Yes, I know. It was evil and cruel for me to leave you hanging like that. Well, I don't care. It'll only make you all the more eager to read this chapter, right? Of course. Which is why you are probably thinking, "Shut up already, and begin the chapter". I will do so shortly after saying: JKR's characters are not mine and thank you for all of the reviews thus so far. We're now in the double digits, woo-hoo! Please, tell your friends to read and review and if you read, I certainly hope you are reviewing. Well, take a deep breath and get ready for this chapter. Enjoy.

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He was in a particularly foul mood today, as Peeves seemed to have ransacked his office again. He was thinking up several different ways to curse at the poltergeist when he strolled down the corridor, ready for a meal at the Great Hall. He would talk to Dumbledore about it at this 'staff meeting' they would have after breakfast. Just wait until the Bloody Baron gets wind of this...He thought with a savage sort of pleasure. He supposed the real reason for his mood was not just the pranking poltergeist. Last night, he had awoken with the Dark Mark etched on his forearm twinging. He was still doing undercover work occasionally, but he did not fool himself. The Dark Lord, if he hadn't already, would figure him out. He hated to think of the price he would pay. It haunted him, day after day, moment after moment. But he never regretted joining the Order and forsaking his evil ways. If there was one thing that he believed in, it was this choice. His redemption.

Severus Snape turned the corner and stopped, seeing a brawl going on up ahead. The Malfoy boy and...Potter. The professor drew nearer to the scene and Malfoy saw him and stopped his combating. Hermione Granger and Crabbe and Goyle were all watching him, Granger with a sort of horror on her face, the other two with expressions of identical blankness. He didn't care. As if the young Potter boy were a Portkey, he was suddenly transported into memories that he thought long forgotten.

"Wash your mouth," Potter had said then, just as he had said to Malfoy a few minutes ago. There was no cruelness in his eyes. To him, this was all a joke, all another one of his stupid pranks. Tease and taunt 'Snivelly', because he first taunted you. Because the git was involved in Dark Arts and they both knew it. Use all of your popularity and athleticism against this pathetic, pale Slytherin student who had none of that, but hated you. Potter. James Potter. Flicker. "No! You've...got...to...trust...me..." The same voice, but no hint of a joke. There was raw fear in his eyes, in his voice. But Snape was not struggling now. He had seen the horror that this dark-haired, bespectacled boy had just saved him from. He allowed James Potter to pull him from the Whomping Willow, terrible, horrified fear twisting his face, tears gathering in his eyes. He had been so close to death, so close to being torn apart by...a werewolf. Remus Lupin. James was practically dragging him now, across the lawn. He was so stiff. He couldn't move. He had almost died. He would have died, had it not been for...James Potter. He wrenched free of James's grip and spat in his face. "I don't need your help, Potter." And he ran. Flicker. James's speech at the graduation as Head Boy, the highest position a seventh-year could have. He had been awarded for his bravery in saving Snape as well. Everyone's golden boy, standing there in front of the crowd of students, teachers and parents. Making them laugh, smile and cry as he stood there, head down, determinedly not looking up to see the face of his rival. His rival who had ultimately won that battle beneath the tree. Flicker. That same golden boy vanquished by the Dark Lord he had once served. He was dead, killed with his wife, only his baby boy surviving the attack. And then...He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was gone. As vanquished as the fallen body of James Potter, or so everyone believed. Snape knew that Voldemort would return, but did not think the same of James. His funeral was held and no one would ever know that he stood in the very back, face hidden, but eyes watching. I hate you, James Potter, he had thought, and I always will.

"Professor, he attacked me. He went mad and just jumped on me, didn't he?" Draco was saying. Snape managed to snap back to reality as Crabbe and Goyle both grunted agreement.

"He did not, Professor!" Granger said, striding up to them, "They called me a...a...Mudblood. And he was only defending—"Snape did not hear the rest. James Potter had just looked up and met his eyes. His dark eyes with James's distinctly hazel eyes. They weren't green, they were hazel. Snape was still for a moment, letting Draco and Hermione's argument wash over him as he and James stared, just stared at one another. He's back. But how can it...? What...? It was too much for his mind to process. He didn't even stop to think that if James had truly returned, he would have returned as a full-grown man, a father to the Potter boy. In Snape's mind, James Potter was always a boy, a taunting, hateful boy that he'd rather forget. He was the past. And the past was back.

"Shut up," He said slowly, in a dangerous tone of voice. Draco and Hermione instantly silenced, both now watching James and Snape staring at each other. Draco looked puzzled and Hermione suddenly realized why. After a moment, James broke the stare by standing up and brushing himself off, an eyebrow cocked as he looked over at Snape.

"As ugly as ever, aren't you?" He said finally, "Or uglier, if possible." Hermione gasped and said, "Please, Professor, don't—"

"Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy, I suggest that the two of you have something else to do. And quickly." Was Snape's only reply.

"But—"

"NOW!" With that, both of them, Crabbe and Goyle following, ran down the hallway, not looking back. Snape struggled to maintain his coolness, his calmness, but it was gone. He was thoroughly spooked and angry. What business did Potter have, coming back to haunt him? Why couldn't he just leave him alone? Losing the battle of self-control, he stalked towards James and grabbed the front of his robes.

"What are you doing here?" He hissed, "Is this some sort of sick prank? Do you find it AMUSING to torture me, even now?" Snape was shaking, quaking with rage that was more fear than he would have himself admit. James was solid. He was not a ghost. His grip tightened around the front of his robes. He was bigger than James, taller and stronger. He looked like just a boy. He could—What, kill someone who's already dead? James looked thoroughly bewildered, despite his own attempts at coolness.

"I always knew you were mad." James said, finally. He struggled against Snape's hold on him, but Snape wouldn't let go. He thrashed some, experimentally, but Snape didn't waver. He sounded annoyed and exasperated, not frightened, when he asked, "Would you let me go already?"

"Answer me!" Snape barked. Common sense told him that something was up here; that James Potter couldn't have returned from the dead, especially as a seventeen-year-old boy, but he refused to listen. In a moment when he was weak, trying to be strong for his causes, this only further weakened him. The return of his mortal enemy, someone who he hated with every fiber of his being. Someone who he used to know as well as he knew his best friend. Someone who was now virtually helpless in his hold, who had previously always had the upper hand.

"A bit big-headed, aren't you there, Snivelly? We must have had a falling-out for me to give you such a big scare. I have to say, your expression now will cheer me during dark hours." James spoke in the same light, humorous way he had always spoken, the way that had gained him so many friends, so many people who trusted him. Despite his words, however, he still struggled to loosen Snape's tight grip on him.

"Severus!" From down the hall came a shocked voice, an outraged voice that belonged to Minerva McGonagall. Snape dropped the boy promptly and none too gently. Eyes blazing with heat, he turned to face his co-worker.