Within the Wings of a Storm

Dreams Unwind

Poor Sirius. And some questionable teaching methods from Professor Snape.

Chapter title from "Rhiannon" by Fleetwood Mac
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Snape's personal potion brewing room was more like a closet. In fact that's probably what the room's original intent was, as it was next to his bedroom. He had created a passageway to it off the main living room instead, a door which revealed itself with a silent password known only to him, and a flick of a wand. Inside was a single brewing table and a locked cabinet of supplies. Severus brewed the most volatile and dangerous potions here, to avoid a student happening upon them. Since they had a full day before the other students would arrive and Snape had to assume more faculty duties, he intended to spend the majority of the day in the room, focused on Rhiannon's potions work.

Snape took his own breakfast in the Great Hall, having been assigned meal supervision that day to avoid suspicion from the other staff at any prolonged absences. The newest staff member had just arrived that morning— the Ministry plant he had learned about when last summoned to the Dark Lord. She was a nauseating bubble of pink fluff who giggled after every simpering, falsely saccharine statement that escaped her mouth. Of course Dumbledore had deliberately placed her to Snape's left at the staff table, anxious to have his spy zeroing in her with every possible opportunity.

"So very pleased to meet you, Professor Snape," she said brightly, grabbing his hand from the table in order to shake it. He looked pointedly from his hand to her and back again, attempting a warning.

"I must admit out of all the staff at Hogwarts I looked most forward to meeting your acquaintance," Dolores Umbridge continued gushingly. "A fellow Slytherin who prioritizes discipline and teaching our students self-control and respect— I am sure we will be very fast friends."

Snape swallowed. "Indeed." He felt Dumbledore's expectant gaze on them from further down the long table. This was going to be a very long year.

"The Ministry has charged me with bringing order to Hogwarts," she continued cheerfully. "These last few months have been quite disturbing and we all need some sensibility, some grounding. I trust I can count on you as an ally? If anything seems amiss, you'll notify immediately, yes?"

"Of course," Severus said, taking his last sip of tea. "Now if you'll excuse me, Potions requires a great deal of preparation before the beginning of term. Good day."

"Good day!" Umbridge squeaked in return before turning her attention to her next victim, Pomona Sprout.

Severus hoped that whatever history and motives Remus and Tonks were crafting for Rhiannon were believable, because this Umbridge woman would be relentless in discovering any hidden truths.

Miss Aspenfell, he corrected himself grimly, though he recalled her using his first name rather early on in their interactions yesterday. He was torn between being offended by her brazenness and happy that she wasn't terrified of him. Their necessary relationship would be much easier if she maintained respect for him as her teacher, of course, but how could he expect her to respect him after she had seen inside his thoughts last night?

Severus rounded the corner to the dungeon steps and felt an unwelcome flush at the memory. No— he had told her they would forget last night, and that is exactly what he intended to do. They could not go on with the roles they had to play after what had happened, so the solution was simply to believe it hadn't. Effective obliviation. Actual obliviation would have been much easier, and Snape cursed himself for not thinking of it in the moment.

He entered the living room to find Rhiannon seated at the small table, a half eaten croissant in front her, her tea untouched as she studied the textbook in front of her. She was back in Muggle clothing today— jeans and a tight green sweater perfectly matched to her eyes, hair thrown up in a bun. It was the casual opposite of her goddess-like appearance from last night, and Snape wondered if it was intentional, an effort to make herself less desirable after what she'd seen within his thoughts. It wasn't working.