The end of the month came quickly, once Lyra started planning. She began a correspondence with Minerva McGonagall over her curriculum, and after some minor disagreements over the necessity of separate lessons for each year, had hammered out something McGonagall deemed "Satisfactory".

She also found that somewhere near the third review of her plans, she no longer had any issues calling her former professor Minerva.

Saturday the 28th saw her apparating to Hogsmeade, trunk in hand. Lyra hadn't been to the small village since she left Hogwarts herself, nearly fifteen years previously. It looked remarkably similar to how she'd seen it last, with only small upgrades to the shop's facades.

Minerva McGonagall herself met her at the gates.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. Albus tells me you'd prefer to go by Lyra Rosier, while you're here?" she said.

"Yes; I'd rather not answer a hundred questions about my brother at the moment."

McGonagall nodded, "A smart decision. Nothing churns faster than the Hogwarts rumor mill, staff or students."

Lyra chuckled, "I remember that much."

As they came into the entrance hall, Lyra found herself hit with a wave of nostalgia, memories crashing over her. Meeting friends, rushing to class, meals, everything important started or ended here. Sirius. Regulus. She stopped in the middle of the hall, closing her eyes, breathing.

She hadn't expected this, the rush of emotions. She could almost hear Sirius's laugh, carelessly loud as he and his friends joked about something or other. Regulus darted just past her peripheral vision, head down, intent on his next class. Her own friends, many of whom were long dead, spoke of class, of homework, of the future.

After a moment, she looked up, "Sorry, I wasn't…"

"It's quite a lot, I understand," McGonagall said quietly, "Those years after were very difficult for all us professors, I can imagine what it must be like to come back now."

Her private rooms were on the sixth floor, a corner suite with a sliver of lake visible on one side and the grounds, stretching to the edge of the Forest, visible on the other. Her office was on the lake side, her classroom the forest. Dumbledore had outdone himself on her request for a window; nearly the entire wall of her office was a large picture window.

Lyra was putting her clothes away when the landscape painting on one wall of her bedroom suddenly spoke to her.

"So the rumors are true, my great-great-granddaughter has indeed come to teach at Hogwarts," the voice said.

She turned. A man in green robes sporting a small pointed beard and matching mustache strode into a picture frame on the wall.

"Grandfather Phineas, a pleasure to see you," Lyra said, "How is Hogwarts' least favorite headmaster doing these days? You never come visit Grimmauld Place anymore."

Phineas Nigellus sneered, "No one of any great worth lives there, what would be the point?"

"I am ever so glad you approve of my choices, grandfather."

"Between you and Sirius, I'm always surprised your mother lived as long as she did."

"Yes, how unfortunate the Black heir died, leaving behind only the bargaining chip," Lyra turned back to her clothes, sorting socks now, with some force, "Is there something else you needed?"

Phineas sighed, "Oh come now, I don't mean anything by it. You always were my favorite great-great-granddaughter."

"Phineas…"

"Oh very well, I'm to tell you that lunch is being served in the great hall, and to please not try and kill anyone during it."

"Why would I…?"

"I'm just the messenger, I'm sure I have no idea," Phineas gave a small, snide chuckle, and wandered out of the painting.

The great hall was jarringly quiet without the usual amount of students. Most of the tables had been pushed aside, and a much smaller one had been set. Lyra recognized a few of the professors from her school days - McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout, of course, as well as Babbling, who had taken over Ancient Runes in her final year. A young looking blonde witch Lyra thought she recognized as having been a few years behind her, spoke with two other witches she didn't know, and sitting between McGonagall and Flitwick -

The last time she'd seen him was thirteen years ago, dragging Rosier out to the fight that got him killed. She honestly thought he'd died there too, until he briefly reappeared during trials, where Dumbledore spoke for him. She considered him long gone after that, likely to some other continent entirely.

She hadn't imagined Severus Snape teaching at Hogwarts.

As if he could feel her stare, he looked up, his eyes widening a fraction as he saw her.

"Severus, you look like you've seen a ghost," the blonde witch laughed, grabbing his attention.

Lyra realized she'd been frozen, her hand unconsciously drifting towards her wand. At the sound of the laughter, she realized what she was doing, and shook herself. Please not try and kill anyone, Phineas had said. This was probably what he meant. She took the empty seat next to Babbling.

"You must be the new Artifacts professor, I'm so excited we finally have one," Blonde was saying, "Oh, I'm Charity, Charity Burbage, Muggle Studies."

"Ah, yes, Artifacts. Lyra Bl- ah, Rosier. Lyra Rosier," Lyra stumbled over her name, frowning slightly.

"Yes, Dumbledore mentioned you'd be using a different name," Burbage said, "I don't blame you. This is Aurora Sinistra, and Septima Vector, Astronomy and Arithmancy respectively," she gestured to the unknown witches beside her.

Sinistra had dark skin, with long silvery hair. She nodded politely at the introduction. Vector reminded Lyra of a hawk, somewhat older, with a piercing gaze and long nose.

"Pleasure," she said, reaching for a sandwich.

"You seem to know Severus," Burbage continued, "I didn't think he knew anyone outside the school," she laughed again.

"We knew each other when we both went here," Lyra said, "He was a year above me."

"Oh, you're that Slytherin Head Girl, I remember you. I was a few years behind, but I remember when everyone in Hufflepuff realized you were Head Girl, and we all expected it -"

Burbage was cut off as Sinistra leaned in, "Charity, give her some time to eat before you talk her ears off."

Lyra gave the Astronomy professor a small nod of thanks.

"Well, anyways, we're still missing Defense, I wonder who Dumbledore managed to get this year. Too bad about Gilderoy, I'll miss looking at him, if nothing else," Burbage seemed to be just as happy moving on to something else.

Babbling spoke from Lyra's other side, "He was an idiot, Charity, we're really better off without him."

Burbage frowned, "But he was a good looking idiot."

"At least we won't have a repeat of Valentine's day. I don't think I've ever seen anyone look as uncomfortable as Severus did when Gilderoy told the students to ask him for a love potion," Sinistra said.

Lyra looked up to find Snape still staring at her, a small frown on his face. She met his gaze, shaking her head slightly, "Later," she mouthed. She noted McGonagall watching the pair of them down her glasses, as if she was waiting for wands to be drawn.

The rest of lunch passed without event. Support staff she recognized from her day made appearances - Madame Pomfrey, the matron, Pince, the aging librarian, Filch the caretaker, who did indeed inquire about her solution to undoing permanent sticking charms. He grumbled when she revealed it wasn't a commercial product, but she promised to make enquiries about setting up a contract. Before long she found herself in a debate about runes with Babbling, and the proper way of adding them to objects.

"I've always taught that the more permanent the rune, the more powerful the connection," Babbling said, "Makes it easier on the students, in any case."

"It's less about the inscription, and more the intent," Lyra shook her head, "I've seen someone sketch a rune in mud and still have a finished artifact."

"But the historical evidence suggests -"

"The historical evidence is only what's left after so many years. I'd wager there were very powerful objects that we have no chance of identifying what they did, because the inscriptions are long gone."

"If the intent was to create a powerful object, surely it only makes sense to have a more permanent inscription. I can't see someone taking the time and energy to create something grand, but making it so that it becomes useless in the next rainstorm," Babbling gestured with her hands as she spoke.

Lyra opened her mouth to respond, when she noticed Snape striding from the great hall.

"I think we'll have to finish this later - excuse me," she said, and rose to follow.

He waited in the entrance hall, looking for all the world like an oversized bat. His dark hair, framing his pale face, hung as limp as his robes, which were half a size too large. He looked older than when she'd seen him last, older than he should, as if teaching had artificially aged him an additional ten years.

No expression was readable on his face - a remarkable change from how she remembered him. Growing up, he'd been easy to read; now she could barely get an idea of how he felt.

Lyra stopped in front of him, arms folded.

"I spent eighteen months thinking you were dead," she said.

"Sorry to disappoint," he replied. Still no expression.

"I lost a lot in those years. Most of my friends, a man I never loved, but believed I would marry. My father."

Snape said nothing.

"One brother. Your friend, or so I thought."

Still nothing. Lyra was dimly aware of several other professors coming through the hall. She was fairly certain she saw Vector tug Burbage along by her sleeve, as the latter slowed on her way past.

"Then the other brother, thrown into Azkaban without a trial. Everyone was so quick to believe he'd done it, that he betrayed the people he was closer to than his own siblings," the anger was dull, old. She looked down, mastering her expression, then back up again.

"And then when it turned out you weren't dead, and I reached out, my letters came back unopened."

Finally, a flicker of emotion behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't think…"

"No, you never did," Lyra sighed, "One of your many faults, I suppose."

Silence fell between them, as they studied each other.

"Forgive me," Snape said, quietly. For a moment he let the mask slip, and it was like they were fifteen and sixteen again, he admitting that his feelings for Lily Evans were more than a childhood crush, and that he'd irreparably damaged that relationship. He looked vulnerable, and it made him younger.

"I'll think about it," Lyra said, surprising herself. An hour ago she'd been ready to do just that. Now, she wasn't sure.

He nodded, as if it was what he'd expected.

"Right. Am I allowed in any of the common rooms now? I admit, I always wanted to see if we truly had the best."

As it turned out, Lyra was partial to the Hufflepuff common rooms, round and low-ceilinged, more den-like than the aristocratic architecture of the Slytherin rooms.

"They've got squashy armchairs, why didn't we get squashy armchairs," she complained, sinking into a mustard yellow chair, "Can't say I love the colors, but at least it's cozy. I suppose comfortable chairs in Slytherin would prevent little lords and ladies from playing politics."

Snape was looking around, his expression carefully neutral. Lyra saw his gaze lingering on the paintings and tapestries displaying food, plants, and what was probably the English countryside.

"Have you really never gone and looked at the other common rooms?" she asked.

"No," he said, "I have never seen the need."

"It's not about need, Severus, it's about satisfying curiosity," she raised an eyebrow.

"I have never been curious about where children go in their free time."

She sighed, "Nevermind."

They were making their way to the Slytherin common room for old time's sake, when McGonagall caught up with them.

"Severus," she called, "Albus requests a word."

Snape nodded, and swept off back up the stairs. Lyra watched him go, narrowing her eyes.

"Are you finding everything alright? Not much has changed over the last fifteen years," McGonagall said.

"Oh yes, merely satisfying old curiosities," Lyra said, "Did you know the Hufflepuff chairs are more comfortable than the Slytherin ones?"

A small smile flickered across the other woman's face, "I didn't say it, but they are more comfortable than the Gryffindor ones as well."