Chapter 7: Schooldays and Spy Games

His final class of the day over, Snape returned to his office to find a message from Madam Pomfrey under his door. Apparently, Michael Timms, one of his third years, had somehow managed to get himself bitten by a powerfully venomous snake that morning. He was in the hospital wing receiving treatment. Timms had made no impression – Snape could not even picture how the boy looked. Actually, that was a point in his favor, Snape thought sourly. Unlike the other dunderheads he had dealt with over the last month or so, this one at least had managed not to create a disaster in class. Yet. The injury he sustained might indicate a previously unexpressed gift for idiocy, however.

He supposed it was part of his job as Head of House to investigate the incident. Glancing at his watch, he decided he could get started immediately. It should not make him late for his meeting with Dumbledore.

Dropping the large pile of essays he had collected from his fifth years on his desk, he went to find Timms. Once at the hospital wing, Snape glanced around quickly at the three patients. The only one wearing a Slytherin tie was a plump boy with mousy brown hair who upon closer examination did look familiar. He was sitting up in bed perusing a magazine. A bandage had been neatly tied around the boy’s lower leg, which was raised up on a pillow.

“Mr. Timms,” Snape addressed him softly as he stopped at the side of the bed. The boy started nervously.

“Professor Snape,” the boy responded with surprise, and put down his magazine.

“Madam Pomfrey is concerned about the presence of a snake at school. Where was it that you encountered the animal?” Snape asked.

The boy looked up at him, fixing his eyes on Snape’s in a suspicious display of frankness. Snape met his gaze, fairly certain he was about to be told a cock-and-bull story.

“My dorm, sir,” Timms said, and Snape caught a flash of a memory involving the Slytherin Common Room. Just as he had suspected, the boy was trying to hide something from him.

“Indeed?” Snape asked quietly. “Have you any idea how it came to be there?”

“I was practicing Serpensortia, ” the boy answered. “I just did not Vanish the serpent in time.”

An image of a group of students, accompanied by a flicker of fear, wavered into view in his mind as he spoke. Snape distinctly made out a familiar face. Violetta Burke, sixth year Prefect, had been present at the incident. Very interesting….

“I see. Well, I suggest you work on your Vanishing spells then, Mr. Timms,” Snape suggested.

“Yes sir, I will,” the boy answered earnestly.

“Will you be spending the night?” Snape inquired. The boy nodded.

“Madam Pomfrey wants to give me some more antidotes overnight. I’ll be out tomorrow morning, she said.”

“Good,” Snape said. “See that you follow her instructions.”

“I shall, Sir. Thank you,” Timms replied.

Snape left the room and walked in the direction of the Headmaster’s office. He hadn’t chosen to confront Timms with his lie - it was an option he could always exercise later, if further investigation turned up no more useful information. It behooved him to find out a bit more about Timms, to start.

“Bull’s eyes,” Snape said to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster’s office. As the statue moved aside in response to the password, Snape stepped onto the stone staircase that appeared and rode it up to the door of the office.

“Come in!” he heard in response to his knock.

Opening the door, Snape saw Dumbledore standing with McGonagall in front of the large desk at the far end of the room.

“Ah, Severus, right on time! Minerva and I were just finishing up,” Dumbledore said. To his amusement, the pocket watch sitting on his desk chimed the hour just as Snape stepped inside.

“Good afternoon, Professor Snape,” McGonagall said courteously, smiling at Snape. “I trust things are settling down a bit in your classes?”

Dumbledore noted a slight stiffening in Snape’s posture at the question. The young did tend to take themselves so seriously, and Severus was surely no exception.

Snape was suddenly sure that Sprout and Flitwick had spoken about their concerns with her as well.

“Good afternoon, Headmaster, Professor McGonagall,” he replied smoothly, allowing no trace of his discomfiture to show in his voice or expression. “Indeed, I am becoming familiar with the students, and they with me and my expectations for the class.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling. Apparently, all of the staff were amused by his performance to date, Snape thought with chagrin.

“Excellent,” McGonagall concurred. “Do let me know if I can be of any help.”

Well, since she was offering, Snape thought to himself, Timms was a third year, and Transfiguration was a required class. Perhaps she could help.

“Thank you, Professor,” he responded. “Indeed, there is something. You know Michael Timms, I presume?”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Naturally,” she replied. “He is a quiet boy, nothing remarkable in his grades. Transfiguration, I fear, is not his strong suit. In fact, I took ten points from him only yesterday. He really needs to prepare better for my class.”

“I see, Professor. You’ve been most helpful,” Snape told her, his eyes narrowing in concentration. Dumbledore wondered what about this seemingly bland assessment had aroused the interest of the newest addition to his staff.

“Why do you ask?” McGonagall inquired curiously.

“A minor incident put him in the hospital wing earlier today. Nothing you need to worry about, Professor McGonagall,” Snape answered. The picture was clear to him now. He just needed to decide how best to handle the matter.

“Well, then, I will leave you two to your meeting. Good day, Albus, Professor Snape,” she said. After they too wished her a good day, she left, closing the door behind her.

Dumbledore walked around behind his desk.

“Please, have a seat,” he invited Severus, as he sat down in his own chair.

“I presume Madam Pomfrey has snakebite well in hand?” Dumbledore asked as Severus seated himself in the chair Minerva had recently vacated. Severus’s question for Minerva had reminded him of the morning’s incident.

Dumbledore’s knowledge of this detail made Snape wonder whether Dumbledore had called the meeting just to discuss Timms. Was he really doing so poorly that he would not be trusted to handle the incident on his own?

“She does,” Snape agreed. “The boy will be up and about tomorrow morning.”

“And the snake?” Dumbledore asked.

“Mr. Timms assured me it was an unfortunate accident,” Snape replied, seeking to downplay the incident without actually lying. “The snake has been Vanished.”

If a year of receiving Severus’s reports had taught him anything, Dumbledore thought, it was that the precise wording of the first part of his statement was no accident.

“I note that you do not so assure me,” Dumbledore stated, with just a hint of a smile.

“It was surely unfortunate,” Snape shrugged his shoulders. His face hardened. “Not just for Timms, if it was not an accident.”

“I see. Shall I expect to hear more from you if it was not, then?” Dumbledore asked

“If you wish, Professor” Snape replied reluctantly. Even if his worst suspicions proved true, and he suspected they might not, the matter was hardly something that required outside intervention.

The sudden return to formality in Severus’s speech was not lost on Dumbledore. He felt himself being second-guessed, and he didn’t like it.

“Not if you were you planning to handle it yourself. I admit to some curiosity, though,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling.

“If it was no accident, Mr. Filch and I can always use some extra sets of hands to help out with cleaning and ingredient preparation,” Snape shrugged. “If it was, well, Professor McGonagall kindly pointed out to me that Timms would benefit from some tutoring in Transfiguration. I believe I know just the person to provide it.”

“Good,” Dumbledore said, satisfied. “Mr. Timms is not, however, the reason I asked you to come by.” Severus’s gaze sharpened, betraying his interest.

“Have you had any word from Voldemort?” Dumbledore asked.

“No,” Snape replied, “I’ve heard nothing since I came to Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore had expected that answer. Otherwise, Severus would certainly have reported the contact to him.

“Would you have a way to contact Lord Voldemort, if I asked you?”

“He gave no instructions at our last meeting, as you saw,” Snape replied. “I suppose if I needed to, I would write something suitably vague to Lucius and see what happens.”

“I would like you to try, Severus.”

“As you wish, sir. Is there anything in particular you want me to pass on?” Snape asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Yes, I have a bit of news for you to share with Voldemort,” Dumbledore answered him. “The Potters have agreed to hide themselves under the Fidelius Charm.”

That was definitely a piece of news the Dark Lord would want to have, though not a piece of news he would like. Not that he really cared, Snape decided. It was the best news he had heard in quite some time. However, it did seem too big a secret to give up, just to provide Snape with something to report.

“Why pick such an important piece of information to pass on to the Dark Lord?” Snape asked.

“They will, naturally, start telling people close to them of their plans,” Dumbledore answered him.

Of course. People close to them would include the spy whose identity Snape had failed to sniff out in the time since Dumbledore had recruited him.

“Ah yes, the spy,” Snape said. “You are right, of course. The Dark Lord will learn of it anyway.”

Dumbledore nodded.

“Your story will be that you were not told by the Potters,” Dumbledore explained, “since their present and future locations are not known to you. You were told by me, out of consideration for your remorse over having placed them in danger.”

“Very well, sir,” Snape agreed. “I am glad to hear it,” he added.

“It should help shore up the tale you told Voldemort,” Dumbledore remarked, “and provide you with evidence of your success in your new role, which you will need at some point.”

“Yes, it will,” Snape agreed. “Well, if that is all, I have a letter to write. If we’re doing this, I might as well try to get the news to the Dark Lord first.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore concurred, rising to escort his guest to the door.

As soon as he got back to his office, Snape sat down at his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. The letter had to be completely innocuous, in case the Ministry was monitoring Lucius’s mail. Yet it had to convey, somehow, that he had information to pass on to the Dark Lord. He thought for a few seconds, then picked up his quill and started writing.

Dear Mr Malfoy,

I am writing to thank you for the assistance you provided in my pursuit of my present position at Hogwarts. I know that my success would have been impossible without your invaluable support.

That ought to grab his attention, Snape decided. Naturally, he had written Lucius a very proper thank-you letter the very day his appointment had been confirmed, and had since received a reply. Receipt of a second thank you ought to make Lucius take a closer look.

I wish you to know that the school year has begun well. I am learning to perform my duties as Head of House and Potions Master, and I enjoy the full trust and confidence of the Headmaster. In other words, our efforts are already bearing fruit.

Surely, the use of the words “Headmaster” and “trust” would be enough for Lucius to guess that “our efforts bearing fruit” was not a reference to young minds acquiring Potions skills. If, indeed, the young minds in question were capable of such….

Sadly, my new responsibilities keep me away from our mutual friends. I hope it will not prove too great an imposition on our friendship to ask that you pass this news of my success on to them as well.

I look forward to the opportunity to thank you in person when my duties permit. Until such a time, I remain,

Yours sincerely,

Severus Snape

That should do it. Snape looked it over one last time and then sealed the letter in an envelope and sought out the Owlery. It was quite a walk to the top of the West Tower from the dungeons, time Snape spent mulling over his little problem.

Clearly, some older students had decided to hassle Timms over his loss of House points, and Timms was afraid to report them for fear of later retaliation. Whether the snakebite was planned, or just an accident that resulted from the harassment was unclear, though considering the first possibility made him quite angry. The reason for Miss Burke’s failure to prevent or report the incident was also not entirely clear. Was she involved herself, or was it just that, in her five years at Hogwarts, she had come to consider this sort of incident business as usual? He could certainly understand how she might have formed such an opinion, having been on the receiving end of such attentions himself a time or two.

Finding a talkative witness would be nice – but how to do it? He did not yet know his students well enough to judge whom he ought to approach first. Miss Burke had the answers to all of his questions, though…

Once at the Owlery, Snape attached the letter to one of the school’s owls and sent it off to Malfoy. That was the solution, he realized. He would to convince Miss Burke to tell him what happened. The easiest way to do that would be to convince her that he already knew. A task for which his last year had prepared him admirably, he judged. If he could not manage to intimidate a snobbish schoolgirl, he would do better to resign from the other work he was doing for Dumbledore.

***

Just before supper, Snape had sent notes to all six of the Slytherin prefects and the Quidditch Captain, asking them to meet in his office than evening. For the occasion, he had conjured a couple of old sofas from a storeroom to supplement the two chairs he had in his office already. They had a somewhat moldy smell and threadbare upholstery, but they would serve. He could get rid of them immediately afterwards.

As his guests trickled in, he questioned them casually about day-to-day aspects of their responsibilities. Miss Hamilton, the seventh year Quidditch captain, declared herself pleased with the way her two new Beaters were learning to work together, compared to the team’s first practices. Miss McMillan, seventh year Prefect, was happy to report that the first year girls, especially one she had worried about in September, seemed to be getting over the usual homesickness and nerves, were all making friends, and were getting into the swing of Hogwarts life. Fortunately, Mr. Yaxley, seventh year Prefect showed up at that point, or the motherly Miss McMillan might have gone on indefinitely, cataloguing the girls’ successes, favorite classes, disliked dishes, and Merlin knew what else. Mr. Yaxley reported laconically that there were no problems with the boys either. Miss Burke reported on the activities of a committee she chaired of Prefects from other houses to arrange some fun activities during the Halloween weekend, which was coming up later that month.

Once they all arrived, Snape explained to them that the purpose of the meeting was simply to keep abreast of developments among the students, and give them an opportunity to bring up any concerns they might have. A discussion of Mr. Filch’s list of prohibited items ensued, which Snape settled by pointing out that anyone unclear on the rules could go read the list on Filch’s door. When it became clear no one had anything further to discuss, Snape told his guests they were free to go. As they all rose to leave, Snape stood up as well.

“Oh, while I have you all here, I’d like to take the opportunity to ask whether any of you know what happened with Mr. Timms this morning,” he said glancing at each of the students in turn.

“I know he was bitten by a viper,” Yaxley offered. “I had already gone down to breakfast, though, so I only know what I’ve heard.”

“He came running into the Common Room from the dorms,” Miss Burke said. “He’d been bitten.”

“So none of you know what happened?” Snape asked. A chorus of “Nos” answered him.

“Well, that’s all, then. If you do hear anything I should know about it, come by my office.” Snape opened the door. As the students started to file out, he added, as if by an afterthought. “Oh. Miss Burke, if I might have another minute of your time?”

She stopped, and nodded, letting the others file past her. Snape closed the door behind them with a word of farewell.

“Miss Burke, in the future, I would advise you not to lie to me,” he said coldly.

She raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “Sir?” she said.

“You may feel confident that Mr. Timms fears his housemates more than he fears me, Miss Burke,” he said, “and in that you are correct. He stuck with your story.”

Miss Burke did not reply. She wrinkled her brow in a show of incomprehension, but her lips had curled upward slightly at the news. He’d guessed correctly, she was sure Timms would back her story.

“I know, however, that it happened in the Common Room, and a number of other people were present,” Snape added.

The little trace of a smile had vanished, he noted with satisfaction.

“I am offering you a one-time opportunity to tell me what really happened,” Snape said flatly. “If you choose not to tell me, I will produce someone tomorrow morning who will. Then I will be happy to demonstrate to you that you should be a lot more worried about irritating me than about irritating your classmates. I will dock you enough points that Mr. Timms’ recent lapse will be entirely forgotten, and you will be scraping cauldron bottoms every weekend for the foreseeable future. Your choice.”

He would, too. If his bluff were called by Miss Burke, it would require considerable effort, but the flashes of memory he’d seen gave an impression of far too many people present for a secret to stay hidden.

“But I didn’t do anything!” she said with a pout.

“That’s precisely the problem,” Snape replied softly. “You were there, but you did not prevent it, you did not report it, and you are trying to cover it up. If that’s how you want it, you may leave. I will be speaking to you tomorrow.”

“It was an accident, truly!” she exclaimed, looking up at him pleadingly. He could sense her sincerity. As she spoke, her memory of the event flickered into view, allowing him a glimpse of the ringleader’s surprised face and the striking snake. Mr. Dunstan – Snape had seen him arm in arm with Miss Burke a few times. That explained her wanting to cover it up, anyway.

“They were only joking around, giving Timms a little scare,” she added. “He should study for Transfiguration, for his own good and for the good of the house.”

“And then the snake reacted badly to a raucous roomful of students,” Snape stated.

“That’s right!” she exclaimed in surprise, now seeming fully convinced he knew the whole story.

“Very well. Here’s what we will do. You will talk to Mr. Dunstan and his friends. You will make it clear I know exactly what happened, and exactly who they are. He is to make sure that Mr. Timms meets with no further accidents, because if Timms so much as slips on a wet patch of pavement, Mr. Dunstan and his friends can look forward to spending their evenings assisting Mr. Filch in cleaning various public areas of the school. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Professor,” she said in a quiet voice.

“We are agreed, then,” Snape said. “Oh, and Miss Burke?”

“Yes, Professor?” she asked timidly.

“You are, I recall, in Professor McGonagall’s NEWT Transfiguration class,” he said.

Miss Burke nodded confirmation.

“Professor McGonagall and I were discussing Timms today, and she mentioned he has been having difficulties in her class. I would appreciate it if you could spare thirty minutes a week to tutor him, until the term ends or his grades improve. For the good of the house.”

Miss Burke flushed a bright red.

“Yes, Professor, I’ll talk to him this weekend,” she said quietly.

“Good night, then, Miss Burke,” he said, opening the door to let her out.

“Good night, Professor,” she mumbled, and hurried out of the room.

Snape smiled unpleasantly as he shut the door behind her and banished the sofas back to the storeroom whence they had come with his wand. A pile of the doubtless inane effusions of his fifth years awaited, but even that thought was not enough to wipe the smile off his face.