A/N: Hey guys! Welcome to my fanfic! I have written on this site before for other fandoms, but I have never tried out a Harry Potter fic before! I am excited to be writing this story, and I hope you guys enjoy it.

A little background information:

This story takes place during Deathly Hallows. I will be trying to keep the characters as canon in their behavior as possible, but you might notice differences and times where they step OOC for the purpose of the story.

I will be trying to update this story once a week, every Wednesday. I'm thinking it will be about 20 chapters or so, but maybe longer depending on how it goes!

Rated T for some dark themes and such.

I am looking for a Beta for this story, so if anyone is interested after reading this first chapter, let me know!

Thank you and enjoy! (I do not own any part of the HP universe, but I love it!)

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Lightning struck the grounds, turning up a mulch of dead wood and mud, and sending a singed stench through the air.

Professor-no, headmaster--Severus Snape sat alone in his new office, finishing off a round pint of Rosemerta's signature mead.

"You really shouldn't drink so much, Snape, it's bad for your wellbeing." warned a speckled portrait from above him.

"Bad for my well being-ha!"

Snape laughed a cold, humorous laugh. "You are bad for my well being, Albus, you and this ridiculous plan of yours! I never should have gone along with it in the first place!"

"Oh come now," Albus's portrait sounded put-out. "No plan could have been flawless. Everything has its setbacks."

"Setbacks?!" roared the headmaster, leaping up from his chair. "You call this a setback? The prime piece in your story, the cornerstone in our plan! Dead! and You. Call. It. A. Setback!?"

Snape grabbed his bottle of mead from the desk, gulped down the last swallow, and chucked it at the disapproving portrait above him.

His move might have looked threatening if it hadn't been for his unsteady nature due to the drink, and rather than looking devious, the force of his throw propelled him forward onto the floor, where he lay, still. The bottle shattered against the wall and rained down shards of glass upon him.

Far above, the painting looked down, rather unharmed. Albus sighed. "Oh Severus," he said sadly. "Where did it all go so wrong?"

"I wouldn't know where to begin," mumbled the crushed man on the floor.

They were racing through the night, rain lashing at their faces. The plan was working so far; Mad-Eye had been killed when his fake potter fled, but there were still enough replacements to fool the Death Eaters and confuse their ranks.

Snape glided through the air in pursuit. Even in this tense moment, he relished his ability to fly without a broom while the others were trapped on the sticks of wood. He would have preferred to have a different partner; Avery was kind of an idiot if he had to judge, but every leader needed some followers with blind devotion for his dirty work.

He and his 'comrades' raced after one of the potters. This one had been confirmed by a fellow Eater to be the 'real' potter, and Snape quickly appeared to take over the chase. He planned composure to play his part well without causing harm to the boy; he was, after all, their last chance.

His idiot partner, however, seemed to have other plans.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"No!"

Snape grabbed Avery's arm and flung him aside. The moron spun in the air, but managed to cling to his broom, avoiding the fall to a pitiful death. Shame, really.

"Did you not listen to the Dark Lord?" hissed Snape. "He wants to take care of the boy himself! You stupid man."

But it was too late already. As Snape looked back upon the scene, he saw a terrifying sight. The great oaf Hagrid appeared to be balling his eyes out at something lounging in the sidecar of his motorcycle.

For a painful instant, Snape could see the boy's crushed body as the pair hurtled through the sky. Then they went through a force field of some kind and Snape was unable to follow anymore.

Present-moment Snape quickly pushed himself off of the ground and straightened his robes. Lying about on the stone acting like the deranged drunk that he was was no way for the current headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to behave.

"That's a man, Severus," said the portrait admiringly. "What we need now is a plan."

"I don't need any more crackpot suicide missions from a deranged old fool!" snapped Snape. "I have a plan of my own."

The painting, who looked hardly offended in the slightest to being called a crackpot old fool, said simply "oh?"

"Yes," said Snape, slipping back into his composed, smooth and unflustered self. "I plan to go down to the kitchens down and round up another pitcher of mead; I'm sure the elves have some stored away somewhere. Then, I plan to drink this nightmare away."

As he spoke, Snape crossed the room in a few strong strides and was nearly out the door before the irritating portrait spoke again.

"Is that what she would have wanted?"

Enraged once more, Snape spun on his heel to face the painting.

"Don't you dare lecture me on what you think she would have wanted!" he snapped. "Do you think she would have wanted her only son dead by the hand of some no-name Death Eater after so much had been sacrificed for him? Do you think she would have wanted the time of her son's place in the wizarding world to be a swirl of falsehoods and lies? Do you think she would have wanted me to become a killer to carry out your own maniacal plans?!"

Snape stood for a moment, calming himself. The painting looked on sadly.

"You are no more than a memory of the man you once were," said Snape coldly. "I will not take orders from a rendition made up of oil on canvas. You can know nothing."

At his words, he caught sight of some of the other headmaster's portraits, whom he knew to have been listening this whole time. They shifted in their faked sleep and glared at him through squinted eyelids, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"Oh Severus," said Albus sadly. "You are far too great and powerful a wizard to take orders from anyone. I dare say that you have always followed the course of action you truly believed in. Which leads me to think that up until this very moment, you believed in me, and the plans I had set."

Snape sighed, in a way that was most characteristic of the nature of Professor Snape.

"Giving up what you believe in isn't like you, Severus."

"No," whispered Snape. "But I really don't think I know what is like me anymore."

Nevertheless, he closed the office door and strode back to the headmaster's desk. On the way, he pointed his wand at the remains of the bottle and they vanished. No evidence was left of his moment of vulnerability, which is how he liked it.

Once he had taken his seat again, the irritable portrait began speaking. Once again in its voice of quiet, wizened authority.

"The Horcruxes will still need to be destroyed."

"Yes," said Snape. "But I meant what I said old man, I won't be taking orders from a painting anymore." Snape straightened the front of his robes and pulled a quill and parchment towards him.

"From now on, we operate on my plans."

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