*Revised 2/16/18

Severus Snape stalked down the candlelit stone halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, dark robes billowing dramatically in his wake. His scowling face was obscured in the dim light, abetting his mysterious aura.

The thin, raven-haired man wound his way down halls, up staircases, and through dank secret passages before finally arriving at his destination on the top floor of the castle – the Headmaster's office. He wondered, not for the first time, why the office had been placed in such an irritatingly obscure place, stalking up to the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance.

The gargoyle's ugly granite face contorted into an irritated grimace as he approached. He snarled back at it. It didn't move.

"Sugar Quills," he muttered as if the items in question were instead a pack of dungbombs. Where the Headmaster came up with such ridiculous passwords...

The gargoyle leapt aside, allowing entrance to the spiral staircase within. Snape stalked up the stairs, pausing as the open doorway revealed the round, airy office within. Spindly, complex instruments stood on various tables throughout the room, whirring and puffing out small colored streams of smoke. A very old man with long gray hair and beard was staring at him from behind a lavish wooden desk, blue eyes twinkling irritatingly. Albus Dumbledore wore a shockingly orange robe adorned with moving neon-blue pixies and a matching pointed hat with a small, sparkling metallic tassel on the end. Sometimes Snape had to wonder if the old codger was colorblind; he chose the most revolting clothes.

"Lemon drop, my boy?" the blue-eyed man questioned genially, holding out a small tin of the muggle sweets.

Rolling his eyes, Severus strode into the room, stopping before the rich oak desk.

"You wished to see me, Headmaster?" he questioned with brevity.

"Ah, yes," the old man said, popping a lemon drop into his mouth, "Always to the point." He rubbed his hands together in thought a moment before gesturing to one of the plush chairs scattered around the office. "Have a seat, my boy," he offered, though the look on the Potions Master's face clearly refused. "I thought I would disclose the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor for this year," he spoke, a flash of some unknown emotion flitting across his crystalline eyes.

"Would that not be best revealed at the pre-term staff meeting, Albus? If there is nothing else, I must get back to my potions. Several are quite time-sensitive and Poppy has requested them before the start of term," Severus snapped quickly, hiding his annoyance at having obviously been passed over for the position once again.

"You see, my boy, I wished to resolve any problems that might occur between you and the new Professor," Headmaster Dumbledore continued happily, as if Severus hadn't even spoken.

The old coot never ceased to annoy him with his constant 'my boy'ing and calling him up at the most inconvenient times of day. He always spoke as if Severus was still a bratty child, not able to choose what was best for himself. Severus tapped his foot impatiently, creating a staccato beat on the wood floor of the office.

Dumbledore didn't look to be moving on anytime soon, so Severus impatiently demanded, "Tell me who the blasted Professor is before my potions explode, Albus."

The Headmaster pushed up his half-moon spectacles on his long, crooked nose, peering at Severus over them and chuckling slightly. He stroked his beard a few moments before replying, "Remus Lupin is to be the new Professor this year, Severus. He-"

"Are you out of your mind, you senile old coot? Black is on the loose! That mongrel could guide the traitor right into the castle under our very noses!" Snape yelled, face pinched in anger and horrible recollection.

"He is entirely qualified, Severus! Your doubts are unfounded; I trust Remus completely. And I'm sure you'll be more than willing to brew him the Wolfsbane Potion throughout the school year to alleviate his condition," Dumbledore spoke firmly over Severus' complaint, obviously having planned for his reaction. "He is no longer the school boy you knew. I ask you to give him a second chance," the Headmaster continued gently, the twinkle in his eyes growing subdued and sorrowful.

The tall, dark man snorted, unamused, glaring daggers at the frail-looking old man. He ignored the obvious apology in his eyes. Apologies didn't save lives.

"A second chance, Albus? You expect me to turn blindly away from all the things that man did? I think not. And you ask me to give up my valuable time to brew the wolf a highly complex, expensive potion?" Severus asked incredulously. How dare the coot ask him to give Lupin, of all people, a second chance, he thought bitterly. Next he would be sending flowers to the Dark Lord!

Albus Dumbledore held up a hand, warning the angry man to control himself, "I will hear no more complaint. If you will not give your Professor Lupin kindness, I at least expect you to give him respect. I will provide the Wolfsbane ingredients from the school budget and draw up a timetable for when it is to be completed each month."

Severus cast the Headmaster a dirty look, nostrils flaring, knowing there would be no arguing with the old coot tonight. "If that is all, Headmaster?" he asked coldly, beginning to turn away.

"Yes, Severus," the old man sighed, sounding as if the world had come to rest on his shoulders. "That is all."

Severus began the long walk back to the dungeons, fuming. Not only did he have to put up with Potter's blasted spawn this year, but his childhood tormentor as well. The start-of-term just looked better and better! Fortunate he didn't run into anyone on his way or they would have had an unfortunate taste of his deep-seeded anger.

Upon reaching his private potions lab he placed his palm on the thick wooden door for a moment, tapping into and releasing the wards. He then threw it open violently, sending it banging against the cold stone wall. Muttering to himself, he set about checking his softly simmering potions. He strode to the end of the line, past five other cauldrons emitting various colored vapors, to check his Dreamless Sleep Potion first. He bent over the cauldron, snarling as he saw it had coagulated into a coal-black mass. Blasted old coot and his meddling interruptions. He would have to restart the Dreamless Sleep in the morning. He vanished the ruined potion with an irritated flick of his wand, moving to the next cauldron.

This cauldron contained a gently simmering lime-green mixture, blue steam slowly rising from its surface. Severus plucked three prepared mint sprigs, dropping them into the cauldron precisely three seconds apart before adding a drop of lavender essence. He then picked up a glass rod, carefully stirring the liquid two times clockwise, then once anti-clockwise, letting a slow stream of magic infuse the concoction. He nodded, pleased, as the potion shimmered, letting off a puff of forest green smoke before turning a dark, emerald green. He turned up the fire with an elegant swoop of his wand, making a mental note to check the potion in five minutes before adding the final ingredient – mistletoe berries.

He continued down the line of cauldrons in this way, always knowing precisely what the potion within needed to perfect it. His knowledge came from his intensive schooling in the art of potion-making, earning himself a mastery at the youngest age recorded. Through the years he found the softly bubbling cauldrons always calmed him, but he found little joy in his work. His true calling had always been the Dark Arts: the one position the Headmaster always denied him.

He returned to the second cauldron a few minutes after adding the last ingredient, peering at the light teal-colored liquid softly bubbling within. He doused the fire, giving it ten minutes to cool before bottling. He moved to the next cauldron, seeing it was also done, but the other three potions still needed time to brew.

Summoning a chair, Severus sank heavily into it, resting his face in his long-fingered, potion-stained hands, lank hair falling messily around his face. The talk with Albus had affected him more than he first thought. Unwanted images and memories swirled round and round his head as if caught in some kind of vicious whirlpool. He rubbed his eyes, frustrated, attempting to clear his mind, but the thoughts just wouldn't leave him tonight. Darn the old coot and his insatiable appetite for meddling in other's affairs, he thought angrily. For that was precisely what Albus was doing with this newest scheme; he was bringing Lupin here to try to achieve some petty reconciliation between two childhood enemies. Well, the codger's effort was in vain. There was too much stagnant water left beneath that bridge for friendliness to ever occur between them, even without Lupin's relations with Black. Honestly, he didn't know what the old man was thinking, permitting the best friend of his- no, she belonged to Potter, he reminded himself bitterly- letting the friend of Lily's betrayer waltz freely around the school. Even thinking of her still sent daggers of icy-cold pain shooting through his heart, which he still possessed, no matter what students might think of him. Sighing, he wondered again at Albus' unfailing, optimistic trust, forever placed in the wrong people. He counted himself among that number. Some just didn't deserve second chances.

Finally, the scent of tar signaling at least one finished potion, he pushed the melancholy thoughts plaguing him aside, rising gracefully to tend to his work. After he was finished bottling and labeling the potions in his neat, spidery handwriting, he cleansed his cauldrons with a muttered spell and sent them off to the cupboard, where they belonged. He then swept from the room, double checking that the wards remained active, before heading to his private quarters deeper in the dungeons. He passed the stretch of wall leading to the Slytherin common room, making an immediate right into an adjacent corridor. His quarters were close enough to his house's common room that he could be present immediately in case of an emergency, but far enough away that he wasn't constantly bothered by the antics of restless children. Few students even knew where his quarters were, which was just the way the mysterious man liked it.

Severus' quarters weren't guarded by a painting or some other frivolous trifle, as many teachers' were, but by highly complex and innovative wards he had designed himself. The private nature of the man combined with the oftentimes volatile and dangerous objects within the rooms contributed to this necessity. Severus melded his magic into the seemingly blank wall, searching out the wards' trigger points that all needed to be activated in specific order and with extremely fast and precise timing. This sequence changed depending on the magical signature of the person keying into the wards. As of yet, the only other person with access to his quarters was Albus, and even then Severus had the option to override his entrance into the rooms excepting an emergency. After successfully activating the points, he spoke a password.

"Lily," the man breathed reverently, watching as the wall shimmered to reveal a plain wooden door. He stepped through immediately, knowing the door would vanish behind him as the wards reset themselves.

He walked blindly past his adjoined living quarters and kitchen, straight down the softly lit stone corridor beyond. He chose the third room on the left –his sleeping quarters –opening the black-painted door. He went through the motions of sleep robotically, thoughts still lingering in the past. He glanced at the clock on his wall before he finally tucked in, seeing it was just past one in the morning. He usually went to bed around this time, having struggled with insomnia for most of his adult life. Tonight was no different. Severus lay awake for hours, though his mind was blissfully blank as he stared, glazed, at the enchanted stars sprinkled like glowing coals across the velvet-black ceiling of his room. Eventually he slipped into the sweet escape of nothingness, but not for long. Soon dreams appeared, featuring a restless pursuit of things lost long ago, regrets and mistakes decorating his unconscious mind.

He would wake with the morning sun on his face, feeling as groggy and restless as ever: wishing, not for the first time, that he could travel back and live his life over again.