Title: Demons Haunting

Genre: Book/Movie

Category: Harry Potter

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own it. The precious rights belong to JKR. My apologies.

Summary : Potter knows his secrets now; and there's nothing he can do to stop the floodgates that have been opened. Snape centric.

Warnings: Mild language and violence (possibly graphic), as well as child abuse. You've been warned.

Rating : T

Chapter 2 : Failing Grace

Within minutes, Snape had made his way down the school's front steps, heading for the gates that seemed so far away. He was sweating far more than he usually did, the heavy black uniform robes he wore doing little to change that fact. His hands were shaking, clutching the Death Eater mask to his side.

A fine mist was snaking its way over the grounds, literally clouding his vision. His mind raced, worried by the sudden call of the Dark Lord. As far as he knew, no meetings were scheduled for that night, at least, not one that he could remember anyway.

Grasping the iron gates, he muttered a charm, the lock unclicking at his request. Though at the moment his cold hands hit the even colder black steel, his mind froze, taking him back to a place he hadn't visited in quite some time.

Rain was steadily pouring out of the clouds, pounding those who stood beneath. Not a student went unscathed in the heavens mercy, all were drenched by the time they had made it up to the castle, even the fortunate carriage riders. Though the first years had ultimately gotten the worst of it. But with a quick drying charm from a much younger looking Professor McGonagall, everyone seemed to be alright. Except for one of the first years.

The young boy's black hair hung in two curtains around his thin face, highlighting the paleness of his skin. His eyes were dark and uninviting, containing more than their fair share of sorrow. He stood in the midst of all the other children as they filed into the Great Hall, the charmed ceiling casting images of the storm that was enveloping the night sky. Most of the first years were quite fascinated by the lightning show, but Severus stood still, taking stock of his surroundings.

His gaze drifted over the four tables as the Sorting Hat's song began, sizing each one and the young individuals they held. He could tell by their appearances to which Houses they all belonged. After surveying those in Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor, his eyes fell upon the Slytherin table. Almost immediately, he knew where he belonged. He could sense something about the presence of those that sat before him. Each one had a concealed darkness that was hidden just below the surface. A small, satisfied smile befell his lips as his name was called to be sorted.

At once, he felt a recluse shudder come over him. He hadn't been nervous in the least, but for some reason, it was as though he couldn't control it anymore. Beads of sweat littered his forehead, his slightly greasy hair starting to stick to his sallow skin. Clenching his jaw, he forced his small legs to move forward and up to the chair. He sat down carefully, only to land straight on the floor with a loud thud echoing through the Great Hall. Someone had pulled the stool out from underneath him; with a charm, no doubt.

Before he knew it, the silence of the Hall was shattered and laughter polluted it, ringing gravely in his ears. He could feel his face flush before he pushed himself to his feet.

"SILENCE!" a voice boomed over the laughter, everyone shutting up immediately as though an off switch had been hit.

Severus looked in the direction of the voice, his eyes falling on an aging wizard with robes the color of the brightest emerald he had ever seen. A long, greying beard fell to just above his chest, his eyes glowering behind his half-moon spectacles.

"We do not tolerate such a thing at this school," he stated, his voice lowering to a less deafening volume and a softer tone. "Magic is not used for humiliation here. It is a tool that you will use to grow and learn, not to torture your fellow classmates." He stared out into the sea of surrounding faces, his blue eyes seemingly piercing all the souls who dared look at him. With one last glance, he seated himself again, this time keeping a more watchful eye amongst the tables. "Continue, Professor," he said, nodding at Professor McGonagall.

She cleared her throat, giving her own scrutinizing glare among the children, certainly not as polite as the Headmaster, but it would suffice.

"Go ahead, dear," she urged the young boy, this time holding the stool in place as he sat down, more weary than before.

His pale skin still had red blotches scattered about on his cheeks, but he refrained from taking notice and closed his eyes, the voice of the hat entering his ears.

"Hmm, what to do with you? You're a tough one, aren't you?" it muttered, delving deep into the child's already protected mind. After a few minutes, it reached a decision. "So much darkness...no doubt...SLYTHERIN!"

But as the young Snape rose from the chair, he did not receive any applause from the Slytherin table that the other students had, not as he was expecting it anyway. He had not only embarrassed himself before all his classmates, but he'd also embarrassed his House as well. Needless to say, a warm greeting was not given.

He kept silent and took a seat near the end of the table, doing his best to keep the look of disparity off his face. He hadn't even been there ten minutes and had already made a fool out of himself. Surely his mother would be proud.

'Go figure,' he thought, his eyes threatening to water, but he pushed back the tears, choking them down into the pool of despair.

His eyes narrowed as he realized someone had been watching him; three lads from the Gryffindor table, all first years. He clenched his jaw as he noticed they were stifling laughter as they continued to stare. One of them even went to far as to twirl his wand and point it directly as Severus, all the while flashing a toothy grin and a fake wink, his long dark hair falling about his face.

The humiliation that was blossoming settled itself deeper within his veins. Now he knew the culprits, and surely, revenge would be sweet, if he ever got the chance.

His attention was immediately taken away from him as the Headmaster stood up, a gold chalice in one of his hands.

"To all new students, welcome; to all returning students, welcome back. Let the feast begin."

And with that, large quantities of food appeared before them, all the children hungrily digging in except Severus, of course. His appetite was barely there to begin with, but with the Sorting Hat incident, it had completely vanished right into thin air. He sat there staring at his plate, not even touching any of the food that surrounded him. In fact, he felt more likely to vomit than to be able to eat.

His eyes began to drift once more, his ears taking in all the chatter that crowded him. They fell back to the Gryffindor table, to the three boys who were obviously first years as well. Only now they were joined by a fourth who looked just as uncomfortable as him. He observed them carefully, not wanting them to take notice of his curiosity nor his lingering gaze.

He was already going through hexes and charms in his head, trying to figure out which one he should retaliate against when a voice approached him from the side.

"Severus Snape?" it questioned in a most eloquent tone, a finely manicured hand coming into view.

Severus looked up at the tall blond boy to whom the hand belonged. His hair was a bright blond, almost white; his skin fair fitting with his complextion. His grey eyes sparkled in the torchlight of the room, defiantly questioning.

Without waiting for a response, the older boy continued on. "Lucius Malfoy," he stated, shaking the small hand reached out to meet his. "I'm a prefect in Slytherin," he added, cutting the formalities of the handshake short and fingering his badge, his eyes aglare. "If you need anything, feel free to let me know." And with that, he disappeared back down the table, apparently quite popular judging by the amount of heads that turned as he walked past.

Severus watched him for awhile, noting the boy's air of confidence and charisma.

'Surely a pure-blood,' the thought whisked its way through his brain, he becoming almost immediately ashamed of the fact that he wasn't. He knew pure-blooded children were more respected than the others, such as half-bloods like himself, making him wish that his mother had fallen for someone else. But surely he was just damned to live the life that he had.

He felt relief wash over him as the feast ended, he one of the first to stand to his feet. He followed his House out of the Great Hall, his eyes wandering over the groups of children that stood around him. He froze upon hearing a mispronunciation of his name, purposely, no doubt.

"Snivellus Snape, that's got quite a nice ring to it," a voice remarked from behind, a few fits of laughter following after it.

"My name is Severus," he corrected firmly, turning around to face his taunters, his eyebrows narrowing in anger.

"Well, I don't know about you three, but Snivellus sounds much better to me," the one that twirled his wand around joked, getting laughs from the other two and a hesitant smile from the uncomfortable looking one.

"Well, well, if it isn't Sirius Black," a familiar voice came from behind young Snape. Everyone turned to see the Slytherin prefect approaching, a tight grin stretching across his lips. "I bet your mum thinks highly of you now, hmm? The first Gryffindor in the family. Such a shame really, to the family tree that is. Never thought there'd be a blood traitor in the Black family. As you can imagine, Bellatrix isn't amused."

The Gryffindor's face paled momentarily before he regained his voice, though before he could, the boy closest to him spoke up.

"Malfoy, is it? Yeah, my dad told me all about you," he smiled, his hazel eyes sparkling. "How much did you pay to get into this school? After all the stories I heard, I didn't know they let Squibs in here."

That comment severed any form of calm that had been in the room.

Malfoy was quiet for a moment, his gaze growing heavier by the second. Upon seeing Professor McGonagall approaching, he bent down, making sure his comment was heard and understood by only the one it was meant for.

"If you think idiotic little formalities such as yourself Potter will really make a difference here at this institution, you stand corrected. One more word from your filthy little mudblood-loving mouth, and I'll curse you 'til your eyes fall out of their sockets. Have a nice day," he ended with a pleasant grin, casually turning and pulling Severus along with him.

The same small, satisfied grin eased its way onto Snape's features once more, stretching a bit as he glanced back at the small group; the one called Potter standing a bit wide-eyed and speechless, the one Lucius called Black not too far behind with a scowl on his face.

"Filthy little twits...," Lucius muttered, draping his arm around Severus' back. "Come now, there's much I need to show you."

That grin had started it all.

Snape's eyes widened as he realized where he was standing, his heart racing as he didn't know as to how long he had been standing there. The sudden blazing of his skin on his left forearm nearly made him blanch. Swearing under his breath, he stepped outside the gates, muttering the charm to relock them.

Within seconds, he was standing just outside the rickety old house, the cemetery mocking him from just beyond the gates.

Closing his eyes and hastily putting on the Death Eater mask, he dared try to compose himself as he hurriedly made his way up the cracked steps to the entry way of the house. He felt himself shudder, chastising himself from the inside out. Merlin only knew what was waiting for him down at the end of the hallway.

Unwillingly, his legs carried him the short distance, dread filling him as he opened the door to see a mere twenty masks turn his way.

He was late.

With his heartbeat ringing in his ears, he stepped forward over the threshold, the Dark Lord's voice softly wafting through the dank air.

"Severus, you're late," he chided casually, his voice as cool as the wind on a cold winter's night.

He hesitated, something he knew he shouldn't have done and mentally kicked himself for it; but it was too late, it had already been noticed.

"Perhaps you were just too busy to be on time tonight, is that right?" he questioned simply, his red eyes piercing through the darkness of the room. "Dumbledore keeping you on a tight leash?"

"No, my Lord—"

Before he had time to answer, the Dark Lord's voice cut him off, as cool and as calm as ever.

"Crucio."

He thought he'd gotten use to the pain by now, the feeling of a thousand sharp needles piercing his flesh, of his body giving his brain the illusion that it was on fire. But even after all that time, he hadn't. He collapsed to his knees in evident pain, though he fought it, biting his lip so hard that his mouth had become a bright scarlet shade in a matter of minutes.

Finally, the pain stopped.

"Forgive me, my Lord," he whispered through gritted teeth, his dark eyes dead ahead on the floor. As he reached out for Voldemort's robes to formally address his Master, another bout of pain enveloped him, the Dark Lord's voice resonating in his head.

"Oh, come now, Severus, it's not that bad, is it?" he mocked, smiling, his jagged teeth jutting out from between his lips.

Snape slowly shook his head as best he could through the curse, the hole in his soul deepening as each new wave of pain hit him. His eyes threatened to water as he carefully watched the Dark Lord walk around him, his head hung in thought. After a few more fleeting minutes, the pain ended, hardly any breath left in Severus' lungs.

"I'll deal with you later," he whispered dangerously in the Potions Master's ear. Turning away from the downed man, he addressed the circle that was gathered around him. "Now, the reason I called you all here tonight is simple. We are closer than ever to gaining the Prophecy, and if all goes as is planned, I shall be holding it in my hands very soon. However, that all depends on each and every one of you, and whether or not you're capable of fulfilling your duties. I shall take my reports now. Lucius?" he questioned, seemingly gliding along the floor to the blond Death Eater.

"My Lord," he said with a bow, his grey eyes drifting in Severus' direction. "Security is tight, but I believe I have found a crevice in it," he stated with a devilish grin. "If everything goes accordingly, it will only be a matter of days before we are able to attain the Prophecy, My Lord."

"Very good, Lucius. I'm most impressed with your work." His tone was quiet yet it held underneath it a sickly malevolence oozing with evil. He turned quietly, slowly making his way around the circle. "Bella, have the arrangements been made?" he inquired, stopping in front of the demented Death Eater, her anxious gaze never leaving his side.

"Yes, my Lord," she answered confidently, her eyes gleaming expectantly through the horrific mask that covered her gaunt features. "I've taken all the necessary precautions, my Lord. Everything is set," she added, a deranged grin outlining her thin lips. Her faithfulness was inevitable, clearly marked upon her face, carefully embedded in her hollowed out orbs.

"Well done," the Dark Lord nodded, the lust for power clearly evident in his slitted red eyes. They danced over his followers, nearly sneering at the build up of fear the room contained. "You both have done remarkably well; but I advise all of you, the day is drawing near." He paused, letting his words settle in and his eyes do all the talking. "As soon as I receive the Prophecy, the power will be in my hands, and the boy shall be slain. But if you fail me...," his voice trailed off, vanishing into the shadows of the landscape.

"Never, my Lord. We shall be victorious this time. You have my word," Lucius stated with his usual air of confidence, his voice never faltering.

"Very well then. You are dismissed. Except you, Severus." His voice was cool and detached, never leaving the raven haired man for a moment. "Lucius, stay behind as well, though the corridor will better suit you," he commanded, waving the most dignified Death Eater out into the hallway.

Snape watched him carefully, lifting the walls in his mind and preparing for the worst. He retained his composure, an unreadable expression crossing his face. Though calmness won on the outside, his insides were ripping themselves to shreds, his stomach defiantly tying itself into knots.

"What kept you?" the hiss of a voice interrogated, just inches from his ears. The snakelike face was close to him now, so very close...

"I was working on the nourishing potions for you, my Lord. They would have been useless had I not stayed and finished them," he lied, cautiously constructing the complex walls around his mind. He painstakingly removed potions from inside his robes, forcing his hand to revert from shaking in the process. "Forgive me, my Lord. My intent was only for your benefit," he added, his grip loosening a bit on the slippery vials.

The Dark Lord was silent for a moment, studying his obedient servant. If looks could kill, surely Snape would have seen his last in that stare.

Voldemort slowly took the glass vials, scrutinizing them intently. A sneer snaked its way across the dreadful Lord's face, his eyes glistening with what could only be called excitement.

"How considerate, Severus," he whispered, his scarlet orbs still entranced by the colorful liquid in the glass containers he was now squeezing tightly between his stick-like fingers. "Always so considerate...And so as a reward for your faithfulness... Crucio," he murmured coolly, letting the vials burst into pieces in his hands. He let the debris fall listlessly to the floor as he started pacing once more, letting Snape writhe on the cold, stone floor in agony.

"Now, Severus, I'm a bit curious as to why your last few currents of information have been slightly...off," he emphasized the last word, pain still seizing the Potions Master's helpless body. "You haven't had any second thoughts, have you?" he queried, releasing the spell for a few precious moments, Snape trying desperately to regain his now lost voice.

"My Lord--," he tried, but was cut off once more, pain seeking pleasure in him again.

"No, of course you didn't. In fact, you're one of my most faithful, aren't you, Severus?"

The questioned lingered through the air as he let Snape bask in the Cruciatus curse.

"I presumed so, but one must always double check." Voldemort fell nonvocal once more, a sardonic smile pressing up the corners of his mouth as though pleased by his actions. Afterall, causing pain was a specialty of his.

With a flick of the wrist, he ended the spell again, standing above the raven haired man who was trying to remove himself from the floor, fruitlessly, no doubt. Kneeling down, he grabbed the man by his hair in an uncharacteristic fashion, pulling his face within millimeters of his own.

"Do not...fail me this time, Severus," he hissed, vengeance seeking his tone, his grip pulling tighter. "There is much at stake this time, and if something were to go wrong, I have only few to blame," he whispered evenly, patches of ebony hair starting to release through his fingertips and fall limply to the floor, the man they had belonged to fighting to keep upright. "Dismissed," the word sizzled from his mouth as he let Severus fall back to the floor before disappearing into the darkness of the room.

After several attempts, he got to his feet, his legs trembling underneath him. He could feel the blood oozing out of an open wound on his right leg, pain searing throughout it with each step. His heart beat pounded in his head as he picked the fallen Death Eater mask up off the floor, his gaze steadily falling upon the few droplets of blood that littered it. He glanced down at his leg to find it almost submerged in the red liquid, even his robes darkening as it too soaked up the crimson substance. Clenching his jaw, he made the seemingly long trek to the door, hardly having enough strength to push it open. His eyes fell upon Lucius who had obeyed his Master's orders, yet was pacing back and forth like a caged animal, longing for an escape.

Upon seeing the state that Snape was in, the blond Death Eater immediately went over to him, putting an arm around his thin waist for support.

Normally, one's touch would drive the hardened Potions Master into a stupor, but he was far too drained to care this time. He reluctantly let the other man hold him up, helping him outside the Riddle house, limping all the way.

"I don't know what you're thinking, Severus, but whatever it is, I advise you to stop it this instant," Lucius warned through a clenched jaw, dismayed at the sight of the amount of blood the other man was losing. "Though it's not any of my business, your tardiness is inconsistent with your usual punctuality. Care to elaborate?" he questioned, his steely grey eyes burning holes into the Potions Master's face.

"Frankly, Lucius, what I do in my own time is none of your business; and no, I care not to elaborate," he replied, the pain continuing to electrocute the nerves in his leg. "I'll be fine from here," he stated evenly as they reached the outside of the gates, regaining his usual overly independent manner, breaking away from the blond man's grasp.

"Though you may not take it into consideration, something has changed about you, Severus," Lucius commented, letting the raven haired man stand on his own, smirking at Snape's inability to retain his balance. "And whatever it is, I suggest you find out soon enough for your performance in there was unusually transparent and rather unconvincing," he let the words roll off his tongue, the smirk growing as he watched Severus' brow furrow.

"Thank you for that assessment, Lucius," he returned, his black eyes burning into the blond Death Eater's. "I shall remember your advice the next time I perform, as you say," he hissed, Apparating before the man had a chance to orally retaliate.

Before he knew it, he was back at the edge of the forest on his hands and knees, his leg faithfully giving out on him the minute he stood on solid ground. His onyx eyes darted around the vicinity, making sure no one else was in sight. He pushed himself up, his body teetering on the edge of fatigue, unwillingly obeying its brain's commands. His breath caught in his lungs, pain shooting through his side. He recoiled, doubling over and making contact with the chilly earth once again. Panting, he stood up once more, though he could not reach full height due to the pain that surged through his aching limbs.

The journey up the steps and down into the dungeons was most uneventful, minus the droplets of crimson that fell and streaked behind him. It wasn't as though this was the first time he had to almost crawl to his chambers, a thought that disturbed him more and more the closer he got to his rooms.

Closing in on the door, he muttered a charm and it unlocked quickly, long enough for him to enter, then recast the charm so he wouldn't be disturbed. He barely made it a few feet into the room before he slid down the nearest wall, all the while knowing the place he was at in his current condition would more than likely substitute as his bed as well.

Slowing his harsh breathing, he carefully pulled off the slightly tattered and bloodied robes, casting them aside into the unforgiving darkness. Pulling out his wand, he muttered, "Lumos," giving himself just enough light to see the damage done to his leg. A long, gaping cut wound its way down his calf, his life-saving substance finally starting to clot at the opening of the wound.

Gritting his teeth, he cast a simple cleansing charm, the blood quickly disappearing, though the pain quietly stayed behind. He surveyed the rest of his deteriorating form, knowing that the ribs would have to heal on their own regardless, and a concealing charm could handle the rest.

In the midst of the night's events, he'd hardly had time to remember the exact explanation why he was late and the reason why he was in the state that he was. He'd almost fooled himself into thinking the potions statement was true, though he knew it not to be. It was just another lie he told himself to get by.

He glared down at his battered form, secretly longing for the fire whiskey he'd misplaced some time ago. But it was no use. Every time he moved, pain was at his side, becoming his constant best friend; and his attempts at breathing normally were starting to be a chore in itself. He sighed silently, leaning his head back against the cool wall.

He'd really done it this time.

He was never late, ever; no matter what he was doing. If the Dark Lord called, he was supposed to be there, Dumbledore's orders. And he was to follow those at all cost, no matter the consequences, but instead, he was transported back to a magical land he dared call Hell. He had no explanation for the unexpected flashback; and that frightened him more than anything.

What if he had suddenly lost control of his Occlumency skills and was now vulnerable to an attack?

No, that's not possible. He wouldn't have let me go like that had he known I was lying.

Questions jolted his already clouded mind, and to his dismay, he couldn't answer them. Running a hand through his slightly blood-coated and greasy hair, he came across a spot where there was none there, wincing as his fingertips grazed the tender spot. He could feel the crimson substance matted in his hair, only making him feel even more dirty than usual. He sneered in spite of himself, not even feeling the least bit tired; mentally. Physically was a whole other equation.

He was drained, having only a mere hour or two of rest from the previous day. Everything was sore, from his arms to his feet, though no complaints would ever grace his lips. He'd keep it inside, as with everything else that was troubling him.

His dark eyes lazily drifted to the clock that hung on the opposite wall, the time reading 3:04. A sardonic cackle escaped his still blood encrusted mouth, knowing all the while he would be teaching a class full of incompetent little brats, on top of dealing with that dreadful Umbridge woman in just a few hours. No, perhaps Hell was what he was living in now.

He shook his head, knowing full well that he'd more than likely be questioned in the morning as to why he was out so late and where he had gone. And of course, he'd give the likely excuse that he had certain ingredients that needed to be picked at just the right time and if that blasted woman wanted him to make any other potions, then he'd leave the castle to do so at any time he wished. Secretly, he longed for Dumbledore's return. The next few months would obviously not go as he first planned.

And getting a hold of Dumbledore would be another complication. With the delusional woman setting up watches and guards and various other means to spy on everyone, just breaching her damned security would be a complexity in itself. He sighed, knowing a trip to Twelve, Grimmauld Place would be impending.

As though he wanted to see that damned Black character again.

He closed his eyes, fatigue wearing thin on his senses. Everything was crashing down on him at once, and if he wasn't careful, he would indeed break. Soon.

Thick clouds painted the afternoon sky, ranging in colour from greys to blues, sprinkling the grounds with a light mist. It was a gorgeous sight to all those that were permitted to see it, though others had potions classes in the dungeons to attend to.

Rushing along and not understanding how he had lost track of the time between periods, first year Severus made his way through the long corridor leading to the dungeons, his over-filled backpack in tow. He had almost made it to the door when he heard a ripping sound and then watched in agony as his books fell to the floor.

Swearing under his breath, he bent down to pick them up, only to knock into something else.

"Ow," he muttered, rubbing his head and looking up at the object he had bumped into.

"Sorry," a red haired girl apologized, just a tad taller than himself. The object, apparently, was a girl.

"'S all right," he murmured, his eyes falling on the Gryffindor symbol that graced her robes.

"That's quite a heavy load you've got there," she commented, helping him pick up all the books. "Plan on finishing early?"

"Early?" he asked, a confused expression tracing his features. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it looks like you've got nearly twice as many classes as the rest of the first years. Though I don't understand why. You must be really smart," she said, picking up the last book, her emerald eyes meeting his for the first time.

He nearly gaped, taking in her innocent beauty. He stuttered a bit before his reply followed.

"I just want to be prepared is all," he stated, standing to his feet, immediately noticing the height difference.

"Prepared? For what? You act as though there's a war onor something." She studied him for a moment before realizing the door to the class was open, a short, round man looking down at the both of them.

"Miss Evans, Mr. Snape," he nodded towards them, acknowledging their presence. "Care to join the rest of us? We'll be studying very interesting things today. I'm quite positive it's something you won't want to miss," he added with a smile, ushering them in.

Snape watched as she took her seat, not even two yards away from the trouble makers who had been causing him headache after headache for the past week. He scowled, eying them.

'She's a Gryffindor! A bloody Gryffindor! What are you thinking?' he mentally berated himself, ignoring Professor Slughorn's instructions and starting on the potions assignment. He found his wondering eyes traveling back to her direction.

He couldn't figure out why he hadn't noticed her before. Though it had only been a week since term had begun, he should have seen her before, shouldn't he? But then again, his mind was focused on studying, not on girls.

She was quite pretty though, beautiful even. And apparently highly intelligent too by the way she was busying herself with the assigned work, not even paying attention to her surroundings. She was doing everything just the way Severus was doing it, though when he heard one of the trouble maker's voices enter his ears, his attention span was temporarily cut short.

"Hey, Lilly, looks like you've got a watcher. Ol' Snivellus there can't take his eyes off you," the one called James announced, beaming at Severus' reddening face.

She shot him a curt smile and rolled her eyes, going back to her work, doing her best to ignore the boy that would be her husband someday.

James own face flushed at the rejection, only giving him more fuel for an attack.

"You know Snivellus, you should really pay attention to the instructions. Just one little slip...," he smiled mischievously, his eyes flashing before he returned to his own cauldron.

Severus' brow furrowed as it normally did when the Potter boy was near, trying his best to ignore his taunts. But just as he added a dusting of regan leaves, a great cloud of purple smoke blew out of his cauldron, his assignment gone to pieces. He turned slowly and found the rest of the class' eyes on him, some amused, some afraid, and a few snickering. He scowled at James and Sirius, then noticed the empty glass vial in Sirius' hand. Infuriated couldn't even begin to describe the emotion that was flooding through his veins.

Revenge could be so sweet. If he ever got the chance.


Well, what do you think? I'm trying. Please review and let me know. I can't wait to delve deeper into Snape's memories. Thanks!