Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

Time frame: PS before the start of terms

- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster Office

"And I still think it is a stupid plan."

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, barely managed to hide his amusement behind a tranquil nod as he looked at the tall, dark-clad man who had just taken a seat on the other side of his desk.

"Yes, I believe you've already mentioned that a couple of times, Severus. So - the preparations are finished?"

"Yes." Snape's sour expression did not soften. "You are aware that in little more than a month this school will be swarming with nosy, brainless, insufferable and completely irresponsible children?"

"I am. Have Fluffy and Professor Quirrell's troll settled well in their new accommodations?"

"Quite. As well as the Devil's Snare. And they all will have a never-ending supply of curious students to feed on as soon as you declare the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side out of bounds this year."

"That's splendid; I know Hagrid was a bit concerned about his little pet." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "And I am sure I will find some well-chosen words to impress the seriousness of the matter on our charges."

"As well-chosen as your little announcements concerning Filch's newest lists of forbidden items?"

A short smile played around Dumbledore's lips but his voice stayed firm. "It is decided, Severus. Hagrid will bring the Philosopher's Stone this evening."

"Hagrid."

"Hagrid, yes." Dumbledore's gaze had hardened at hearing the amount of contempt in that one word. "It seems you don't approve of my choice?"

"Oh, but how do you DO get this impression?" Snape asked sarcastically.

Dumbledore's brows rose slightly. "Hagrid would protect the Stone with his life."

"Well, yes, he might die fighting if ambushed." Snape's upper lip curled into a sneer. "But he'd probably just have to be asked nicely."

"He is well aware of the importance of his appointed task."

"He can't hold his tongue."

"I trust Hagrid completely," Dumbledore said calmly. "As I trust you."

Snape's laugh was not pleasant. "Well, that says all about it, doesn't it?"

A moment they just stared at each other, one in silent contemplation the other in unspoken challenge. Then Dumbledore smiled in his typical indifferent way.

"Has Filius settled his little dispute with Madam Hooch about the use of school brooms?"

Snape's eyes narrowed for a second then he nodded curtly. "Yes."

"And Minerva's chess set? All in order?"

"Yes."

"Your potions table?"

"Yes. You know you will lead him directly to Hogwarts if your suspicion comes true."

Dumbledore slowly tapped one long finger on the polished wooden surface of his desk. The only sound in the room was the soft snoring of the portraits at the walls, the whirring and puffing of the delicate silver instruments on their spindle-legged tables and Fawkes trilling some soft notes from where he sat on his perch.

"I do," he answered finally. "But Tom was never able to penetrate the castle's defences in the past. I don't have reason to believe he will succeed now."

If Snape felt uncomfortable with this casual address of a wizard who had terrorised the British wizard community for more than a decade AND had been his former master it did not show in his voice.

"Gringotts has never been violated too."

"True. Nevertheless, Nicolas and I are resolved to keep the Stone under closer observation from now on. And that would hardly be possible if it was to stay in its vault at the bank."

Snape opened his mouth and shut it again. For several seconds he just continued to glare at the older man and then turned his head away and looked at a high, wooden frame on two clawed feet, big enough to hold a life-sized portrait and standing with its plain back turned to the room.

"What's that?"

Dumbledore stilled the movement of his hand and sighed inwardly.

The past ten years - or almost ten years - had turned out every bit the struggle he had expected them to be. Right from the moment he had taken the younger wizard into his staff after the hearing in front of the Wizengamot it had been clear that any outside sign of obedience or respect would be nothing more than a thin veil over the irrational ire burning sometimes so brightly in those hard, obsidian eyes. Severus was like a hot cauldron that did not care if it burned the friendly or the unfriendly hand.

He was a terrible teacher of course. True, those students who reached and survived his N.E.W.T. classes often started admittedly outstanding careers but unfortunately their number was far outstripped by those dissolving into tears under his sharp tongue. Impatient, harsh and cynical he was not the least inclined to make concessions to anyone who did not pay the demanded respect and dedication to his beloved potions. And beloved they were however violently he would have rejected the idea.

Like most teachers he tended to favour his own house and its Quidditch team more or less openly. It was a natural consequence of encouraging competition the way it had been done at Hogwarts from the very first day and Dumbledore had long accepted that even his staff was only human in the end. Or at least human enough to fall prey to human nature. Besides, the favouritism of one person alone never changed the balance of points that much, not while the other teachers where there to counteract the effects. Severus was just more ruthless in his actions or maybe more honest ... or arrogant because he knew his position was secure.

Still - annoying, nerve-wracking and even downright infuriating as Severus's wild and sometimes aimless resistance was, despite his many shortcomings and reckless temper ... Dumbledore knew it was exactly this constant provocation that had kept him alive, alert, had sharpened his mind and wits and had effectively saved him from the fatal mistake of slackening his vigilance as it happened so often in times of peace and to the best of men. Maybe it was unfair to use the other man that way. Maybe Severus too drew some strange kind of satisfaction from their verbal slaughter. Maybe it was simply his nature to fight against any restrictions placed on him even if he had accepted them willingly. Of all Occlumens Dumbledore had known in his long life Severus was the only one who built his mental walls with cold anger.

And he had - much to Dumbledore's surprise - turned out a good Head of Slytherin. Within a few years and even without many words or showing much compassion for his charges he had restored the house's crushed moral and reputation after Voldemort's downfall, had awakened the subdued fire of its students ambition once more to full blaze and led them to a truly amazing winning streak in the Hogwarts House Championship that was unheard-of in the annals of the school. But since Dumbledore had been most concerned about the prospect of a dishonoured Slytherin House producing Dark Wizards out of despair rather than believe he was perfectly satisfied with decking the Great Hall in green at any end-of-year feast if only ONE witch or wizard graduating from this house had realized that hard work and dedication could bring the same recognition as shadow tactics and dark arts.

Dumbledore's eyes wandered to the delicate silver instruments decorating his office, whirring away on their spindle-legged tables and every now and then releasing tiny puffs of smoke.

It was amazing how picturesque they looked. Funny and curious, like children's toys. But they were not. They had never been. Dark detectors had many forms and Sneakoscopes were but one of them. Although only the most accomplished witches and wizards would be able to recognize THIS special arrangement for what it was. Even fewer who would be able to guess its sole purpose or comprehend the gravity of the change in its behaviour that had taken place only a short month ago. But he knew. He understood. And this warning in combination with the alarming, yet frustratingly vague rumours that had reached his ears out of the dense forests of Albania had persuaded him to make up his mind and contact his old friend Nicolas Flamel.

"It's my own humble addition to our little obstacle course to protect the Stone," Dumbledore finally answered Snape's question. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Unfortunately it still needs a good deal of adjustment so I very likely will not be able to fix it until after Christmas. I will have it moved to one of the empty classrooms in the meantime."

"I see." Snape considered the frame with renewed interest. Its edges glittered golden in a late ray of sunlight.

Dumbledore looked at the piece of parchment covered with Professor McGonagall's impeccable handwriting that was lying in front of him.

"There is something else I wanted to talk to you about, Severus."

Snape gave him a guarded look from behind the greasy curtain of his hair.

Dumbledore ran one finger along the neat column in green ink. "I think there's no need to point out that we will have a ... rather interesting collection of new first-years this autumn."

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly but his only answer was to lower his chin a bit more so that his face was nearly completely hidden behind the black strands. Dumbledore looked back down on the list.

"There will be a bit more than the average number of Muggle-born but Flitwick was quite pleased with his visits this time. And naturally several children coming from mixed marriages." He carefully refrained from looking up again. "Then really a good deal of the old pure-blood family names ... Susan Bones, for example, I just talked to her grandmother the other day. Nott, Crabbe, Goyle ... MacDougal ... and of course Draco Malfoy. By the way, how is your acquaintance with the Malfoy's doing these days?"

Fawkes quietly sung a pearly little melody. The portraits were still snoring and breathing with perfect ease. Snape's unreadable gaze rested on the piece of parchment with the names then he lifted it slowly.

"We correspond. As usual."

"So." Dumbledore clasped his hands loosely. "I imagine Lucius Malfoy would be very pleased to hear of his son's progress from you. And if young Mr Malfoy's reports would indicate your ... special assistance with it he might find it even more pleasing."

"Are you suggesting I should favour Draco Malfoy?" Snape's black eyes were glittering strangely.

"I am suggesting that staying on good terms with Mr Malfoy would be ... convenient."

"Of course." Just the barest hint of irony tinged Snape's silky voice.

"Of course," repeated Dumbledore softly. He looked back down. "We will have another Weasley this year."

Snape produced a short sound that seemed to be a cross between a snort and a groan.

"Well, I guess he cannot be worse than the twins." Dumbledore frowned at the list with a slightly doubtful expression. "Although I must admit that they can be a BIT trying sometimes. Professor Kettleburn was almost hysterical that one occasion never seen him like that ... anyway, the rest was not that bad. Young Percy is rather uncomplicated and Bill made an excellent Head Boy ... and after this year, there's only the girl left and she should be the smallest problem."

This time the sound Snape produced was definitely a snort. Dumbledore cleared his throat and once more traced the list of names with his finger. It came to rest beside a certain line. There was no difference in the neat green letters. No sign of their importance, of the things that could have been. Although no one knew that outside this room. Slowly his steady gaze wandered further down and stopped at a second name, written as evenly as all the rest. He had always admired Minerva's self-control.

"And then," Dumbledore said calmly, soberly, "there will be Harry Potter ... and Neville Longbottom."

The humming of the instruments was the only sound disturbing the silence in the large office. Fawkes had stilled on his perch. The portraits were no longer snoring.

Dumbledore looked at his Potions master over the rim of his half-moon spectacles and wondered not for the first time how one could hate one boy so much for what he WAS by some strange twist of fate while hating the other just as fiercely for what he was NOT for the same reason. But now was not the time to touch this old argument.

"You know that the debt you owed to James Potter for saving your life was never repaid."

Snape's dark eyes turned slowly his direction. A terrible, a frightening fire burning deep within them.

"And I'm sure I need not mention the delicacy of the circumstances we'll find ourselves in this year."

Still the Potions master said nothing just looked at the older wizard.

"Earlier you pointed out - very correctly - that the mere presence of the Philosopher's Stone will draw much unwanted attention. Dangerous attention. Especially for the boy. But much as I despise having them both here at the same time, the prospect of the Stone falling in the wrong hands is much more terrible."

Snape's lips were only a thin line.

"Severus."

"Oh, all right! All RIGHT!" barked Snape. "I will look after the brat! There, are you satisfied?"

"Perfectly, yes, thank you." Dumbledore was very careful to keep his face neutral.

"But after this year the debt will be over and done with, do you understand?"

"I don't think anyone could ask more."

"Fine!"

"Fine."

For a moment they sat in silence. Then Snape suddenly pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

"And what do I do if it IS the Dark Lord who is after the Stone?"

Dumbledore considered the younger wizard calmly.

"Then you will STAY AWAY no matter the circumstances and contact me at once. As long as you do not meet him face to face you'll always have a loophole left. Here -" He reached into a drawer and took out a small rectangular card and pushed it across the desk. "- touch it with your wand and I will instantly know where you are and come to that very spot as fast as I can."

Snape picked up the card and stared down at a tiny picture-Dumbledore who gave him a conspiratorial wink. A strange look passed across his sallow features. "A Chocolate Frog card."

"Yes." Dumbledore smiled. "Not the usual way of contact, I know, but drawing much less attention."

Snape only grunted and shoved the card in a pocket. "Anything else?"

"Just one thing. I would appreciate it if you left Neville alone."

A dangerous light shone briefly in Snape's dark eyes. "Is that an order?"

Dumbledore returned his gaze for a long moment. "No."

"Good." Snape stood with threatening elegance. "If that was all now..."

"I think so." Dumbledore calmly put the list aside and reached for another piece of parchment. "Would you please tell Minerva I'd like to see her as soon as possible?"

"Of course. Headmaster." Snape turned and strode towards the door but stopped when his eye once more fell on the large frame. He hesitated but then his curiosity got the better of him and he turned back. "Headmaster?"

"Yes?"

"May I?"

Dumbledore lifted his head, looked at Snape then his gaze flickered towards the wooden frame and back again. His blue eyes were unreadable. Finally he nodded. "Sure."

Snape's brows knitted in sudden distrust. He shot the other man a suspicious glance, touched instinctively the pocket with his wand and then walked a careful circle around the side of the frame. Dumbledore almost called him back. Almost.

When Snape had reached the other side of the frame he stopped just outside a direct line of sight and tilted his head lightly to get a look. His face froze. Three, four, five heartbeats he simply stared, eyes widened, moving up and down, left to right as he took in whatever he saw. Then he abruptly jerked his gaze away, his profile sharply outlined against one of the many windows overlooking the castle and the grounds. His shoulders heaved once, heaved twice. And with the same abruptness he whirled round, walked briskly to the door and wrenched it open. And stopped. Pale fingers still resting on the heavy brass handle, the other hand braced lightly against the smooth door-frame. Once more his shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath. His head was bent as if deep in thought. Then he turned slightly and looked back into the room. His voice was calm, businesslike, bar any emotion.

"You know, sometimes I really think I hate you, old man."

Then he was gone, closing the door with a small click that seemed to crack as loud as thunder in the still room.

Dumbledore exhaled slowly and quietly withdrew his hand from his wand. He was very aware of Fawkes's beady black eyes resting on him. Very aware that every single portrait along the walls was watching him intently. And for a moment he looked old indeed, weary, the burden of all the long years of his life carved deeply into his face.

"I know, Severus. I know. And one day I will use this hatred and I'm afraid of what I might do."

Meanwhile Snape was sweeping downstairs with billowing robes while the portraits in the corridors turned their heads and started whispering excitedly as soon as he had passed. But he did not care. He wanted to rage, storm, tear down the walls and blast them apart; wanted to pack up and leave the castle at once, abandon the choices of the past. Instead he found himself standing in front of an old, battered corner cupboard in the Potions classroom and pressing his palms against the rough, discoloured wood. And in the silence of the dungeons the faint, throbbing pull of the book he knew hidden inside was like a second heartbeat pulsing through his body. A deep, strangled sob died in his throat.

The Mirror of Erised. Of course he had read about it, had heard of its ancient magic. Your heart's deepest desire. And the truth hurt. The truth hurt so much. Snape slowly closed his eyes and the first tear of more than fifteen years slid silently down his cheek.

Lily. He had seen Lily. Not the girl he had known but the matured woman she would be now, radiating with life, a brilliant smile on her lips as she reached out and proudly ruffled the unruly dark hair of a skinny, bespectacled boy standing at her side. Her eyes, her entire face shining with happiness as she leaned back into the loving arms of her husband, James Potter.