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

Author's note: Snape said in OotP that he had been teaching at Hogwarts for fourteen years and so most fans seem to have concluded that he got his position BEFORE Voldemort's downfall the autumn after Harry's first birthday. However, for the sake of this story I have taken a slightly different approach and assumed that he got employed shortly AFTER Lily and James Potter's death. Since Umbridge questioned him in October it would still be almost fourteen years, close enough to justify his answer. Thank you to everybody who took the time and reviewed this story so far - it's always great to have some feedback.

Time frame: Not long after Lily and James Potter's death and Voldemort's disappearance. Harry is one year old.

- Late November, London

It was normally a very quiet little street. In the very heart of London but too far away from any famous attraction, the buildings old but not old enough to draw tourists, a pub with tinted windows but not the least fashionable and only known to those living in close neighbourhood. The small offices on both sides - old-fashioned and lacking the now wanted space and elegance - changed their owners too frequently to allow any closer acquaintances. Nevertheless, the general air of neglect had still something oddly charming, the pavement was clean and no rubbish was carelessly left in dark corners. It was simply an ordinary, quiet little street somewhere in London where people minded their own business. Normally. But somehow times were all but normal these days.

It had all started the night of Halloween. The first astonishing sight had been flocks of owls coming and going busily in all directions and sometimes settling for a rest on the rooftops of the unimpressive medium-sized buildings. Sticking their heads together as if conversing secretly. Then there had been hurrying figures with long cloaks and pointed hats, always stepping in and out of the bright red telephone box standing somewhat forlorn in front of a blank wall. Curiously enough, they sometimes did not seem to come back out of the box or - even more irritating - if they did they seemed to have never stepped into it to begin with.

Once this strange traffic had started it continued the next day and the next night and even the following week. And whenever two of the cloaked figures met in the street there was hand-shaking, shoulder-clapping, excited whispers and even enthusiastic hugs and hopping around. The hugs had waned the longer November lasted. The faces of the figures had become more serious and grim. There could now be seen long rows of the strangers filing silently into the red telephone box, speaking only in hushed voices. When they came out again their expressions were often even graver than before, sometimes agitated, angry or satisfied, their speech hard and abrupt.

But the strangest thing about the whole business was that not one of the normal inhabitants of the little street seemed to find this in any way unusual or interesting. Yes, if asked they would have denied noticing anything out of the ordinary at all. People? Oh, yes, they had seen people but they had not looked funny. The telephone box? A nuisance because it had been out of order since the very first day but other than that there was nothing wrong with it. On the other hand ... if anybody HAD seen or heard anything they would have forgotten it very soon. This was the visitors' entrance to the Ministry of Magic after all and the wizards who had put up the Muggle-wards in the quiet little street had done their job very thoroughly.

So no clerk, no landlord bothered to look up when one cold, bright November morning once more a whispering crowd of witches and wizards approached the telephone box and disappeared into it.

They were spectators, of course, coming to the trials which had started as soon as the first celebrations following the Dark Lord's disappearance had been over, and were held deep down in the lowest levels of the Ministry in front of the Wizengamot. Some of them came for the thrill of seeing imprisoned Death Eaters. Some because they felt it their duty. And some because they had lost relatives or friends in the long, silent horrors of He Who Must Not Be Named's invisible reign. But whatever their motives, in ONE respect they felt just like the rest of the wizarding community in Britain - as long as they did not hide a dark secret in their hearts: They rejoiced that the time of terror was over. They grieved for the loss of life it had taken to end it and especially for the death of that young couple in Godric's Hollow. The Potters had been liked by many. They were awed that a little boy had not only survived a killing curse but had at the same time broken the power of the feared Dark Lord. But only the silver-haired wizard who left the telephone box in the early afternoon was simply and deeply terrified.

Because the man who had once been known as Tom Riddle had only vanished and not died. And he could not explain it. Little Harry, yes, that he understood. It had never happened before and might never happen again but the ancient magic Lily Potter had wrought in her love and despair was still something logical, real and tangible, had left its traces in the stones of the ruin and in the very skin of her son. But although her sacrifice had done the unthinkable and deflected an Avada Kedavra, although it had repelled it and thrown it back on the dark wizard who had cast it ... Voldemort had not died. His body was destroyed, his soul had fled but still he was not dead. And THIS scared Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore more than anything else he had ever encountered in his long life.

A fear no one would have thought possible hearing him now address the considerably younger, greasy-haired man of not more than twenty-two or twenty-three who had left the telephone box behind him.

"Well, Severus, that didn't go badly, now did it?"

Severus Snape, the greasy-haired young man, gave the older wizard a sour look. "You were not sitting on that chair."

"True enough. Nevertheless, I am pleased the Wizengamot cleared you so promptly of all charges." Especially after the fight he had had with Barty Crouch to keep the Aurors from performing Priori Incantatem on the wand the younger wizard was just taking out of one of his pockets. But Dumbledore did not mention that.

Snape snorted. He ran his fingers along the smooth wood of the wand then held it in front of his eyes. His voice was still sharp and scathing. "They would have cleared a giant if the mighty Dumbledore had vouched for him."

Dumbledore only smiled mildly. "Yes, I am quite popular at the moment, am I not?"

He knew best it would not last. In a few months the first would start to remember that they had always considered him an old troublemaker and then things would speedily return back to normal. It had been just the same after the Grindelwald war. Although Grindelwald had been a hopeless amateur in comparison to Tom's fine web of lies, fear and favours. And calculated brutality.

Oh, yes, Albus Dumbledore remembered any single Muggle house he had entered in the past eleven years after the Death Eaters had been there and the Dark Mark was hanging over it. He remembered each single face of those men, women and children who had had nothing to do with the war that had ended their lives or taken their sanity. To the end of his life he would not forget the expression in their eyes - astonishment, fear and accusation because no one had been there to protect them, because HE had not been there to protect them... Sometimes he could not sleep at night. Sometimes even the pensieve could not give him rest from his guilt. Because he SHOULD have done more. SHOULD have been able to do more. Instead he had seen his friends, his charges, die one by one inside the Order of the Phoenix and outside. Seen them die, disappear, vanish without a trace... Some of them had been so young. Innocent. Some he had seen growing up, mature, only to be cut down in the prime of life. Some had been old comrades from the past; wasted, all wasted because he had not been able to protect them. They had believed in him, trusted him and he had failed their trust. Sometimes he did not know how to live with this responsibility. And it was not over yet.

Slowly the Dumbledore's old eyes wandered back to the dark-haired young man at his side and for a moment he thought of another black-haired young man and his heart ached. He had never misjudged a person as badly as he had Sirius Black and never with more disastrous results. He had never thought the power of friendship could fail so completely. Not after he had been presented such an outstanding example of its strength and endurance a little more than a year ago when his angry companion had knocked so rudely at Hogwarts' gates and disturbed his evening tea.

Dumbledore silently shook his head as he watched Snape's fathomless black eyes checking his wand with almost obsessive intensity. So high, those inner walls, so smooth, so impenetrable, so heavy ... slowly but inevitably crushing the tortured soul inside underneath their weight. He stifled a sigh of pity. Did this young man have even the slightest idea what he had done to himself? Occlumency was considered an obscure branch of magic for a reason and the damage it could do if taken too far was terrible. And in this case it had definitely been taken too far. He very much doubted Severus had cried when he had heard of her death. He very much doubted he was still able to.

"I trust everything is in order?" Dumbledore asked calmly as Snape gave the wand a final wave.

"It seems so." Snape put the wand back in his pocket, pointedly avoiding looking at the other wizard. "Don't you have to go back down for the next trial?"

"Oh, I still have some minutes."

Silence fell between them. Snape stared up at the spotless blue sky as if angry at the brightness of the day or maybe the world in general. Dumbledore watched him quietly. Their breath formed little clouds in the cold, clear air.

"Where is the boy?" Snape asked suddenly.

Dumbledore pursed his lips. "At a safe place."

His only answer was a derisive snort. Snape's thin lips became even thinner. Dumbledore followed his gaze up into the endless blue. When he spoke again his voice was soft.

"It was not Harry's fault."

Snape's head jerked round. "He was BORN!"

And that - thought Dumbledore to himself as he held the gaze of those burning, obsidian eyes - was unfortunately true. Harry had been born. That had been enough. That and another man's decision based on a half-heard prophecy and prejudices, the decision for the half-blood and not the pure, the decision for the resounding name of Potter and not the quieter reputation of Longbottom. Chance. Coincidence. Fate. Nothing more. And nothing less.

"Have you already decided what you will do now that you are free?"

The fire in Snape's eyes wilted for a moment and something else shone through. Maybe pain. Maybe defeat. Maybe something completely different. He lifted his left arm and turned it lightly that the black sleeve of his worn robe fell back and revealed pale, spotless skin then held his right, unmarked hand at the same height. A strange sarcastic smile played around his lips.

"Am I? Free?"

"For the moment? Yes, I guess so." Dumbledore's eyes were serious as they wandered from the vague, grey shadow that showed for a second on the white skin of Snape's forearm to the invisible burns marring the flesh of his right hand. "For the future..."

Snape snorted bitterly and dropped his arms. "I noticed you did not mention the Dark Mark during the trial. And the Aurors did not search for it. Keeping secrets again, MASTER Dumbledore?"

Any other time Dumbledore would have put the angry young man in his place for using such a tone on him. Any other time. But sometimes it was easier to have a target for your anger. Sometimes it was easier to lash out at anyone around you than to think of what could have been. It was just as well the outburst had not happened in front of the Wizengamot. The old wizard calmly crossed his arms.

"What use would it be to mention something that needs more skill and power than most wizards possess to discover it against the will of those who bear it in the first place, and that has nearly disappeared right now in the second? You did not answer my question, by the way."

"What I will do with my ... FREEDOM?" The younger wizard shrugged carelessly. "I don't know. They always look for good curse breakers in Knockturn Alley. I did it before, I can do it again. And besides, grandfather is not to suppose to live much longer with his illness and all. Now that I am cleared he has no legal reason to disinherit me although he might want to do it just because of that. The house is terrible but it is a roof over the head."

Dumbledore tried not to wince too obviously at this cold-hearted calculation. Not that he held any regard for the old Prince, for none of Snape's family in fact, considering but still... Snape's sardonic smile indicated that he had not been discreet enough.

"Why do you ask, Dumbledore? You've got a proposal for me?"

Dumbledore had regained his usual tranquil composure and nodded. "Indeed, yes, I have. You could come to Hogwarts. With me."

"As what?" The fire was back in Snape's eyes as he fairly spat the words. "As another gamekeeper? As caretaker like that Squib Filch? No, thank you!"

"As a teacher and Head of Slytherin house."

This time he had succeeded in taking the angry young man by surprise, Dumbledore could see that. Ten, twelve seconds Snape was only staring at him with an incredulous half-smile on his lips.

"You would trust ME to give and take points?"

"Within reason, Severus," Dumbledore's voice held a soft warning, "within reason."

Snape continued to stare at him with an expression of bewilderment then he suddenly shook his head. "No. Why? Why are you offering this? I am useless now. I am branded a traitor now that the Wizengamot has cleared me. I can never go back as your spy and there is nothing else I am good for. So what are you playing at?"

"Do you really think so?" Dumbledore cocked one eyebrow. "What was the Dark Lord's last personal order for you before you were no longer allowed in his presence? As a punishment because you were not able to fulfil his request?"

Snape's dark eyes darted back and forth for a moment then fixed back on the older wizard's face.

"To secure a position as teacher at Hogwarts," he said slowly.

Dumbledore smiled and nodded. "Exactly. The order was never taken back, or was it?"

Equally slowly Snape shook his head. "No..."

"So you had failed once but your master's orders remained the same even if he did no longer pay attention to you. Naturally you wanted to regain his approval and you were intelligent enough to see that his first goal was not the job at Hogwarts but rather to get someone close to me," Dumbledore spoke with pointed care. "Unfortunately you could not apply again after you were caught eavesdropping at my door; I would have been too suspicious considering WHAT you had probably heard. You needed a different approach. And so..."

"... I offered my services as a spy," Snape concluded softly. A sly smile touched his lips. "I gained your trust by claiming to regret my decisions. I deceived you, an old trusting fool who believes in the good in people, and fed you with lies and useless information. Of course, SOME of it had to be accurate to keep your interest but that was only a little sacrifice. The Order was never able to hurt our case considerably. And then - I had almost reached my goal and was about to inform the Dark Lord of my accomplishment - he disappeared."

Dumbledore nodded again, the smile on his lips mirroring that on the face of the younger man. "Suddenly you found yourself in a very unexpected position. Your master gone, your fellow Death Eaters scattered all over the country or imprisoned, your secrets revealed to the Ministry."

"Yes." Snape's eyes glittered. "But I had established my role well and anyway, there was no other choice but to stick to it now. And as I hoped you vouched for me in front of all the world and saved me from being send to Azkaban."

"And," Dumbledore finished still smiling, "as a reward and maybe to keep you close for further use, even offered you a position as teacher at Hogwarts. Not suspecting that I had brought a double-agent into the very heart of my inner circle." He once more drew up an eyebrow when he noticed Snape regarding him with a very peculiar look on his face. "What?"

"Why were you not sorted Slytherin?"

"Oh, the Sorting Hat considered it but I was able to persuade it otherwise. So it chose Gryffindor instead." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"To persuade it," Snape repeated disbelievingly.

"Yes. To persuade it." Dumbledore suddenly grew serious again. "We always have a choice, Severus. And it is those choices that show what we are. Or what we are not."

Snape looked away. Somewhere in the quiet little street a window rattled. Then a Muggle stepped out of one of the offices and walked down the street without giving them as much as a glance. The sound of his footsteps grew fainter and fainter until he rounded the corner and was gone.

"I want Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Snape abruptly.

"No."

"Why not? It is the position I was supposed to take."

"I do not think it wise." Dumbledore smiled to take the sting out of his words. "Besides, the last years we seemed to have problems to keep our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for more than four terms. I do not intend to take a risk. I have, however, looked up your old school records and noticed that you always received top grades in Potions."

Snape's expression was suddenly distant. "I did not brew since I left school."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd adjust quickly."

"And somehow I doubt Professor Slughorn would like giving up his post."

"But Professor Slughorn has resigned this August and rather suddenly I might add." Dumbledore met Snape's startled glance. "I'm not surprised you did not hear of it, it happened very shortly after that ugly incident in Newcastle. But what I was about to say... Theodore Furniculli only agreed to be a temporary replacement and only because of our long friendship. Changing a teacher in the middle of the year is not usual of course but I'm the headmaster. And he is a busy man and would be more than glad to hand things over."

AND this arrangement would place Snape safely behind the wards protecting Hogwarts and therefore out of reach of his fellow Death Eaters ... who would soon be after the supposed traitor. But there was no need to point that out. No doubt the young wizard could see the advantages as well as the danger he was in. Probably better than Dumbledore himself, considering the thoughtful frown on his face.

"It would be advisable to ... smooth things over a bit in that regard," Dumbledore said quietly.

Snape nodded reluctantly. "My grandfather is still indebted to the Malfoys. I don't know for sure if Lucius has received the Mark but even if not... Considering his reputation in some circles rumours should reach the right ears anyway."

"A good idea," agreed Dumbledore after thinking for a second. "But you should take things slowly at the moment. There are investigations concerning young Mister Malfoy and I don't want to endanger your position in front of the Ministry. After all I am about to employ an ex-Death Eater at my school so I would like to keep things quiet around you for some time."

Something like unwilling respect shone briefly in Snape's eyes. "I understand."

"Very well."

Silence fell as the two wizards looked at each other, both not entirely sure what they had just gotten themselves into. And as Dumbledore considered the younger man he was almost painfully aware of the unspoken questions standing between them. Questions he would never ask.

Do you know what happened to Caradoc Dearborn? Where you there when Gideon and his brother died? Did you laugh when they tortured that Muggle family in Cambridge? What would have happened if the Aurors had performed Priori Incantatem on your wand?

Then something chimed softly in Dumbledore's pocket. Drawing out his watch he studied it for a moment before putting it away again. He met Snape's dark eyes.

"I must go. I will expect you at Hogwarts, then, this evening whenever it suits you. The house elves will be informed of your coming."

Snape silently inclined his head. And just as silently he turned and strode purposefully down the quiet little street, his winter cloak billowing softly in a fresh breeze.

Dumbledore watched him go, a dark spot in bright daylight, and inhaled deeply before turning himself and stepping back into the telephone box. His strong, old hands rested lightly on top of the phone as the box slowly sank into the ground and the shadows crept over him.

No, it was not over yet. But next time he would be prepared. He would. Be. Prepared.