Chapter 13

That following Monday morning, Severus had apparated directly to the gates just thirty minutes before his first class was about to start. He'd dressed in one of his new, absurdly soft silk-blend shirts under his teaching robes. Harry had been insistent he'd try one on, and if he didn't like it, they could return it. By Merlin's feet, he loved the feel, though he would never tell Harry that so enthusiastically.

Severus had also skipped breakfast in the Great Hall as his appetite had been sated by the lavish breakfast Tilly had prepared. Smoked kippers, poached eggs, and sourdough toast.

His first class was seventh-year N.E.W.T. The students were a mix of Slytherins and Ravenclaws who were usually too focused on their potions to engage in idle chatter. Today, when he swept into the classroom, however, the atmosphere was different. A thick silence hung in the air. The students were seated, but their cauldrons remained packed away and their textbooks unopened.

Severus paused at the front of the room when no student scrambled like usual. He raised an eyebrow, but nothing happened. Twenty pairs of eyes stared back at him, in confusion, curiosity, and was that jealousy? Severus couldn't really tell, but Irritation, his old, familiar companion, sparked to life.

"Is there a collective lapse in cognitive function this morning?" he drawled. "Or have you all suddenly forgotten the basic precepts of brewing? Your cauldrons. Now."

Still, the students hesitated. A Hufflepuff boy, Derby Calloway, swallowed hard. Severus's gaze zeroed in on him as the boy couldn't sit still. "Mr. Calloway. You seem to be labouring under the misapprehension that you have something of value to contribute. Out with it."

The boy flinched but spoke softly. "Professor... It's just... have you... have you seen the news, sir?"

Severus stared at him, nonplussed. "The news? The Prophet?"

"Yes sir."

"That is a collection of biased reportage and sensationalist tripe designed for the intellectually deficient. It has no bearing on the correct stirring technique for a Strengthening Solution you lot should have started making five minutes ago." Severus grumbled.

A whisper ran through the room, and one of the girls spoke up. "Sir," she said, "We really think that you should see this."

She, Miss Cadwallader, a normally introverted student, held out a newspaper for Severus.

The headline was in Rita Skeeter's trademark hysterical font, which made the Potion master curse mentally.

POTTER'S PURCHASED PRINCE: Millionaire Playboy's Latest Boy-Toy Revealed!

Beneath it was a non-moving photograph, possibly a hastily snapped photo outside of L'Aiguille. Their body language was intimate, possessive even through the blur.

...sources close to the persons in question confirm that Severus Snape, the disgraced half-blood son of the late Eileen Prince, has been seen lavishly accompanying billionaire entrepreneur Harry Potter on a weekend spending spree in magical Luxembourg...

...Snape, currently employed as a Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has long been a figure of controversy...

...Potter, famous for his wild parties and string of high-profile flings, appears to have developed a taste for the... academic. Or is this a calculated bid for respectability by the Prince family's black sheep, using Potter's vast vaults to rehabilitate his image? Our anonymous insider suggests the relationship is purely transactional: "It's obvious. Snape gets the Galleons, Potter gets a piece of ass. Let's face it. Snape isn't arm candy and has nothing to offer on that front. It's a business arrangement, pure and simple, like one of Potter's mergers."

...concerns have been raised by parents about the appropriateness of a man engaged in such a... public and morally ambiguous relationship... teaching their children...

"Now," he said, "Since you are all so clearly distracted by fiction, we shall put your minds to work on facts. You will brew a perfect Wit-Sharpening Potion. Any deviation from perfection will result in a twelve-inch essay on your stirring technique. Begin."

A collective flinch went through the room, but no one dared protest. The message was received, loud and clear: Do not speak of this. Do not think of this. Work.

For the next two hours, the only sounds were the hiss of flames, the bubble of cauldrons, and the frantic rustle of pages as students consulted their textbooks.

When the bell rang, the students fled; their potions, placed on Severus's desk, varied in shades of disastrous, yet there were three that Severus took note of as being near perfect. Severus took note of these and jotted down a reminder in his notebook to have a chat with these students on their future plans.

While the Wit-Sharpening potion was a fourth-year potion, Severus used it in his NEWTS classes as a means to gauge stirring technique and ingredient preparation methods. Fourth years produced acceptable potions. To produce one near-perfect or perfect meant that said student's technique was quite advanced and that they could potentially handle far more advanced recipes than was allowed in class.

The inflammatory article came back to mind. He needed to see Harry to warn him, to... he didn't know what. He turned on his heel and strode towards his office, intending to make a Floo call, when the door opened before he reached it.

Minerva stood there, and her face was grim. In her hand, she held another copy of The Daily Prophet. "Severus," she said, "A word, please."

Severus followed Minerva through the corridors. She didn't speak until the gargoyle guarding her office had leapt aside.

"Sit, Severus," Minerva said once they entered her office.

But Severus remained standing while Minerva leaned against her desk. "If this is about that libellous piece of filth..." he began.

"It is," Minerva cut him off. She unfolded the paper and laid it flat on the desk between them. "The Board of Governors has owled. Three of them, before breakfast, and Filius has had to field questions from several parents."

Severus's jaw tightened. "This is a hack journalist constructing a narrative from ambiguous 'sources.'"

"Be that as it may," She said while pinching the bridge of her nose, "it is now public speculation and malice. And it involves a member of my staff and one of our most... prominent... alumni." She looked at him, "I do not care about your personal life, Severus. You are an adult, and Potter is an adult. I am glad that you found someone. What you do in the privacy of your home is your own business."

"How magnanimous of you," Severus sneered.

She ignored the barb. "However, this," she tapped the paper, "makes it Hogwarts' business."

"What would you have me do, Minerva?" he asked. "Issue a denial? Sue for libel? That would only feed the beast. Skeeter thrives on controversy."

"I know that," Minerva said. "And I am not asking you to do anything. I am informing you of the situation. The Board may pressure me. There may be... calls... for your resignation."

"On what grounds?" He whirled around. "My personal life is not a matter for this institution's governance!"

"On the grounds of 'bringing the school into disrepute,'" Minerva quoted flatly. "A vague and flexible clause that has been used for everything from a professor being caught in a compromising position with a Veela to another publishing a controversial treatise on goblin rights."

"This is absurd!"

"The Board is divided," she stated without preamble. "Approximately a third, led by Lord Clearwater, are citing Statute 73-B, Subsection 12: 'Conduct Unbecoming and Detrimental to the Pedagogical Integrity of the Institution.' It's a catch-all and rarely invoked, but it gives them a legal toehold."

"Another third are vehemently opposed to any action against you. They argue, quite rightly, that a professor's private life, so long as it does not directly impact his professional duties or involve students, is his own affair. Lucius was particularly... vocal on that."

"And the final third," Minerva continued, "are the fence-sitters. They're concerned about the 'optics,' as they keep saying, and worried about donor reactions and parental outcry. They want to wait, to see how the public wind blows."

She paused, then smiled somewhat. "The meeting became rather heated. Clearwater called you a 'social-climbing parasite'. This caused Severus to flinch.

"Lucius," Minerva said, her smile growing a hair wider, "did not take it well. According to Augusta Longbottom, who was present and recounted the event to me with some relish, Lucius called Clearwater a 'puritanical hypocrite whose own vaults were filled with goblin-forged gold stained with the blood of his ancestors' incompetence.' Then he punched him. A solid right hook. Broke Clearwater's nose."

Severus stared at her. Then, in stunned disbelief, he uttered: "He... what?"

"Tom and Lady Longbottom had to physically restrain Lucius from doing further damage," Minerva confirmed. "Augusta said she hasn't seen a display of such unvarnished loyalty since her Frank was in the Aurors. She was rather impressed, in her own stoic way, of course."

The image was so absurd, so violently out of character for the calculating, politically astute Lucius Malfoy, that Severus could only sit in stunned silence. Lucius had punched a fellow Board member. For him. To defend his honour. The world had truly gone mad.