“beyond wandpoint” 040 by gingerbred

[beyondwandpoint]

“11 10c Monday - Filling in Faculty”

Severus, Terrence 'Call-Me-Terry' Taylor, Hagrid, Miscellaneous Faculty

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Originally Published: 2017-12-17 on AO3
Chapter: 040

Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

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Severus has been having quite the morning. It hadn't been good. It's gotten worse. Staff responded much as was to be expected. They're suitably terrified to hear of an attack on a student on Hogwarts' grounds. They were all sympathy for the poor people bonded despite not being romantically involved; how could Albus? Just bursting with outrage on behalf of the piteous bastard subjected to the Protection Vow. Right up until they knew it was him, that is.

Septima all but accused him of being a paedo. Hooch gave him a nudge and a wink. He honestly couldn't have said which was preferable. Taylor was hardly any better than Rolanda, just less... physical about it. Which only proved none of them had believed a word of their not being a couple.

Sybill frankly hasn't liked him since the prophecy fiasco. She just screamed, "I knew it!"

Severus, criminally slow this morning, but that was probably still from the strain of the weekend and the lack of sleep, made the mistake of replying. "Your gift?" It was snarled and patently derisive.

"Oh, no. I am and have always been an accomplished student of human nature," her knobby hands waved so dramatically, it bordered on flailing. Irma had had to duck to avoid being struck. Sybill continued in her grandiloquent fashion, her eyes blinking vaguely unfocused behind those bottle-bottom lenses of hers. Although, the lack of focus might have been the sherry he could smell on her... "This trespass was only to be expected of the likes of you."

He had practically handed her that one and resolved to say nothing more. He wasn't going to sway them anyway.

But Hagrid...

Yes. Hagrid had demanded to know what he'd done with 'our 'ermione' and had thrown him against a wall so hard he'd broken three ribs. That had been rather the highlight.

Albus hadn't even moved, just, "Now, Hagrid..." which oddly hadn't served to slow the half-giant any.

Filius had tried to intervene on his behalf. Sadly without magic. Astonishingly, that achieved bugger all, but Severus gave him points for his big little heart, if only a few. And just as Severus was reasonably sure he was about to puncture a lung, Poppy swooped in and gave Hagrid a stern talking to. Severus considers himself blessed. It's not like these people could work magic and... Oh, wait.

Hagrid, naturally, hadn't seemed all that inclined to listen until Minerva, somewhat unexpectedly, joined Poppy in explaining Severus had actually protected 'their' 'ermione.

Something self-loathing, vaguely suicidal and highly antagonistic in him had him just a breath away from pointing out she's his 'ermione now, as long as he could still breathe that is, except he's not quite that reckless and just couldn't bring himself to say the name. Butchered or not.

Poppy set to healing him, once Hagrid released him and Severus slid inertly down the wall that is, just yet another Episkey or three, who's counting, while Minerva tried to make the big oaf understand. Through it all, Severus didn't say another word. He hates the lot of them.

And that's where he is, where he lies when he feels a surge of concern shoot through their bond like nothing he's ever felt before. He's Occluding, he always Occludes, but not as robustly in these surroundings as he might... elsewhere. And in the face of the onslaught, emotional and physical, he hadn't kept his shields up as he perhaps normally would. Which means she now has a reasonable idea of how he's doing, and he can feel her concern all too vividly.

It's dizzying. It takes getting used to, the sensation is overwhelming. Yesterday, he'd lost consciousness faced with it. Today he fares better. But only just. Fortunately all present assume that's due to Hagrid's manhandling. That actually prises a "Sorry, Perfessor," from the man mountain. Severus couldn't care less.

He closes his eyes and explores the sensation. He still hurts, no question, but... The concern is a balm of sorts. And yet another mockery, because he knows he doesn't really matter, not like that, to her or anyone else, but it's nice, just for a moment, to lie there with his eyes closed and pretend.

That just frightens a number of those gathered so that a moment later he can feel Hagrid trying to scoop him up in his arms and offering Poppy to carry him to the Infirmary as the Mediwitch tries to pour a potion down his throat. Severus coughs and sputters, wiping the Pain Relief a bit foolishly from his chin. He probably could have used it, but he has only just escaped her dominion; he has no intention of returning so soon. And so he opens his eyes and wriggles awkwardly from Hagrid's clutches, leaning very heavily against the wall as he does so. Poppy is still scolding the man, Minerva repeating her words of pacification, with some success, as Hagrid can't seem to stop apologising.

Severus staggers away from them and towards the door, needing to be... elsewhere. Just... not with them anymore. What he probably needs is a month in the Lake District. Without abuse. Neither are likely.

The majority stay where they are, content to argue. Taylor seems to be trying to accompany him. Maybe even to see if he's alright. Or perhaps he's trying to have a chat, to show he's 'one of the lads'... Severus isn't quite sure. All he knows is that as he slips from the faculty room, the annoying new DADA professor follows him and won't stop talking.

"Snape! I say, excellent choice, mate!" The 'mate' is still English, the accent decidedly American, although he supposes an American might still find it foreign enough as to consider it English. 'Mate', Severus imagines, is still preferable to 'buddy', although they are very clearly neither.

Toirdhealbhack Taylor, 'Terrence' for those with any desire to pronounce his name, or 'Call me Terry' as he invariably insists, is the latest in the long chain of DADA instructors, and about as qualified as Umbridge or Lockhart had been. He has yet to notice no one has taken him up on his offer to actually call him 'Terry'. He's a Muggle-born fresh from the States, where he'd lived the past twenty odd years, and Severus can't help thinking he got his degree from whatever their equivalent is to Kwikspell.

He's a blond man, prettier than Lockhart by far, several inches shorter than Severus, with American teeth and a highly dubious tan that looks like it came from a phial. He hasn't mastered Gilderoy's tooth sparkle, no loss, but has a similar obnoxious bonhomie, all the more so for its possible sincerity. It sets Severus' properly crooked teeth on edge. Taylor's robes are less ostentatious than Lockhart's, small mercies, but his confidence is almost equally unflagging, although presumably less justified, given Severus doubts he's even mastered Memory Charms. In all fairness, it's probably optimism and not confidence, but Severus has a hard time distinguishing that, optimism as utterly foreign to him as it is.

Taylor had been a Hufflepuff as a boy, a year behind Severus at Hogwarts, in Regulus Black's class. When the First Wizarding War became increasingly dangerous for the Muggle-born and their families, his parents, reasonably well-to-do and able to afford such steps, had had the foresight to take their son and flee beyond Voldemort's reach. He'd only been a third year when Eugenia Jenkins was ousted as Minister for Magic and his family moved. Because he came from 'war-torn' Europe, however, he apparently was seen as someone with more 'Defence experience', which helped land him the job of DADA instructor at Ilvermorny for the last two years.

That just annoys for several reasons, the U.K. clearly not being Europe, the continent having kept themselves almost entirely out of either of the wars, third years generally free of any useful Defence knowledge, and Hufflepuffs an inherently questionable choice for a DADA instructor at best, with all due respect to Tonks... Madam Lupin.

In his absence, Taylor had completely missed the developments in the British Isles and their significance. Then and now. Severus feels that shows in all manner of ways. He also strongly suspects Ilvermorny wanted to get rid of Call-Me-Terry, quick as you please, except it somehow took them two years to do so. Presumably because Americans are... laid back. In Massachusetts. They can't have found him qualified. No one seems to know what he did in the years prior to his brief stint at the American school. Whatever it was, it doesn't seem to have been particularly fruitful.

Professor Taylor comes waddling up to him where he stands leaning against a wall just outside of the Faculty Lounge. "Wasn't much of a choice," Severus grumbles.

"Nonsense," Taylor objects, as though he understood... anything. "Nice backside."

"I can assure you, Taylor, that did not play even the slightest role in the decision making process."

"Ah," he answers in his best approximation of insight, "True love was it?"

"As Albus said, we are not now, nor have we ever been, in a relationship with one another. This was done solely to protect her in light of the attack Friday." Taylor will never know of or understand Severus' role as a spy, and that's the official line. Severus will faithfully repeat it until he's gone as green his House colour.

"Still, doesn't hurt that she's such a curvy thing," Taylor assures him sanguinely.

Severus is appalled. It probably makes a significant difference that Call-Me-Terry hasn't watched her grow up as he has. Somehow the whole thing sits worse with him because of that fact. And then he finds himself wondering how the man could ever have noticed her figure, curvaceous or not, beneath her typically voluminous robes. He certainly hadn't until he'd more or less had his considerable nose rubbed in it, and he likes to think he's generally an observant man. Well, perhaps not of those kinds of things.

"Absolutely not the point, Taylor, and I'll thank you to refrain from suggesting as much."

"You posh types are so repressed," Taylor dismisses his objections. As the two of them were actually acquainted as students at Hogwarts, if only slightly, he fails to see how anyone could have taken him for posh. And then too, Bellatrix, the poshest save Lucius and Narcissa in his acquaintance, is also inarguably the most debauched individual he's ever met. Small favours. He doesn't think he could take anyone worse. He can't even take her, frankly. So much for Taylor's world views.

"You're not even her teacher anymore." Apparently Taylor had indeed paid just a little attention. "Although I still don't quite get why you did that, what with the protections in place and all. I mean, that's sort of the point of them, isn't it? But seriously, man, given that you aren't, I really don't see the problem."

Severus can't help thinking that that should probably be something they screen for when hiring, that potential professors very clearly see a problem with... relationships between staff and students. But if they did that, they doubtlessly wouldn't, couldn't have the Headmaster they currently have who had concocted this entire scheme.

He's just too tired for the frustration he feels.

"Swotty thing," Taylor keeps going, because there is no God. "But then, you always were, too. I guess you have that in common." Severus just stares at him. That he somehow remembers, but thinks he was posh. Call-Me-Terry has clearly conflated some things, or taken a few too many hexes to the head. On consideration, probably the latter.

"Again, Taylor, this is purely a protection detail. She's a Muggle-born, a friend of Potter's and seriously. At. Risk. As this weekend demonstrated."

"There's nothing wrong with being Muggle-born," Taylor replies. It's not even an objection really, more like he's agreeing with Severus' choice, and missing the point completely.

"I didn't suggest there was anything wrong with it, simply that she's in danger because of it. As are all Muggle-borns to some extent in the current climate," his voice drips with not so hidden meaning, but Call-Me-Terry continues not to hear the message, as he's blithely done for the past two months. "You can rely on the situation to worsen, significantly, before it improves, Taylor."

Still no reaction, and more than a little frustrated Severus finally goes for plain speech, not that he's all that hopeful at this point. If the memory is ever seen by the wrong people, it can be taken as a not so veiled threat and an insult. "The same applies to you," his long finger draws the shape of the Muggle-born badge on the man's chest. There's no badge there, yet, but it's only a question of time. "I've told you before you shouldn't underestimate the peril. You need to take your task of educating the students, preparing them for what's to come, seriously. You shouldn't be teaching fluff. You can't afford to shirk your responsibilities and trifle."

Unsurprisingly by this point, his words completely miss their mark, rolling off the man like water off a duck's back.

"Trifle! Ha!" Severus suspects he's not sure of the meaning. Or he's got afters on the brain. At nine in the morning. Promising. A glance at Taylor's midsection confirms the slight onset of a paunch. They share a fondness for sweets, but not the same self-discipline. The quality of Hogwarts' kitchens naturally won't be helping the sandy-haired wizard.

"Oh contraire, Snape, my good man," Call-Me-Terry begins, just proving his idiocy. "I learned something from the Muggles stateside that should come in very handy, very handy indeed, and I mean to see the students here learn it. It's called 'duck and cover', and it's our N.E.W.T.s project for the year. You heard correctly, a project! I take my job very seriously, very seriously indeed, and will not rest until they've learned it, every last one."

Severus hasn't a clue what that's supposed to be, but feels certain if it were remotely useful, he'd have at least heard of it. There may be some conceit involved, but he's earned the right to it. Additionally, he's having a hard time accepting Muggle knowledge as a particularly useful defence against the Dark Arts. Shy of weaponry, he supposes. It also seems highly imprudent to rely on a single spell...

Be that as it may, he has too many other problems to worry overmuch about it. He's complained before about the DADA program, only to have his objections fall on deaf ears, and ultimately, this needs to be something Albus sorts. It's not like he has the authority for it anyway. Merlin knows, he'd fire the man.

But one thing's for certain, his opinion that Taylor's a blithering idiot just keeps getting reinforced.


They haven't gotten far from the Lounge where they stand discussing... No, he won't dignify the exchange as a 'discussion'. They aren't more than a few steps down from the Lounge when Severus suddenly feels a strong wave of relief.

The fucking bond again. How nice for her. She's probably just discovered a way to make up for lost class time. He's busy hating life more than a little when Taylor gives him a nudge and with a jerk of his head, indicates something over Severus' shoulder.

He turns, and whom should he find lurking there but Miss Granger.


He can only assume this is a manifestation of the Loyalty Vow.