A/N: Happy Holidays! As a gift, I'm writing a new story, and as it is Christmas Eve, I'm posting the prologue! I will do my best to post the first chapter tomorrow, but no promises. Enjoy!
It wasn't as though Severus Snape was thrilled to be spending yet another holiday season at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As far as he was concerned, he spent far more than enough of his time on the grounds of his former school.
"Christmas wouldn't be so bad", whispered a voice in Snape's head, "if Lily were here". But such thoughts were fruitless, as Lily Evans had died 18 years ago to save her only son. Her only son, a spitting image of his conceited, arrogant father, who had saved not only Snape's career, but his life...
The Dark Lord's voice grated on the ears of the former Death Eater and Snape was slammed against the walls of the Shrieking Shack, the fangs of his Master's pet pressing at the fragile skin of his neck.
"Well, fuck," Snape though brashly. Though death had never been unwelcome to him, he had failed to anticipate that the blessing would arrive before he had the chance to impart the last of that old git's knowledge to The Boy Who Sucked at Potions. But of course, the serpentine lord had reportedly already murdered Potter. Snape was unsurprised that the idiot had managed to get himself killed before recognizing the full extent of Dumbledore's plan.
Resigned to his fate, accepting that mission to protect Lily's son had been meaningless, Snape watched as the embodiment of darkness strode away from him, confident in his victory, his final end achieved. Cursing his dire thoughts, Snape bitterly questioned how the snake's venom had not yet stopped his heart. He reopened his eyes, which he had not consciously closed, and stared ahead... into emptiness.
"Maybe I am dead after all..." mused Snape. Not that it really mattered. He was either already deceased or soon to be so, and that inevitable descent into the realm of eternal sleep comforted him. To his dismay, the aches coursing throughout his body insisted to him that he was not, in fact, dead. It seemed the only place that was not sore was...
Snape sat bold upright, hands fighting to reach his neck. Where he expected deep puncture wounds to gush rivulets of blood, he discovered only his usual pale expanse of skin. He collapsed against the walls of the old shack and felt a sob wrack his weakened body. Tears streaked his grimy face and he felt himself convulse with grief. For life, surely, was more painful than death.
The moment he was certain that the Dark Lord had departed, Harry Potter burst through the door, stumbling in his desperation to reach his former Potions Master. Though the two had been far from friendly, Harry was bright enough to recognize the importance of Snape's role in his mentor's plans. He froze in shock, therefore, when he realized that his professor lay uninjured against the barriers of the room. He had watched from outside as the snake attacked, and had presumed that she was successful, as she soon followed her master from the shack. But there was Snape, alive and... sobbing.
Reaching to find the pulse of the greasy-haired bat, Harry confirmed his findings. The Boy Who Lived let his hand rest upon the neck of his teacher, surprised to find himself attempting to comfort the older man, muttering soft words of assurance, and was even more unsettled when his professor did not push him away.
In the months that followed the war, professors, students, and fellow witches and wizards from across Britain and the world worked tirelessly to rebuild the monumental castle that was home to the legendary school. Harry was the only member of the Golden Trio to return to Hogwarts, as Hermione had chosen to further her studies by earning a Mastery in Charms, while Ron had taken on a job helping George run his shop in Diagon Alley. Though the older brother, consumed by grief for his prankster twin, had planned on closing the shop, Ron had convinced him that the Wizarding world would benefit from the continued existence of such a bright, fun store in the midst of the darkness brought by the war with Voldemort. Thus, Harry alone approached the ruins of his old home, defenses raised, prepared to join the scores of broken people who had arrived to share in the burden. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall greeted him at the remnants of the gates, embracing him tightly. In happier times, McGonagall would never dream of showing such affection in public. However, the war had altered everybody's perception of what was normal, and even Minerva could not deny that Harry Potter deserved (and needed) far more than a warm embrace.
Despite his certainty in his decision to return to Hogwarts, Harry was not eager to reenter the spotlight of public interest. Therefore, he headed for the dungeons, which he assumed would be the most desolate part of the castle, to begin his work. He lost himself in memories as he wandered the stone halls, barely conscious of his destination, until he felt a chill set in that marked his entrance into the dungeons. Rousing himself from his thoughts, he realized that the dungeons, though they retained their unpleasant, dreary quality, had been repaired. There was no sign of the immense damage that had been inflicted upon the stone halls in the final battle. Curious, Harry lit his wand with a muttered, "Lumos!" and continued along the passageway. Upon reaching the door to the Potions classroom, he hesitated. Snape's domain had never been Harry's favorite place in the castle, but he was intent upon confirming his suspicions. Therefore, he entered cautiously, raising his glowing wand. As he had suspected, the potions room had been similarly restored to its former glory. Jars of mysterious (and gross) substances lined the shelves, their containers bearing no mark of having been smashed or trampled. It seemed that the only thing missing was the fumes of brewing potions and the ominous swish of the dreaded professor's robes across the stone floor.
"Greasy git," Harry muttered under his breath. He hadn't expected Snape to return to the castle for any reason, let alone to help repair it. And yet, here he was, faced with a reconstruction so complete and specific that only one wizard could have attempted it. Continuing to grumble, Harry exited the classroom and approached McGonagall's office. Though the older witch wished to assist with the physical rebuilding of her castle, she was instead faced with the task of hiring new professors and recruiting new students. Therefore, she was not in the best of moods when Harry entered her office.
"Cursed? CURSED?" she was shouting at nobody in particular. "Just because every person hired for the past seven years had been an evil lord, dangerous beast, or complete dumbass doesn't mean the position is cursed!" Noticing Harry, McGonagall cut her rant short. "My apologies, Mr. Potter," she sighed in exasperation. "It would appear that the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor has gained rather a nasty reputation in recent years, and therefore it is nearly impossible to find a halfway decent person willing to fill the role."
"I'll take it, Professor," Harry replied. Even the look of utter shock on McGonagall's face could not hold a candle to Harry's own surprise. After all, taking a job as a teacher hadn't exactly been his intention when he'd entered the Headmistress's office.
"If you're sure, Mr. Potter," Minerva replied hesitantly, "it would be an honor to invite you to teach here at Hogwarts. As I recall, you have some previous experience as a Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor." A light of amusement had entered her eyes and she gazed at her former student. Neither had forgotten the trouble he'd caused in his fifth year at Hogwarts when he started a secret society to teach his fellow students how to defend themselves against Voldemort and his followers. When Harry responded in the affirmative, McGonagall scribbled a note to herself and once again faced the young man, this time with a more serious countenance. "I assume, however, that taking a position as professor was not your purpose in paying me this visit."
Harry proceeded to explain his findings, including his suspicion that the former Potions Master was the cause of the unexpected repairs. McGonagall's expression hardened, for though the former Headmaster had trusted Snape completely, McGonagall had yet to forgive the Slytherin for his seemingly dark deeds. Thus, Harry forced himself to prompt her.
"Professor," he began cautiously, "I am aware of Professor Snape's reputation. However, it is clear that he continues to care about this school. Like the rest of us, he is broken. He does not wish to be alive, to be forced to continue the undercover life he once led." Harry sucked in a deep breath, hating what he was about to say, yet confident that it was the right choice. "If you have not yet hired a new Potions Master, I must request that you offer the position to him."
Once again wearing an expression of surprise, but this time shadowed by exhaustion and hatred, McGonagall assured Harry that she would consider his suggestion before gently dismissing him from the office. Harry left promptly, confused, but also excited to know that he would be spending, at the very least, another year at Hogwarts.