Disclaimer: Snape and Albus aren't mine. Neither is Hogwarts. Anything you recognise (except if you are recognising it from Ask Calus) is Jo Rowlings.


'It's only an idea, Severus!' tries Albus as I stride out of his office. 'And a good one at that!'

I stand on the top step of the spiral staircase, waiting for it to start to twist, lowering me down. 'Albus, you are mad. This idea, is mad. Not only is it ill planned, it's mad.'

'But—'

'The answer is no.' The staircase still hadn't moved. I glare up at my boss. 'You are holding the staircase, aren't you? Albus, I demand you release me at once.'

He doesn't move. In fact, the only thing that changes is his expression, which turns to pity.

Here we go…

'Severus, I believe it will be good for you!' He puts a large hand on my shoulder. Damn, his hand is cold. I can feel the iciness though my teaching robes. 'You have always been very opinionated and you can share your views with London.'

I turn to him. Really, the man needs to be carried off to St. Mungo's. Immediately. Besides, I believe Lockhart might be getting lonely. 'London does not care about my thoughts. And even if they did, do you think I want more fans? I can't go the bloody Three Broomsticks without having some lonely homemaker throwing her bosoms in my face and asking for an autograph! If Potter didn't enjoy the celebrity status so much, I would feel sorry for him!'

'Most men would enjoy having women fall all over them!' Protests the elderly mad. Honestly, he actually believes the rubbish he spews. That is quite terrifying, really. Almost makes me wish I hadn't brought him back to life, the wanker.

'I would hardly classify the hags that follow me around as women.'

'Anonymous,' Says a detectably whiney voice. No, not Albus', but his partner in crime. Out of the Headmaster's office, steps the tiny, balding man with pale, watery blue eyes.

'Sorry?' Amazing, my patience. A weaker wizard would have hexed the lot of them by now.

He steps forward, determination on his face. 'Advice columnists are kept completely anonymous. Otherwise, people wouldn't write in. As for your opinion, I think it would be refreshing. Something new.'

This man, Grayson Denis, looks me up and down in a manner that can only be described as appraising. As if I were a particularly fancy looking broom. Naturally, the ever better slither-outer, I counter, 'And after your Agony Aunt quit, the most obvious choice was me?'

'No…' he admits.

Ha!

'We actually set up loads of interviews. However, none of them seemed right for the position. My daughter actually suggested you.'

Fantastic, another hag.

'Indeed.' I know how condescending I sound. And it's on purpose.

The tiny man nods furiously, completely oblivious to my tone. Albus, however, is not. He settles for glaring at me. Good. Mr. Dennis says, 'She claims to have been your student recently. She says you have a very blunt, honest manner about you. I have found her to be correct.'

Blunt. Honest. As if these were good things. But who was his daughter? I don't recall a Dennis. 'Might I inquire after the name of your daughter?'

There is confusion in his face as I have obviously taken him off guard.

'You don't know?'

I could swear he almost glowers up at me. However, he manages to compose himself and answers, 'Lola. Lola Winchester.'

Winchester…Winchester…Ah yes. The blond spark of a child who never failed to smile. Irritating chit.

'Severus,' Albus pulls me out of my memory. 'Since there are two potions professors now, I could easily, if you were to take this position, give only the NEWT-level classes and let Horace take the others.'

Damn, that got my attention. Only having to teach students that are worthy? Not having to deal with irritating first years? The possibilities swim gloriously around in my mind. 'Sorry, Albus, I can't chaperone the Hogsmeade trip. I have far too much advice to give.' Or 'I know, Horace, that I am rarely in Hogwarts, except for class time and when I am sleeping; I just have so much work to do for the article, you understand.' Suddenly, the idea didn't seem so mad after all. I almost smile. I can't let them know how happy the prospect has made me, however, lest they realise my weakness.

'I do not have proper journalism education.' It's true.

Almost reluctantly, Dennis nods. 'Albus assures me that you are more than capable of writing plainly, and clearly.' He steps forward. 'To be honest, Mr. Snape, we are desperate. No one we have interviewed is correct for the job. They were either too soft, knew nothing of what they were talking about, or far too longwinded, rambling on and on and on. The other few who seemed right for the position demanded far too high a pay. To be honest, sir, you are my last hope. At least until we manage to find someone.'

Moving. Really moving. As moving as a boulder (for those of you dunderheads who don't understand what point I am trying to make, boulders aren't moving. Thus, Dennis' speech is not moving).

'How much will I make?' I ask.

He totters off a figure that is quite low, though paired with my professor wages, makes for pretty decent money. That and the not-being-around-students, I am practically thinking of accepting the position full-time. And no Albus to meddle in my every activity! Who would have thought I would ever find happiness? I am beginning to think that maybe the Gods didn't just create me as an amusing from of sadistic amusement.

And so, I agree. Arrangements are made for me to start in one week, when their present agony aunt will be gone.


A/N: If I know myself, my chappies will get longer. Some might be shorter, but some will definitely longer. Tis Hallowe'en right now, as I am writing this and I keep having to get up to hand out candy. But please read and enjoy and I will try to get the next chappie up in a week at the most!

Oh, and R&R!