AN: This is finally the rewrite of 'Not as Clever as he Thinks' which I've been tinkering with since 2019. Updates fortnightly. The first 7/14 chapters are completely written as of 13 Nov 2021.

Cover Art is The Late Alan Rickman As Snape by kittrose.

Ch 1 Home

If there was one thing Severus Snape loathed, it was Albus' idiotic staff meetings.

The Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curse? Losing another chess match to Albus? Having Poppy rub his nose in how he was being an idiot?

None of those could hold up to the torture of listening to Albus ramble on about the young minds that would be coming to "delight in a fresh year of learning." Severus was barely managing to prop his head up.

The headmaster's audience was held captive in the staff room, layered in cooling charms to protect them from the sweltering August heat.

Only Minerva was actually paying attention. Privately, Severus thought she took herself and her role as deputy far too seriously.

Poppy would probably say something ironic about how Severus took himself too seriously, but he wasn't asking her right now.

He couldn't ask her, because Albus was still talking. Severus measured the seconds by the thwack-thwack-thump of a fly hurling itself against the open window.

"Who's teaching Defence this year?" Filius interrupted.

Minerva frowned over at the half-goblin, but the rest of them all sat forward in interest.

Pomona set down her teacup, the movement drawing their collective gaze. "Minerva, you were hiring Charity Burbage? I'm sure she's lovely, but is she really qualified for this?"

"Ah, Pomona." Albus sounded somewhere between put-upon that he couldn't break the news himself, and delighted at having more information than the rest of them. "I'm sure that neither Minerva or I would have said anything of the sort. Dear Charity is taking the Muggle Studies position."

Severus groaned, letting his face fall into the palms of his hands. Seven pairs of eyes turned on him.

"Quirrell," he explained to those who hadn't caught on to what a new Muggle Studies teacher meant.

Quirinus had started teaching fresh out of school, and true to his house affiliation he'd spent the first two years of his entirely mediocre career badgering Severus about the dark arts:

'Oh, but if I add hellebore won't it balance out the horned slug?'
Only if you want to kill yourself, Quirinus.

'Is there a proper way to flourish the wand after a Patronus? Albus says you know how to cast one, can you show me?'
Only if you need a guardian animal to escort you to the door, Quirinus.

'Can I see your Dark Mark? I've heard—'
If you finish that sentence I promise you will meet the Dark Lord personally, because I will have murdered you.

"I liked Quirinus," Flitwick said. "Good with his wand, that one, if a bit overexcited."

Severus' fingers twitched desperately for the comfort of a cigarette. He corralled his mind, leaving a small part open to listening for information while the rest of him began counting his breaths. In-one-two-three. Out-one-two-three. In-one-two—

"My boy, are you alright?"

Wondering when he'd closed his eyes, Severus looked around the room. Filius and Pomona were chattering in the corner, Poppy and Minerva were making eyes at each other over by the unlit grate.

A flick of Severus' wand renewed the cooling charm on his robes. He met Albus' twinkle head on, wondering if it really mattered whether he was alright or not. "Obviously," he replied. "Why should I be anything else."

He didn't mean it as a question. As usual, Albus didn't care. "Harry Potter is coming to Hogwarts. I know you and James had a complicated relationship."

Complicated. Yes, that was one way to put it. Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts, and so was Quirinus, and oh, just for fun, they were to develop a deathtrap around Nicolas Flamel's stone.

Hagrid had delivered the blasted thing yesterday, and while half of Severus wanted to strangle Albus for bringing it here, the rest of him wanted to titrate some elixir and study the wonders of its purported power over death.

Albus, I hate you, Severus wanted to say, but he was no liar. "You know I hate these meetings," he said instead, pushing himself to his feet. "If you're done...?"

"I will see you for our usual game tomorrow."

Severus wondered sometimes if Albus had practised his genial smile in the mirror. The glass-ghost would have coached him: "A bit less chin-tilting, deary, and up the twinkle. There, that's it. Once again, from the top."

With a nod towards Poppy and a half-hearted wave to the rest, Severus swept himself out of the room.

They could keep their gossip and their banter.

Severus had his dungeons, with the potions stains that wouldn't come off of the ceiling, and the Slytherins that needed to be coaxed out of their shells.

He had his grief, his scars, and his limping regrets.

Severus had made this bed for himself, and he was determined to lie in it.

.oOo.

The fortnightly game with Albus was something Severus looked forward to with equal measures of anticipation and apprehension.

Albus' twinkling gaze always seemed to see right through him, cutting Severus with a blade so sharp he'd only feel the pain of the wound later, much later, when he was sitting alone with his thoughts and a glass of Merlot.

"Queen to F6," Severus said. At least it gave him a few seconds where Albus' eyes would be watching the board.

It was almost an insult that the headmaster could beat him without properly looking, or even seeming to pay attention. Then again, Albus was truly a brilliant player, orchestrating the pieces to dance to a symphony Severus couldn't quite catch.

"Bishop to H3," Albus countered.

The man's moves were only ever obvious in retrospect. Severus thought furiously through his options to avoid a particularly swift defeat.

"My boy," Albus spoke, as if he didn't know Severus was trying to concentrate, "I'm uncertain what your riddle is trying to accomplish for the stone. Enchanted fire is excellent, but the solution to your puzzle mustn't be that they all contain the Draught of Living Death."

"You know precisely how I feel about this." The best labyrinth was one that didn't have a way out. The best way to win a war was by stabbing someone in the back. "Kingside castling."

"Without a chance to climb high, Voldemort won't be able to fall half as far."

"That's codswallop."

"Nevertheless, Severus, just as I extended my hand towards you, it's best to protect the host and capture the wraith. I am certain that Voldemort is only able to temporarily possess, at this moment. He is weak, and he will flee your trap as soon as he sees it unless the Stone is in his reach."

Admittedly, the Dark Lord had always been a truly exceptional potioneer. Severus knew his predecessor in the man's ranks had been disembowelled for failing to brew a perfect Elixir of Grief.

Then Albus' smile was gone, replaced by grim determination. "You must look out for young Harry when he arrives, Severus. I fear he may sort into Slytherin, from what Hagrid has been telling me."

Privately, Severus wondered that Hagrid was able to notice anything of the sort, for all that he only observed the things he wanted to see.

"Pawn from B to capture C4," Albus finally countered.

For a fraction of a breath, Severus let his victory stretch across his face. He watched as Albus searched the board. "Queen to E3," Severus said, draining his tea. "You're losing your touch, old man."

While Albus genially popped another sherbert, Severus cradled the triumph sparking in his chest. Already the pieces were returning to their places, but it didn't matter.

They both knew he'd won this round.

"Please, Severus. Harry will need so much more than we can teach him, and yet we must try."

"Go bother Minerva with your plans for special treatment, Albus." Harry Potter was going to be a Gryffindor, just like his father had been. Just like his mother.

Severus swallowed the lump in his throat,

"Remember your oath." Albus' grey voice gutted any lingering feeling of victory.

As if Severus could ever forget it. He wished bitterly that Albus would stop playing with people's lives and livelihoods, that he'd stick to games of wooden figures on rigid squares. "I remember," he whispered.

Then the headmaster was smiling again, his wand twirling to pour them each another cuppa.

When the pot turned out to be empty, Severus let the relief pull his spine upright. He got to his feet before the headmaster could summon another tea service. "Thank you, Albus. I should go, there are chores waiting for me back at Spinner's End."

"Of course, of course." The smooth cherry wand disappeared back up the man's sleeve. Albus pulled himself from his overstuffed armchair and guided Severus to the door. "Be careful, my boy. There are whispers of unusual political movements from Brazil, while our Wizengamot is debating new werewolf-friendly legislature. I wish I knew what was coming, but there are too many forces I cannot account for. Just—"

Albus' hand on Severus' shoulder felt almost as heavy as the silence between them.

"—Just be careful, my boy."

"I will," Severus promised with the amount of gravitas that Albus' warning required.

He was always careful. It was how he'd survived as long as he had, as a muggle-raised in Slytherin, as a spy in the Dark Lord's ranks, as a teacher barely older than his students.

Taking the spiral staircase down, Severus walked through the familiar halls and corridors, his mind clear and his eyes open.

He might have made some terrible choices in his life, but Severus was no dunderhead.

.oOo.

Severus didn't know why he kept coming back. He threw a look over his shoulder, then crouched before the white stone.

The lilies he set down were yellow and orange, burning like the afternoon sun.

He really should have worn robes that weren't black. All the cooling charms in the world couldn't suffice for him to feel comfortable.

"Your son's coming to Hogwarts tomorrow," Severus said to Lily's grave.

Somewhere behind him, he heard voices. In one move Severus was back on his feet, turning towards—

—an elderly lady was meandering up the rows, crooning softly to herself. She wasn't looking, but still Severus felt like he was being watched.

Sweating, he gathered himself and walked briskly down the rows back towards the chapel, towards the village, passing the awful statue at a distance so he wouldn't have to see her as he made his way up Coleford Road.

Familiarity and morbidity pulled him to Number Eighteen. The burned out shell of a house greeted him, the smell of mildew mingling with the neighbours' fresh cut grass.

It was memories that drew him in. The gate swung open just as silently as it had on that night almost a decade ago. The front door didn't have hinges anymore, just a yawning mouth that dragged Severus forward.

The stairs groaned as his feet carried him up to the room on the landing with the hole blown right through the rafters. Severus felt the lingering dark magic, smelled the charred wood.

This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.

When he closed his eyes he could see her, lying right there with her hair splayed across the floorboards like blood, like fire.

Severus fell to his knees. He felt like he was burning. "Your son's coming to Hogwarts tomorrow," he told the ghost of her, the one that existed entirely in his memories. "Albus made me swear to protect him,"

He cleared his throat. It was so easy to picture her melancholy smile.

"I'm not doing it for Albus," he told her. "This—all of this—I'm doing it for you."

There was no gratitude waiting for him in the space where the ceiling opened up to the sky. There was nothing here but lingering, desolate grief.

Severus didn't know why he kept coming back.

.oOo.

Thank you to my betas: Carolina, Eider Down, nateyeh, Roofuls, Yasmania. And thank you, my readers, for keeping this story alive.