A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the delay! I had been aiming to get this out last week, but it just didn't happen. I always just seem to have about a million different things going on these days...

It's here now, though, so I hope you enjoy it!

Also, if you're interested in a Russian translation of this story, one of my readers, DooHaus has kindly offered to provide one. I've posted a link on my profile page. A link to SevLiLyHarry's French translation can also be found there.

Happy reading!

Albus Dumbledore sat back in his chair, the fingers of his hands carefully steepled in front of him as he stared thoughtfully across his desk at Severus.

Between them sat the headmaster's pensieve, and even now, the potions master's memory continued to swirl around and around inside. Dumbledore had just finished viewing it.

"Well?" Snape finally prompted, when he thought that the silence had dragged on long enough. "Are you finally going to dismiss the incompetent fool from the staff? Or are you going to wait until he kills somebody first?"

"Oh, I highly doubt Gilderoy will attempt any more demonstrations after this incident, Severus," Albus nodded towards the pensieve. "I imagine he will wish to keep his reputation intact."

"What reputation?" Snape demanded. "The imbecile is a fraud, Albus! You must know this!"

"And what would you have me do, Severus? You know how difficult it is to keep that particular teaching position filled. I'm afraid our options are extremely limited at the moment."

"There must be someone. Anyone would be better than that buffoon," Snape growled.

Albus just shook his head. "There is only one other I can think of who may be willing to take the position at this point in the year. But I'm afraid you wouldn't like it, Severus."

Severus just glared at his mentor. "Who?"

Albus let out a soft sigh, already anticipating the man's response.

"Remus Lupin."

It was silent for a moment.

And then Snape was on his feet. "How could you even suggest such a thing?" he hissed, the anger suddenly boiling up within him. "Have you completely lost your mind, Albus?"

"I take it you prefer Gilderoy, then?" Dumbledore asked simply.

A look of disgust passed across the potions master's face, but he refused to give any sort of response.

Albus nodded his understanding. "I realize the current situation is not ideal—"

Snape scoffed at that. "That is quite the understatement, don't you think, Albus?"

"But it is the situation we find ourselves in," Dumbledore continued. "We will simply have to make the best of it."

"So that's it then? You're just going to sit back and continue to allow this idiot to teach?"

Albus sighed again. "I will speak to Gilderoy, Severus. I am confident that there will be no further incidents of this nature."

The scowl did not leave Severus' face as he moved forward to retrieve his memory from the pensieve.

"I will just be on my way then," Severus responded venomously, raising the short silvery strand of memory to his temple with the tip of his wand.

"Actually, Severus," Dumbledore spoke once more, "there is another aspect of your memory that I wish to briefly discuss with you."

Snape raised his eyebrows as he lowered his wand to his side, his memory having properly been restored. "Yes, headmaster?" he questioned.

Dumbledore met Snape's eyes with his own before opening his mind up to the potions master, allowing the man to see his thoughts.

Snape saw his own memory, now reflected in Dumbledore's mind, and he watched as the second year Slytherin and Gryffindor students filed out of the Defense classroom, on their way to the hospital wing.

But while most of the students did their best to avoid the menacing glare on their potions professor's face, there was one student who chose to meet his gaze, if only for the very briefest of moments.

And in that split second, the man was once again looking into Lily's eyes.

Snape pulled out of Albus' mind, his scowl deepening in irritation. "What exactly did you wish to discuss, headmaster? I saw nothing worth noting in that portion of the memory."

Albus leaned forward, a small smile forming on his lips. "Such expressiveness in those eyes, wouldn't you agree, Severus?"

"I'm sure I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about, Albus."

"Are you telling me you did not notice, then?"

"Notice what?" Snape hissed.

"Well, I suppose if I were to put a name to it, I would call it trust, Severus. When young Harry looked at you, there was trust in his eyes."

"You see what you want to see," Snape countered quickly, abruptly turning to head for the office door. "Now if there is nothing else—"

"I saw your expression as well, Severus."

Snape paused and turned back towards his mentor. "Is that so? And pray tell, Albus. What expression did you see in my eyes?" he asked sarcastically.

"Fear," the headmaster answered simply.

"I'm afraid you may be going senile, Albus," Snape replied, as he subconsciously strengthened his occlumency shields.

Albus chuckled softly. "You may very well be right. But tell me, Severus. Has anything happened between you and Harry lately?"

"You mean besides my having to supervise most of the brat's detentions so far this year?" Snape answered. "Sorry to disappoint you Albus, but no. Now is there anything else you require?"

"No, Severus. That will be all. Just…"

"Just what?"

Albus waited a long moment before continuing.

"Do not make the same mistake twice, Severus."

Snape paused again, his hand frozen in midair as he reached for the door.

But in the next instant, the potions master yanked the door open, his robes billowing behind him as he swept from the room.

Harry took a deep breath as he knocked on the classroom door down in the dungeons. He had almost decided not to come that day. He was worried that Snape wouldn't want him to.

But the man hadn't told him not to come. And Harry had promised to help brew potions after dinner. Snape might get even more upset if he didn't show up.

Harry frowned though, when the door did not immediately open. It wasn't like Snape to keep him waiting outside. The man always wanted to put him to work just as soon as he reached the dungeons.

Harry tried knocking again, and another minute passed in silence, with Harry waiting anxiously for the door to open.

But nothing happened. And, with another sigh, Harry finally turned and began heading back the way he had come.

"And where exactly do you think you are going, Mr. Potter?"

Harry's head snapped up as he reached the foot of the narrow staircase leading up to the entrance hall. The potions master was currently descending the stairs, and he was glaring at Harry expectantly, waiting for a response.

"Just back to Gryffindor Tower, sir," Harry answered, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Look at me, Potter!" Snape exclaimed, exasperated, as he reached the bottom of the staircase. He waited for the child to obey then, before continuing.

"Have you changed your mind about helping with potions, tonight?"

Harry shook his head. "No, sir. I just…"

"You just what, Potter? Speak up!" came the irritated reply.

"I thought maybe you didn't want my help, sir."

Snape crossed his arms and glared down his long nose at Harry. "I do not recall ever making such a statement, Mr. Potter. But then, perhaps your memory is superior to mine."

Harry shook his head. "No, sir. It's just that after today…well, I'm sorry."

Snape stared at Harry for one long moment before answering. "I haven't the slightest idea what you are referring to, Mr. Potter, but if you were planning on assisting me this evening, then I suggest we get started."

With that, the professor began walking towards the classroom, leaving one very confused Gryffindor to follow behind.

Harry could tell something was bothering Snape. He had never before heard the man mutter and grumble so much under his breath.

"Senile old man," Harry heard the professor practically snarl whilst slowly stirring the contents of his cauldron in a counterclockwise direction. "…absolutely ridiculous."

For his part, Harry barely made a sound, carefully chopping and slicing ingredients for the potions master as he chose to brood over his own problems in silence.

Part of him just wanted to ask Snape about the house points.

But with Snape appearing to be in a worse mood than usual, he quickly decided against it.

"I've finished the roots, sir," Harry said quietly, pushing his pile of dandelion roots towards the professor for approval.

Snape looked away from the cauldron for a moment to give a quick, cursory glance over Harry's work. Satisfied, he gave a curt nod before moving his gaze to the boy himself. It was only then that he realized just how quiet the Gryffindor had been this whole time.

"What is the matter, Potter?" he snapped impatiently then, noticing the dejected and forlorn expression on the child's face as he went back to preparing ingredients. "Shouldn't you be asking your usual questions right about now? The ones you know perfectly well I will not answer?"

Harry frowned as he continued to stare down at his prepping station.

"At the very least, I would have expected some incessant, inane chatter about the big, grand feast tomorrow," Snape continued, his own disdain for the celebration clear in his tone. "Just like the rest of your peers."

"I'm not going to the feast," Harry answered quickly, still refusing to look at the professor.

Snape's scowl deepened as he felt a small bit of surprise at that statement. "And why not, Mr. Potter?" the man demanded.

Harry hesitated before answering. He wasn't sure he wanted Snape to know his plans.

"Well, Mr. Potter?" Snape prompted after several seconds of silence.

The boy sighed, but eventually decided to tell the truth. "Because I've been invited to a deathday party."

"A deathday party," Snape repeated slowly.

"Yes, sir," Harry answered nervously. "Nearly Headless Nick invited me, and, well…it just seems more…appropriate."

"I would hardly consider a deathday party to be an appropriate place for any child," Snape snapped, crossing his arms.

Harry shrugged in response, earning himself a distasteful look from the professor. "I just don't feel much like celebrating, sir," he said quietly.

Almost immediately then, Snape thought he understood what this was all about, and his eyes momentarily drifted to the pocket of the boy's robes.

Nearly Headless Nick wasn't the only one who's deathday fell on the 31st of October, after all.

"And so you thought moping around in the school dungeons with a throng of ghosts would be the more preferable option?" the man asked scathingly, noting how the boy's hand instinctively went to his pocket at the harsh tone.

Harry shrugged again as he stared down at the counter, and Snape's scowl deepened.

"Look at me when I am speaking to you, Mr. Potter," Snape said in irritation. "And do not shrug. You should know by now that I only accept verbal responses."

Harry looked up hesitantly, eventually meeting the professor's gaze.

"I thought we discussed this previously, Potter," Snape continued then, just as soon as he was staring into the child's eyes. "You are not responsible for the deaths of your parents."

"But I never—" Harry began, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Do not lie to me," the man hissed. "You are using this deathday party as an excuse to sulk around and feel sorry for yourself."

"I am not! I'm just going as a favor to Nick—" Harry quickly defended himself.

"There is no other reason for accepting the invitation?" Snape pressed, the disbelief clear in his tone.

"No!" Harry exclaimed.

"Perhaps it is your belief that you deserve to be miserable on the anniversary of your parents' deaths?"

"That's not true," Harry answered quietly, struggling now to keep eye contact.

"Then pray tell, Potter. Why is it that a deathday party seems more appropriate to you than the feast?"

Harry had no response prepared. And he found that he could no longer look the professor in the eye. He turned his head away and once again glared down at the counter.

Snape was wrong. He had accepted the invitation as a favor to Nick.

Of course, the more he'd thought about it, the more a deathday party had seemed more appropriate. Not because he wanted to be miserable, though. He just didn't think he should be celebrating. Especially this year. After everything he had learned about his mother from Snape. He felt closer to her now than he ever had before, and he just didn't feel like going to a feast on the anniversary of her death.

"Believe me, Mr. Potter. Deathday parties are not pleasant affairs for the living," Snape finally spoke, when he thought the silence had gone on long enough. "I would therefore strongly suggest that you—" the man paused here, his irritation growing as the insufferable child continued to stare down at his dandelion roots rather than up at his professor.

In the next moment then, Harry was startled from his thoughts when he felt long fingers underneath his chin, lifting his head and forcing him to meet Snape's dark eyes once more.

"Go to the feast," the man finished sternly.

The two stood in absolute silence for several seconds then, Harry not quite sure how to respond as the potions master's eyes bore into his own.

A quiet "Yes, sir" eventually managed to pass the boy's lips, and only then did Snape finally release his chin.

"Good," the man responded curtly, turning back to his cauldron at last. "I will not have you wandering around the dungeons, causing your usual trouble and mayhem when the rest of the school is in the Great Hall."

Harry frowned, but knew better than to argue with Snape.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said instead.

Snape could feel his irritation steadily increasing then. "For what, Mr. Potter?" he demanded, performing a complicated wand movement over his cauldron until the potion within turned pale blue in color.

"For whatever I did to make you mad at me earlier," Harry answered, reaching for another handful of dandelion roots.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, Potter," Snape responded, his eyes still firmly glued on his potion.

"So you're not mad?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Have you finished with those roots yet?" Snape asked pointedly, completely ignoring the child's question.

Harry sighed and once again picked up his knife.

Snape stirred his potion again, this time in a clockwise direction, as the young Gryffindor continued to give him uncertain looks out of the corner of his eye.

"What is it, Potter?" Snape finally snapped, rounding on the boy, his patience beginning to wear thin.

"You are mad," Harry sounded disappointed.

"Mr. Potter, I believe I have already stated that I have no idea—"

"You took points earlier," Harry rushed to explain. "You said I was disrespectful, but I wasn't, sir! You must have misheard me—"

"I heard you perfectly well, Mr. Potter," Snape said with a scowl. "I suggest you drop the subject now."

"But I was only trying to defend—"

"I do not need nor desire your defense, Mr. Potter. Now drop it."

Harry visibly deflated at those words, and his shoulders hunched slightly as he averted his gaze to the floor.

Snape barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the child's obvious attempt to garner sympathy. "You really ought to be thanking me for taking those points, Mr. Potter," the man said then, as he turned the page of the potions book he had open on the counter.

Harry looked up, confused. "Sir?"

Snape raised his eyebrows as he once again glanced over at Harry. "I believe that my intervention just may have prevented an argument from breaking out between you and Mr. Weasley."

The confusion only grew on Harry's face at those words. "Ron?"

"Well, I certainly wasn't referring to any of the other members of the Weasley clan," Snape snapped, uncorking a bottle with a dark blue liquid inside.

"But Ron wouldn't get mad at me for something like that," Harry argued. "He's my friend."

"Have you never had an argument with a friend, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked almost absently, his attention nearly entirely focused back on his potion.

Harry frowned as he paused to consider that question seriously. He hadn't really had any friends until last year when he had come to Hogwarts. The Dursleys had seen to that.

"I guess I've never really had much of a chance to," Harry answered quietly, as he pushed the remainder of the dandelion roots towards the professor. "I'm finished, sir."

Snape regarded Harry carefully as he evaluated the boy's work. The second year stood there nervously, shuffling from foot to foot as he waited for a response.

And finally, Snape gave a quick nod of his head. "That will be all for today, Mr. Potter. I shall see you tomorrow."

"What's wrong, Harry?" Ron asked, as the trio neared the Great Hall for lunch the following day.

"Ron," Hermione said, her tone mildly scolding.

"What?" Ron questioned, his head whirling around to look at Hermione.

"It's Halloween!" she hissed at him, clearly expecting the significance of the date to be clear.

But Ron just raised his eyebrows, confused. "So?"

"Ronald Weasley, I can't believe that you could be so insensitive and clueless," Hermione responded furiously.

"But I don't—"

"It's okay," Harry interrupted, his stomach twisting slightly at the topic of conversation. "It's not a big deal, Hermione. It's not like I ever knew them very well, anyway."

At last, Ron seemed to make the connection, and his face was rapidly turning a bright shade of red to clash with his flaming hair. "Harry mate, I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"I know, Ron. It's fine," Harry said firmly.

Hermione, however, continued to glare disapprovingly at Ron, and looked as though she wanted to say something more on the subject as they finally reached the entrance hall.

But thankfully, a distraction came only a second later in the form of the castle doors swinging open to reveal Hagrid striding across the threshold with a giant jack-o-lantern in his arms.

"There you lot are," the half-giant said, beaming as soon as he caught sight of the three second years.

"Whoa! Hagrid, did you carve that yourself?" Ron asked, wide-eyed. "That thing is enormous!"

Hagrid's smile was full of pride as he answered. "I did. An' there's more where tha' came from. Dumbledore asked me ter carve as many as I could fer the feast tonight."

"Wow! I bet all three of us could fit inside that thing," Ron exclaimed excitedly, moving closer to inspect the pumpkin further.

"I'm not sure there would be enough room for your big head, Ronald," Hermione said with a smirk, crossing her arms.

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but to let out a snort at that comment.

But his momentary good mood completely evaporated when Ron turned to him in the next second.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the feast, Harry?" the redhead asked, for once choosing to ignore Hermione's words. "We're going to miss all the fun!"

"What do yeh mean yer not goin' to the feast?" Hagrid asked, surprised. "What are yeh doing then?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, I was just going to go to Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party."

"Have you changed your mind?" Hermione asked, sounding almost disappointed.

Harry thought about Snape then, and how the man had practically commanded him to attend the feast.

"Well, I think I should go for a few minutes. Seeing as I promised Nick and everything. But—"

"But then we can go to the feast?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Then we can go."

The Halloween feast was finally upon them, and Snape was absolutely furious. He glowered menacingly around the Great Hall from his place at the teachers' table, as the anger building inside of him threatened to boil over.

He could never understand why Dumbledore insisted that he attend this event every year. The shrieking and squealing of the entire student body as they took in the sights of all the food and decorations, and stuffed their faces full of enough sweets to send themselves into a coma, was absolute, agonizing torture. The Dark Lord himself had been incapable of inflicting this amount of pain.

And then of course, there was Potter. Snape's eyes once again passed over the rowdy Gryffindor table. But still, the boy was absent. And there was no sign of Weasley or Granger either, he quickly noted.

Snape's scowl turned even more menacing. That brat is down in the dungeons, he thought to himself murderously. After I told him I didn't want him wandering around down there.

"Must you always look so sour, Severus?" Professor McGonagall suddenly interrupted his thoughts, pushing a plate of sandwiches in his direction. "Perhaps you should try to eat something."

"Perhaps you should be concerned about where Mr. Potter and his little friends have gotten off to this evening, Minerva," Snape shot back, eying the plate of sandwiches with distaste before glancing out over the hall once more.

McGonagall frowned as she followed the potions master's eyes over to the Gryffindors.

"Well, I'm sure they'll turn up soon, Severus. It's still quite early, after all. There are still some students coming in," McGonagall nodded to the large doors at the other end of the hall, where a small group of seventh year Ravenclaws were just arriving.

"Do you not recall what happened last year?" Snape questioned then. "With the troll?"

McGonagall raised her eyebrows in surprise. "I never knew you cared so much, Severus. Your concern is very touching."

Snape huffed in annoyance at that, as he stabbed his fork into a potato on the edge of his plate. "My concern is that Potter is off somewhere causing trouble."

"You worry too much, Severus," McGonagall replied, trying her best to contain her amused smile. "I am sure that Harry is just fine, and will be here any minute."

Somehow, Snape seriously doubted that.

A/N: Again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Your thoughts are always welcome!

Thanks for reading!

-Ailee17