9/12/2003

The Teachers Lounge

By Cara Wallace

Prof. McGonagall opened the door to the teachers’ lounge and slipped inside. The lounge appeared to have been furnished sometime in the 18^th century, ancient rugs, Victorian furniture, and wall hangings, but curiously no pictures hung on the walls. She strode over to what looked like a wooden icebox and withdrew a glass bottle; drinking from it as she strode over to a couch. She sat down heavily as though weighted down by her thoughts, and glanced around the empty room. Hogwarts had always been a haven of safety. Yes there had been threats, but always from the outside. Now that Prof. Umbridge was here, she felt like her very world had been shaken apart. That woman seemed determined to tear down everything that the school stood for, everything they had accomplished, and there was nothing she could do but pretend to cooperate. At that thought she smiled secretly to herself. Well there were a few times she had been able to step back and let Dolores deal with the consequences of her own actions. She paused for another sip from her bottle, a bright lemony colored liquid with blue bubbles floating up and down in it.

A large ornate sundial on the wall across from her appeared to be working despite the lack of sun. A shadowy line drew across it indicating it was nearly 2:45, time to prepare for her last class. With a sigh she pushed herself up, made her way back to the icebox, and opened it to reveal the illusion of a modern refrigerator inside. As she set her bottle down on a shelf, the door to the lounge was flung open and Prof. Snape hurtled inside obviously in a terrible rage. He had some sort of purple and green slime all over the front of his robe that he was brushing at.

Minerva looked down at him through her glasses like she did to errant students, and said, “Exploding potions again?”

Snape mumbled angrily, waving his wand at himself while the potion slowly disappeared from his robes.

As soon as it was gone, he stomped across the room and opened the cover of a large reference volume mounted on a wooden stand in the corner. A cloud of dust plumed as he hunched over the book, turning the pages as though he had lost something he desperately needed to find again.

Minerva came up behind him and cleared her throat.

“You know Severus, you shouldn’t let the students get you so upset.”

The pages stopped turning but the professor didn’t turn around.

“Not everyone can be good at everything you know.”

The pages started turning again, more slowly. Minerva came around to face him and said with an edge to her voice.

“Surely spilled potions aren’t the worst of our problems here”.

At this, Professor Snape raised his eyes from the tome and caught her look of contained fury.

He took a deep breath as if to brace himself, and said in a low voice.

“Minerva, you know this situation is more difficult for me that for anyone here. Surely you don’t think for a minute that bad students are the worst of my problems?”

“Would you care to elaborate on how Dolores being here is more difficult for you than it is for Albus, or Harry for that matter?”

Snape slammed the book shut and started pacing the room.

“Did you ever think of how it felt to have the Death Eaters disassembled? There were those who went to Azkaban, those who denied the charges but were secretly loyal, and then there were those who were persuaded to turn to good. Those that were afraid of what might happen if they continued to serve … Him.”

He paused for a minute, struggling to retain his composure.

“Did you wonder what it feels like to never be able to talk to my compatriots because we’re on opposite sides now? How hard it was to not respond to the Mark’s call last year, to be a part of it all again?”

He stopped moving and seemed to be examining one of the hangings on the wall.

Minerva thought for a moment, then moved up behind him and said in a surprisingly compassionate voice.

“Severus, I want you to understand something. I know you’ve been through a lot, and I can see you’re struggling, but you are a part of something here, the continuance of our way of life, our future. The education we provide these children today ensures that at least some of them will be on the side of good, and they will know how to deal with those who are not. That is our goal; that is my goal anyway. Will you continue to stand with us?”

Minerva was not sure if he had heard her or not, his eyes were unfocused as if seeing something from another place, another time far away. A bell rang out, Minerva McGonagall startled, looked at the sundial again, then walked to the door. Her hand on the knob, she looked back briefly to see him bent over the reference book again, flipping slowly through the pages.

The End.