TWO

Snape had long ago learned to dread Dumbledore's summons, and it was only recent complacency that lead him to be taken by surprise by the latest one. It arrived when Snape had just retired to his rooms after another frustrating evening in the dungeons cursing his destiny of being surrounded by people who glorified lunacy.

He took his time responding to the summons, taking a moment to pause in front of the sitting room mirror to snarl at his reflection. He had to make sure that he wouldn't get comfortable with it, after all.

Dumbledore didn't seem to mind, and when Snape arrived at his office, the Headmaster merely smiled and tapped his wand on the teapot, which obediently poured two cups of tea.

"Albus," Snape said, "If you want to ask yet again about the progress on the project, I should tell you that—"

"It's not about that, dear boy," Dumbledore said, and gestured for Snape to sit. "Although you are all well, I hope?"

Snape reluctantly sat down in the stuffed chair opposite Dumbledore's desk, his hands in his lap and nowhere near the proffered tea. "I've had my second check-up with Pomfrey. She said that there are no signs of my reverting in either direction."

"That's certainly a relief," Dumbledore said.

"A relief?" Snape echoed. "Albus, that might mean that this is permanent!"

"Don't worry, you'll catch up on those two decades soon enough," Dumbledore said easily. "I actually wanted to talk about Harry."

That took Snape by surprise. "Potter? What's he done now?"

"No, it's nothing like that…" Dumbledore said. He exhaled slowly, suddenly looking his full age. "Have you noticed anything odd about him?"

Snape steepled his thoughts now that he knew what the meeting was about. It wasn't surprising that Dumbledore would be concerned about the faculty's newest addition, and Snape was probably the latest in a long line of people he'd already talked to about the matter. Snape briefly wondered if Dumbledore had done the same when Snape joined up.

"Is there anything about Potter that isn't odd?" Snape said. At Dumbledore's expression, Snape continued with, "I hardly know the boy, Albus, I'm the last person you should be asking about this."

"You have talked with him since he arrived, and quite amiably," Dumbledore said.

"Potter is amiable with everyone," Snape said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Indeed, it was true. When Dumbledore had first announced back in August that Potter would be returning to Hogwarts, Snape had groaned and spent weeks bracing himself for the expected nightmare. Potter, the most undisciplined, troubled and unpredictable student Snape had ever known (even counting the time when Snape himself had been a student), returning as a faculty member? Surely it was a disaster in the making.

Yet, when Potter did actually grace the campus with his presence and Dumbledore made the perfunctory pre-term supper staff gathering, Potter had been polite, curious and asked legitimate questions on how he'd be expected to take on the Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Snape suspected that Dumbledore had only recruited Potter in the hopes of breaking the jinx on the job, and admittedly there were no signs of Potter screwing up enough to be booted out just yet. Not that that meant anything; there was the rest of the school year to go.

"Were you aware that Harry disappeared for a year after the… final events?" Dumbledore asked, pulling Snape out from his thoughts.

"I don't follow the tabloids, Albus," Snape said. He took the cup of tea, since it seemed that he'd be there a while. "That's a no."

"No one knows where he went, or what he did during that year," Albus said. "I'm in correspondence with Ron and Hermione, and they're just in the dark as I am."

"Has it occurred to you that Potter might've told them not to tell you about whatever he's confided in them?" Snape asked.

"I've considered that," Dumbledore said. "I told them that I respect Harry's need for privacy, and they're under no obligation to tell me what they know. I just need to be sure if they, at the very least, are giving Harry the ear he needs. Apparently Harry hasn't even deigned to allow them that."

Snape realised that Dumbledore was hurt that Potter hadn't confided in him. The vindictive part of Snape wanted to say that Dumbledore was no longer deserving of Potter's confidence, after everything that Dumbledore had kept from the boy since the moment they met. Potter had more than enough reasons not to forgive the Headmaster, and goodness knew Dumbledore craved forgiveness above all things. Maybe even more than lemon drops.

"I don't see what this has to do with me," Snape said.

"Ah!" Dumbledore's face lit up, causing Snape's stomach to curl in reflexive fear. "Funny of you to mention that."

"Albus…"

Twinkling eyes were a sign of bad things to come. "You are, you realise, the staff member who is closest to Harry's age?"

Snape's grip tightened around the tea cup. "No, I'm not," he said, trying to get his voice as low and threatening as he could. His altered set of vocals cords were not cooperating as well as he would've liked. "One stupid potion mishap may change the shell but—"

"I'm not talking about that," Dumbledore said. "Even before the accident."

"What? You can't be…" Snape mentally went through the staff roster. McGonagall, Sinistra, Flitwick, Hungbaur, Sprout, Vector, Delphi… "Hooch! Hooch is closer to Potter's age!"

"But Rolanda does not have the same history with Harry," Dumbledore said. "Like it or not, you've been a strong presence in Harry's life from the moment he first arrived. It may not have been a conventional presence, or even a positive one, but you've seen the darker side of Harry's choices and you have at least an inkling of where he's been. Rolanda, sad to say, doesn't."

"If Potter hasn't been talking to his 'friends' on the matter, what on earth would make him talk to me?" Snape asked, though he was not at all considering the ludicrous suggestion.

"If there's one thing I've made sure of from the moment Harry arrived at Hogwarts, is that he would never be alone," Dumbledore said, his voice suddenly serious. "I've yet to make up for Harry's youth with his foster parents, but as long as he's lived in these halls, I've ensured that he's been surrounded by love and friendship. That's what made him different from Riddle, and in the end, that's why we're both still living today."

"Touching," Snape said, trying not to feel uncomfortable at the mention of Riddle's name. "But I'm not a substitute for his menial companions."

"I suppose not, but if he won't talk to me or his friends…" Dumbledore said, looking down at the papers on his desk, as though he were suddenly embarrassed to meet Snape's eye. "I just don't want Harry to feel that he's alone. He's returned to Hogwarts in a sort of limbo, neither student nor faculty. Surely you've seen him, walking the halls by himself, exploring the fields with his nose in a book, always near the wall every time we have one of our staff suppers? Don't you think this is strange of the Harry we know?"

"No, I don't." That wasn't exactly true. Upon Potter's return, Snape had taken the first available opportunity to throw a scathing insult his way, as a form of orientation to his new post, as it were. Potter had merely nodded politely and smiled the almost-smile that was fast becoming his trademark, and then turned away. It was as though Potter had heard the words, processed them, and then forgotten about them. It creeped Snape out, but he wasn't going to mention that. "If you were so worried about him being isolated, why did you offer him the post?"

"I didn't," Dumbledore said. "He asked. It was the first time I'd heard from him since he disappeared and…"

"And you couldn't say no," Snape finished. Something suddenly occurred to him, and he said, "Did you say Potter disappeared after the final battle?"

"Not immediately," said Dumbledore. "But within the few weeks after, as we were starting to rebuild. I had to return to Hogwarts to deal with matters here, and I didn't learn about it until Ron owled me."

Snape's mind jumped back to the final moments of the battle, or what of it he could recall. To be honest, Snape couldn't remember much of the two years he'd spent as Hogwarts' Headmaster, having spent so much energy tiptoeing the line with Voldemort and fending off students and staff that hadn't been aware of his triple-agent role. He could, however, remember very clearly how Potter, back from the dead and crackling with magic, had held his ground in the face of Voldemort's final Avada Kedavra, which backfired gloriously for a second time.

Snape tried to overlap that image of Potter with the man who now sat at the staff table every morning and smiled as he ate his breakfast.

"I see," Snape said.

"I'm not asking for much," Dumbledore said. "Just in case Harry needs an outlet, I need to know you'll be there. He is a colleague now, after all."

Snape took some comfort that Dumbledore was at the very least not asking him to actively seek out Potter, because that would just be cause for suspicion. Even so, Snape could see the meeting for what it really was: a little nudge for Snape to open his eyes. It would be like trying not to think about pink elephants, and Snape knew that the comfortable almost-bliss he'd had since discarding a career in intrigues would be tugged out from under his feet yet again. By the same man, no less.

The next morning Snape entered the Great Hall, hair carefully in place, and took his customary seat. Flitwick was already there to his left, pawing through the Daily Prophet, Hungbaur to his right methodically sawing his sausages into thin slices. Potter was there as well, stirring his cup of whatever it was he drank for breakfast, and looking out over the students' tables at nothing in particular.

It was easier to move with a curtain of hair over one's face than most people realised, and no matter what McGonagall or Dumbledore had to say on the matter, Snape was not going to budge. It was a matter of pride.

As Snape buttered his toast, a small owl swooped down from the ceiling and dropped a letter on Potter's plate. Potter ate his eggs with one hand and opened the letter with the other. Whatever its contents were, it brought the same half-smile to his lips.

For all that Snape had never thought anything of that smile before, it now irritated him, for the sight of it brought to mind the prickling echo of Dumbledore's concern. Still, once he properly thought about it, he quite liked that Potter no longer burst into random fits of childish anger. And that Potter no longer looked around every corner of the school with a suspicious glint in his eye. And that Potter had broken the habit of randomly stumbling into trouble and Gryffindor-ing his way out of it. Actually, he just liked that Potter no longer made his life a misery.

There was no reason to be bothered by it, not that Snape could see. If Potter was now quieter and minded his own business, the world was a better place as far as Snape was concerned. Let the busybodies worry themselves silly over the boy, Snape figured. He'd be no part of it.

If Dumbledore disapproved Snape's lack of action, he made no mention of it, and there were no more summons. Snape's days moved on in their regular fashion, trying on his nerves as Flitwick continued to poke at him, and on the other side students grew bolder upon seeing more glimpses of Snape's refound youth. What were they thinking – that a younger Snape would somehow be more tolerant of their ignorance? Hardly. Snape compensated by cutting points wherever he went all day, all four houses be damned, and spent his nights hissing and snarling at his cauldrons as he tried to figure out exactly what had been the cause of the reversion.

No matter what ideas of patents and profit that the rest of the faculty had, it was the unknown quality of the reversal potion that bothered Snape. This was potion magic the kind of which Snape had never encountered before, and he'd gone over the ingredients of that class in every possible permutation, and nothing of it came anywhere close to being able to cause an intrinsic change to the human body.

At long last there was nothing for it, and on one of the nights Snape knew that the three perpetrators of his condition would be having detention together, he made his entrance.

Potter was sitting at the teacher's desk farthest from the door, half-bent over a parchment and yet another smile tinkering harmlessly over his lips. At first he thought Potter had been so engrossed in whatever nonsense he was doing to not notice Snape's entrance, but as he approached the table, the young man lifted his head up and nodded, as though he'd been expecting him all along.

It was still an unnerving sight to see, but Snape was going to hold on to his resolution of not commenting on it.

"Potter," he said. "I'd like a moment with the students."

Potter nodded, and gestured towards the trio without a uttering a word. Snape honed in on the Gryffindor, who went a pleasing shade of pale.

"What did you add to the potion? Speak up! I know you put something in there that you shouldn't have!" Snape loomed over the boy. The two Ravenclaws hovered nearby, transfixed.

"Nothing, sir!" Whitaker quaked. "I… I would never dare…"

"Don't lie to me!" Snape yelled. "There is nothing in the ingredients that could have done this!" He pushed his hair back, revealing his new face.

Whitaker, seeing the sight, briefly forgot to be afraid. "Is that bad?"

"Ten points from—"

"Severus," Potter said, placing a firm hand on Snape's shoulder. It was only the double shock of being touched and hearing his first name being used that cut Snape's tirade short, enabling Potter to pull him back without resistance and give the Whitaker twit a comforting pat.

"Really, Professor Potter sir, I would never…" Whitaker's lower lip trembled.

"I know," Potter said gently to his fellow Gryffindor. Maybe he hadn't changed that much after all. "But do you think that maybe something might have fallen in to the cauldron by mistake? When you're talking with your friends, sometimes you can get a little distracted?"

Whitaker's eyes flitted to the side, his expression more thoughtful than guilty. "I… Maybe."

Potter took out his wand and gave it a quick flick, causing three pieces of empty parchment to come flying towards them from his desk. "All right, your assignment for the night is to write out a full description of what happened during Potions on the day of the incident, leave nothing out." He glanced at the two Ravenclaws. "Both of you as well. Be as precise as you can, and if I find that you've left anything out, I'll personally ask the Headmaster to extend your detention."

"Gyah," said Belper, who quickly sat down at the nearest available desk and began writing furiously. Cardullo and Whitaker took their own parchments and began doing the same.

"Taken a liking to supervising detentions, Potter?" Snape asked wryly.

"It's no laughing matter," Potter said, no hint of malice or sarcasm in his voice. "Harming a teacher is a serious offence. What if the effect had been different? What if you'd been poisoned, or turned to stone, or something worse? I'll go over their reports and pass it to you tomorrow, I hope that's all right."

"That's…" Snape found himself at a loss. "That's acceptable. If only you were so thoughtful of the welfare of others when you were a student."

Potter's expression changed, and it was the first time Snape saw in it flash of pain – or was it anger? Snape found it oddly refreshing, especially when Potter said in a low voice, "Are you expecting an apology, Snape?"

"I don't expect anything from you," Snape said.

"Good," said Potter. "Because I'll only apologise to you if you apologise to Dumbledore for your student behaviour."

"My my, how Slytherin of you," Snape said, though he reeled softly against Potter's accusation. If Potter was not going to lose his temper, then Snape would certainly not be the one to fold first. "I expect those reports by morning. If they are insufficient, I will use my own methods of extracting information."

"Understood," Potter said, and turned his attention back to the three students, signalling the end of the conversation.

Snape didn't know what to make of it, but Potter's business was his own and he was not about to go prying when he'd just decided that he'd do nothing of the sort.

The three reports did arrive as promised in Snape's pigeonhole the following morning, carefully rolled up and with a note attached to mark whom they had been sent by. Snape had intended to read it after breakfast, but upon giving them a cursory glance, some suspicious details leapt out at him, and he decided to tinker around in the dungeons in lieu of attending the morning meal.

Naturally, that made him more irritable than usual in the first class of the day (first-year Ravenclaw-Gryffindor), which was further compounded by Vector's unannounced visit in the middle of class to titter and give Snape a small tray of toast and coffee on the excuse that she "happened to be that part of the building", as if Snape didn't know what she was really up to. She was shooed off easily enough, but considering the whispers that erupted among the brats, the damage had been done. Snape cut off another ten points per house for good measure.

After that was double Potions with a seventh-year Gryffindor-Slytherin class, a session that Snape was starting to loathe even more than usual. The reason for that lay in a pair of Slytherin girls who'd started making cow eyes at him. It was a minor annoyance, and Snape didn't put much stock in what was just another manifestation of childish stupidity, but it cut into the cold hand of fear that was pretty much the only thing Snape could be proud of in his academic career.

Hence, Snape was in right mood by the time lunch came around. Flitwick was missing for whatever reason, leaving a gap between Snape's place and Potter's, the latter already filled by its owner, who was busy working through his shepherd's pie.

Upon sitting down, Potter remarked, "Hullo, Snape. Did you get the reports?"

"Yes," Snape said, and started sawing through his own pie.

"I hope they help," Potter said. "Just so you know, last night was the final detention session for those kids."

"I was aware," Snape said. A jostling at his elbow made him turn slightly. "What?"

Hungbaur was smirking toothily at him. "Don't forget, you're taking patrol duty this weekend."

"Was that this weekend?" Snape asked.

It was a rhetorical question, but the intent was lost on the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, who just went, "You lost the draw, remember? Should be fun for you, maybe you should drop by Hog's Head and ask for a pint – see if they card you for being underage." Hungbaur's laugh was quite probably the most revolting thing Snape had heard all day. And it was only noon.

The quality of Snape's mood – which was already a fragile thing – decreased steadily. By the time the weekend arrived, Dumbledore had to give him a friendly but stern warning that standing around in the school corridors was not an offence punishable by detention, no matter what Snape insisted.

Patrol duty was just the icing on the cake. Back in the day, there had been a definite need for it, what with Voldemort and his endless minions hovering constantly in the background waiting for a chance to strike. The children, near-sighted and selfish as they were, barely noticed the teachers that had been assigned to patrol their route to, from and around the perimeter of Hogsmeade. Even if they did notice the teachers, they'd probably brushed them off as being there for personal reasons; not one thought to think that said teacher had had their name picked out of a (non-Sorting) hat for the unfortunate task of patrol duty, which in itself was a brain-sucking chore a gnome could accomplish. Dumbledore had insisted that patrol duty continue after the Dark Lord's demise, and in the protests that followed, Snape and Sprout found that they could agree on one thing at least.

As it was quickly turning out to be the coldest October in recent memory, on Saturday morning Snape took the opportunity to wind a Slytherin scarf around his mouth and nose, comfortable enough in the knowledge that even with it on, he would still be recognisable. Mrs Norris was holding post at the East gateway, and he nodded at her before starting the walk to Hogsmeade.

It was every bit as mind-numbing as before, walking round the Hogsmeade perimeter again and again while trying not to look like an utter fool. Still, the morning shift was not so bad, since most of the young cretins preferred to waste their time and money in the afternoon.

Suddenly, there was Potter.

Snape slid into the shadowed lee of the closest building, his movement more automatic than conscious. Potter strolled on without making any sign that he'd seen Snape, his hands in his pockets and just generally looking like a manatee thanks to the dozen or so layers of clothing wrapped about his person. A simple grey scarf was wound around his neck and there was no sign of Gryffindor colours anywhere on him.

A few students walked by him, chirping their greetings and getting a silent nod of acknowledgement, but Potter did not slow down his purposeful stride. Snape watched as Potter headed straight for and entered Madame Caliman's bookstore with the ease of someone going through a familiar routine.

Snape strolled as casually as he could in the direction of Caliman's store under the pretence of eyeing the children scattered about. A quick glance into the store revealed Potter talking with the Caliman lady and then disappearing into the back room.

Ah, thought Snape. Then: Wait a minute.

Madame Caliman's back room was known for having a healthy supply of books and magazines that appealed to the blushing needs of the young and hormonal. Snape seriously doubted that Potter was after literary contraband.

The bookstore door opened with a soft tinkle, and Caliman's round face leaned out into the cold air. "Good morning, Severus," she said cheerfully. "Do you mind not standing there, luv?"

Snape huffed into his scarf. "I'll stand where I like."

"Fair enough, fair enough. But it's not good for business, y'see." Caliman gestured meaningfully with her head. Snape didn't have to look to see the way that students were carefully detouring away from the store. Caliman continued with, "Perhaps I can tempt you with the latest edition of Cauldrons Unlimited? Oh, do come in, it's a tad nippy out."

"I'm on patrol," Snape said.

"Patrol the inside of me store, if you like," Caliman said, widening the door further. "You should—"

"Professor Snape!"

Snape's head jerked around. There were three – no, four – people walking very determinedly toward him. He vaguely recognised one of them but the other three were a complete mystery, though Snape had an innate distrust of anyone who walked that quickly with a notebook and quill in their hands.

Notebook and quill? Bugger.

"Let me in," Snape said quickly, and ducked into Caliman's store. Caliman, recognising the reporters for what they were, huffed out her ample bosom and marked her territory with choice words that were muffled by the now shut door.

Snape hadn't been in Caliman's store for years, but it looked the same, with rows upon rows of useless paperbacks with technicolour covers. The chit behind the counter was older, but still had the same narrow suspicious eyes.

There was a student in the store, a boy who, upon seeing Snape, suddenly started wishing furiously that he were somewhere else. Snape made a point of walking right up to him and peering pointedly at the books he'd been browsing.

"Nice to see you're expanding your mind with such drivel," Snape said. "Soon you'll be quite the proficient."

"Eeep," said the boy, and fled down the aisle.

It was rather warm in the store, and Snape reluctantly loosened the scarf around his nose.

"I'm surprised you can breathe at all with that around your face," came Potter's voice.

Snape smoothly changed the motion into one of patting the scarf in place. He was about to bite out a mocking retort on Potter's own fashion sense when he saw that the other man's attention was not him, but focused on the scene outside the store window. Caliman had succeeded in keeping the reporters off her doorstep, but they'd resorted to hovering around the street and trying to look harmless.

"Damn it." Suddenly he looked at Snape. "Hey. They're after you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Snape said.

"Your crow's feet are gone," Potter said suddenly. "Why do they call them crow's feet? Do crows have particularly unattractive feet? Let's go round the back exit."

"The back—?" Then Potter's hand was on his back and pushing him towards the curtained doorway. Caliman, who was by now back behind the counter, flashed a smile at the pair as they walked past her. Potter called out with a soft, "Thanks, I'll see you again in a few weeks?"

"Always a pleasure, luv," Caliman said.

"I'm not a trolley, Potter," Snape said, sliding off the firm feel of Potter's palm. Potter said nothing and brushed by him to lead the way down the narrow corridor, passing by the black-curtained room Snape was familiar with for containing books not on Hogwarts' reading list, another room from which the smell of tea emanated, and then a final blue-curtained room at the back. Potter entered that last room, and Snape followed.

Snape had never been in this part of the shop, though he'd known about it and had always thought that it was a storeroom. On that part, Snape was right: the limited floor space was filled with stacks of magazines and books, most of which were tied with string or wrapped in newspaper. At one of the corners of the room was a door that was presumably the back exit Potter had mentioned.

Potter made a bee-line for it. Snape was about to follow, but halted when he saw that at another corner of the room, almost hidden by a tall stack of paperbacks, was a small table upon which sat a black Muggle contraption.

Snape detoured towards the Muggle thing, weaving around the piles of wasted paper, until he was close enough to poke at it with his wand. "Hmm," he said.

"That's not illegal, if that's what you're wondering," Potter said, his voice coming from somewhere near Snape's shoulder. "Uh, do you know what it is?"

"I know what it is, I'm not an ignoramus," Snape said. "I'm just wondering what Caliman would need a telly-phony for."

"Because there are Muggle-born students at Hogwarts, and they need some way to contact their family, that's what it's for," Potter said. Then he added: "Muggle technology doesn't work on school grounds."

"I know that, don't talk to me like I'm one your students!" Snape said.

"Then how should I talk to you like?" Potter asked.

Snape ignored the question, partly because he could feel the vein on his temple starting to throb, and partly because he didn't have an answer. So he turned around and made his way to the exit, this time Potter being the one to follow. Snape opened the door, which revealed a full-frontal greeting of cold morning air. Gritting his teeth and muttering another curse, Snape stepped outside.

Potter shut the door behind them, dancing slightly on his sneakers. "Brr, you'd think it were already December," he said.

"Hmm," Snape said neutrally. The view from this side revealed the low stone fence that marked the outer border of Hogsmeade. Hogwarts was in the distance, though barely visible through cloud and fog.

"Shall I take patrol duty, then?" Potter said.

Snape looked at him. "What?"

"I like patrol duty," Potter said. He rummaged around the onion layers of his clothes, eventually coming up with a small paperback. It did, luckily, have absolutely no sign of the pastels that were the norm of Caliman's collection. Snape thought he caught a 'Catacomb' in the title, but it didn't ring any bells. Potter said, "Besides, there's not long before McGonagall will come out for her turn. I was going to hang around Hogsmeade anyway, there's no point in you wasting your time."

"And you know all about wasting time, right, Potter?" Snape said. He rather expected to get a reprise of the hurt look on Potter's face, and was surprised when none were forthcoming.

"Okay then," Potter sing-songed, "When you bump into those reporters again, be sure to give them my regards."

Snape shuddered. There'd probably be cameras and demands for Snape to remove the scarf. How did the news get out, anyway? It must really be a slow month if they wanted to hound a poor unfortunate Potions Master who'd fallen on the wayside of a classroom incident.

"That's that," Potter said, giving Snape's back another gentle push with his knuckles. "Now shoo. I'll tell Albus you got a cold or something."

Well, far be it for Snape to deprive poor brain-damaged Potter of his moments. Potter himself seemed to forget about Snape entirely, and began walking the Hogsmeade perimeter in small, unhurried steps. Snape shrugged, and as he made his way back to Hogwarts, he went through the various possibilities of why Potter would want to use a telly-phony, and apparently on a regular basis.

A thought arrived in Snape's head, as neat as could be, though it was a circumstantial guess built on nothing more than guesswork and theory. Dumbledore would definitely not appreciate such an insubstantial piece of information, so Snape decided to keep it to himself and forget about it.