Fortunately Goyle gave me a good excuse soon after the request had been made: I asked him to stay after class one day. I had to be careful about this -- he wouldn't appreciate mention of his personal problems.
He sat sullenly at his desk, refusing to meet my eyes.
"I think, Mr. Goyle," I said gently as I sat at a chair a couple of desks away from him, "that you can do better than this."
He muttered something about the volume of work required of the Sixths this year.
"I understand that. I think the other teachers are trying to prepare you for slogging through the NEWTs next year. It isn't your factual work I'm concerned about -- I'm willing to give students a certain amount of leeway, my reputation notwithstanding. It's the essays."
He finally looked up and stared at me with his small, rather piggy eyes.
"I know I have the reputation in Slytherin for being unreasonable about some, ah, long-standing pureblood beliefs. Professor Snape has challenged me about that before. And he's quite correct that, personally, I find some of them very offensive. But this isn't about that. It's about you being able to tell me -- and decide for yourself -- why you feel as you do."
"Draco said I'd never make it out of this class unless I lied. Looks like he was right," he mumbled.
"No, he wasn't. I wish I hadn't had to... to put that on your shoulders as well, but I didn't do it in retaliation. I did it because I know you're capable of better work than this," I said, tapping the scroll I held. "There are people, like Draco, who are afraid to take a really good, hard look at who they are and why they believe as they do. That's not confined to Slytherins, nor to students. And then there are more courageous people who are willing to stop and think, and make tough decisions -- ones that can put them at odds with the people around them, and that may even make their life more difficult, at least for a while."
I stopped to take a big breath: apparently I couldn't avoid drawing the parallel for him, and I hoped he wouldn't be offended.
"I'm not unaware of what you did last year -- it was very difficult and very courageous. And while I suspect you're kicking yourself for it now, I hope you trust me enough to think about this: we can't continue to grow as human beings unless we take responsibility for our actions -- and that means we have to understand why we choose to act as we do. It can be horrible, at times. But it's by far the more honourable course --"
(I wasn't above playing on the Slytherin commitment to Honour.)
"-- and ultimately it makes us stronger."
He frowned, knitting his brows -- brow, rather -- and said hesitantly, "Those things which do not kill us outright... make us stronger."
"Exactly. Where did you learn that?"
"It's one of the Slytherin Directives. But I thought it meant... other stuff. You know. Stuff that happens to you."
"Ah. That's an adage known in the Muggle world, as well. Perhaps," I suggested delicately, "it can be applied to one's interior life, as well as the other stuff."
It was really appalling, actually: I knew the Slytherin Directives also said "Know thyself." I wondered what Draco Malfoy had made of that one.
"Never thought of it that way," he admitted, and picked at a bit of graffiti on the desk.
"Here's what I'd like you to do. Write me another essay on this topic -- don't even try to revise this, just toss it. Tell me exactly how you feel about it -- the truth -- and why, and try to imagine why someone on the opposite side might feel as they do."
It was very discouraging to have to remind him of this -- even my Firsts had figured out this was what was required of them -- but I suspected Goyle had been pretty thoroughly brainwashed by Malfoy, and was now having to re-learn most everything and was struggling to re-order his universe.
"You don't have to do it right away -- take the rest of the week and the weekend, and turn it in sometime next week."
He nodded and slowly drew the scroll over and shoved it in his robe pocket.
"And if you can apply that to the rest of your work this term, I'll speak with Headmistress about getting you released from the class for spring term so you can concentrate on your other classes," I offered as inducement as I scribbled him an excuse to get him into his next class.
"Okay," he mumbled, and though he couldn't say 'thank you,' there was a brief flash of relief in his eyes.
Baby steps, Miranda, I thought, and smiled to myself at the memory of Albus' chiding.
Goyle turned the revised essay in the next week, and for once he was brutally honest. It was, frankly, disheartening and not a little frightening. But he'd followed through and at least tried to state the other viewpoint. I resisted the temptation to correct grammar and spelling, added a few things for him to think about before I gave it back to him, and hoped he'd read and consider what I'd written.
I didn't know the whole story, though Snape told me much later. I first learned about it via the Daily Prophet.
I'm not certain I'd have gone on that motorcycle ride if I'd known what Black was doing time for -- even with Albus' tacit approval of him.
'Persona non grata with the Ministry,' indeed: thank you, Albus Dumbledore, for yet another lesson in Understatement.
The faculty and staff were in a tizzy all day (Minerva had to be quite sharp with several of them): Sirius Black himself walked around in a daze, and was so flustered, I heard, that his alter-ego Valentine Jonson couldn't demonstrate any Transfigurations in class.
Snape seemed not at all surprised, and accepted it with apparent equanimity.
"So what happens now?" I asked Black (aka Jonson) under my breath at supper that evening.
He shrugged. "We wait. Until a pardon's granted I'm still a wanted man. And even then if I reveal myself it puts Minerva in jeopardy for continuing to shelter a renegade."
"But once a pardon comes through Valentine Jonson can die, hmmm?"
"Or disappear from the face of the earth -- dying's an awfully bloodthirsty way to put it, isn't it?"
"Not really. He's an obnoxious bastard."
He was, too. In the interest of hiding in plain sight, Sirius Black made "Jonson" an irritatingly loud and cheerful person -- especially at breakfast. I am not a morning person. I want my coffee, and I want relative peace. And Jonson never let me have it: it was excruciating to sit beside him at meals. (And when you consider that Hooch was on my other side, it was no wonder I started the day in a foul mood.)
Sirius Black wasn't behaving well for himself, either, never mind "Jonson." He seemed intent on causing mischief, especially when Snape was around: over the summer he'd apparently forgotten that Albus had been quite firm about setting aside the old animosity.
I made clear to him that I wasn't to be used as a pawn in that particular game of his -- rather sharply, in fact -- and that I couldn't consider him a friend if he persisted.
But whatever it was he had against Snape, it was more powerful than any respect he had for me, and it all came to a head one day in the staff room.
Snape swept in the room and made for his customary window, face set and stony, ignoring us: Black followed.
"I want an answer now, Snape," he blustered.
"I told you, this... discussion is over. I've made my position clear." Snape's voice was at that low, deadly level that would have sent anyone else running.
"How honest have you been, Snape? Not at all, I bet -- you're incapable of it. No, it's easier to play the poor, pitiful Sixth who couldn't take a prank --"
"Prank, Black?" Snape's voice was actually trembling with rage. "You think locking someone in with a transforming werewolf is a prank? I would hate to see what your idea of murderous intent is, if you call that a prank --"
Oh, good God. That's what it was. I'd have wanted to kill Black myself.
Wait a minute. Werewolf? There really are werewolves?
Time to read up more on Magical Creatures.
"Severus -- Sirius -- this is not the place," Minerva ordered. "Take it to one of your offices, if you must."
"We were -- he couldn't take it anymore, and ran here like the coward he's always been --"
No, you eej, he's just trying to do as Albus asked --
"-- No, I want this settled here and now," Black insisted, defying Minerva (not wise). "And after all he's done -- all the disgusting, sickening things he's done, Minerva, you still trust him -- Hades, you practically idolise him --"
"That is quite enough, Mr. Black," Minerva barked out, and the way her eyes were blazing she was every bit as terrifying as Albus could be.
Black suddenly swiveled to stare at me. "And you," he grated out. "Don't think I don't know why you've been avoiding me this term. You're the biggest fool of all, but I can't blame you. You don't know the whole story."
Something very nasty indeed flitted through his eyes, and I knew a bloody great heap of shite was about to hit the fan.
Whatever it is, you great git, don't say it --
"She's a lost cause, I know that -- but you -- maybe your high opinion of him would change if you knew what he's done to me," Black sneered (he shouldn't: he didn't do it nearly as well as Snape). "What made me want to get a bit of my own back. It started my third year when he pulled a dirty trick and put me in Infirmary for two weeks after a duel. It got even worse when he tried -- more than once -- to get me and my mates sent down. And it ended when he bolloxed up my friendship with my mates and tricked me into humiliating myself sexually," he spat out, "and then he let the whole school know."
There was a frozen silence in the staff room, broken only by Minerva's sharp, shocked "Sirius!", which did nothing to wipe the look of indecent triumph from Black's face.
I couldn't see Snape: he was still behind me. But I was betting he was seconds away from springing at Black and killing him, without the aid of his wand. Minerva looked as though she wanted to hex him, herself.
I was frozen in shock, too, but finally I turned slowly, keeping my face impassive.
"So malice is the missing factor in this little equation," I said deliberately, and allowed just a hint of pity to creep into my tone. "I wondered why you've chosen to disregard the limits I've set. Admirable behavior, Sirius. Make a nuisance of yourself to me just to get back at someone else. Where I come from we call that kind of behavior cruel and stupid -- and not the best way to earn respect."
The triumph on Black's face wavered into uncertainty.
"Thank you for the information," I continued evenly. "It's strangely comforting to know that, at least once in his life, Severus had the decency to demonstrate both bad judgement and poor taste -- it couldn't have taken much to humiliate such an arrogant prat that way."
It took Black a while to sort through the insult, but he finally got it. The blood rushed to his face; he took a step toward me, and I would swear he growled.
You want to challenge me? Fine; I can be Alpha Dog, I thought grimly.
"Get over yourself, Black," I commanded, and he stopped in midstep and blinked at me, suddenly unsure of himself.
"You, too," I shot at Snape, and the more compassionate side of me noted that his face was pallid; sweat beaded his forehead, and grim lines were etched to either side of tightly-compressed lips. I shoved the observation aside, and continued pitilessly, "Jaysus, with eejits like.... You'd better leave, Black," I said dismissively. "The testosterone level in the room is choking the rest of us." And I turned back to the Daily Prophet and ignored them both.
Black shuffled in place, longing to come up with a good retort; but he gave up, spun on his heels, and slammed the staff room door on his way out.
Hooch relaxed and slipped her wand back in her pocket -- she must have been ready to hex him if he'd kept coming at me.
There was more deadly silence in the room for half a minute, and then Snape cleared his throat.
"I do apologize for the... unpleasantness." His voice was ever so slightly strained, and my heart bled for him: for such a private man, it must be an excruciating moment. "I'd no idea he would behave so immaturely in public." And with that, I heard him rise and quietly leave the room.
Hooch was the first to break up, followed by Pomfrey; even Flitwick managed a few nervous giggles. "Oh, really," McGonagall noted in disgust as she swept out of the room after Black and Snape, but that didn't stop them.
"Well done, Miranda," Hooch chortled. "Shut 'em both down."
I was rather pleased with myself, though immensely uncomfortable -- Black had come dangerously close to outing Snape and me. But for once I'd apparently said just the right thing at the right time, and on the spur of the moment, too.
True, it was an incredibly cruel thing, but then so was Black's public revelation. I wasn't the target: he'd intended to hurt Severus, and he'd still succeeded. I regretted having to take a swipe at Severus to put down Black, as well -- he certainly didn't have bad taste, though past bad judgement was a foregone conclusion.
I resolutely ignored the fact that I'd felt the need to protect him from my own reaction, and to again lash out at someone who'd hurt him.
I was at my desk, slogging through a despressingly high stack of essays that threatened to topple over if I didn't do something about it. Will I never learn? Why not just give the younger ones quizzes? I answered myself, Because you'll only have to put up with substandard grammar and syntax later if you don't knock it out of them now, eej.
A muffled thud and a tap at the window in front of the desk startled me, and I accidentally smeared red ink over Calvin Stuart's magnum opus.
Oh, well, it was haemorraging anyway.
Bright black eyes peered at me through the windowpane. It was a huge raven, and it cawed indignantly when I didn't open the window immediately.
I wouldn't have done -- I'd never seen anything other that owls used for messages -- but I saw the note attached to its leg.
It stood on the desk while I struggled to untie the missive, and then sidled up my arm (thank God I was wearing a thick cardigan) and poked its beak into my hair while I unfolded, and then read, its message.
I sat, thunderstruck, and contemplated this for a long time. It wasn't so much the apology itself, as it was the tone. Snape's occasional confessions of misbehavior were usually very serious and deliberately shocking. This was almost... humourous.
And that closing remark...
"I don't suppose you like owl kibble?" I asked the raven on my shoulder, and it gave an indignant croak that reminded me uncomfortably of Snape's trademark snort. I absently stroked its throat for a minute while I considered my response: it nibbled at my fingers, and then returned to mussing my hair when I finally pulled out a sheet of stationery to reply.
I hoped that would defuse the situation, at least on Snape's side; Sirius Black, with any luck, was more angry with me than Snape. We really didn't need the two of them hashing it out in the corridors, or anywhere else. Not now.
And, truth be told, I hoped the light tone would amuse Snape; I was beginning to enjoy that tiny bit of power that I could wield over him. Pushing him into amusement or irritation almost always led to an interesting response on his part.
I don't mean to give the impression that Black's allegation wasn't upsetting. It certainly was. But I am cognizent of the fact, by my own shameful behavior and experience, that we are all apt to do careless, hurtful things to others, particularly in our youth. I suspected that Snape had done more than his share -- and he was still, to this day, paying the consequences of several of them.
You will note that I glossed over the closing salutation. I wasn't entirely sure, even given the overall levity, that what I was tempted to say would have been welcome. 'Of course I'm not going to snub you, eej -- by the way, do you really consider yourself mine?' was somehow not appropriate.
Actually, it was, but I was too much a coward to add it.
"Time to go, Corbie," I told the messenger, and untangled my hair from its beak. It fluttered awkwardly from my shoulder to the desk, and stood impatiently, shifting its weight back and forth as I fastened my letter to its leg: its bright, beady eyes stared at me as though it were trying to suss out my character. It preened a little as I petted its throat once more, and then hopped onto the sill and blinked at me.
"You're a terrible great lummox, even for a raven," I accused as I opened the casement.
It gave me another cheeky look and a raucous caw before it soared into the night.
I'd no idea if Snape was an Animagus, but I wouldn't put it past him to have delivered the message by his own talon.
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Footnotes:
Let me amend the previous statement, in light of what we now know post-OotP: Sirius is a jerk. He's a big old jerk of the Bully variety, and I'm damned glad Miranda gave him a good, solid insult. :P
I am not implying, by the way, that teenaged Snape indulged in outright sexual abuse of Black (not that it doesn't happen in any school, let alone British public schools) -- but I think he was capable of leading Black on or persuading someone else to do so for the sake of humiliating him.