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𝚇𝚇𝚇𝙸𝚇 >> 𝙰 𝚂𝙴𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙰𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶

< 3 MONTHS, 1 WEEK, 3 DAYS >

There's a soft knock on Snape's office door, awaking him from the pyretic sleep he fell into when returning at sunrise with a limp in his step and a damnable jaw. Checking the clock, he sees that it's the afternoon, and he drags himself to the door to open it. His face hurts; he can feel the swelling within it, hot and brimful and entirely unwarranted. He doesn't care who's about to see it. It doesn't matter to him today, no matter how loathly and teratoid he may appear.

"Severus," says Albus Dumbledore as Snape sees that it's him waiting outside. "We have received a letter that may be impervious to your sight; as it pertains to something you are involved in, I thought it would be best if you saw what was written."

He hands Snape an official letter from the Ministry, formulated this morning and remitted just minutes ago. The wax seal is still warm, still malleable, and it smells of buffalo hide and smoke. Severus unfolds it, looking detachedly down at the printed typescript on the thin sheet of purveyed parchment. It still smudges from the fresh ink, not yet entirely dry. He can hear the click of typewriter keys as he looks at the font, the soft metal making itself known to his fingertips as he imagines it.

The letter states that Miss Molly Fallacia Elsa Peritus, eighty-two years, is to be held in custody for interrogation and then further confinement until a trial, which is yet to be scheduled. Those involved in the incident, which includes all of Hogwarts staff, affected children, Horace Slughorn, and Remus Lupin, are to appear in court to settle the dispute before the Ministry and its council.

Joy.

Snape folds up the letter and hands it back to Dumbledore, who tucks it away in a pocket beneath his robes.

"You seem to have been quite battered last night," he observes, and Severus remembers everything that was done to him, now fully aware of the pain his jaw is still in possession of.

"I've been battered since birth, Albus; I am quite capable of handling it." Ironically, it is quite painful to speak.

Dumbledore smiles. He twinkles, actually. He's always had some worthless knack for that. Snape despises how charming it makes him. It nearly melts his animosity away. "I do not doubt it, Severus. You are a perennial in the harsh winds of wintertime."

Snape blinks, wondering if Remus ever told him anything about perennials or if this subject is mere providence. But before he can ask, Albus has already made a segue into the one topic that Severus has been avoiding since the first of November, 1981.

"Which brings me to the question," Dumbledore continues, "how far in that area are you willing to go?"

"How much further do you expect me to, Albus?" Snape scoffs in return. As if he hasn't done enough. As if he would ever want to do this over again.

"I am asking you one more time, Severus," Dumbledore replies, eschewing the question entirely. "Dark times are due to come, and I want you on my side. Will you be my middle-man?"

Now that he actually needs to think about this, it isn't a terrible query to encounter. Severus has seen much harder questions and much larger nebulae to be bothered by such a thing. Sighing in resignation and pacing in a small circle, he throws his hands into the air and finally responds.

"God damn it," he grumbles, pacing back and giving Dumbledore a rare bout of eye contact to ensure the validity of the following statement. "I hoped you'd forget."

Albus smiles and shakes his head. "I may be forgetful, Severus, but not when I am reminded by your dedication and bravery that I want you to help watch over what we have." He reaches out his hand, offering a handshake. His deportment softens. "Please."