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𝚅 >> 𝙰 𝚅𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙲𝙴𝚁𝙽

< 2 WEEKS, 6 DAYS >

A stack of parchment is slammed on one of the classroom worktables. The entire worktop shakes, dust disseminating around it and descending restfully on the sturdy stone flooring.

"I can't find his curriculum anywhere."

The echo of the room has recently decreased somewhat, likely since the tables have been moved and the shelves have been filled with correctly-labeled and alphabetically-positioned vials again. Empty space has been filled with compositional plants; corners have been dusted and stocked with ancillary vacant bottles. It looks nothing like how Slughorn had it, deeming the room a derisive success.

"I imagine he likely has it by some sort of unrepresentative misadventure, celebrating somewhere in his hideout with it tucked carelessly under his arm like a little Victorian paper boy, no doubt," Severus scoffs, continuing his caviling. "Cowardly, him. Always thought it."

Albus, who sits at the chair opposite him and observes his setting up, thinks back a bit. "I thought you liked him," he cues, his watch following all the supplies as they're frivolously laid out. Severus gives him a look of cynicism.

"He liked me, Albus; An unfortunate bond."

Dumbledore discounts this as Snape moves to the following table, setting another stack of parchment in the center again. "I'm sure you'll be fine, Severus," he inspirits him soporifically, the triangular tip of his long blue hat dangling over his forehead. "I know what I was thinking when I decided to hire you, and my opinions haven't changed. You are fully capable."

A snort. As if this is even a question.

"Well, of course I'm fully capable," Snape replies with a dripping undertone of mordacity. "I'm not craving your ardent moral support, Albus. I have no need for... senseless reassurance."

"So what do you need, Severus?" Dumbledore asks equably. He fiddles with one of the jars in front of him. "Do you want to talk about Lily again? I know you're still..."

He's met with a stiff, guarded glare. He changes the subject.

"Well, if you aren't sure about what to teach today, just..." He tosses his hands around, sending somewhat of a subpoena for any available ideas. "Teach them some random potions. Loosen up. Or have them read a passage from their textbooks. The school board and I could not care less."

"Last I checked, it was more than clear that you, quite frankly, are the school board," Severus remarks in return. "But how is it that I'll know which potions to pick for them? With all your... brilliant ideas, I'd hope you would have thought this far when you decided that potions classes would resume today."

Albus clicks his tongue. "What?"

Severus leans over the next table, espying him straight in the eye and hoping that it's at all feasible to make any sort of coherent decision with this man. "How do I know what to teach them if nowhere does it say what they already know?"

In the plenteous quiet that settles between them now, Albus very apparently experiences a moment of abrupt enlightenment, cocking his head and tapping his first finger on the table.

"...Ah," he says detachedly, and, without another word, he stands up and leaves the room.

"Don't—" Snape begins in exhortation, but Dumbledore is already gone, leaving the space void of anyone or anything else other than the occasional footsteps of a stray student.

Giving a thwarted breath, he whirls around and drops the parchment back on his shelf with a deafening whack, pacing quickly to the other side of the room and collecting the pens that he brought in from his office. He tosses them bitterly at the tables, gritting his teeth in despondency at the fact that he's had to be reminded of Lily today, again, by another external source.