Disclaimer: None of the characters belongs to me. They are all J.K. Rowling's.

Beta-Reader: Thank you very much, snarkyroxy, for the helping hand you lent me!

Chapter One

"So, we are agreed that you will arrange for the necessary steps to be taken for Dumbledore's funeral, Professor McGonagall?" enquired the elder wizard at last, sitting up straight and putting his quill firmly onto the desk. The finality of his tone and slightly raised voice caused Minerva to look up. The man appeared far too businesslike and matter-of-fact for her liking: Rufus Scrimgeour, sitting there, surrounded by Ministry officials with discomfited faces.

The Headmaster's office – no, she could not yet think of it as her office – was crowded with people, all of whom seemed to be completely out of place, given the time and the circumstances; they were people who weren't part of the school's community anymore, who had never been close to the late Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Percy Weasley, her former student and Head Boy, was among them. She had always been proud of him, the most conscientious and single-minded of the Weasleys' children, yet now his overzealous scribbling on a clipboard annoyed her to no end. How could they go on as if nothing had happened?

Yet, there she wronged them, and she knew it. Horror and shock were written on all of their faces. Nobody had remained unmoved by tonight's events, but whatever they felt, they covered it up behind a mask of awkward bustle. The sheer number of Ministry officials and Aurors patrolling the halls of Hogwarts gave the impression that grief over the loss of the man, Albus Dumbledore, was the least of their worries. Minerva suspected that every single one of them had at least once wished Dumbledore would go jump in the lake, or at least to keep his nose out of and his mouth shut about a great many things. But neither public opinion nor gossip had ever been of much concern to Albus Dumbledore.

'Now, now, Cornelius,' Albus would have said, smiling gently at the former Minster and knowing full well he made Fudge livid with his innocent words, 'we both know that I am not a man for politics, but let an old man express an opinion of his own.'

Albus' word had been heard with respect amongst the British witches and wizards, even more so, at times, than the word of the Minister for Magic himself. People had looked up to him as the greatest wizard of the age, at least until Albus' warning appeals to stand together in the face of Voldemort's return had frightened them all. This news had struck the wizarding society at a time when everybody was just beginning to forget about the dreads of the dark era and was hoping for a peaceful life. Paralysed with fear, people had preferred to ignore, yes, even to deny the obvious, and the Ministry as well as the press had taken the same line, trying to evade the inevitable. It had done them no good.

And now Albus Dumbledore was dead. The vanquisher of the last powerful, dark and evil wizard – Grindelwald; the bearer of the Order of Merlin, First Class; Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, as they would remember him at his funeral. They were titles and honours Albus had never attached any value to.

Minerva smiled sadly at the thought of it. Asked for the greatest achievement in his life, Albus would always have answered with an amused wink, 'bowling a perfect game of twelve strikes in a legendary ten-pin match against my second cousin, Caradoc.' Albus had strived for neither fame, nor power, and yet Cornelius Fudge had feared him as his greatest adversary…

"Minerva!" The husky voice of Rufus Scrimgeour tore her from her thoughts. Slightly confused, she blinked away the last of the memories and forced herself back to the present.

"Of course, Rufus, of course", she said, still absent-minded, trying to recall what they had been talking about. Finally, she managed to get a grip and shook herself a little. "Of course, I'll see to it that everything is prepared for the ceremony, Minister Scrimgeour," she then said firmly, having regained the composure adequate to the situation.

Rufus Scrimgeour had been two years below her at Hogwarts. They knew each other quite well, although life had seen to it that they had lost contact. Rufus had always been an ambitious man and certainly, being Minister for Magic now, he had achieved the height of any possible career. She didn't doubt his ability for the job. On the contrary, during the last year he had shown more backbone than Cornelius Fudge ever had. Even though the circumstances were worse than difficult, Rufus Scrimgeour had kept a level head and had been master of the situation at all times. At least, the public had formed this opinion about their new Minister. Minerva herself was not so sure about the success of the Ministry's drastic decisions and actions of the last year.

"Rufus, Minerva! Call me Rufus, it's quite all right!" the Minister replied smoothly, leaning a bit closer across the desk. "We were a good team back then, and in times like this standing together is more important than ever, isn't it, Minerva?"

For a moment Minerva McGonagall allowed herself to take comfort from the Minister's soothing voice. For a moment she was tempted to let go of her arduously maintained composure. Never in her life had she felt so lonely and utterly helpless. How could she take on the responsibilities now placed on her shoulders? Yes, it had been clear that some time or other she would take over the post as Hogwarts' new Headmistress, but never had she imagined it would happen so suddenly and under such dire circumstances.

But then she took a deep breath and stood, straightening her back. "Certainly… certainly, Minister Scrimgeour," she answered resolutely, deliberately choosing not to accept the offer to use his first name. "If that is everything, Minister? I have a school to take care of." She ignored the indignant whispering that started in the back of the office at these words.

"It is, Headmistress," the Minister answered shortly, getting up himself. "I can count on your cooperation, Professor McGonagall?" His yellowish eyes, not unlike those of a predator, met hers, calculating. There was a distinct glitter in his eyes for a split second, so brief that Minerva wasn't really sure whether she had imagined it. But it had its effect, nonetheless.

Rufus Scrimgeour had lost nothing of his former determination and straight-forwardness, and Minerva knew better than to let herself be used for the Ministry's interests. Albus had always attempted to keep Hogwarts as independent as possible from the Ministry's influence, and Minerva had no intention for this to change.

"My complete attention will be directed at the school, Minister," Minerva replied stiffly and the whispering that had died down at the Minister's words grew louder again, "as you surely will understand. The students' well-being and the school's future have absolute priority at the moment. This is my area of expertise; politics is yours. I think we'd do well to leave it at that, Minister." Her tone of voice was the one her students knew so very well. 'End of discussion' it said and left no doubt that there was no point in contradicting.

The school had been shaken to its very foundations and would demand all of her attention during the next days. Sure enough word of what had happened had reached the four common rooms as well. Minerva just hoped her colleagues managed to calm the students. She had requested Professor Sprout to inform Remus Lupin, so he could take care of the Gryffindors. At least some of them still knew him from his time as Hogwarts' Defence teacher. Horace had been sent to Slytherin. No easy task, either. Slytherin had always been painstakingly loyal to… no, she shuddered at the thought of her former colleague.

"Very well then." Rufus Scrimgeour did not hide his displeasure at the Headmistress' lack of willingness to cooperate. His voice was cold now, his eyes radiating irritation. He took his walking stick and, with an angry gesture, prompted his staff to depart.

One after the other they nodded 'good-bye', awkwardly silent as they left the office, passing the Minister who was irritably poking the colourful carpet with his cane.

Somehow Minerva pitied him. The whole wizarding society would be shaken once the horrible news became public. Minerva did not dare to think about the panic that would seize witches and wizards all over Britain. The atmosphere had already been tense to the point of tearing after the number of disappearances and murders had increased during the last year. The Ministry's actions, arrests and raids had only added to the tension. How would the wizarding society take this terrible blow?

It wasn't until they were alone that Scrimgeour stopped the nervous poking with his stick and turned once again to the Headmistress.

"I don't suppose it would be possible for me to speak to young Mr Potter?" he asked, his eyes boring into hers inquiringly.

"Absolutely not!" Minerva didn't even try to hide her indignation. "You did not honestly expect me to allow that, did you, Rufus? Even if it wasn't, what-," she glanced at the small silvery clock at the desk, "half past twelve in the night!"

"Well, it didn't cost to ask, did it?" Scrimgeour shrugged and turned away to leave, yet stopped halfway to the door. "He will, however, have to answer to the investigation unit, tomorrow or during the next few days, as will everybody, staff and students alike." He spoke over his shoulder, not turning around completely.

"That we will see, Minister. Surely we will find an acceptable arrangement for all of us." The Headmistress had no intention whatsoever of letting Harry Potter or any other, colleague or student, unnecessarily be harassed by endless questioning. In this time of grief the school should not be further disturbed beyond what was absolutely necessary. Perhaps she could get Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt to talk to Harry. At least he knew them.

"Good night, Headmistress!" Scrimgeour sourly bid her farewell and let himself out of the office. "See you at the funeral."

"Good night, Minister!" Minerva nodded faintly as she lowered herself back into the chair behind 'her' desk. This night that had started so ghastly could not possibly be called a 'good night'.

For a while, Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts' new Headmistress, just sat there and stared into the air. She felt so empty; filled with nothing other than grief and despair. This day, the last few hours, had changed everything. How could the world keep turning? How could she go on?

Tranquillity had settled on the office. After a while, even the hurried footsteps and subdued whispering from the corridors had died down. Suddenly Minerva was very aware of the absolute silence. Even Fawkes, Albus' faithful companion, had stopped singing.

Somehow the silence made it all the more real. Albus Dumbledore was dead, her mentor, her long-time true friend. A powerful wizard who could have pursued any possible career, could have filled any office, could have gained absolute power – had he strived for it. And yet, Albus Dumbledore had made it his life-task to educate and teach the youth, not only in academics but in social values, as well. A man sparkling with wit, energy and humour. A man with a great, open heart.

During her meeting with the Minister and his delegation, Minerva hadn't paid any attention to Fawkes' lament. It had been difficult enough to concentrate as it was. Only with effort had she been able to recount what Harry had told her about the incident on the Astronomy Tower. There would be investigations, of course.

Following the interrogation, they had a long discussion about Albus Dumbledore's funeral. Rufus Scrimgeour had not so much been against burying Albus here at Hogwarts. Albus had been one of Hogwarts' greatest and longest-serving Headmasters, after all, and had lead the school successfully through difficult times.

Minerva had, however, needed all her determination to make sure the funeral was kept modest. Not even in his death had the Ministry refrained from trying to use Albus Dumbledore. But Minerva finally had put a stop to it. The rite would take place here, on Hogwarts' grounds, close to the lake, where Albus had liked it so very much. There would be no large ceremony, no long eulogies by people who deemed themselves important and no meaningless speeches by others who craved for a little bit of the fame of the deceased Albus Dumbledore. This was all Minerva could do for him now.

Minerva sighed heavily and glanced at the portrait of a sleeping Albus Dumbledore. His spectacles had slipped down his nose and the tip of his beard was trembling slightly with every breath he took. She smiled sadly. Albus Dumbledore was snoring.

"How can we go on without you?" she asked, shaking her head in despair. Her eyes shortly grazed Fawkes' empty perch. Then Minerva rested her forehead on her palms, her elbows propped up on the desk's smooth wooden surface.

The Order of the Phoenix seemed to have also lost its talisman on this damnable night. Would the Order continue to exist, anyway? Their founder, their leader was gone. Would they be able to keep the group together? What could they do, with not only their leader but their spy gone, as well? Was there any hope now at all?

"The Pensieve!" It suddenly flashed through her mind. Perhaps Albus had left something, some critical information, in his Pensieve.

She stood, went over to the alcove where Albus kept it and carefully lifted its stony lid. The lack of any protective charms did not promise anything good. Sure enough, the basin was empty, no silvery liquid swirling within it. Not even the smallest of all memories was hidden in there.

Despair overcoming her, Minerva supported herself on the low tables at both sides of the Pensieve for a moment and stared into the empty basin.

And just what did you hope to find, anyway, Minerva? A farewell letter?

No. Why should Albus have left anything of that kind? He had not, of course, expected this to be his last trip away from Hogwarts. Only seven hours ago, Minerva and the other Heads of Houses had visited Albus here in his office. He would be gone for some hours and would be taking Harry with him, he had said. And he had ordered them to patrol the halls, to be vigilant, just to be on the safe side.

Albus had told them nothing of the purpose or the destination of their trip. Anyway, he had been quite discreet during the last months. All he had told the Order was that he would prepare Harry for his task, teach him all he knew about Tom Marvolo Riddle. And obviously he had obliged the boy to carry on in this discretion.

Come to think of it, Severus – Minerva shuddered at the thought of the murderer's name alone – had been quite indignant with Albus about this secrecy. Seldom had she seen the Head of Slytherin House so obstinate, yes, almost disrespectful, towards the Headmaster. Yet Albus had told him in no uncertain terms that he was sorry but, no, he could not disclose any details. And grudgingly, Snape had accepted this, however grimly so. Had he already been planning his atrocious deed then?

Merlin! She still couldn't understand it.

Albus had always kept a relatively close relationship with Severus Snape, had invited the younger wizard to regular meetings over tea and scones. So Minerva hadn't thought anything about it when he had kept Severus behind after their meeting. The Headmaster had always appreciated Snape's opinion, especially in matters of importance to the Order. The younger wizard was their only source for any reliable information about Voldemort's moves after all.

'Had been…' one had to say. Though, which side Snape had been loyal to after his return to Voldemort's ranks, resuming his spying, had become clear only a few hours ago. In the face of these recent developments, of course, everything appeared in a different light…

Had Albus told Snape anything? Had their conversation been the trigger for the attack?

If it had, Minerva did not know, and it was too late, anyway.

A faint sob escaped her. "Take good care of the school, Minerva!" Albus had said. "I'll see you tomorrow for breakfast."

No, he clearly had not expected to die, to be murdered by his… by his own protégé. It wasn't fair. Albus Dumbledore had been murdered by a man they – he – had trusted.

Time and again, Minerva had to remind herself it had truly happened. Even if she still deemed herself to be in the middle of a horrible nightmare, hoping to awake from it any time soon, it was the truth. However painful, it was the horribly plain truth.

Albus Dumbledore was dead.

It hurt so very much and it wasn't just the loss of a trusted friend, of a great wizard. What increased the pain a thousandfold was the fact that he had been murdered… murdered by one of their own. What could hurt more than broken trust?

Trust.

What was trust in times of war, one might ask? Worse, what was trust in a civil war, when witch turned against witch, wizard against wizard? When one did not know who was friend and who was foe?

You could not live without trust. The wizarding world had painfully experienced such a time during the last war and its aftermath. Neighbours had denounced neighbours, friends had betrayed friends and not even parents had trusted their own children anymore. Many people had been done injustice and had been caused harm by this distrust.

Yes, Albus had been right. Distrust only brought more distrust.

And yet, you should have known better, Minerva!, she chastised herself. Severus Snape had been a Death Eater, after all. Hasn't there always been a measure of distrust? Have you not always doubted him? she asked herself as if to subconsciously and belatedly diminish her disappointment.

But it wasn't true. She had indeed believed in him, and it made her pain all the greater.

How could you have trusted him, Minerva?

Albus had…

"Why, Albus? Why?" She turned to the portrait. "Why did you trust him? How could this have happened?"

But portrait-Albus only snorted loudly in his sleep and his spectacles slid a bit further down his nose, yet he did not awaken. She could not expect an answer to her questions from him.

Another quotation came to her mind, one Albus had often used when they had spoken of Severus Snape in former time, of Draco Malfoy more recently.

'The only way to make a man trustworthy is to trust him.'

Albus Dumbledore had steadfastly trusted Severus Snape. Not once had Minerva seen him doubting the man, the Death Eater. If Albus had ever done so, he had kept it a private matter between Severus and himself. Yes, Albus had always been respectful, an honourable man, magnanimous and forgiving. Too forgiving?

It had taken time, but Minerva had come to trust Severus Snape, as well, not least because of Albus' own unwavering faith in the Slytherin. And yet he had betrayed that trust, had not shown himself to be trustworthy. He who had owed Albus Dumbledore so very much, had in the end shown his true self, had lowered his mask to reveal his face. The face of the enemy.

Severus Snape had murdered Albus Dumbledore.

Suddenly Minerva straightened up, not able to bear her frustration any longer. She went to the high window and stared outside into the night. The sky was cloudless and the half-moon illuminated the grounds in a pale, silvery light. A night like any other and yet one like none other…

What had Horace said, not three hours ago?

'I taught him! I thought I knew him!'

Minerva McGonagall shook her head. Even this morning at breakfast, had she been asked whether she knew Severus Snape, she would have critically narrowed her eyes at the questioner. Gazing over her squared glasses, she would have answered in her Scottish accent, 'Sure I know him, I dinna ken him, though.'

That was it. Strange as it might be, even after having been colleagues for more than fifteen years, after having lived under the same roof for nearly the same amount of time – albeit it hosting more than 500 adolescent teenagers, as well – Minerva would not have gone as far as to presume to really know the Head of Slytherin House, let alone to understand him. She had known him since he was a child, had seen him growing up, becoming a man. And yet…

But yes, she, too, had thought she knew him – as well as one could get to know Severus Snape, inscrutable enigma of the dungeons. Over the years she had gotten one or two glimpses of what lay behind what she had thought to be a mask of snarkiness and coldness. One did not simply get to know the Potions master.

No, he certainly had not made it easy for anybody to get to know him, and it had taken Minerva years to figure out what seemed to be only shards of his obscure personality.

She had liked what she had seen behind this mask, though; an intelligent young wizard, with a good sense of – admittedly dry, yet astute – humour, a man who showed a remarkable scrupulousness for a job he thoroughly disliked, a man of principles with a really painstaking loyalty to Albus Dumbledore and the school.

Yes, she had gotten to know her Slytherin colleague – at least she had thought so. She had learnt to predict his sudden mood-swings, had found delight in fierce exchanges of words with him, had now and then even managed to drag him out of his dungeons for social staff gatherings, many of them ending with long talks about everything under the sun until daybreak. Having tried as she might, Minerva doubted she would have been able to get to know Severus Snape any better - the man seemed to have lived for being unfathomable. Looking back, that certainly had paid off for him…

Damn the man!

Had she known him at all? Or had it all been a deceptive game of hide-and-seek on his part?

That just couldn't be. Or could it?

Staring outside into the night, Minerva let her eyes wander across the grounds, the dark contours of the Forbidden Forest to the right, the wide lawns that stretched over to the lake. Its surface was curled into millions of little waves, glittering in the silvery moonlight. Somewhere in the distance was Hogsmeade. On September 1st, one could hear the distant whistle, announcing the arrival of the Hogwarts Express, even in her office.

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A row of flickering flames advanced across the great lake, their light spread across the dark surface like hundreds of little candles. The first-years were coming.

For the last time, Minerva McGonagall mentally went over her to-do list. No, she had not forgotten anything. The scrolls with the names of the new first-years were carefully tucked below her arm, and Albus would bring the Sorting Hat down to the Great Hall. Everything was ready for the Welcoming Feast.

One floor below her, she could already hear the older students filing into the Great Hall, chatting animatedly, joking and clearly enjoying their first night back at school.

"Ah, Minerva, there you are!" Albus greeted her as she entered the ante-chamber next to the Great Hall. He wore a purple robe, embroidered with pink and yellow butterflies and bumblebees. That was new, even for the eccentric Headmaster. Minerva's astounded scepticism must have shown on her face, since Albus said with a wink, "Purple and pink are the colours of fashion for this autumn, didn't you know, Minerva? It would do you good to consider a change in colour now and then as well, my dear." Therewith he placed the Sorting Hat on the low stool and turned to the door. "I'll leave you to the first-years, then. A strong year we'll have."

A strong year it was. A dozen students more and they would have had to move to a ground floor classroom instead of the chamber. Minerva mustered the students as they filed into the small room. It always was a stirring moment, welcoming a new year of students to Hogwarts. She carefully schooled her expression to one of stern, determined attention, though. It wouldn't do them any good for her to be lenient. For most of the young witches and wizards, it was their first real absence from home, and while some needed a firm hand to keep them in line on their first steps into newly acquired liberties, others needed a benevolent strictness and reliability to help them adapt to their new life.

At the moment, all of them were quite subdued, overwhelmed by their new surroundings. And yet one could already determine certain traits of character.

There were those who eagerly pushed into the first row, some of them already had their wands out – a strict 'Wands away, boys and girls!' took care of that.

Others, girls mostly, were eager as well, yet kept a bit behind, curiously rocking on tiptoes to see what was going on.

You could easily determine the Muggle-borns as well, although the students were already dressed in their school uniforms. They stared around with undisguised astonishment and apprehension.

Groups had already formed as well. The long train ride always was a good time to make first acquaintances, although most of them were torn apart during the first weeks, when their House became of greatest importance to the young witches and wizards.

And yet, there were those as well who stood to the back, alone, too shy or too frightened to make friends already. Problem children, whose names would be given to the Prefects to keep an eye on them. Most of them adapted quickly enough once the school's daily life had started. The House normally gave them a strong sense of togetherness very soon.

Two of them, two boys occupying opposite corners of the room right now, caught Minerva's eye. One had wakeful, attentive eyes, however clouded by a veil of apprehension. He looked malnourished and overtired. A fringe of his brownish, tousled hair was covering an old, pale-red scratch on the boy's temple.

'Ah,' she thought, 'Remus Lupin. Poor boy!' Albus had informed them that he was going to admit a student cursed with lycanthropy. Yes, he definitely was a boy to pay special attention to.

Minerva was proven right less than fifteen minutes later as Lupin, Remus was sorted into Gryffindor and the thin boy warily made his way to his new House's table. He took his place next to another first year who sat, brooding, a little bit apart from the other Gryffindors.

Minerva's eyes lingered on the two of them for a while. She had been sceptical about Albus' decision to let a werewolf study at Hogwarts, but Remus Lupin did not look as if he was going to cause any problems. Over the years as a teacher, she had developed a quite good sense of judging character, or so she thought.

The very same sense told her that the other boy was probably going to cause her quite a few sleepless nights. The Black boy had 'trouble-maker' practically written all over him. Admittedly, she had been no less surprised about the Sorting Hat sending Sirius Black to Gryffindor than the boy himself had been. Although his current expression was to be described more suitably like something akin indignation, bordering on anger. Well, a Black in Gryffindor certainly was something new.

The Sorting, however, was going on and Minerva had to turn her attention back to the long scroll of parchment and to calling the students to the front. They proceeded quickly. Again, she took a closer look at the students sorted into her own house. Her eyes following another Gryffindor first-year, Catriona Smith, to her place, she did not right away notice the arising awkward silence. Only when it gave way to excited babbling and giggling and the first students stood up from their seats, Minerva noticed the delay.

The small stool in the front was still empty and none of the first-years gathered in the middle aisle moved. A quick glance at the scroll to confirm the name she had been calling, and Minerva McGonagall looked at them again, inquiringly. Snape, Severus – not a name she knew, and after 15 years of teaching she assumed she knew a great part of the wizarding families.

'Severus Snape?' she called again, this time a bit louder, yet in a friendly tone.

Has he got lost on the way, as had happened years ago to the little Whitehorn-girl? she asked herself, still observing the students who now grew agitated and started to look at each other curiously. The older students became louder, as well, and Minerva admonished them with a sharp, 'Silence now, if you please!' before she called the boy again. By now everybody's attention was directed towards the little group in the middle of the Great Hall.

Slowly, the remaining first-years formed a half-circle and a girl pushed a thin and scrawny-looking boy to the front. The straggly, shoulder-long, jet-black hair, these dark eyes – he reminded her of somebody, yet whom, Minerva could not possibly put her finger on. He was the other first-year she had seen standing apart in the ante-chamber. Much like little Remus Lupin, and yet so very different.

Whereas it had been shy apprehension that had clouded Remus' otherwise open and wakeful eyes, something completely different radiated from Severus Snape. There was apprehension as well, yet it seemed to be much more a sign of suspicion and mistrust. The boy seemed to be torn between curiosity – for there was an inquisitive glimmer on his face – fear of the new and unfamiliar, and hostility. Yes, definitely hostility, as Severus Snape irritably shrugged the girl's hand away, hissing something at her. Within a split second, his expression had changed to one of cool aloofness and the boy straightened his small shoulders before scuffling to the front. His unwillingness was obvious and when Severus Snape reached the teachers' rostrum he had a deep scowl on his face.

'Goodness gracious!' Minerva thought as she looked the boy over critically. 'Has nobody ever told him how to dress properly?' The boy's robe was mis-buttoned, his right shoe-lace open. He had his eyes firmly trained to the floor, his motions weary, as she led him to the stool. Is he crying?

'There now, Mr Snape!' She placed an assuring hand on the boy's shoulder. He flinched the instant her hand touched him, stopped dead and looked at her. For a moment, there was something akin to fear in his eyes, yet whatever it was, it was immediately replaced by a dark glare, and he shrugged her hand away angrily. Yes, his dark eyes were glittering suspiciously, his face slightly contorted, and he blinked as if to keep tears from spilling. For a moment, he stared at her intensely, before abruptly moving away a few steps.

'Uh, yes. You are a difficult young man, as well, aren't you?' Minerva thought, and silently prayed he would not be placed into Gryffindor.

Standing aside, she watched him scramble up onto the stool, and then everything seemed to happen simultaneously. Putting the hat on, Severus Snape snuffled aloud and rubbed his nose with the back of his sleeve. Minerva herself had to school her expression so as not to let show her disgust. Was he indeed so upset or just extremely underbred?

Behind her, the whole student body erupted in a roar of laughter, but Minerva was distracted only for a moment before turning back to Severus Snape just in time to see the scowl being replaced by an angry flush. His left hand contorted around the robe in his lap, the other shot into his pocket, and within an instant Severus Snape had his wand out.

Judging from the determination on his face, Minerva had no doubt he was on the verge of hexing that Hufflepuff third-year sitting closest to him – and doing it successfully so. Luckily, the Headmaster's 'Silence, please!' was immediately followed by the Sorting Hat's call of 'SLYTHERIN!'.

A/N: So, this has been it. Although I firmly believe in Snape, the events on top of the Astronomy Tower schocked me to no end. Perhaps this is my way to come to terms with it... I hope you enjoyed reading this first chapter. 'Reminiscences' is my first story, so I'd love to get some feedback. Thank you very much!