HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

After Halloween, Hogwarts was like a patient recovering from a brief high fever.

Quirrell lay in the medical wing for three days. When he woke up, his eyes were glazed over and he still stuttered, but the nervous trembling was gone, replaced by a blank and tired look.

Beneath the thick bandages on his forehead, Madam Pomfrey said, lay an "irregular, burn-like scar" with a weak but persistent magical response.

Experts from St. Mungo's examined the patient and concluded that the injury was "permanent damage caused by a powerful shock of dark magic," requiring long-term rest and observation.

Dumbledore gently but firmly advised him to "put aside his teaching duties for now and prioritize his health."

Quirrell did not object; in fact, he seemed somewhat relieved.

A week later, he left Hogwarts alone, his purple turban replaced by a plain dark hat that covered his forehead, his figure appearing thin and shivering in the early winter fog.

"He won't remember anything," Dumbledore said to Severus and Ian beside him, standing before the massive stone doors of the foyer and watching Quirrell's departing figure.

"Or rather, he only remembers that he suffered an unexpected backlash because of his research on defense against the dark magic. Those extra memories and voices have been wiped clean, which is safer for him and for the magical world."

"The Defense Against the Dark Arts position is vacant again." Ian said to Dumbledore, half-jokingly, "Headmaster, you'll probably have to add 'strong risk tolerance' to your job posting this year."

Dumbledore chuckled softly and blinked.

"In fact, Ian, I'd like to ask you to temporarily assume this position until the end of this semester. You're familiar with the castle, have practical experience, and—"

He paused, then added meaningfully, "The students don't seem afraid of you, which is a rare advantage in teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts to lower grades."

Ian was stunned and looked at Severus, who also turned his head and frowned.

"I'm just a herbalist," Ian shook his head, "I've never been a proper teacher, and my shop..."

"You only need to teach a few classes for lower grades each week; the practical parts for higher grades can be handled by other professors. As for your little shop, I think the house-elves would be happy to help look after it while you're teaching, or..."

Dumbledore smiled. "You could consider bringing some cold-sensitive specimens to the empty classroom next to the greenhouse. I'm sure Pomona won't object. As for teaching, just be yourself and teach the children how to identify danger and how to protect themselves. That's more practical than any fancy spell."

Ian was still hesitating when Severus suddenly spoke up, his voice calm: "You can give it a try; it's better than another Quirrell."

This made Ian laugh. He looked at Dumbledore and said, "Alright, Headmaster, I'll give it a try, but only temporarily, and my syllabus might be... a little unorthodox."

"I trust your judgment," Dumbledore said cheerfully, patting him on the shoulder before looking at Severus. "As for you, Severus, I'm afraid you'll have to work harder for a while longer. Potions professors are hard to find, especially one who meets your standards."

Severus snorted. "You can take your time looking. I don't mind teaching you as long as you can find people who can tolerate the dampness of the cellar and the annual batch of 'reed heads'."

Dumbledore laughed and turned back to the castle, his silver hair fluttering in the wind.

Ian and Severus lagged behind, walking slowly in the cold wind.

"You really want me to teach you?" Ian nudged Severus with his shoulder.

"Why not?" Severus looked ahead. "You were more patient than half the professors at Hogwarts when you were teaching Potter to identify basic protective runes."

"That's different."

"You can, Ian," Severus stopped and looked at him, a faint smile in the depths of his dark eyes, "At least you won't scare them so much they can't even hold onto their porcupine quills."

Ian looked at him, then suddenly reached out and quickly brushed away a withered leaf that had fallen on his shoulder, his fingertips touching his cold earlobe.

"And you, Professor Snape? How long do you plan to endure the dampness of your cellar and your scraggly head?"

Severus did not dodge the touch. After a moment of silence, he said, "When Dumbledore finds the right person, maybe next year, maybe the year after, there are many Potions Masters, but not many are willing to be trapped in the castle to deal with the little troll."

"and then?"

"And then?" Severus turned and continued walking toward the castle, his voice carried away by the wind. "Then maybe I'll go back to the Cotswolds, take some potion orders, and have some peace and quiet."

Ian caught up with him, standing beside him, his hand secretly hooking around Ian's cold fingers inside his sleeve. "Sounds good. I can grow herbs around here, take on odd jobs processing materials, and while I'm at it, improve your 'highly confidential' protective runes so the owls don't keep dropping orders onto the neighbor's roof."

Severus didn't speak, but he gripped Severus's fingers tightly with his own.

On Ian's first day as a substitute teacher, the first-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws watched curiously as "Mr. Burke" stood behind the podium, wearing a thick sweater instead of a robe, and carrying no textbooks, only a few common, even somewhat inconspicuous, herbs.

"We won't learn spells today," Ian said with a smile, picking up a silver thread fern. "We'll learn how to see, how to smell, how to feel. In the castle, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and even on your way home, many dangers seem insignificant, but if you know them, they're not so scary."

He spoke vividly, even somewhat ramblingly, interspersed with some interesting anecdotes.

The young wizards listened intently, and even the shyest Hufflepuff dared to raise his hand and ask, "What should I do if I see these leaves in my garden?"

The classroom atmosphere was one of relaxation and focus that Quirrell had never brought before.

When the news spread, even when Slytherins and Gryffindors were in the same class, the troublemakers behaved much better. After all, this substitute professor shared an office with Professor Snape, and the method of solitary confinement was likely to be singing to the poison tentacles in the greenhouse.

Severus's life seemed unchanged: teaching classes, grading papers, brewing potions regularly ordered by Hogwarts and St. Mungo's, and occasionally "inspecting" Ian's class. His black-robed figure would flash past the doorway, causing the students to tense up, but Ian would just smile and wink at him before continuing his lecture.

The small hut in the cellar became their more frequent spot. Ian brought in more books, a small stove that always smelled of strange tea, and an old armchair so soft you could sink into it.

When Severus was grading papers late into the night, he would look up and see Ian curled up asleep in his chair, a notebook half-open on his lap, the fire casting a warm glow on his profile.

In the spring of 1992, after a Wizarding Club gathering, Professor Slughorn wrote a long letter to Dumbledore, subtly inquiring whether Hogwarts "still needed an old fellow to contribute his remaining energy," and expressing his continued enthusiasm for "mentoring promising young people."

When Dumbledore showed the letter to Severus, Severus glanced at it, his expression unchanged. "He wants to come back."

"Potential Master, well-connected, loves parties, and most importantly," Dumbledore smiled, "is in good health and has absolutely no interest in a position at Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"You can decide for me." Severus pushed the letter back. "Notify me in advance when you need me to hand over the work."

Dumbledore looked at him: "Don't you feel regret? You've done a great job with this course, Severus, even more rigorous than Horace was back then."

“I’m just trying to keep it from becoming a disaster.” Severus stood up. “Besides, I’m tired, Albus, and the dampness in the cellar isn’t good for Ian’s old wounds.”

Dumbledore paused for a moment, then nodded. "Then let's set it for next summer, so that you, and Hogwarts, can have a full academic year to transition."

The news was not officially announced, but Slughorn began to correspond frequently with Severus, asking questions such as "Where are the first graders learning these days?" and "Is it more common to use copper or tin crucibles now?" His tone was warm yet reserved, like that of a senior.

Severus's reply was concise and precise, like the papers he corrected.

Ian's substitute teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts only lasted until the end of the school year. In June, Dumbledore found a suitable successor—a retired Auror, calm, experienced, and most importantly, with a solid understanding of dark magic creatures and spells, and without the habit of stuttering or wearing a turban.

When Ian stepped down, several first-year Hufflepuff girls even had tears in their eyes and gave him a jar of homemade fruit candy.

"I will miss your class, Mr. Burke," a little girl named Hannah Abbott said earnestly. "You made me feel that protecting myself is not so difficult."

Ian crouched down to look her in the eye and said gently, "Because it's not hard at all, Hannah. Remember what you've learned: trust your eyes and your feelings."

In July, Severus finished grading the last batch of OWLs exam papers, handed the score summary to McGonagall, and then returned to his cellar office to begin organizing his personal belongings.

Books, notes, some rare materials, and a few modified experimental instruments.

There weren't many things, but they were all odds and ends, and it took two whole days to pack them all.

Ian helped him seal the boxes with a shrinking charm and send them back to the Cotswolds via the Floo Network.

On their last day, they stood in the much emptier office. The fireplace was out, and the familiar scent of potions in the air had faded considerably, leaving only the cool crispness of stone and old wood.

Severus looked around, his fingers tracing the smooth edge of the lectern where lesson plans, rosters, and a cup of always-warm honey lemon tea had once sat.

"Let's go," Ian said softly, placing his hand on his shoulder.