Chapter Text
The notice arrived just after lunch.
It wasn’t delivered by owl, nor pinned to the staff board like most official changes. It was placed—deliberately, Severus Snape decided—on his desk while he was between grading essays and considering whether third-years had collectively lost all basic understanding of potion stability.
The parchment was short. That made it worse.
Joint supervision assignment: Detention duties to be shared with Professor [Name]. Effective immediately.
Snape’s lip curled.
“Of course,” he muttered.
A knock sounded before he could finish deciding whether to set the parchment on fire or simply hex it into oblivion.
“Enter,” he said sharply.
The door opened to reveal the subject of the notice.
You stepped in with the kind of posture that suggested either confidence or poor judgment. Snape hadn’t yet decided which.
“Professor Snape,” you said, voice steady. “I assume you’ve seen the assignment.”
“I have,” he replied. “Unfortunately.”
A pause. Not awkward—yet—but close.
You glanced at the parchment on his desk. “I take it you’re thrilled.”
Snape’s eyes lifted slowly to yours. “Thrilled is not the term I would choose.”
“I figured.”
That earned you a second, longer look. Most new staff either avoided his office entirely or overcompensated with nervous politeness. You were neither fidgeting nor retreating.
That alone was mildly irritating.
“Do you know why this arrangement has been imposed?” he asked.
You shook your head. “No official explanation. McGonagall just said it was ‘necessary.’ Which usually means someone has set something on fire.”
“Or attempted to turn a corridor into a swamp,” Snape corrected dryly.
“Last week,” you said. “Third floor corridor. I heard.”
A faint tightening at the corner of his mouth—almost a reaction, almost amusement, but buried quickly.
Silence settled again. Snape did not offer seating. You did not ask.
Instead, you said, “We start tonight?”
“Yes.”
“And the students?”
“Various combinations of incompetence and arrogance,” he said immediately. “As always.”
That, finally, made something like a smile threaten your expression. “Comforting.”
“It is not meant to be.”
Another knock interrupted before the conversation could tilt further into hostility.
The door opened without waiting for permission this time.
Minerva McGonagall stood there, looking between the two of you with the expression of someone who had already decided she was correct and would tolerate no objections.
“Good,” she said briskly. “You’ve met.”
Snape straightened slightly. “If this is about staffing shortages—”
“It is about control,” McGonagall cut in.
That stopped him.
She stepped into the room, hands folded. “Detention supervision has become inconsistent. Students are exploiting gaps in oversight. I will not have unsupervised chaos in this school.”
“I supervise my detentions perfectly well,” Snape said coldly.
“You intimidate them into silence,” she replied. “That is not the same as supervision.”
A beat of silence followed. Even Snape seemed momentarily restrained by the bluntness of it.
McGonagall turned her attention to you. “You, on the other hand, are too lenient.”
“I prefer ‘constructive,’” you said.
“Detentions are not meant to be constructive,” she replied without hesitation. “They are meant to be corrective.”
Snape let out a quiet, disbelieving breath through his nose.
McGonagall ignored him.
“Together,” she continued, “you will balance each other.”
Snape’s voice dropped. “That is an appalling strategy.”
“It is a necessary one,” she said. Then, softer—but no less firm: “I expect professionalism. From both of you.”
Her gaze lingered a moment longer, as if daring either of you to argue further.
Neither did.
When she left, the office felt smaller.
Snape turned back to you first. “You will not interfere with my disciplinary methods.”
“And you won’t undermine mine,” you replied.
A pause.
Then, almost simultaneously:
“That would be difficult.” “It would be counterproductive.”
Another silence followed—this one heavier.
Snape finally moved, retrieving a stack of detention logs from his desk and placing them between you with precise care.
“First session is in the old transfiguration classroom,” he said. “Seven o’clock. Do not be late.”
“I’m never late,” you said.
A faint pause.
Snape’s eyes flicked up briefly. “We shall see.”
You turned to leave, then hesitated at the door.
“Oh,” you added casually, “Professor?”
Snape did not look up. “Yes.”
“This is going to be interesting.”
For the first time, his expression sharpened—not quite irritation, not quite something else.
“We shall ensure,” he said quietly, “that it is tolerable.”
The door closed behind you.
Snape looked down at the detention roster again.
Then, very slowly, he picked up his quill.
And wrote a list titled:
“Students Most Likely to Cause Problems Tonight.”
The first name was already underlined twice.