A/N: Thank you so much for all your reviews!

Chapter Four
June, 1976

Severus nearly bowled over a pair of second-year girls as he stormed through the Slytherin Common Room and down the stairs to the fifth-year boys' dormitory. The door slammed satisfyingly behind him and Severus allowed himself the dramatics of throwing his satchel onto the stone floor and throwing himself onto his four-poster.

And then, since he was already apparently trapped in some sort of low-budget teenaged melodrama, he grabbed his pillow, covered his face with it, and groaned in frustration.

The door suddenly flew open and Severus pointed his wand at it. He sat up and let the pillow fall into his lap.

Marty Wilkes was standing in the doorway, scowling. "I don't know what sort of petty personal issues you're dealing with, Snape," he said, crossing his arms. "And frankly I don't care. But some of us have our NEWTs tomorrow, and some of us won't be getting a second chance at them. So please." Wilkes affected an exaggeratedly fake smile. "Do try to resist acting like the child that you are and kindly shut the hell up."

Severus scowled and gave into the temptation to throw his pillow at Wilkes, but it simply bounced harmlessly off of the newly-closed door.

Severus fell back onto the pillow-less mattress and closed his eyes.

He could not believe how monumentally he had erred. Not only had he severely misspoken and given Lily cause for offence—in retrospect, it was obvious how ill she would take to a (so undeservedly) superior attitude (who did he think he was to tell Lily Evans what to do?). And what kind of idiot was he to so poorly choose his words that the most brilliant woman he'd ever known believed he was insulting her intelligence?

Severus pulled his glasses off his face, tossed them on the bed next to his head, and jammed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes.

And then he'd gone and drawn attention to himself in a worse way than he had yet considered possible. Rosier—who, admittedly, had probably known him better as a teenager than anybody else at this damned school—had already been suspicious of the change in Severus' behaviour, and now Severus had physically attacked the boy for utilizing a word that he himself had all too publically bandied about by this time—

Severus groaned again, albeit more quietly.

It was, really, all Potter's fault. If that son of a crup hadn't already shoved him off the cliff of juvenile irrationality, Severus would have simply ignored Rosier and headed into dinner. In fact, if Potter hadn't shown up in the first place, Severus might be taking Lily on a walk around the lake right now—

Severus quickly shook his head, hopping off of that train of thought before it progressed any further. He'd already been the unwitting participant in more than one rather uncouth dream (one of which had unpleasantly caused him to remember one of the less hygienic and more potentially humiliating facets of adolescence) and he had no intention of allowing his conscious mind to provide more fodder for his unconscious. It was… not right.

Not for Lily.

So Severus' tasks were twofold. He had to somehow smooth over the…well, the stabbing incident (it wasn't a proper stabbing—nothing had been punctured, as he'd been driving down the base end of his wand—but, well), and he had to apologise to Lily.

The former was undoubtedly the more important, but Severus knew it was the latter that would prey upon his conscience.

Voices in the corridor grew in volume. The door handle turned and Severus quickly spelled his bedcurtains closed, Charming them for privacy.

Eventually he fell asleep.

It was only years of habit that woke Severus at an early hour, as his curtains were still spelled for silence and there was, naturally, no growing sunlight to speak of in the dungeon rooms. But Severus still managed to wake before any of his dormmates and, feeling particularly surly, indulged his melancholy one last time by choosing to eschew his morning shower—who cared, after all, what his hair looked like, and it wasn't as though one shower ever made a difference anyway—and skulking out of his dormitory wearing yesterday's wrinkled, slept-in robes. (He did, at least, wipe the smears off his glasses.)

He breakfasted with the seventh-years (to their obvious distaste). He had intended to revise his copious Herbology notes one last time but, he realized with a pang of annoyance, must have neglected to place them in his satchel before fleeing the dungeons. Instead, he nursed his single cup of tea with an immense focus.

The written exam was uneventful; although Severus did not, in fact, remember in minute detail every single plant discussed therein, the ample time he had had for revision had equipped him with more than a glancing knowledge of each. Fortunately, he was able to make up for his only basic knowledge of some plants by his extensive knowledge of others' uses in Potions and Healing. All in all, he was rather confident of an O.

Lunch brought two rather unwelcome surprises. In his efforts to avoid Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery until such a time as he judged their tempers to have cooled, he did not adequately conceal himself from passing Gryffindors. He only barely managed to avoid a repeat of last night's not-stabbing incident when someone edged into his corner of the Entrance Hall and tapped him smartly on the shoulder.

Severus whirled around to discover, much to his surprise, Remus Lupin.

"Hello," the werewolf said. "Might I have a word?"

Severus, seeing that the boy was quite alone, crossed his arms. "Have it," he said.

Lupin sighed. "With a bit more privacy, perhaps?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "Muffliato," he muttered with a flick of his wand.

Lupin's eyes widened. "Does that do what it sounds like?"

Severus cursed inwardly—of course, that particular spell hadn't found its way into common Hogwarts usage until well into his seventh year. But there was nothing for it now. "Quite," he said.

"Very nice," Lupin said earnestly.

Severus stared at him.

"Right, then," Lupin said, visibly steeling himself. "Look. Snape. I was here last night, before dinner."

"Imagine," said Severus dryly. "In the Entrance Hall, before a scheduled meal."

"Yes, well." Lupin rolled his eyes. "Thank you. I mean I saw what happened with you and Rosier."

"So did a lot of people." Severus leaned against the wall, a posture of indifference.

"Will you listen to me?" Lupin said, annoyance finally visible on his young face. "I also heard what happened with you and Rosier."

Severus flushed. He had no idea how close Lupin had been standing—he hadn't even seen him enter the room—and he had no idea if the rumours of werewolves' superior hearing were fact, but it was clear from Lupin's damnably earnest expression that the boy was not bluffing. "Really," he said.

"Yes, really." Lupin cocked his head to one side. "So. Given our history, and what I rather thought were your politics, I thought it prudent to ask you…"

"Yes, what?" Severus snapped.

Lupin smiled crookedly. "What exactly are you playing at, Snape?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Severus said. He turned to leave, but Lupin caught his elbow in a surprisingly steely grip.

"Ah, but I'm sure you do," Lupin said softly. "And I'd like to know, as I said, what exactly you're playing at."

Severus succeeded in tearing his arm from Lupin's hand. "What do you care?" he sneered.

"Well," Lupin said calmly, "a certain dear friend and fellow Prefect of mine has shown a rather…optimistic willingness to accept your apparent…change of heart. And honestly, at first I thought you just wanted back into her good graces. But—but last night went far beyond trying to impress a girl. And I," Lupin said, drawing himself up to his (frankly unimpressive) full height, "would like to know why."

"Don't tell me you've decided to give Potter some competition for the lady's heart," Severus said nastily.

Lupin snorted. "Hardly. Lily is a friend, Snape. That may be a foreign concept to you—"

Severus rolled his eyes and started past Lupin, who simply stepped sideways and blocked him with his shoulder. "Sorry," Lupin said. "That wasn't exactly where I'd meant to go with this conversation. But… Jesus, you don't make it easy, do you?"

Severus sighed. "Carry on with it, then, Lupin."

"Yes. Well. I'll return to my original question. What are you playing at?"

Severus took a step backwards so that he could face Lupin head-on. Staring him down from behind tinted glass, Severus said, "I'm leaving Hogwarts next week."

Lupin shrugged. "So I hear."

"What do you imagine the employment prospects are for a sixteen-year-old wizard from working-class Manchester?" Severus asked blandly.

Lupin looked thoughtful. "Go on."

"And if that sixteen-year-old is known to hold controversial—nay, in some circles, offensive politics—especially when selfsame sixteen-year-old has not the social background to keep him above reproach…"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Do you," he continued, "imagine that his employment prospects improve at all in that scenario?"

Lupin nodded. "No," he said, "I don't suppose they do." Lupin held out a hand. "I must confess, I didn't really expect a straight answer from you," he said, "so. Thank you."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."

Lupin sighed. "Very well then." He returned his hand to his pocket and turned towards the Entrance Hall.

"But Lupin."

The words had escaped before Severus could stop himself, and he cursed himself mentally while Lupin turned back around. "Yes?" the werewolf said.

Since Severus had already spoken, there was nothing for it. "Lily is my friend," he said quietly.

Lupin, to Severus' surprise, simply nodded. "I'm well aware of that," he replied. And then he continued into the Great Hall.

Severus was still processing the interaction as he finished his lunch at the farthest end of the Slytherin table (several places down from the nearest student), which was when he encountered the second unwelcome surprise of the afternoon—Slughorn caught his eye and beckoned him over to the Head Table, which Severus did with no small amount of trepidation, having assumed that Rosier (or another Prefect) must have reported last night's incident.

Strangely, Slughorn didn't so much as acknowledge the tussle, and instead greeted Severus with, "Good afternoon, Severus. I trust today's exams are going well?"

"Yes, sir," Severus said.

"Did you…have a rough night?" Slughorn said, suddenly frowning.

"No, sir," Severus replied evenly. "I went to bed rather early, in fact."

"Hmm." Slughorn leaned forward over the table and said quietly, "I do hope you plan to maintain a higher standard of, er, personal hygiene once you enter the professional world, Mr Snape."

Severus flushed. "Merely the stress of exams, sir," he said.

"Naturally, naturally," Slughorn said more loudly, leaning back. "So I'll push back my invitation to, say, six-thirty? That should give you time enough to freshen up."

"Your invitation, sir?" Severus repeated.

"Ah, yes," Slughorn said merrily. "We still have a few details about your employment to discuss, and I thought it best to do so over dinner. Would you care to join me for a spot of supper in my office this evening?"

Severus glanced back to the Slytherin table, where Rosier et al were still sending him death glares, and didn't glance back at the Gryffindor table, where nothing of true import could possibly be happening.

"I'd be delighted, sir," Severus replied.

"Good, good. Six-thirty, then." Slughorn beamed and waved him off.

Severus retreated to his place at the table, skirting carefully around a certain contingent of Slytherins, and hoping it wouldn't be terribly obvious.

The practical examination went almost as smoothly as the written—although there was one particularly ferocious snargaluff, Severus dealt with it swiftly and sternly and had no further problems during the test. Madame Marchbanks even commended him for his gentle harvesting technique, remarking, "Excellent—any potioneer would be happy to receive such well-handled ingredients."

As Severus well knew, of course.

Once the exam was over—Severus was confident of a high score—he fled back down to the dungeons to shower and throw on fresh robes (the unlucky Mulciber once more unknowingly lending Severus his comb). With no small amount of dread, he mounted the steps to Slughorn's office. The door was open, so Severus cleared his throat and said, "Professor?"

Slughorn, who was fussing with a tray on the table in the corner, waved him in. "Come in, come in," he said. "The house elves just delivered our dinner—looks smashing—have a seat!"

Severus drew up one of Slughorn's armchairs and attempted to balance on the front edge of the seat (or else risk being swallowed by the upholstery). "Thank you for inviting me, sir," he said as he sat.

"Not at all, not at all," Slughorn replied absently. "As I said, I wanted to discuss your forthcoming not-yet-apprenticeship with you." He winked at Severus. Severus stared back.

"Now," Slughorn said, taking his seat and lifting his fork, "it has come to my attention that you have not yet had your seventeenth birthday."

Given that he was in his fifth year at Hogwarts, Severus had rather thought that was obvious, but he simply nodded and said, "Yes, sir. I'll come of age next January."

"Yes, yes." Slughorn took a bite of food, chewed, and swallowed. "So," he said, cutting into his meat, "we may have been a bit hasty in arranging for you to take up at the shop."

Severus' eyes flew open behind his glasses. "Sir?"

Slughorn patted his mouth delicately with his napkin. "Don't misunderstand, I'm certain it can still be worked out," he said. "But we will need your guardian's permission, since you're a minor yet."

Severus felt a wave of relief. "Oh, sir," he said. "I thought that was all taken care of."

"I'm sorry?"

Severus drummed his long fingers on the edge of the table. "Well, as you know, my…mother recently passed away."

Slughorn lowered his fork. "Yes, Severus," he said. "I do believe that has come up in conversation."

"Yes, well," Severus said quietly, shooting a glance at the open office door, "I'm not sure if you're aware, but my father was, ah…not a wizard."

"'Was,' you say?" Slughorn repeated blandly.

"Is not a wizard," Severus corrected. "Although, since it has been many years since the man has been anything like a father to me, perhaps it might be most accurate to say that the man who was my father is not…as I've said."

Slughorn set his fork down. "Do go on."

"And I'm sure you also know," Severus continued, "that my mother was the last of the Princes, as her last remaining aunt passed away some five years ago."

Slughorn nodded, and Severus continued, "So, as I'm sure you're aware, given my near-majority and my lack of a Wizarding relative, all the permission I'll need…is from the institution currently acting in loco parentis." Severus smiled wryly. "And, as my Head of House, that would be…you, sir."

Slughorn folded his hands over his stomach. "Well done, Severus," he said. "I do believe you are correct." He regarded Severus for a moment longer, and then added, "Of course, once you've left school, you'll need someone to act nominally in the same way until you've had your birthday, but—" He waved his hand dismissively. "—I'll speak with Arsenius about that. It should be a simple contractual agreement that names him as your guardian until such a time as you reach seventeen or your relationship changes to that of master and apprentice." Slughorn winked. "Whichever comes first."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now," Slughorn said, picking up his fork and gesturing with it, "regarding the specifics of your employment at the shop. I hope you don't mind that I've taken the liberty of negotiating on your behalf, as Arsenius can be somewhat…unyielding."

That was an…interesting idea, since Severus knew that Slughorn was, in fact, at least part-owner in the shop and therefore somewhat less than unbiased regarding its finances, but there was nothing that he could truly do about it. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"Not at all, not at all. So. As an interim summer employee, you will be given room and board—the flat, as Arsenius said, is above the shop, and Arsenius' housekeeper will be by weekly to replenish its larder—as well as a small stipend to cover your other living expenses." Slughorn paused, and added, "Your work clothes will be provided for you."

Although, frankly, he didn't really care, Severus decided it prudent to ask, "The stipend, sir?"

"Ah, yes," Slughorn said. "As I say, it's quite small—just enough to cover a few incidentals, as your room and board are taken care of—but, well. Three Galleons a week, which you'll receive Fridays."

"Three Galleons, sir?" Severus repeated. Really, that seemed more than fair. If he were in the position to hire a shop boy the lad would be lucky to get one.

"I know, I know, it isn't much," Slughorn said. "Believe me, I tried to talk Arsenius up—he seemed to be under the impression that you'd be lucky to receive one Galleon a week!"

Severus rather suspected he'd like Master Jigger.

"And I told him," Slughorn continued, tapping the table with one pudgy finger, "that no prize student of mine would go to work on elf wages."

"Thank you, sir," Severus said, eyebrows raised.

"Certainly." Slughorn beamed. "Now, the shop is open Tuesday through Sunday, ten to six, and naturally you'll be in charge of straightening up the shop and ordering supplies, and so forth. Arsenius will go through all the details with you next week, of course."

"And I suppose brewing time will be negotiated should I be taken on as an apprentice?" Severus asked.

Slughorn tapped the side of his nose. "Exactly."

That was much as Severus expected. Really, the more he thought about it, the more his respect for Jigger grew—Merlin knew Severus wouldn't allow a boy with unproven qualifications to touch a thing in his laboratory. Once his brewing abilities had been established, though, Jigger would surely be happy to have his assistance.

"Now, on that subject," Slughorn said after another bite, "I also wanted to speak with you about Arsenius."

Severus nodded, and Slughorn continued, "He is…well, what I've understood from the recent Hogwarts graduates he's had manning the shop over the last decade, Arsenius can be…demanding."

Severus shrugged. "He has every right to be."

"Quite right, quite right," Slughorn said. "But he's very particular about the shop, and certainly about the stockroom and laboratory. You see, about ten years ago, we lost the shop manager, who had been running it since we bought the damned thing. And Arsenius, perhaps unfairly, has the regrettable tendency to hold his young employees to that same high standard."

"The shop manager, sir?" Severus repeated.

"My sister," Slughorn said. "She passed away—rather young for a witch—only seventy! It was a hard blow for all of us."

"My condolences, sir."

Slughorn waved him off. "Thank you, Severus, but we carry on. Except, as I say, for Arsenius' insistence that the shop be run exactly as it was when Hortencia was there to do it. So, my advice to you is this—be patient."

"Certainly, sir," Severus replied easily.

"I cannot stress this enough," Slughorn said, suddenly serious. "It may very well be a struggle for you—but I am certain you recognise the importance of maintaining such an advantageous relationship."

"Absolutely." Severus wasn't daft. Why would he ever endanger an opportunity to study under Arsenius Jigger?

"Yes, I'm sure it goes without saying." Slughorn lifted his fork once more and, a surprised expression flitting across his round face, said, "Why, Severus, I've hardly given you a moment to eat! Please, I insist, you must at least sample each dish—the elves prepare a bit richer fare for me than for the Great Hall; it's not to be missed."

Severus, who had been eyeing the glistening gravy warily, did as he was told.

In what seemed to be becoming a habit for Severus, he braced himself for battle before pushing open the door to his dormitory. Rosier, Avery, and Mulciber were there, reclining all-too-casually on their respective beds, and much to Severus' surprise, greeted him as he walked in.

"Hello," Mulciber said. "We missed you at dinner."

Eerily, Avery smiled.

"I ate in Slughorn's office," Severus said, seeing no reason to dissemble. He walked over to his bed and, behind his back, flicked his wand at it, silently running through his standard list of detection spells. It didn't seem to have been tampered with. He guardedly sat down.

His three dormmates were still watching him, Rosier with a particularly suspicious smirk. "Did your exam go well?" Rosier asked, rubbing the bruise on the top of his hand.

"Yes, quite," Severus said.

This was surreal.

"Good," Avery chimed in. "We're glad to hear it."

This time, Mulciber smiled.

"Right." Severus wasn't going to play whatever game the three of them had decided they were playing, so he simply said, "Good night, then," and closed his bedcurtains.

Right before he put up his privacy spells, he heard Mulciber mutter, "Good luck with your revision tomorrow."

Rosier hushed him.