"Reparo," he growled, mending the jar he had just thrown in his rage.

He slowly lowered his wand, took several heaving breaths, and strode over to the wooden chair behind his desk and sat down, face in his shaking hands.

In anguish, he contemplated how Potter's son had just witnessed his humiliation on that fateful day several years ago. He had been foolish, undoubtedly, to trust the boy would leave when instructed to do so, even more foolish of him to have left his memories on the desk, exposing his weakness.

Snape doubted his declaration to the boy that he "must not repeat what he saw to anyone" would stick in his mind. After all, the boy was as self-satisfied as his father and would surely waste no time in regaling the memory to his friends and admirers.

The only consolation during this incident for him was knowing that his deepest secret and his second chance at this life were not pieces of information the boy had been able to glean from his brief escapade into the Pensieve.

He slowly stood up, as if he had aged a thousand years and pushed the chair roughly aside. He then extracted his wand from his pocket, bent down, and returned the memories back into his temple. He slowly traced the rim of the Pensieve before scooping it up, its weight sagging in his arms as he made his way towards the door.

Once outside the room, the chill air of the dimly-lit corridor greeted him as he walked down the stone tiles, cloak billowing behind him as he subsequently ascended the steps cautiously, eerily reminding him of the frightful anticipation of Dumbledore's verdict on the fateful autumn day when he pleaded for Lily's life. The walk now was of a different sort of judgment-the validation of a man who saw the best in him when no one else did in this life. Yet, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Dumbledore would annoyingly side with Potter yet again, insisting that he, Severus, had been foolish to not keep a close watch over the Pensieve and that he ought to be more patient with a child who was "reasonably talented." No sooner had he begun to let these thoughts marinate, he reached the stone gargoyle.

"Fizzing Whizbee," he said brusquely.

The gargoyle then promptly made way for the spiral staircase which Severus climbed with slight trepidation before tapping on the brass knocker.

"Enter," called Albus.

He strode over to the desk and placed the Pensieve upon it, quickly averting his eyes from the sordid object.

"Thanks very much Severus. I expect the lessons are going as planned?"

He slowly looked up at the expectant expression and then gazed into those piercing blue eyes, dreading the disappointment which would surely be etched on his face shortly thereafter.

"Headmaster, do you remember the concerns I expressed when we set up this arrangement and my opinion on how it would proceed?" he asked.

Fixing him with a weary expression, Dumbledore responded, "my memory is as good as it was two months ago."

"Ah-well you must know that not only has the boy's mediocrity seeped into Occlumency, but he has also decided to take a trip into the Pensieve to watch the scene of his highly amusing father humiliating me when I had to step out to assist with the Montague situation," he said.

He then looked closely at the headmaster's face to watch for a reaction. To his astonishment, thin lines of worry etched the aged face and his eyes dawned in understanding.

"I see," said Dumbledore slowly. "What did you relay to him once you had pulled him out?"

"I told him that he should never set foot in my office again," he said firmly. "I cannot fathom why you have confidence in a boy who has deemed himself incapable of sealing the connection into the Dark Lord's mind."

"Very well, Severus. I do not underestimate the danger you place yourself in constantly," said Albus with a note of finality in his voice. "We will rendezvous at the next Order meeting and discuss the new plan of action to protect Harry."

With one last slightly resentful look at the headmaster, he turned on his heel and headed towards the door. Maybe, he thought, while the day certainly could have been much worse and his question was left unanswered, he managed to curl his lip in triumph over the fact that he would no longer have to sit through tedious private lessons with the boy. Maybe, just maybe, the headmaster's judgment favored him just this once.