Author's notes: I was lying in bed awake and Snape's thoughts suddenly occurred to me. I couldn't get out of my head the irony of it. I had to share it with the world! This is just random fluff for entertainment purposes only. Wow, fluff is fun. And, yay! Give me a pat on the back! I finally got round to publishing something! (does Happy Smeagol Mambo and gives her beloved Sirius a hug) Enjoy! I know I loved writing it! Snapey's head is so much fun to invade.

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TIME: somewhere in Harry's second year. PLACE: double potions. Murder on our favourite little scar-head and his teacher

Snape examined the rows of students, greasy, filthy faces bent over their smoking cauldrons and disembowelled frogs, dirt-smeared hands hurrying to finish their potions before the end of class. He shuddered to think what would happen if he was forced to actually pass anyone in this room, and the bedlam that might ensure if he ever forgot to dispose of their miserably hopeless potions properly. He took a certain vindictive pleasure when he had finally booted every one of these unfortunate creatures out of his classroom.but in the meantime he would have to be satisfied with making them as uncomfortable as he was.

He rapped his fingers on the desk of one of the subnormals, Longbottom, flicked at Miss Brown's shredded leaves with a scathing comment and just glared at the black-haired, four-eyed boy at the end of the row, then returned to his desk to finish failing - ahem, marking - the sixth-years on their potions assignments.

Slugging through a particularly boring essay, his train of thought rattled along slowly, paying little attention to the direction it was taking. It had rumbled off along a track which the malicious potions master had not thought about for a long time. Years perhaps.

A memory floated to the surface of his thoughts, a dusty and half-forgotten memory. * He was twelve. He was standing in a familiar Hogwarts corridor. His wand was a heavy lump poking into his ribs through his pocket, but he didn't dare reach for it, because a four-eyed, black-haired boy was forcing him against the wall and telling him to watch where he was going, while a small, mousy, little boy gave a high-pitched giggle and another dark-haired student told him to leave the prat alone, while a fourth added that he wasn't worth being late for Transfiguration. *

At once, all of Snape's anger and long-discarded rage forced this memory down. Over, he repeated to himself, all over. All in the past. This was his school now, and they would never sneer at him again.

And then Snape remembered something that he had never truly comprehended the importance of before. "Severus," he said to himself, "how wonderful, a pity I never thought of it like that before! And I couldn't have put it better myself. My goodness! Marauders? What Marauders? Look at that!" "Two of them are dead. One is spending a lifetime in prison for murder. And the last is broke, unemployed, and suffering from serious monthly mood swings!" "Whatever was I ever afraid of them for?" he chuckled, "I guess life is fair after all."

Harry looked up and happened to glance at his potions teacher. He saw (and his stomach gave a slight lurch) that Snape was smiling. Now that was a sight you didn't behold every day. Harry shrugged and went back to disembowelling his frogs. Snape's personal fantasies were none of his problem, after all.

Fin.
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wow. I'm proud of myself. I don't think that was as crap as it could have been. Tell me that's true! Press the review button! Reviews will be fed to Harry, who is living in a cupboard under my stairs. If you don't review, poor Harry might not get dinner tonight!

Harry: She's kidding folks. I'm well fed. Tawa: SHUSH! I'm trying to gain sympathy.