Chapter Text
Severus Snape has—unfortunately—had some self reflection.
He is no longer permitting himself to... react negatively to those undeserving.
Children as a whole, as he has found out, are all undeserving and that does not change whether they are rightly innocent or actually insolent as so many of the pimple-faced whelps are.
Therefore, that means that the spoiled, arrogant, Prince Potter—again, to Severus’ deep regret—is not an exception to this newfound rule, given that Potter still is, for all intents and purposes, a child. So is Longbottom, Chapman and Abforth (his worst offending students who can’t tell the bottom of their cauldron from their own arse).
So he must take a breath before responding to the situation at hand and determine a neutral approach.
Because, for Merlin’s sake, even if he is no longer permitting himself to be negative it does not mean Severus can get himself to be positive, or, lord help him, pleasant about the spawn of people who, given their likewise intelligence, should not have reproduced, attempting to destroy the classroom because they are too dimwitted to—
Severus takes a breath.
He releases the tight grip on his fork, glancing to either side to see if Minerva or Pomona—who is much better to sit beside than Flitwick or, Merlin forbid, Lupin, but who are twice as observant—and neither seem to be aware of his upset, thankfully.
Though, he has warned the good Gryffindor professor in advance, so she very well could just be ignoring his obvious reaction. Yes, that is far more likely to be the case. He breathes out again and goes over his short speech mentally for the fifth time.
Because, yes, Severus must address his behaviour publicly.
Students already seemed confused by the minor changes he’s already gotten himself to make, such as finding out Pomona, though giftedly observant, has not gone over the required plant anatomy that is detailed in her educational guide that will then be needed in his own class, hence the reason it is there in the first place.
This has led to him having to explain things his students should have known since first year and even drawing diagrams in order to aid them. It has resulted in better potion results as well as less confusion. He knew that his teaching wasn’t the incompetent part of the equation.
However, he did assume many students were simply daft.
It is a… disrespectful… assumption.
Not only that, but Severus is sure the more his behaviour is corrected—improved, as one might say—some may accuse him of being obliviated like that rotten, pathetic Lockhart, or even under an Imperius Charm from someone far more pleasant.
Or, as always, there is a chance that one of the staff will raise the issue of him being a previous (as far as they know) death eater to explain it, as if children are the greatest well of knowledge in terms of what could help the Dark Lord with terrible plans.
Severus is more likely to ask the Sorting Hat.
Hagrid, the imbecile, finishes his needless discussion towards the fresh first years that yet again, the Forbidden Forest is off limits. One might gather that information from its name, but common sense is not so common afterall, especially when it comes to pre-teens.
The potion master stands and a hush falls.
For once Severus actually finds that he’d welcome the disrespectful murmuring present throughout the ground keeper’s unintelligent rambling. He clears his throat and splays his fingers out before threading them together, lest he do something as idiotic as fidgeting.
Which is almost as bad as mumbling.
“As I’m sure some students, certainly upperclassmen, have noticed, I have been behaving differently.” Severus does not give himself a pause, lest he be a coward, but he maintains his orderly, nearly bored tone nonetheless. It’s an ounce of control, you see. “Which is the matter I am here to discuss.”
Now chatter rises.
He waits three seconds before snapping “Quiet!” that brings the room back to a hush. Just because it would be more comfortable or soothe his nerves does not mean that the potion master will trade propriety for said comfort. The students settles again and he nods, satisfied.
Severus spots Potter sitting between his two little friends, sharing suspicious looks and inaudible whispers with Granger and the youngest Weasley boy. He has to stop himself from wincing just at the sight of the skinny boy he thinks arrogant.
The boy he has, in all reality, failed the most.
He must repent, in all the ways he can.
“First I must apologize-”
Chaos.
He pauses, not wanting to yell during an apology.
Severus read that wouldn’t be good. The idiotic children can read the room, after a certain amount of time, anyway, because they quickly quiet at the sight of his souring expression and Minerva’s well-timed cough.
“I must apologize to the students whom I have acted improperly or even cruel to, whilst not you all en masse. It was not my intention, though I do understand that intentions do not outweigh the end results of one’s actions. Nor was I aware that there was a gap in your education, having instead blamed students incapable of creating decent potions on personal failings, which was not a fair bias to have and nor should we professors have failed you in such ways.”
Pausing, Severus gives them a moment to allow his students to process. In doing so, it takes a great amount of effort not to look down at Pomona.
How she simply forgot that their professions bleed into one another is beyond him.
“I understand given my previous actions and incompetence why many of you may distrust these words, however, any student is welcomed to come to me with comments, questions and concerns involving me, my classroom, actions, or any changes that may be made as Head of Slytherin. If you do not feel comfortable addressing me personally, Professor McGonagall is available to all students as well.”
Severus finally feels the embarrassed flush begin to creep up his cheeks, so he attempts to quickly finish his speech in order to end this horribly... humbling experience because whilst needed, he doesn’t wish to make himself a fool and forgoing the rest is not an option as he’s learned that, yes, ignorance can become malice.
And with him, it has.
“There are some students that have been particularly and especially wronged by me as well as students whom I must go over their insolvent with, as punishments will be changed, both of whom I will be reaching out to within the course a few days. Do expect to be approached outside of class.” He clears his throat. “Thank you.”
WIth that, he sits down.
The potion master continues his meal with shaking hands as the entire Great Hall of Hogwarts devolves into hysterics, voices echoing loudly. Pausing, Severus gives them a moment to allow his students to process—though soon, it feels like white noise. His name is said from every corner. So many eyes are on him.
He feels vulnerable in a way he hasn’t since he was a teenager.
Severus is an idiot, too.
Given it was the night shortly after his… announcement... but still before curfew (sans the first and second years' bed time) Severus expects that the tentative, barely-audible knock on his office door is a child. Therefore, he takes a moment to steel himself against any reaction, confrontation or even crying, that awaits him.
He is not familiar with reassurance nor comfort.
Nor wanting to give it.
“Enter.” Severus calls solemnly.
It is a bit shocking that it is the ‘wolf who passes through the doorway instead of a small, timid child, but the potion master does not let it show on his face. Though he doesn’t prefer to be in Lupin’s company, he at least knows how to handle him.
Small blessings.
Not that he’d ever consider Lupin a blessing.
As per usual when dealing with any of the self-proclaimed Marauders—regrettable name choice now that they’re in adulthood, isn’t it?—he stares at Lupin expectantly. He has long-since learned that even the tamest of their group prefer the illusion of control, and he does understand the irony in the werewolf being the tamest of the now-three men.
It also helps Severus understand what to expect from the conversation.
What he’ll have to take.
“This is about what you said at dinner.” Lupin states. Severus blinks. “Urm, about apologizing to-”
“I remember what I have said and done. Perhaps you have mistaken my silence for a sign of forgetfulness, but I can assure you it is not, given my eidetic memory.” He sighs, half-snapping. “I am simply waiting for you to say something remotely intelligent that requires a reply or to ask an actual question.”
The ‘wolf clenches his jaw but wisely prevents himself from snapping back. “I think—no, it was brave what you did. I know you don’t care about that, Gryffindor trait and all, but few people I know would ever admit that even in private. And I know it will mean a lot to the students.”
A pause.
“And Harry.”
Severus nearly bares his teeth, doubting that. He understands why Remus Lupin, the would-be uncle of the Boy Who Lived—had his parents survived—has invested so much into Potter’s health but that same rapport does not exist with him. In fact, it is the opposite.
Potter will regard Severus with closed suspicion.
With, perhaps, anger.
If he’s anything like Potter Senior, he will maintain a life-long grudge regardless of Severus’ actions. If he’s more like his mother, he will maintain a grudge that would only lessen with earned trust that Severus has no such delusions in being able to foster.
Either way, a grudge is a grudge.
He does not expect—nor deserve—to be ridden of it any time soon, if ever. But this is not something that he would ever address with Lupin, let alone another living, breathing, conscious soul. Besides, there has to be another part of this conversation.
So Severus waits.
He waits for the but, for the insults he’s so used to. For the suspicion of him doing something vile when he is instead attempting to better himself (he read that this is called punishing a behaviour you’d wish to see, something he’d regretfully done to some students whilst thinking it the ideal reaction).
He waits for the marauderness that he has never truly been able to escape—tied to them, as he is—or perhaps the equal distrust and avoidance that has been settled between them since Lupin arrived at Hogwarts with a lousy suitcase and too much hope.
Yet nothing comes.
It is an awkward atmosphere that forms in the normally peaceful room. Severus doesn’t know how to react to it so he just stares for another moment. He… doesn’t think that Lupin is being anything less than genuine and it is so unfamiliar it freezes him.
“Oh.” Severus says. “Appreciated.”
Because he doesn’t know if he could get himself to say ‘thank you’.
Lupin stares for a moment with a similar expression, silent in order to think about a proper reply long enough that it is almost respectable. Then, he smiles a bit with just the tip of those sharp canines showing, nods like he’s being kind, then says “You’ve come a long way, Snivellus.” and it feels like his heart drops.
He says it as if that is a friendly nickname.
“Out.” Severus immediately snaps.
The werewolf complies.
There is an unfortunate amount of students that Severus can think of to put on both the Further Apology Required list as well as the Me Being Civil Does Not Excuse You From Reckless Behaviour list, so much so that he has to sit and think for himself outside of the expectations proposed to him via Minerva.
He reads a bit more, too.
As for the first list, Severus learns that there is a difference between jabs and sneers—the damaged rapport he can fix with behaviour adjustments alone, and cruel behaviour. Yes, the sneering and jabs can require extra apology if it becomes bullying instead of rare occurrences, such as with Towler and Granger.
In that regard, he’s adjusted the list to better suit both brevity and need (for the second list, he writes only the most prolific offenders as well as the ones most likely to keep lashing out, which shortened the list a bit).
Few students fit into the Have Been Cruel To category, thankfully, but that does nothing to push away the dread and shame that builds with it. Writing those names—Longbottom; Potter—makes him face uncomfortable facts.
Severus has been cruel.
Severus has become the type of person he despised growing up.
It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to both write the summons and figure out the best way to deliver them. Not in person, he knew. He decides on sending them through the owl delivery; morning post. The students wouldn’t feel singled out, cornered nor confronted unnecessarily that way. He has been relying on muggle books on situations such as this, so there are few suggestions on how such things would be done in the wizarding world, let alone a school.
Then, the potion master waits.