The Space Between Failing and Falling • Snarry •

Chapter 1: Deficiency and Defeat

Minerva wears an emerald travelling cloak, her hair is in a severe bun, and there is an unfathomable expression on her face.

"Make it quick," he says.

"That is no way to greet an old colleague!"

"Your voice is giving me a headache," he replies.

Minerva sits herself down in his armchair and gives a look of alarm at his painkilling potions on the spindly table. He simply stands and folds his arms.

Steepling her fingers, it looks as though she is considering what to do with him. It is most unsettling.

"I won't beat around the bush, then," she says at long last. "I'm here to ask you to return to Hogwarts—"

"No."

"You haven't returned my letters—"

"I haven't read them," he says. "If that will be all—"

"No, that will not be all." Minerva purses her lips. He loves winding her up. "I wrote and apologised. I would appreciate it if you accepted my apology." She makes the bold assumption he has and smiles at him. It appears she knows him rather well. "So. What are you doing for a living?" she asks.

"Breathing out my final days in Muggle utopia as a bachelor of leisure."

"Don't be obtuse. You know full well what I mean."

"You are my ex-colleague, not my mother. I do not have to answer to you."

Minerva stands. "I can see that you are upset. I shall come back when you're in a better mood."

He refuses to be rude, and so allows her to leave without another word.

****

The Sorting Hat says its part, a new batch of minuscule first-years turn up, and they expect him to train an 'Eighth Year' as a bonus to his already-significant workload. It is a sad state of affairs that Slytherin house does not need to be expanded to accommodate the eighth-years.

Teaching begins today, and he has fresh pupils to intimidate. His Potions colleague seems tolerable, and Hogwarts is forever the same.

"How are you feeling this morning, dear?" his grandma asks.

She hangs in the sitting room of his quarters, liberated from the Prince vault in a fit of sentimentality. He starts to regret the social imposition.

"Fine. Thank you." He rubs the Numbing Salve over his throat in preparation for breakfast.

He relishes living alone. For instance, no dirty socks litter the floor. Nobody stole his bedsheets last night. It is impossible for him to catch a venereal disease. He has no one to squabble with over which section of the Prophet to read. Furthermore, there are no grubby fingers on his Very Good Plus-graded record collection.

He is definitely not lonely.

"I am fine," he repeats.

"Of course you are." She sniffs and adjusts the lace of her high-necked robe.

"Good-day to you," he says.

"Good-day."

It is certainly not because of this conversation with his grandmother that he invites Minerva, Aurora, and Bjørn Nilsen, the new Potions professor, over for cards and wine that evening. He tidies away the cards and tumblers after everyone goes to bed, ignoring his grandmother's commentary ("It's like the Wreck of Hesperus in here!")

Bjørn is a transfer from Durmstrang Institute, which is an endless source of fascination for Severus. He lives in the quarters reserved for the Defence professor. This is because Severus cannot bear to move again after moving from the dungeons into Albus's bedroom.

His dungeon quarters are warm and green and plush, and the floor-to-ceiling windows cut out of the cliff have a jaw-dropping view. His rooms remind him of his old Slytherin dormitory—comforting, home.

He is glad life is getting back to normal.

****

"Magic," he begins to the seventh- and eighth-years, "is merely a question of concentration and mind power." He stalks around the perimeter of his classroom. "Therefore I expect your fullest attention on what will be a gruelling academic year in preparation for the most exhausting exams you will ever face."

Granger is on the edge of her seat. Lovegood appears to be illustrating this moment. Curiously, Draco sits next to Lovegood.

"If this level of commitment is beyond you, you are welcome to exit my class."

Potter has brought the wrong book, is borrowing a quill, and he is jumpy.

It quickly transpires that try as he might, he just cannot do wordless magic or advanced spells.

Within a few short weeks, Severus admits that Potter cannot focus on Defence, and something is very wrong with the boy. He grudgingly admits that Potter is trying hard. And so, the Golden Boy does not have it all.

By all accounts, Potter is doing well in Potions. He is insufferable and doubtless wants to join the Auror Office, and so he has finally got his act together in the Potions domain. According to his colleagues, Potter is failing Charms and Transfiguration, but passing Herbology.

And so, once again, it falls to Severus to teach him in an area in which he is woefully lacking.

Potter no longer wastes hours on that broom. This is a good thing because he has plenty of time for detentions, and it gives Slytherin a chance to recoup their rightful Quidditch cup. He hands out detentions for the slightest of infractions, and assigns him silent Defence study sessions whilst Severus marks endless terrible essays. Although it is beyond Severus's remit to hold his hand through the classwork, it just will not do that the Boy Who Lived Again is performing so miserably in his class. At least during these detentions, the youth can study unimpeded by the raucousness of Gryffindor tower.

Potter is at first incensed, and then grateful for this respite, and within time even disturbs Severus's marking to ask questions on defensive doctrine. This doesn't bother Severus, as he loves talking to pupils who are engaged in the subject and who are not walking disasters.

And yet...his magic is still not what it was purported to be.

Regardless, students flock to him like moths around a lamp. It's sickening. They can't take their hands off him.

He does not take part in the Pottermania staff room gossip, and he has banned school chatter from the Monday cards-and-wine night.

Christmas comes and goes, and the drunken games night, gossip and media madness continue.

When the dreams start, it must be due to the endless detentions, staff meetings where they wring their hands about 'psychological support', and the number of Daily Prophet columns allotted to that boy.

He decides not to notice Harry in the corridors, but it is like walking past an accident.

He cannot stop himself.

****

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