Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it's JKR's. The other weirdness is mine, for which you can be thankful, because I doubt you would have wanted the Harry Potter series going like this instead. :)

Author's Note: I forgot to mention last chapter that elements from HBP and DH may appear, though I can't think of any in this chapter off the top of my head. Also, this was originally meant to be much, much, longer, but due to the fact that a 5,000+ word opening chapter is not necessarily a good standard (and definitely not a challenge), some will have to wait until later. If you're still here and reading despite my issues with verbosity…enjoy. :)

Minerva's eagerness for a new term was often enough to eclipse the weariness of staying up almost the full night before, and this year was no exception. The faces changed from year to year, but she greatly enjoyed the expressions that would invariably appear in the first few class periods: the shyness and wonder of the first years, the slight superiority of the second years (though quickly replaced with horror at finding out that, yes, they did in fact have a lot more to learn over the next six years), the determination of those taking O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s within the next few months, a few smiles from familiar students that genuinely enjoyed her classes. Despite knowing she would be feeling ready to strangle the lot of them come Christmas holidays, for now, it was a new year, and she was glad to be back.

Naturally, it would be different, though. There would be more security and general busyness, what with Voldemort out in the open, but at least Umbridge was no longer in residence to terrorise them all. Of course, there was still likely to be much strife, considering Albus had harangued Alastor into taking Defence—she was positive she would have to pull him and Severus apart at some point—but that, at least, was manageable. She'd been dealing with illegal duelling in the corridors for years.

And then the classes. She frowned slightly as she prepared the parchments that would detail all the students' schedules and the staff's rosters. There was no way in hell she was going to attempt rearranging the timetables to split class sizes evenly—whatever classes would have been held with the Slytherins would just have to be smaller. That would be unusual, but, privately, she almost wondered whether it wasn't better, in some way; the younger Hufflepuffs might be able to focus in her classes without being in terror of sabotage or ridicule. Of course, Severus would be thrilled about teaching the Gryffindors alone, but there was nothing else for it. She'd find some way to make it up to him, if he'd let her.

"Professor McGonagall, Mistress?"

The parchments nearly went flying as Nimsy appeared with a sharp crack; Minerva had to juggle awkwardly to keep them in her arms.

"Nimsy—what—?"

"Nimsy is sorry, Mistress, I is not meaning to startle!" the elf said. "I is not meaning to come, but Professor Dumbledore is telling me to give you this; he is saying it cannot wait!"

"What on earth?" Minerva muttered to herself, but she took the proffered letter. "Thank you, Nimsy."

The elf vanished as abruptly as she had come, leaving Minerva to frown at the envelope. It was not like Albus to use the elves—it truly couldn't wait, then—but it wasn't urgent enough to warrant a Patronus. Perhaps it was a reminder, or something he'd forgotten to ask her, or (she suppressed a flash of hope) a suggestion on how to better handle this year's timetables?

She slit open the missive and was nearly disappointed; there were only a few short lines in Albus's loopy script. As she read, however, she felt her eyebrows reach for her hair. It was about the scheduling, of course, but…

Hell, giving Severus the entirety of Gringotts wasn't going to make up for this.

What a lovely way to start the morning.

If he hadn't known better, Severus would have thought that it was a particularly hellish time of year, and not the start of a new term (though, now he considered it, they weren't that much different). He threw himself into his seat at the high table and scowled into his teacup, wondering how on earth the diminished ranks of students could be just as loud and obnoxious as they were when the Great Hall was full.

His head ached with lack of sleep, and he barely inclined his head to Minerva's nod. He felt Albus's eyes upon him, and Alastor was glaring from the other end of the table, but he ignored them both and reached for the toast instead. It tasted little better than parchment to him at the moment, but he didn't relish the idea of passing out during classes; knowing his luck, he'd have several solid hours in a row, and attempting to face them without sustenance seemed an absurd temptation of fate.

He didn't look up until he heard Minerva clear her throat, somewhat impatiently, and realised that she had left her seat and was standing before him with what was presumably his class register for the year. He took it without thanks and set it aside; he had no desire to see which of his students he'd have to face first until absolutely necessary. Beside him, Filius sighed.

"Always the worst Mondays…ah, well. I'll earn my drink at the end of the day. Will you be joining us this year, Severus?"

Severus started to shake his head, but Aurora Sinistra piped up from Filius's other side. "Yes, Severus, why not? Surely you can't already have essays to mark?"

"Perhaps not, but I am otherwise occupied," he declined, rather impressed with himself for keeping his sneer to a minimum.

"Oho, is that what they're calling dark deeds these day? Being 'occupied'?" said Alastor loudly. Aurora, Charity, and Bathsheda looked rather nervous at being caught in the middle of the conversation; Filius muttered an excuse and hopped off his stack of cushions, scurrying away as quickly as dignity would permit.

"Poppy still needs potions for the hospital wing," said Severus coldly, gripping his cup so tightly he feared it might shatter. "I'm afraid I'm a bit behind this year."

Alastor stuffed his roster into his coat pocket and got to his feet. "Ah, well, I guess it happens, what with your other master…ask you to brew him some poisons first, did he? Pity."

"Fuck off, Moody," Severus hissed softly, ignoring the scandalised looks of his colleagues.

"Same to you, Snape, same to you…if you'll excuse me… Got to go see if I can undo some of the damage Umbridge did last year—though at least they never let you teach Defence, thank God…" Alastor growled as he stumped away.

Severus reached for his schedule and clutched it tightly to keep his hands from shaking. It wasn't fair, just how quickly Alastor could get under his skin; he was annoyed with himself as much as anything, though not nearly as angry as he was at Albus. He could have at least tried calling in other favours—or, God forbid, asking Severus himself—before picking the paranoid ex-Auror to traumatise the Defence classes…

At least, thought Severus miserably, he wouldn't have to put much effort into the students this week. It was a simple matter of intimidating the new ones and re-establishing a healthy fear in the others; then, watching them carefully as they attempted to brew a potion while clearly having forgotten everything he'd ever told them before. Thankfully, Longbottom was no longer an issue…in fact, his N.E.W.T. classes would likely be the smallest he'd ever seen, seeing as it had mostly been his Slytherins that had done well in his classes…

He finally let himself peruse the schedule, smirking slightly as he realised he would be able to terrify the first year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs first thing, but then froze in horror as he read further down the week and found his 6th year N.E.W.T. classes.

What the hell?

No. There had to be a mistake. He would get Minerva to set it right—and then it dawned on him that she had not actually said anything to him this morning, which, for her, essentially meant she was trying to ignore him…She knew.

Furious, he stalked from the table and found her finishing handing out the students' timetables; they scattered at his approach, but she didn't even flinch as he caught her by the arm.

"What is the meaning of this, Minerva?" he hissed threateningly.

She took her time in turning to face him, the spots of pink high on her cheeks confirming his suspicions, but her eyes flashed in indignation nonetheless.

"You're hurting me, Professor Snape," she said calmly, nodding to his fingers. He very much doubted it—the look on her face said all too clearly she was warning him not to make a scene—but he loosened his grip nonetheless.

"I asked you about the meaning of this, Professor," he snarled, waving his roster beneath her nose. "Did I not explicitly specify, as I do every year, that only students receiving an 'Outstanding' on their O.W.L.s would be admitted to N.E.W.T. level?"

"You did," said Minerva levelly.

"Then why," he spat, "is Potter's name on my list, Minerva? He did not receive an 'Outstanding' on his Potions O.W.L. You know he did not."

"I am aware of it, yes."

"Why is Potter's name on this list?"

Minerva drew herself up. "I am afraid I cannot accommodate your usual policy, Professor Snape," she said curtly. "The headmaster specifically requested an exception this morning. There's nothing you can do—the boy will be in your class, whether you think he can cope with the material or not."

Severus turned to glare at Albus, but the headmaster had disappeared from the hall. Damn him. Before he could round on Minerva again, however, he felt her hand press his back lightly, the movement easily concealed by their voluminous robes.

"I'm sorry, Severus," she said in an undertone. "I didn't know—truly. I'll speak with Albus."

"Forgive me if my hopes aren't high," he muttered. He nodded to her and strode from the hall, needing to hurry now to make it to his dungeons in time. He could scarcely believe that Albus was trying to make this difficult for him…what had been the point in waiting until the last moment to show favouritism to Potter? If he hadn't known better, he would have thought Albus had done it to deliberately annoy him...

Scowling, he threw open the door to his classroom and barely registered the looks of adolescent terror that greeted his entrance.

"Silence," he snapped unnecessarily. "Now…whatever you may have been led to believe about magic, you will find that there will be no foolish wand waving in this class…"

"Oops. Sorry, Seamus."

At N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration, 'oops' was one of the least welcome things for the supervisor to hear. Unfortunately, it was also one of the most common.

Minerva sighed and immediately righted the errant spell. "No matter, Mr. Thomas…However, do try and aim for your hedgehog next time, and not your classmate, won't you? As you can see, this spell isn't really meant for human transfiguration."

"Yes, Ma'am," mumbled Dean, dodging the half-hearted swipe Seamus made at him. Minerva shot a warning look at them both and nodded to their hedgehogs.

"Well, keep at it, then. You've both still got a ways to go, I see."

In truth, so did most of the class, but she ignored the fact that they all should have known cross-species transfiguration by now and let them go on reviewing—as long as they didn't socialise too much. And, on the whole, making rounds while they practised was less tedious than lecturing to a sea of vacant faces.

"Oh, Harry, just ask her about it!" said Hermione in exasperation, as Minerva approached the table near the front of the class. "What are you so afraid of?"

"I can think of something—" started Ron in an undertone, but Minerva cleared her throat.

"Well done, Miss Granger," she said, indicating the flock of brilliantly coloured parakeets preening themselves on the desk; the boys' hedgehogs ignored them. "Potter, Weasley, let's see some effort."

The boys flushed and poked at their hedgehogs; Ron's sprouted wings and a feathery tail, while Harry's at least took the form of a parakeet, though still retained its spikes. Minerva raised an eyebrow.

"A little more practise, I think. Carry on."

The remainder of the period passed in much the same vein, Minerva occasionally correcting a technique or fixing a minor mishap. She was pleased to see that nearly everyone managed a parakeet by the end of the hour, though, and confidently set them to researching methods of non-verbal transfiguration before their next lesson.

"Er…Professor?"

She looked up from gathering her books to see Harry standing at her desk, rather nervously.

"What can I do for you, Potter?"

"Er…well, I think there's been a mistake."

Minerva had the feeling she knew where this was going, and she desperately wished he would leave it alone, but it wouldn't do to take it out on the boy. She peered at him sternly.

"I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate, should you wish for me to be of any service."

He pulled the parchment she had given him that morning from his bag. "It's just—I'm signed up for Potions."

"Well, you do need it in order to apply for Auror training—unless that is no longer your ambition?"

"Yes, I mean—it is, but I thought you said I had to get an 'O' on my O.W.L. to keep taking Potions. I didn't."

Minerva stared at him for a long minute. She was very well aware of what would happen if it got out looking like favouritism; it would be tricky enough as it was without the politics of dealing with other angry students. She hoped Hermione's good sense and tact had rubbed off on him more than she had had cause to witness during her classes…

"I am aware of your marks, Potter, and believe me—Professor Snape is as well. However, it is the headmaster's wish that you continue your studies in Potions for the time being, and so he has made an exception."

Harry blinked. "What—why?"

"He has his reasons, I suppose, though he has not shared them with me," said Minerva. "Needless to say, it is highly unusual. I trust I do not need to stress how much this should not become common knowledge?"

"Of course not, Professor. I—thanks."

"I had no hand in it. Try and make the most of this opportunity, though, won't you?" she said briskly, and shooed him out of the door before her. "And—Potter—" She stopped, unsure of how to phrase her warning, and wondering just for whom she was giving it.

"I am aware that telling you to keep your head down in class in the past has been only marginally successful," she said wryly, "but please at least attempt to keep out from under Professor Snape's feet. He's got a lot on his mind."

The slightly sheepish grin on Harry's face vanished immediately. "Does he know if—what happened to the Slytherins, Professor?"

"I wish I could confidently tell you it is none of your concern, Potter, but they are your classmates. Suffice it to say Professor Dumbledore is doing what he can, and would appreciate it if rumours were not passed around carelessly. Now…I suggest you hurry, if you intend on making it to your next class on time," Minerva finished.

She watched Harry rush away, and bit her lip at the guilty twinge in her chest; much as she wished it to be so, she was not at all sure that Albus was doing everything that could possibly be done. The image of Severus's agitated face swam in the forefront of her mind again, and she sighed—she needed to speak with Albus as soon as she could.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you; don't be shy about saying hello. ;)