ALWAYS CUT

make love to — he doesn't love anyone like this YET. wink wink.

have a quickie with — LMAO. Again, no one. POSSIBLY Lucius, if he's persuasive enough. Even then there's like ...... 0.0000000000001% chance he'd accept.

only one bed — Lucius. out of the three boys the only he trusts enough to sleep with is Lucius.

fake dating — Regulus. just to see the look on Sirius' face.

only one bed — Narcissa. She's a good friend and he knows they'll both stay on THEIR side of the bed like real adults. No backstabbing or unsolicited tickling here!

fake dating — the fact you sent me this before we even plotted it out is the funniest shit ever. Lucius. they're already encouraging rumors that they're fucking so that's halfway there LMAO.

get coffee with -- Remus. He wouldn't initiate the invite, but if Remus popped by his work place now and asked Sev would be curious enough to come along. And some of the hostility he held against him for being a marauder and a werewolf was tempered by their last interaction.

go out to dinner with -- Lucius. Honestly they probs have dinner once a week rn anyway.

1) the one you report to the manager -- Bellatrix. are you kidding me? They're like the two teachers pets obnoxiously competing for the number one spot. The minute she makes the tiniest mistake he's running up to voldemort like Look Dear Sir Mister Master Of Evil! She Fucked up! SHE FUCKED UP SHE FUCKED UP SHE FUCKED UP (more subtly than this ofc but you best believe. by the end of the evening EVERYONE will know that Bellatrix Lestrange Nee Black Fucked Up)

2) the one who reports you to the manager -- Bellatrix. lmao. they're like two grumpy cats sharing a litterbox.

Amelia, after witnessing Edgar bristling against someone who had pulled him into a hug, had once said: ‘Oh, Edgar doesn’t mind being touched.’ But this wasn’t the truth. He didn’t dislike touch, no, neither did he think it disreputable or uncomfortable. But he minded it. In the sense that he was painfully aware of it. In this world – the world he had created when first moving to England by keeping everyone at distance – touch was the closest you got to another person. Touch expressed love and anger,and all other emotions he’d been so careful to keep private but for a few chosen people, the kind of emotion that was too powerful to express solely verbally. So even as he’d grown more friendly with other people over the years, his aversion to mindless touches had remained. When Edgar reached out for another person – be it holding out an elbow, a kiss on a cheek, or a hug – it was always to express what couldn’t be said – be it a show of his proper education, a melancholic goodbye, or the gratitude of being able to welcome someone back, respectively. 

So when Snape grabbed Edgar by the collar and pulled him to his feet, Edgar was, to say the least, startled. Never did people reach out to him, never through a show of brute force and certainly never people who hardly knew him. And ironically … it was thus perhaps the best way to snap him out of this state of self-pity. This young man, this boy, this version of an Edgar who no longer existed, this Severus Snape, was holding him and speaking with such force and Edgar … couldn’t help but stare. Blink. And finally, smile. 

This version of an Edgar who no longer existed, reaching all the way from the past to assault him in the present. It was funny, because this Edgar from seven years ago really would’ve told him all that. After all, there were no failed experiments in science. A ‘no’ was still an answer, nothing but an open-question, a plan on how to proceed next. And this Edgar had indeed spent nights after nights studying and trying out the wildest things, regardless of whether it was doomed to fail. He wasn’t afraid of his own abilities, of the results. So what had changed? 

The Edgar of today let his head hang and huffed out a chuckle. He knew what had changed.

“Cremation,” he replied. “It’s the proper way.” And it was probably safer too, to ensure no one would find him. It. This. What they were doing. 

It was only when all was done and they were back on top of the hill of Battle, with Snape about to take the Bones Chimney back to London, or the Potter Estate, or wherever he needed to be, that Edgar stopped him. “I need you to know that I didn’t lose my nerve at the sight of death.” He’d seen so much death in his life. In some instances had even caused it, in a way. “It was the sight of life.” A pensive pause. “The idea of having to decide upon it. The idea of granting myself so much power.” Because that was what had changed. Edgar had learnt that life wasn’t a science experiment. In life, you couldn’t just try again. Failure was definite. And he had failed one time too often to still dare experimentation. 

But that was also what had made him smile: I expect you to get back up and deliver, was what Snape had said. And this, unlike granting himself the power of choice, was something he could do. Following orders. Executing plans. And that was something he would do in the future. The next cursed person Snape would bring, Edgar knew to save. Not because he had more faith in himself now, but because he had been given the order to just do it. And so he did. His faith in the experiment was outsourced, and the same way it would thus not be his fault if it failed, he was capable of succeeding. 

But before this day came, 1982 arrived. 

Edgar had been yanked out of sleep by a newspaper hitting him in the face, and before he knew it he ordered Fabian to go to his place and stay until he’d returned, and was himself on his way to the Potter Estate to meet Snape. His mind was frantic. He’s spent the last three days trying to keep Fabian’s mind busy while trying very hard not to fall in love, forgetting everything about the outside world only to be drawn back to the worst of scenarios: 120 Muggles dead, because of the cursed Orb der Order had failed to steal. Their mistake. His mistake. And his mind was frantic. Loud. Angry. All over the place and -

“Mister Snape,” he held out a hand, shook his firmly. “Caradoc tells me you tried to warn us. Let’s debrief and then construct a plan to finally get that Orb. Please, have a seat.” 

His mind had failed him, on that 28th of December. He had over-thought, had ended up realising that the power to save the victim was solely in his own hands, while also realising that it was a power he shouldn’t have. His mind, this frantic, loud, scattered mind of his, had led to the death of the victim. But Caradoc had ordered him to fix this. And so it was with that stern certitude with which Edgar sat across from Snape and drew up his notebook and a pen, started the meeting. No word misplaced, no stuttered gesture, no thought of doubt or hesitation. And in the span of seven hours, the exact plan for what would later become the Rosier Engagement Mission was drafted.

I need you to know that I didn’t lose my nerve at the sight of death. It was the sight of life. The idea of having to decide upon it. The idea of granting myself so much power.

Severus said nothing as the words were spoken. Only let the silence hang heavy, before he gave a crisp nod of acknowledgement, then turned around to leave.

But the words did not leave him. The sight of life, said Bones. The idea of having to decide upon it. Severus killed before, many times, both up close and from a distance. He never once thought the people he killed deserved it. He never cast moral judgement. It was never personal. He was committed to the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord asked him to kill, and thus it was his duty to do so, to follow through upon his promise of service and loyalty. To the man who took him in and laid the opportunities for a better life at his feet.

Even then, with the Dark Lord’s promises and gifts and punishments dangling over his head, the act of murder was terrifying. To cast the spell that took a life forever. To conjure the intent to do so, to decide that your life mattered more to you than someone else’s. And then to follow through. Could the opposite be true, then? If Severus was the one standing over a dying man with the counter at the tip of his tongue would terror freeze his hand as well? The ability to grant life, as terrifying and weighty as the ability to take it. Perhaps he hadn’t fully understood the situation he thrust Bones into.

He had but a few days to dwell on these thoughts. 1981 left and took a 102 Muggles with it.

He took the news to the Order about an hour before the papers printed it. Which was, of course, fucking useless, but at least he beat the speed of drying ink.

He waited in the meeting room, arms crossed, staring at the crackling fire with mind a million miles away as he tried to put the storm of guilt and anger and hatred in some sort of order that could be addressed, that he could put the events into a structure to trace the fault lines and find the places he could fix and change in the future. He could’ve done more. He should’ve done more, earlier, faster, better. Severus always understood the price of incompetence and yet this time it was not him who paid it. And it will not be him to pay it next time he fell short of his duties, either, now that he was an active participant in the fight against the Dark Lord. Now that he had the responsibility of an informant, now that he was fighting for more than just himself.

Even struggling through his volatile thoughts and feelings it was easy to sense Bones’ presence. Everyone’s mind radiated distress and sorrow and guilt today to varying degrees, but as Bones entered the room, Severus’ eyes jumped up to his. Crisp in his steps, not a hair out of place, the image of sensible efficiency. Down to business, except that his feelings and thoughts bubbled and sloshed about like an overflowing cup, the anger and worry and nerves spilling from his ears and down his front and over the table between them. Severus shook his hand and sat across from him, following his movements with his eyes. This was unlike the Edgar Bones he’d grown used to in the past few weeks. It was unlike the man as he presented himself now and before as well. As they spoke and discussed the day’s events, Severus reached out with his own mind. It was less curiosity and more caution that prompted him to do so, but still he meandered through Bones’ thoughts, beyond a simple cursory look that gave him an abundance of emotion and thought. Attached to that was name, face, memory.

The last three days of Bones’ life were rather busy. Severus picked the feelings apart, categorized them one by one as he recognized and named each one. Devotion. Fear. Worry. Loyalty. And happiness, sprinkled in throughout it all. And something else, something that pulled it all together, that pushed from the center of Edgar Bones and outward into the rest of him. Words, actions, thoughts. He puzzled through it. Absently and without true focus as he continued to debrief the other man. And then it clicked together.

Severus drew back. A physical reaction as much as it was a mental one. Carefully placed his shields back together, put his invisible limbs away and locked the doors with deadbolts and metal chains and a distant ringing. He blinked. Twice. Bones’ face registered confusion. Concern? Severus realized he’d stopped speaking. Swallowed. Resumed. Forcibly steady.

Love. Now that Severus knew what he was looking at it was impossible to unsee. The love that poured out from the man like a broken dam, the water rising through the room, waist high and rising further still. The wish to protect, the readiness to risk. All for love. Severus looked at the man as if he’d never seen him before and felt dwarfed by his presence.

He wove his shields tighter together. Pushed away the weight of emotion. And steered the conversation where it should go, work focused and efficient as the other man seemed to be against all odds. If Severus wasn’t a master Legilimence he doubted he’d know what happened.

In a matter of hours they put together a plan of action. Severus left the Estate both lighter and heavier than when he came that morning.

On January 7th, he secured their second victim. This time, he sent Edgar a note that once read shriveled up and burned to nothing. Live test. Forest. Be quick.

“Neither,” Regulus replied easily. “Nor with my brother. My business comes to the Order - the Inner Circle, if we are being precise. It’s awfully ironic, isn’t it?” He paused, raised his eyebrows to Regulus as though the other would understand what he said before he did. “That both our Master and the ones fighting against him are much more similar than they’d like. I hear you’ve made it to the Dark Lord’s Inner Circle itself. Congratulations.”

Regulus himself had never gotten that far before he died. And yet, he was still the one who knew the Dark Lord’s secret. He’d still been the one to find the Horcrux. His Dark Mark almost burned under his robes.

“And you still do not answer them,” Regulus shot back with a smirk. This was why, in fact, Severus Snape was such a good spy. He could say things with the illusion of truth without it actually being an answer at all. Most would not have spotted it - but most were not Regulus. He might’ve known Severus better than many here, in fact.

Except, perhaps, Lily Evans. 

It was sickening, the hold of Gryffindors. First, his brother. Then, Severus. Or perhaps it was the other way around. “I was asking you,” Regulus pointed out, though he did not particularly need an answer as to which side Severus was playing for. He suspected the answer was much more complicated, anyway. “I’m sure you’ve heard of another spy in the midst of the Order, yes? One before you. Tell me… do you know who it is?”

Regulus knew. He assumed Severus would, too. But he wasn’t ready to pull out that information - and wasn’t sure that the other wix would be yet either. “Again - neither,” Regulus said. “I know how this will end if the Dark Lord succeeds in his quest and I am simply trying to stop the demise of the Wizarding World. My information is much more than just information, but my heart does not lie with the people who fight here.”

‘ Secret organizations, ’ he waved a hand dismissively, as if he was part of enough of them to be an expert on what they were usually like and how they operated and that inner circles were, of course, standard procedure within rebel groups and murder cults and all such secret clubs. ‘ They all need structure. ’ Personally, Severus was unconcerned with the few hierarchical similarities between the two groups. It wasn’t enough to draw a direct parallel or point to an issue. Like pointing at cats and dogs and pondering over the irony of the both of them wagging their tails. He inclined his head in mock acknowledgment of the congratulations. ‘ You’re a little late — but I’ll forgive you that, all things considered. I’m sure you would’ve joined me soon yourself if not for your untimely death. ’

Severus didn’t show any outward sign he heard what the younger Slytherin said. He picked up the pitcher of water and began to pour himself a glass. Now who went and aired their dirty laundry to the littlest Black? ‘ Of course, ’ he replied. ‘ You know us spies. We like to keep each other updated. We have a weekly meeting with minutes. Discuss the agenda. Small talk by the water pitcher. The works. ’ If Black wanted to get more out of Severus he’ll have to try a little more subtlety.

He pondered his words as he took a sip. Then poured another glass and handed it to the wizard. ‘ The demise of the wizarding world, ’ he hummed, taking a seat again, head tilting to the side in thought. ‘ That’s quite dramatic, ’ he noted. Even for a Black. But dramatic didn’t mean baseless, nor untrue. The silence hung heavy. Severus looked at the other man. ‘ That’s what the Dark Lord’s quest is? Where it will lead? ’ He had no doubt of that himself. Had known for some time now that a world led by that monster would be a world of pain and ruin. But the Black he knew wouldn’t care about the death and the ruin of the common folk.

Amelia held the book to her chest like a comforting blanket, watching the boy in front of her and glancing over at the book that was on the table. She couldn’t help but raise her eyebrow at the tome and especially at what it showed. She wondered absently what he would need something like that for, or if there was something else in the book he was looking up. However, she wasn’t about to judge him for looking at some recipe for eye melting poison; no, she’d judge him for not getting his ass out of her seat.

“The book can sod off if it doesn’t like me,” She retorted simply, “It’s not in charge here. It’s my home, and it’s my spot. So, I’d advise you to gather your grumpy book and move somewhere else.” She moved her own book to one arm, motioning towards the books that were strewn about on the table, adding on then, “Or, I can sweep them up for you and move them and you can follow along, or just lose them.”

He quirked an unimpressed eyebrow at her forceful words. Irritation flared up in the back of his mind, but he pushed it back. He knew Edgar’s sister was a rather stubborn witch, so this was not unexpected. He held her gaze for a long moment before he spoke. He gestured with a hand. ‘ They’re not friendly books, ’ he said in a flat voice, rather strongly understating their tendency towards pride and ugly temperament, ‘ and they don’t know you. If you want to take your chances and see how much they like getting jostled around by strangers then be my guest. ’ He paused. ‘ Just be sure to leave a note for Edgar first. Let him know it wasn’t my fault his sister is a stubborn witch. ’

Just in case she was stubborn enough to rub her hands all over a pile of cursed ancient books, he reached out and pulled an old tome towards himself. It was ancient, yellowed pages and worn edges, if it had a title at some point it was so faded as to be unrecognizable at this point. Beneath his touch, the pages ruffled, as if taking a deep, unsteady breath. He looked up again. ‘ Except this one. ’ He might be willing to see her get temporarily cursed, but he supposed even he had a limit.

In the days after the battle, Amelia had felt amped up, on edge, and needed to be constantly moving. That was mostly done with either bringing those still at the House of Bones food and drink and checking in on them, or burying herself in her work as much as possible. She had finally started to calm though, and had returned home to spend a quiet afternoon curled up in the library. She’d missed that feeling, and decided it was going to be the best way to spend her day off.

She walked into the library, taking a deep breath in and letting her shoulders relax. She walked around absently, fingers running over the books as if she hadn’t read them all before. She was looking for something familiar though, something soothing, and smiled softly as her fingers landed on the book she was looking for. With that, she picked it up and moved to go sit in what she had always decided was her spot… only to find someone else sitting there instead.

“And you’re sitting in my spot,” She retorted to him simply, “So I’d advise you move to somewhere no one will be having to block your light source, yeah?”

Bones. Ah ... the other one. He’d never met the witch before in his life, but Edgar had enough fond thoughts of his sister and rather a fair number of emotionally charged memories that it was difficult not to form an opinion before they’ve even met.

The books he gathered and spread on his table shivered and rattled in what could either be malice or delight. An old and untitled tome he’d borrowed from the Malfoys a year ago opened to a seemingly random page down the middle, where an ancient recipe for an eye melting poison, ironically, stared back. The gruesome, inky illustrations across the page moved in slow and deliberate detail as they demonstrated it’s effects.

The book did that every fifteen minutes, like clockwork. Severus was told it meant the book wanted attention, and he had thus far not been given reason to disbelieve this information. Still, he looked up at the witch and gestured flatly towards the book like it had just won him an argument. ‘ The book said no, ’ he replied. ‘ If the book doesn’t like you this can’t really be your spot. ’

Maurice did not like being manhandled. He struggled in the man’s grip, and parted by elbowing his ‘partner’ in the side. He stalked a few paces away from Snape whilst straightening his shirt. At least he had gotten what he wanted. A private audience with the Elusive Mister Snape and to ruffle a few pureblood feathers while he was at it.

“Well, I’m not here for a social call I am?” He said, voice dripping sarcasm as he looked around for a place to sit. “You’re not exactly winning any contests for your excellent small talk and charming smile.” Neither was he, but that was beside the point. “This place is a shithole by the way.” He wasn’t adverse to a bit of rough and tumble in a back room, but this place looked like it hadn’t been dusted anytime in the past 20 years. Perhaps longer.

He cleared some space on a box and sat down, sighing as he looked back at Snape. Down to business. “I’m starting to get the feeling the work you’re doing for my show is not a priority of yours.”

He snorted. ‘ It’s Knockturn,’ he said with a shrug. Everywhere here was a shithole. ‘ And your fluffy personality isn’t winning you a lot of friends either now is it? ’ The comment slid off absently. Half-hearted. Severus was more interested in hearing what the other man had risked coming here to say than he’d like to let on, but his eyes followed Creevey’s every move without interruption.

For a long moment after Severus took his drink and before Arabella sat down, she just looked at him and all his sharp edges. She wasn’t exactly in a position to make judgements, not when she herself looked rather gaunt, but Severus was just so… bony. She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat too? The stew is still warm, but we also have other foods.”

She didn’t begrudge him for his callousness, however. He had a right to feel however he felt and to think whatever he wished; besides, he wasn’t wrong. James had chosen to fight. But he wasn’t the only one. “We all have that in common, don’t we?” Because she did believe that there was a choice in nearly every situation, no matter how hopeless it might appear. And all of the Order’s members had made the choice to fight. “Maybe not a way out, but everyone has their reasons. And maybe James didn’t really have a way out.” She paused for another moment, just staring down at the table. It was always difficult fully to wrap your mind around loss and all reminders somehow seemed surprising. “I suppose we’ll never know.”

The mention of ‘tea time with a friend’ did make her brighten up a little bit. Good, she thought. It was very important to make time for friends even with the rest of the world going crazy. Even if Severus’ following remark did tip her off that maybe he didn’t mean that kind of friendship, necessarily. “Ah. And I’m guessing you have the proper compensation? Well, that’s good. Just be sure not to spread yourself too thin.”

Black eyes jumped to hers at the question. He hesitated. Took in her gaunt, concerned face. It would feel quite strange and uneasy to accept an offer without compensation, but, he found, it would be just as well for him to deny her offer. After a moment, he settled for a compromise. ‘ I‘ll take the stew if you bring something for your to eat as well, ’ he said. ‘ It would be rude for me to eat alone, yes? ’ And he mustn’t be rude, oh, absolutely not! The quirk of his brow makes his amusement clear.

‘ It should lessen the burden, then, shouldn’t it? That we all chose this. That we knew what we were choosing. Even him. ’ He looked up. He didn’t know what made him say what he did -- maybe he wanted her thoughts on the matter. Maybe he didn’t quite understand what it meant to make a choice, even now after he pondered his own for years. ‘ If you had a way out would you take it? ’ That wasn’t quite what he was searching for, but it was still something he wondered about.

He nodded, lips curled up at the corners, taking her concerned remark in stride without question. He was well beyond spreading himself too thin, but that was neither here nor there. ‘ I’ll take a day off in your honor, ’ he said grandly, taking a sip of the glass before placing it on the table again. Once things calmed down a little bit, of course. ‘ How does that sound for a compromise? ’

Efa always assumes Snape will be okay in these attacks. She has to, otherwise she’ll drive herself mad, anyway; but most of all, she has a deeply blind faith on his duelling skills, as well as the fact that he teeters the line between both teams. That’s not something she’s happy about, but it’s something she’s come to learn he can do well. So she doesn’t worry. She doesn’t.

Still, the gasp that falls from her lips when she hears his voice is one that matches the relief in his tone. The feeling is fleeting, because as soon as he’s close to her, she notices all the blood on his shirt, and her eyes widen. She doesn’t even have it in her to flinch at the hold on her shoulders. If stakes were lower she might make a comment on how gross and clammy he looks, and slap his hands away, get mad at all of his misplaced concern. Instead, today, she fists her hands onto his robes, uncharacteristically needing something to hold onto, to make sure he was okay. “Wh– what the fuck?” She splutters out. “Holy shit, are you okay? Snape. What the fuck. Tell me all this blood isn’t yours.”

Once again his thoughts stuttered to a stop, until he glanced down his own robes and saw the dried blood that still clung to the fabric. He grimaced, shifted. He had time to heal his injuries after his --- altercation --- with Lily, but not so much for a change of clothes. ‘ I’m fine, ’ he said, and though his tone was dismissive when he said these words to Lily they were solid now, assuring, one hand moving to clasp hers as they clung to his robes. ‘ I saw the Healers, ’ he said. Technically, he did -- in the middle of the attack, before they fled -- but the details were not important and so he added, ‘ It’s not as bad as it looks. ’

He dropped his arms to his sides again, black eyes moving to check her for injuries as he spoke, ‘ Who were you with? Did you see Fenwick when you got back? ’

Putredine --

Purple flames wrap around the victim like thick ropes. They don’t burn. They weaken the flesh, poison the blood. Extremely painful upon impact. If left unhealed for long periods of time the flesh rots and must be amputated. There is no designated healing spell for this curse, and healers have had to use creative and various methods to treat it's victims. Effectiveness of treatment methods is inconsistent. Edgar Bones and Severus Snape created a countercurse for all the curses crafted by Severus Snape prior to defecting.

Ave --

Spell leaves small but deep wounds in the victim, like holes. The number and depth of holes depends on wand movement and strength of the spell cast. The wounds are deeply reminiscent of bullet holes. Edgar Bones and Severus Snape created a countercurse for all the curses crafted by Severus Snape prior to defecting. 

Flamma pulmintra --

The precursor to Cinere, the ash spell. Turns the air in the victim's lungs scorching hot, burns the victim inside out. There is no designated healing spell for this curse, and healers have had to use creative and various methods to treat it's victims. Effectiveness of treatment methods is inconsistent. Edgar Bones and Severus Snape created a countercurse for all the curses crafted by Severus Snape prior to defecting.

Naufragi tumet --

Attacks the nerves of the affected area of the body. The nerves swell and twist into new shapes. Extremely painful upon impact, and for a time afterwards the affected body part would be useless. Healers have had to use creative and various methods to treat it’s victims. Effectiveness of treatment methods is inconsistent. Edgar Bones and Severus Snape created a countercurse for all the curses crafted by Severus Snape prior to defecting.

Lapise --

Turns the victim's flesh to stone. Upon casting will transfigure the part of the body it hits to stone, and begin a very slow and gradual spread throughout the rest of the body. The speed and duration of the transfiguration depends on the caster's skill. it can take anywhere from hours, to days, to weeks to spread out in a noticeable rate, by then the battle will have long been over. A skilled healer or wix knowledgeable in human transfiguration can slowly and painstakingly undo the effects of the spell, but the effectiveness of that process depends on the skills of said healer itself. The spell has no official counter, as it doesn't officially exist in any text, and is only known and used by Death Eaters. Edgar Bones and Severus Snape created a countercurse for all the curses crafted by Severus Snape prior to defecting. 

Pavor --

Ryland hadn’t realized mind reading and mind shielding had different names. It made sense, he supposed. They were different skills. But as Severus explained them, Ryland found himself hardly breathing as he thought about it. From itself as well. Not letting unbidden thoughts rise to the surface, not letting them control you. Sleeping because the thoughts were kept at bay, organized away where he’d never have to look at them unless he wanted to. Oh, that was a tempting thought. 

Ryland jerked his head up, meeting Severus’ eyes fully as he took in the offer. “Why me?” he asked without meaning to. Ryland flushed. He hadn’t meant to let his inadequacies shine so visibly on display, but there they were. “I mean… I assume it’s a lot of time and practice. Surely you have better things to do be doing than trying to help me.” 

With a moment of breathing to realize it sounded like he was dismissing the offer, Ryland nodded. Best make his feelings clear, even if he was confused about the mechanics of it. “I’d like that, though. I wouldn’t need anymore of this then.” He gestured with the vial of sleeping potion and slipped it into his pocket. He wouldn’t need it if they were successful, but Ryland definitely still needed it now. He wasn’t going to pretend otherwise by giving it back unless Severus asked.

Greengrass was right. Severus did have better things to do with his time. Things that might help change the course of the war as a whole rather than simply improve the life of a single soldier within it. But as he met the man’s gaze with his own again he realized this was something he wanted to do. This was personal. ‘ Call it a vested interest, ’ he said in a soft voice that carried across the air nonetheless. Lips quirked up in the shadow of a smirk. ‘ You focus on being a good student and let me worry about the rest. ’

He nodded at the man’s acquiescence, picking up his now empty satchel of potions and walking away. He stopped at the door before he left and looked back once. ‘ I’ll owl you the details, ’ he said. ‘ Don’t make me regret this. ’ And left the room.