𝙻𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 II SS/HG ✔️

February Twenty-Sixth

.

Severus startled when someone knocked on his office door.

Poppy Pomfrey came in without waiting for Severus's permission. Severus frowned over the stacks of Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions essays on his desk. Both he and Poppy knew he wouldn't rebuke her. Poppy had been healing and treating Severus's injuries for more than twenty years. Now the Healer was helping him by testing the potions turned in by the first- through fourth-years.

The matron gave him a concerned look. "Severus, shall I send for a house-elf? You look like a cuppa wouldn't be remiss."

Severus drew his hands down his exhausted, sallow face. "No, thank you, Poppy, I can manage until dinner."

"If you insist, dear," Poppy conceded, though she still looked worried. She disappeared through his sitting room door to return with a crate of potions vials floating at her side a minute later.

"I will have these returned by tomorrow night," she said.

Severus nodded, already busy grading the advanced Potion's class's dragon scales essays.

Poppy closed the door behind her. Not five minutes later, another knock disrupted Severus's concentration.

"Enter," he said, somewhat testy.

Ancient Runes professor Walter Wrinkle came in. The man struggled to look at Severus over the goblin-sized stack of parchment.

"I've recorded the marks for the first-, second-, third-, and fourth-years' exams and essays," Walter said as he set them on the chair in front of the desk.

"My thanks," Severus mumbled, scrawling a hasty O on top of a Ravenclaw essay. Thank any gods above Wrinkle had scored high on his Potions N.E.W.T.s thirty years ago—and that Severus had kept detailed notes from his own school days that Wrinkle could borrow.

Wrinkle took the stack of essays waiting for him from the edge of Severus's desk. He lingered at the door before wisely deciding to move on without an attempt at small talk. Wrinkle didn't like Quidditch and Severus had no desire to learn about other small-talk worthy items.

Eleven essays later, Severus was interrupted again. Slughorn had been gone for five weeks—five hellish, torturous weeks. Severus's nerves frayed more with each passing day.

"Enter," he said through clenched teeth.

Do not snap at the people helping you, he told himself.

Filius Flitwick walked in. "Do you have lesson plans for me, Severus?"

"Yes," Severus answered, relieved that he had a former dueling champion for a colleague. Filius could have been hired for the Defence post if his love of Charms hadn't called to him.

"This should last the lower classes until the end of the semester," Severus explained as he handed over the DADA syllabi.

"Should I write the exam for them as well?" Filius asked, perusing the schedule.

Severus rubbed his temples. "I do not yet know. If it would not be too much trouble, I would like to keep that option open."

"No trouble at all," Filius assured him. "I'll leave you to your work."

Severus waved his hand, eyes once again riveted to a badly written essay.

Severus noticed that Filius left the door open a crack. He was about to charm the door closed when it swung open to reveal the concerned face of Minerva McGonagall.

Severus exhaled a sigh. "Minerva."

"You look exhausted," she said. The witch shut the door and conjured up a chair. The student chair had never agreed with her back, and after her stint in St Mungo's last year, she refused to bother with the rickety, wooden monstrosity.