Chapter Two

Spinner's End was a miserable place, and for the most part, Severus Snape was a miserable man. His decrepit, ramshackle Muggle home suited him in the same way the dark, dank dungeons of Hogwarts did. It matched his dourness.

He sat in front of his unlit fireplace, perhaps only imagining he could hear Pettigrew's wheezing from the other room. The man (if one used the term loosely) was a consummate nuisance. Every time Severus brewed, it was as if he could feel Pettigrew's breath on the back of his neck as he worked. Of course the little rat would never dare venture that close, but Severus felt the formerly paunchy man's scrutiny acutely.

Severus had no doubt that Peter had been placed with him as a precaution, reminding him that while the Dark Lord might say outwardly that his faith in Severus was complete, it was known that Voldemort truly trusted no one, not even Severus.

Which was wise. Severus Snape was not a wizard to be trusted.

He wasn't imagining it, Pettigrew was snoring away. Not that Severus had actually spiked his evening tea, but a touch of valerian had a slight (and more to the point, untraceable) soporific effect. How long Peter would remain asleep, however, wasn't guaranteed, so Severus needed to hurry. His report to the Headmaster was overdue.

The moment he stepped inside Grimmauld Place, a part of him (not a very large part, granted) relaxed. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone. But at least there he didn't fear for his life.

He entered the kitchen (warm and redolent with Molly Weasley's recent cooking.)

"Where is the Headmaster?" he asked. Only the werewolf and the Granger girl were there, the latter predictably scuttling out of the room. She was still avoiding him. This was an improvement as far as Severus was concerned.

"Good evening, Severus. I'll floo Dumbledore, shall I?"

"That would be... appreciated." Severus tried to force out the last word without it sounding strained but it didn't work. He didn't like the idea of thanking the werewolf for anything (as he had tried to kill him once) but Albus had directed him to be civil. And to be fair, out of all the Marauders, Remus Lupin was the most tolerable. And that was saying something, when a werewolf is the best there is.

Lupin swept out and a few minutes later Dumbledore entered.

"Severus," he said with a weak smile. Severus forbore to glance down at the old man's withering hand, the reason he looked and sounded so frail. The curse was gaining a stronger purchase, it was obvious even to those who knew nothing about Gaunt's ring. The Headmaster's health was steadily declining.

The meeting was...unsettling, not that Severus let it show. Dumbledore's unshakeable confidence in him, that he could and would do all that was expected of him, sent a frisson of fear through him. Albus kept saying things like "after my death" and "once I'm gone."

Severus wished he wouldn't. He couldn't handle that kind of talk. And yet, he couldn't break down in front Albus either. Dumbledore all but admitted that Severus had to be strong for him, who was ever weakening. If Severus caved to his own insecurity and fear now, he'd be letting the Headmaster down. He didn't have the heart (yes, he did have one) to destroy an old man's hope. And not just any old man either, but the embodiment of hope to most of the wizarding world. And soon that hope was going to die along and the wizarding world would be lost and despondent. And somehow he, Severus, was supposed to see that everything turned out well.

No pressure.

He thought that Harry Potter must feel the somewhat similar, then shuddered at having compared himself to the boy-who-lived.

So the world depended on Dumbledore, and Dumbledore depended on him. But whom did he have? The memory of a dead woman.

Severus wished for something slightly more fortifying, just now.

With a characteristic billow of robes, he swept out of the room.

He'd actually prefer to stay at Headquarters with the legion of redheaded Weasleys and the other insufferable children, namely the insufferable know-it-all and the insufferable boy-who-lived. Yes, he'd rather surround himself in that misery than confine himself to his old family house with Peter Pettigrew for company, but had no choice.

Wormtail was still snoring away when Severus returned to Spinner's End. It would be a simple matter to sneak into the other wizard's room and kill him in his sleep, but then how would he explain himself to the Dark Lord?

Every single day of his life, every time he saw the snivelling rat, the cringing cur, he burned with the urge to kill him. The man who slept in his house, ate his food, spied on him in his own home, stank up the bathroom because he was too incompetent to use a freshening charm, this fat pustule of a wizard... was the reason Lily was dead.

After everything Severus had done, had sacrificed to keep her and her objectionable family alive, it was all ruined by the traitor Peter Pettigrew. One day, if Snape had his way, he would finally get his revenge. He was looking forward to that more than the end of Voldemort. Yes, Severus wanted the Dark Lord to be killed, but his death would mean relief. He understood why the Dark Lord had wanted to kill the Potters. Pettigrew, however, was simply a coward and betrayed his friends. Betrayed her.

Severus would never betray her. Never.

Which is what brought him to his current situation in life. Double spy for both Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. He was in the pockets of the two most powerful wizards of the day, but if truth be told, he wasn't loyal to either of them. Yes, he did as he was told, and he wasn't going to betray the Headmaster, but he and Albus both knew that the reason for that was because it was what Lily would have wanted. She died fighting for the Order.

If it was worth her dying for, it was worth him living for.

With a growl of dissatisfaction, Severus replaced his wand and once again forbore to murder the rat in his bed. He was actually looking forward to the start of term this year. Then, at least, he could escape Peter, if nothing else. A small consolation, but they came so few and far between, Severus was prepared to be appreciative, even if it meant a horde of inept imbeciles.

O

The start of term staff meeting proceeded as usual, though they spent more time discussing security than they did academics and discipline.

"And someone will need to meet with the Head Boy and Girl to discuss this with them. They'll need to bring it up in the prefect meeting."

Well, he certainly wasn't going to volunteer, even if the Head Boy was from his own house. When Minerva realised she was going to get stuck with the job, she tried to take him down with her, suggesting that they both go.

"Surely Minerva, after decades of teaching, you are capable of relating a few simple facts to two well behaved students?" He almost made a comment about it possibly being too strenuous an activity for a woman of her age, but didn't say it. Despite the rivalry, he respected the Transfiguration teacher, and admitted that she didn't deserve the slight. She was a hale old witch, despite having received four stunners to the chest. She might not be as strong as she once was, but she was still the most powerful witch in the castle.

Severus retired to his dungeon rooms. A familiar if not congenial abode. Actually, he didn't know what he would do if his rooms were warm and inviting. He would consider comfort a personal insult by this point.

It would be a mistake to have a bed too warm, pillows too soft. He didn't want to be so comfortable as to sleep too deeply. Being a light sleeper had saved his life more than once. Severus never drank either. One glass of wine might not affect his faculties but one never knows when one glass might become two. And then suddenly having another one or two more doesn't seem like such a bad idea. It was better to stay away from the stuff altogether. Severus couldn't afford any more weaknesses. Those he did have were crippling enough.

Having no assignments to mark, he set out at eleven to make his rounds through the castle, simultaneously hoping that the dunderheads had learned to follow the rules and to stay in their dormitories, but also hoping that he might find a miscreant or two on whom he could take out his temper. Not that anything in particular had happened to put him in a foul mood. Being Severus Snape was reason enough.

He found nobody but Peeves, from whom, unfortunately, Severus couldn't take house points. Snape knew a dark magic that could get rid of him, but he knew he'd never hear the end of it from Dumbledore if he did. Actually, that wasn't true. If Severus wanted to be honest he knew the Headmaster might speak for a minute or two, but then never mention the subject again, just look at him disappointedly. And disappointment from the Headmaster was one thing he couldn't handle.

O

He burst into his classroom with his usual dramatics. Severus Snape knew how to make an entrance, it was true, but he was not a theatrical man by nature. No, there was a perfectly logical reason for all his billowing (besides the pleasure of instilling fear into dunderheads.) It was simply that when one was accustomed to you making large and noticeable entrances, they were less likely to notice you make a subtle one.

Granger, for once, sat demurely in her seat. Typical Gryffindor. About as subtle as a rampaging hippogriff. It would be less obvious if she continued on as she usually did, but she had to draw attention to herself by acting so out of character. Even Potter and Weasley were giving her questioning looks.

That was interesting, Severus had to admit. He had assumed that the two boys would have been involved in whatever she'd been up to but they were clearly ignorant. Or at least, ignorant that she'd been caught. Was she acting on her own or did she conveniently forget to mention to her little friends she'd been spotted?

It was not, however, interesting enough for him to deliberate upon when he was in class.

"You have 74 minutes. Begin."

While it was entirely true that Severus disliked Longbottom, Severus couldn't deny that he got some small satisfaction in making the boy jump in fear, or quake at his desk, trying to hide behind his cauldron. He didn't doubt that his students knew this about him either. They probably thought that he enjoyed making people as miserable as he was.

And there might be some truth to that.

But sadly, the Longbottom boy was becoming harder to intimidate these days and Severus found he had to expend more effort than it was worth to frighten him. He probably wasn't the boy's boggart anymore. With a grimace he remembered the staffroom remarks about Longbottom's performance in Lupin's lesson. And to think Severus still spent 14 hours every new moon brewing for that werewolf. Severus snarled angrily and was rewarded by Lavender Brown jumping away from him as he passed.

O

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"How kind of you to warn me, Professor Trelawney," he said sarcastically that night at dinner after being forced to listen to the bespectacled woman's latest predictions about his (needless to say gruesome) death.

Why did the woman insist on sitting next to him at meal times?

"Do take care, Severus," she said placing a hand on his arm, the one with the mark. He jerked it out from under her bony fingers and didn't even dignify her inane advice with a response. Take care, indeed. As if it were that simple.

His eyes scanned the Great Hall, first the Slytherin table, making sure all of his charges were behaving in manner befitting their house, and then to the Gryffindor table. Sometimes he wanted people to know when he was watching them, so as to deter them from doing something they oughtn't; but this time he observed surreptitiously through his hair, which had a tendency of falling in front of his face, concealing his eyes.

Potter, the youngest Weasleys, and Granger were sitting together at the end of the table furthest from the teachers. No doubt that was deliberate. By the excited expressions of the boy-who-lived and the redheads and the utterly disinterested countenance of Granger, he assumed it was about Quidditch. Her head came up cautiously and her eyes searched the Head Table, landing on him. She studied him for a moment, worrying her lower lip, when he decided to draw back the curtain of his hair and let her see that he knew she was staring.

Immediately she turned and looked away, said a hasty farewell to her friends, and bolted from the Hall.

Severus chuckled darkly. Where was all that prized Gryffindor courage now? She'd tucked tail all over a few illicit potions ingredients. Of course she wasn't well enough acquainted with the magical underworld to know that what happens in Knockturn Alley stays in Knockturn Alley.

He had spent a few nights wondering what it was she was attempting to brew, if it required Re'em blood, Runespoor eggs, bicorn horn and hellebore. Severus admitted (only to himself, naturally) that he was stumped. Any potion in which he could consider using Re'em blood would react poorly with hellebore. Of course, it might be two separate brews, in which case he could wonder twice as much which ingredients went with which brew, and which those brews might be. It was a challenge of sorts. A riddle for a potions master. An incomplete puzzle. The possibilities were intriguing, and knowing the Granger girl, she could very well be attempting any of the complex concoctions he had in mind. Despite her current Longbottom-like behaviour in avoiding him, she was still competent with a cauldron, thankfully. Contemplating two Longbottoms in the same class made him want to shudder.

The last thing he wanted to do was to stop her from brewing whatever it as she was attempting. He would however, find out what it was later and he would punish her for it. After it was brewed though. Not before.

But it wasn't often he could spend time amusing himself pondering potential potions. He had more pressing duties, like the one that currently burned his arm, hidden beneath his robes.

He silently rose from his seat and swept out of the room, his dinner unfinished.