Italy, actually, to be fitted for an eye.” He’d received confirmation several days ago that his replacement eye was prepared; it had simply been a matter of arranging for travel and the appropriate recovery time.

“That’s great,” Devon said with a grin. “Be able to keep both eyes on your students again.”

“Yes, I’m sure they’ll be thrilled. You have plans as well?”

Devon nodded quickly. “I’m going to visit my niece. I just got a new set of pictures by owl post this morning—”

He whipped a stack out of his robes, holding them out to Severus, who studiously ignored Minerva’s twitching lips. “Yes, she’s quite…lovely.” Actually she was rather round and red, but even he knew better than to point that out. It was faster to accede to Devon’s insistence and flip through the things than try and convince the man that he really didn’t care, and he was relieved to see Devon starting to collect his things as Severus reached the end of the stack.

“Merlin forbid that man ever has children of his own,” Minerva observed after Devon had left the room.

“Agreed.” Severus shook his head and started in on the stack of essays. Which were, as usual, less than heartening. Wrong. Wrong. Absurdly wrong…ah, Longbottom. I should have known. Wrong. A foot more than I asked for means Miss Granger, who will be right, of course, but she’ll spend three quarters of the page getting to the point. He deducted five points on principle for excessive verbiage and moved on to the next. Wrong. Wrong. Sweet Merlin, that is wrong. The grades of his fifth year Slytherin students had dropped now that Draco wasn’t around to correct them…not to the level of the Gryffindors, of course, but still the result was depressing. Do any of these children actually attend classes? My head hurts.

“Hm?”

Severus started and then shook his head, realizing that he’d spoken the last aloud. At some point while he’d been grading Minerva had finished whatever she was doing and left…Alastor seemed to have finished his as well, judging by the lack of papers on his lap and the stack on the floor beside him, but he was still reclining in the padded chair by the fire showing no signs of getting up. “Just commenting on the idiocy of the majority of my students.”

At least he wouldn’t be seeing very many of them again after OWLs. His NEWT classes were amongst the smallest in the school, due mostly to the fact that he wouldn’t accept anyone who didn’t receive a score of Excellent on his Potions OWL. Albus didn’t like it, but so far he hadn’t tried forcing Severus to change his policy. Yet. Harry takes his OWLs this year, and as I recall he said something about wanting to be an Auror. The boy wasn’t quite as horrendous at Potions as Severus generally accused him of being, but he certainly wasn’t up to the standards of Excellent either.

“What sort are you getting, anyway?” Alastor asked, interrupting his train of thought.

“Of headache? The sort one gets when one is forced to teach at a school inhabited by dunderheads and the occasional lunatic.” What kind of headache is he expecting?

Alastor snorted. “And you call the students idiots. What kind of eye?”

“Ah, my apologies, next time I’ll be certain to Legilimize you when you start asking bizarre questions completely out of context.” He shrugged slightly. “And I opted for one of the more standard models.” As much as there is a standard model for replacement eyes, anyway. He would be able to see through the back of his head, and, with limited clarity, through wall panels and stone walls less than four inches thick. He would not be able to see through invisibility cloaks or other magical devices, but that had been the trade off for getting one of reasonable size. “The mutant look just wouldn’t suit me.”

“Know vampires can’t see themselves in mirrors, but trust me, it couldn’t make things much worse.”

Severus made a mental note to take points from the youngest Weasley boy the next time he saw him. “Oh, are you having problems with your memory again? I’ll be sure mention that to Poppy the next time I see her.”

“Do and it’ll be the last thing you ever say.”

“Subtle, very subtle. Do you charge waving red flags too?”

“As I recall, the last time you started questioning my tactical abilities, you were the one who ended up getting his arse kicked.”

“I was still half in shock at the time from the loss of my workroom.” Because there is no other reason that I should have lost that badly.

“Oh? Accio Alastor Moody’s chess set.”

* * * * *

Harry fussed over the big snowy owl, who appeared to be fussing right back, as Severus unhooked the tube from her leg containing a rolled piece of parchment. He’d been starting to think that she wouldn’t arrive back before he left—the students had departed on the train for the Easter holidays yesterday morning, and he would be Flooing to Italy tomorrow to be fitted with his replacement eye. It was obviously too late to do anything with the information they’d sent now, but at least he should be able to open the workroom again and get to work as soon as he got back.

He glanced over at Harry, who had produced a handful of owl treats from somewhere inside his robes and was offering them one by one to the owl. Some of the students had departed, anyway; there were always a few who remained no matter what holiday it was, and many of the other fifth and seventh years had stayed behind as well to study for their OWLs and NEWTs. Harry and the others had been let off their detentions for the duration of the holiday, but Severus had decided to continue the Occlumency lessons as long as they were both here. Harry hadn’t made any objection and in fact had spent some extra time here this afternoon outside of the Granger girl’s schedule ostensibly flipping through the books on Horcruxes. Although he’d seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time chattering about what was happening in classes and such.

Severus smirked, imagining Alastor’s reaction if he’d noticed those books sitting on the lowest shelf of the sitting room bookshelf, and then shook his head and unrolled the note. Just as well Alastor hadn’t, somehow neither Albus nor Minerva had realized how much time the trio was spending time down here, and he still hadn’t come up with a good way to mention that he’d told Harry about being a Horcrux.

Most of the things included in the note were obvious—vent the harmful vapors, neutralize any remaining liquids before attempting to collect them, hot glass looks just like cold glass, et cetera—but one mentioned possible residue collecting in the vents, and he made a mental note to examine them before starting to brew anything.

There was a line at the bottom indicating that they’d be interested in purchasing any extra basilisk parts that he might happen to acquire, and he drummed his fingers on the tabletop and wondered idly if Minerva might be amenable to collecting a few extra vials of blood and skin and such when she took the Order members down to examine the rooms. It would go a rather long way towards offsetting the cost of his lost books. He wasn’t entirely certain that he’d be back by then, and even less certain that he would be in control of his new eye enough to leave his rooms, but given that she still owed him for suggesting Alastor as a possible mindhealer substitute to Poppy…well, it might be possible.

“Professor?” Harry asked. “Can I take her back up to my room?”

Severus checked the time and dipped his head. “I suppose we’ve done enough work for tonight. Remember to practice while I’m away.”

“I will. Come on, Hedwig.” She stepped off the back of the chair onto his arm, and the two of them headed for the door.

Severus scanned through the note again after Harry had left, and then set it aside and stood. He still needed to finish packing, but it was early yet and he was feeling oddly restless.

“Aren’t you gone yet?” a gruff voice demanded as he entered the staff room.

“Obviously not. You do have actual rooms at Hogwarts, don’t you?” Severus had been hoping that Minerva would still be here grading papers—she’d been muttering at lunch today about quizzes she’d given her third years—but the room was empty except for Alastor.

“Bigger fire in here.”

“Now there’s a healthy fixation.”

“Coming from someone who finds making poisons relaxing.” Alastor snorted. “You are leaving, aren’t you?”

“That eager to loose a brigade of Aurors in my quarters?”

“Don’t tempt me. And unless you want that mediwitch to decide you need more help, you bloody well better keep your appointment and get that eye replaced. Merlin only knows what she’ll diagnose you with if you try and weasel your way out of it. And if she and Albus try involving me again, one of us isn’t going to survive the experience.”

Severus hadn’t actually considered that aspect of things, but given that he’d made the appointment, he was hardly going to panic and miss it. “I leave tomorrow.”

“Good.” He was silent for a minute, and then, “Have you time to finish our game then, or not?”

Severus considered for a moment and then shrugged. Alastor was still beating him by an absurd amount, seven games to two not counting the first two they’d played in his quarters, but he’d finally begun to figure out a few of Alastor’s preferred strategies and had been doing better of late. He still had no idea where someone with Alastor’s absolute lack of subtlety had managed to learn to play chess so well, but at least the games used up a fair of his unexpected free time. He hadn’t realized just how lacking the Potions classroom was until he’d started trying to use it in place of his workroom.

He flicked his wand unobtrusively before he took the seat in the chair on the opposite side of the low table, checking for any spells that might be in place—Alastor would put a hex on it, if he thought he could get away with it—and waited for the chess set that Alastor summoned to arrive. Minerva would be at breakfast tomorrow morning; he could ask her to collect a few basilisk parts for him then.