Chapter 20

Changing Seasons

Snape had not felt like this in a very long time – perhaps ever.

It was a beautiful day, a russet colored sun shining bright and warming everything its rays touched. Wind whipped violently through his long dark hair – he lifted his right hand and skimmed the under belly of a cloud. He glanced down – the world seemed so small and tiny, so harmless. Snape had never been a fan of heights – a broom felt unwieldy under him and flying had never come naturally – but today he felt like he could play quidditch for the national side.

Up ahead was the man who had saved him. Yes, he could be frustrating and infuriating and insufferable, but he was also wise, generous, caring to a fault. He had become Snape's guardian, a loving uncle, his surrogate father.

Snape had succeeded Horace Slughorn as Head of the Slytherin House several years ago; he had slowly cultivated the reputation of feared taskmaster from the student body, but there was a small undercurrent of respect as well. Some of the school governors had expressed concern, many balked at his young age – the mutterings ceased as they realized his prowess in the field of potions.

The other teachers had also been wary at first, given his young age, dour attitude and rumors of his…past. But Slytherin had won the house cup six years running and he was finally earning the faculty's respect, albeit begrudgingly.

Yes, for the first time in a long time – perhaps ever – Snape felt…content.

Snape leaned forward on his broom, speeding up, and pulled alongside the towering figure of Albus Dumbledore.

"What did you tell him, sir?"

"Sir? It took ten years, but your manners are finally improving."

"Does he want it back?"

"Yes. That he does."

"And…?"

"Nicholas eventually agreed that the stone would be safer under my care. And he agreed that there was nowhere on Earth safer than Gringotts."

"But?"

Dumbledore glanced over at one of his many protégés. Like every great man, he was a natural leader and others gravitated towards him. Dumbledore was the controlling spider seated in the middle, spinning his sticky web – and what a vast web it was. At the end of this particular thread was Severus Snape, a talented but troubled young man. Dumbledore was an incredible Legilimens, but even he sometimes wondered if he could truly read the boy. Would Severus be ready for what lay ahead? Would his loyalty waver under duress? Even after ten years, Dumbledore still had not decided to trust him completely.

"But…I believe there is nowhere on Earth safer than Hogwarts."

"I've just heard someone tried to steal it! Someone actually b-breached the safeguards at the b-bank! Can you b-believe it Severus?"

Snape turned to his right and glanced at his fellow teacher. Unbelievable, he couldn't even get through a few sentences without stuttering. This idiot was promoted to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts? Dumbledore may test at a genius level, he may have magic lord level power, but sometimes his decisions completely dumbfound me.

Even that old hag McGonagall agrees with me, this stuttering fool has no business teaching such an important subject. What more do I need to accomplish to prove myself? I'm the one supremely qualified to teach the dark arts, not him! Goes on a yearlong sabbatical to find himself or some such nonsense; and he returns with zero self-confidence, wearing a ridiculous turban and constantly reeking of garlic. And his reward for this preposterous behavior is to teach the most important subject at Hogwarts. What the hell?

"Really? I haven't heard much about it."

"Oh y-yes. It's in the p-papers and e-everything."

"Well it's of no matter. The thief's effort was too little, too late."

Snape looked past the annoying Quirrell, ignoring another one of his bumbling questions. God, what a bothersome gnat – why does he always try to talk to me? Snape's eyes raked over the students, seemingly watching all of them. But the truth was he was trying to get a closer peek at the school's newest celebrity – he hadn't gotten a good look at the boy just yet. Would he look like her? Snape's heart jumped in his chest at the thought of Lily.

The Gryffindor table always made Snape's blood level rise a notch. Buffoons, the lot of them. Seems this year brought yet another soldier from the Weasley clan – looked like a gap toothed idiot with that stupid grin splashed across his freckled face. I would love an excuse to expel those annoying twins. And there was the Gryffindor prefect, a tall red headed lad. He was probably the best of the bunch. And there, sitting next to Percy, was the boy…

… Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes — and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead…

…My God, he had her eyes. Dark, piercing green pools of such depth…

…"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Snape had perfected his opening speech to the freshman over the years; he could give it word for word in his sleep. He would typically conclude by reminding the class about the importance of attention to detail and then send them off to create a simple potion that they would undoubtedly muck up. But first, Snape was ashamed to admit to himself, he wanted to make the boy feel small. He couldn't help himself – the arrogant little brat looked just like him.

Snape spent the next few minutes asking Harry difficult questions, ignoring Hermoine Granger's furious attempts at answering said questions and slyly complimenting Draco Malfoy. By the time the class got started on mixing up a simple potion to cure boils, Gryffindor had managed to lose points and Harry felt like a total idiot.

The eyes may have been the beautiful dark emeralds of his one true friend, but every other physical characteristic screamed of the rotten James Potter. Deep down Snape knew it was ridiculous to place blame on the boy, but Harry's very existence on this Earth was a constant reminder that she had turned her back on him and chosen James, chosen his constant tormentor. It was as if his arch nemesis had been reborn and placed in this very class just to plague his mind. Snape was shocked at how quickly his old prejudices came flooding back, consuming his thoughts and actions.

James Potter and Peter Pettigrew were dead, Sirius Black was trapped in a nightmarish purgatory and Remus Lupin lived the lonely life of a werewolf outcast. Meanwhile – Severus Snape had escaped the long reach of the Wizengamot, the constricting chains of Azkaban and the vengeance of so many fallen wizards. He had achieved the distinguished post of a Hogwarts professor, had become the Head of the venerated Slytherin House. He had won! Won the game of life.

Yet, Snape still felt a white hot rage well up inside him at the mere sight of Harry. James was back, taunting him with every breath of his young son. She could have chosen anyone, but she chose James! Just to spite me! James and Lily haunted his dreams, and now they would haunt his waking moments, with Harry as their conduit.

Snape could not keep his gaze away from the boy for long – as he paced the dungeon classroom his eyes would always find their way back to Harry. James had been so nasty, arrogant and pretentious – and the reward for his disgusting behavior? The most precious creature on Earth. Snape hated James…and Harry. Harry and James. James and Harry. So alike, father and son.

The cocoon of peace and stability the last ten years had afforded Snape was about to crack.

Snape steadily worked himself into a seething rage, only stopping to insult a Gryffindor student or compliment Draco. Lucius' first born looked so much like him – Lucius, who could be insufferable, but had always shown Snape kindness and support. He could sense the immediate animosity between the young Slytherin and Harry, so he made sure to continue to praise Draco as often as he could.

By the time class ended, a few things became apparent to Snape. Much to his chagrin, the brightest first year was a muggle born Gryffindor, Draco had inherited his father's looks and confidence, but not his cunningness, and Harry Potter was his snobbish father's son, through and through.

Severus Snape detested this time of year. As the calendar marched on and the page turned to November, the weather turned icy and blistering. Snow was not yet falling, but the air hung heavy with cold. Frost began to form on the edges of the castle windows, the stone steps throughout the turned slick. Snape loathed November for another reason as well – it marked the start of the Quidditch gaming season.

Snape headed towards two familiar gargoyle statues, muttering about the damned season change, as two young Hufflepuffs rushed by. They had enchanted a paper snitch and were playfully chasing it, bumping into the sour potions professor without a word of apology.

"No running in the halls!"

Snape's growl reverberated throughout the long corridor, but the boys were too intent on catching their prize to heed his warning. As Snape turned the corner, he flicked his wand behind him, mumbling under his breath. A few seconds later a loud bang sounded.

Very soon Madam Pomfrey would admit two first year Hufflepuff students into her wing with gruesome looking, but harmless scorch marks across their faces. She couldn't figure out what they had been doing. They told her a paper snitch had suddenly exploded in their hands, but that hardly seemed possible.

Snape had the ghost of a smile on his lips as he whispered "Gummy Bears." Two large gargoyle statues leapt aside to reveal a staircase. Dumbledore and his ridiculous passwords.

As Snape entered the Headmaster's office, he noticed many of the self-portraits were missing their usual occupants.

"Weekly teacher chats, missing picture occupants, unexplained absences at dinner…are we at war again Dumbledore?"

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his large oak desk, casually leaning back, feet up, not a care in the world.

"Severus, you really must learn to change your outlook on life. Each day is a gift from the heavens. Don't waste your breathe spouting negativity all the time. How do you know I don't simply like speaking with my faculty each week, that the former headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts are simply appreciating the view from their other portraits and I'm simply enjoying some long overdue holiday time?"

Snape rolled in his eyes in reply, which elicited a loud chuckle from Dumbledore.

"Well yes, it's true, I've been a little on edge. Something just doesn't feel right…but I can't quite put my finger on it."

Snape quickly sat down. "Has it finally happened? After ten years…is He back?"

Dumbledore sighed, measuring his words. "Severus, I don't…No, I don't think so…I'm just not sure. Your mark?"

"Faded, but darker than normal. Same with Lucius, Karkaroff and Crabbe."

"But not burning, or prickling?"

"No, I would have told you at once!"

"Yes, I see…I'm not sure exactly what's happening, and that's why I've been taking some…precautions. Better safe than sorry!" And just like that Dumbledore's brooding tone switched to a light, airy manner. "Come now, there's no use worrying over what we can't control. How's the first term progressing? Who would you like me to keep a closer eye on?"

"What? I don't want to talk about students. How can He come back? How exactly is that possible?"

"No new first years have caught your eye? Any trouble makers?"

"Dumbledore how can He come back? No one can survive a killing curse!"

"Ahhh, but didn't one of your current students accomplish just that feat?" Dumbledore smiled and turned his attention back to the magazine in his lap.

Snape became very quiet, his thoughts drifting away from the Dark Lord and towards Harry Potter. He stood up and began…

…pacing up and down in front of Dumbledore.

"– mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent –"

"You see what you expect to see, Severus," said Dumbledore, without raising his eyes from a copy of Transfiguration Today. "Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child." Dumbledore turned a page, and said, without looking up, "Keep an eye on Quirrell, won't you?"…

…"That moron? Who you, for some unknown reason, gave the DADA teaching post too? Why do I need to worry about him?"

"Severus please, just do as I ask."

"You think he was behind the troll attack?"

"I think he is intelligent and well intentioned, but gullible and…too eager to impress. A dangerous combination. I fear it was a mistake to include him in providing one of the stone's defenses."

With a whirl of his robes, Snape was up and out the office. Great, another headache for me to worry about. Watching over James Potter's conceited brat, making sure my House stays in line and now keeping tabs on an untalented buffoon who took what was rightfully mine! Never a moment's peace!

Snape stumbled down the castle steps, a spotted pattern of blood trailing behind him. Each step was excruciatingly painful, like stepping on a hot blade. He had become preoccupied with things, had not kept his potions room fully stocked – like an amateur! He would have paid a thousand galleons for a taste of one drop of Dittany. His leg would never be the same again – that blasted creature! No one can get past that freakish mutt, let alone the useless Quirrell.

Snape heard some students walking up the steps and ducked into a dark nook.

"Ewww, there's blood all over the place."

"Come on. We better get going or Filch will blame this mess on us!"

Snape started back down the steps again, willingly himself to ignore the pain. He roughly pushed open the door to the staffroom – it was blessedly empty. He gingerly settled into a large chair and closed his eyes. The room was silent, save for a gentle purring.

Without opening his eyes, Snape quietly said "Please get Filch. There's blood on the west corridor steps. I need some clean bandages. And a powerful analgesic from the hospital wing. Go now, hurry."

Snape must have lost a lot of blood – for he had lost his mind. He had just issued instructions to an empty room. But amazingly the purring cat seemed to understand his instructions. She uncurled herself from a warm corner, softly brushed past his uninjured leg and trotted out of the room.

Argus Filch hurried to the Hogwart's staffroom, his arms full of cloth bandages and various ointments. He had been the loyal caretaker at Hogwarts for the past thirty years. But over time he had become less interested in the upkeep of the castle and spent the majority of his time prowling the school corridors with his cat Mrs. Norris, trying to catch students breaking school rules in order to punish, no matter how trivial or insignificant the transgression was.

They made an interesting pair, Filch and Mrs. Norris. Both had a surly temperament and a penchant for making the students' lives miserable. Mrs. Norris was a scrawny dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes. Filch was an old boney man, with long greying hair and an ever present wheezing cough. He was every family's cranky, eccentric uncle.

Filch burst into the staffroom in a rush, rousing Snape from his pain induced slumber.

"Professor! Are you alright? I came as quick as I could."

Snape looked up at Filch through watery eyes, his leg throbbing violently by this point. Stupid squib, always wearing that disgusting mothballed jacket. What took him so long?! Snape was about to fire off a nasty insult, wanting to chastise this man for making him wait in pain, but he held his tongue. Allowed his frothy anger to subside.

Over the years Dumbledore had shown Snape the power of compassion, and little by little, Snape's inner character was shifting. And besides, Filch knew the castle inside and out. It couldn't hurt to curry favor with another set of eyes and ears.

"Good of you to come Filch. It's my left leg, please see to it."

Filch handed Snape a vial with light green liquid, and then set to work on the professor's leg. Snape greedily drank the potion, leaned back and closed his eyes.

"My God, what happened?

"It was that bloody beast Hagrid procured for the Headmaster."

"Why on Earth did you tangle with that thing?"

"Filch, I need your help."

Filch's face flushed dark red at this comment. To his everlasting shame, he had been born a Squib – a non-magical being born within a magical family. Squibs were the second class citizens of the wizarding world, discrimination wasn't just an injustice that occurred in the muggle world. I'm barely treated better than the castle's house elves Filch bitterly thought.

The Headmaster was the only one who showed him even a modicum of respect. The school professors simply tolerated him. And the students? Those pampered, spoiled horrors were allowed to walk all over him. The day the wizarding world outlawed corporeal punishment at schools was one of the worst days in Filch's life.

But Professor Snape asking – no – needing his help? Finally someone around here recognized his worth.

"Of course Professor. I am at your service."

"Keep your eyes peeled these coming months Filch. Dumbledore senses something rotten is afoot and I agree. Contact me at once if you catch anyone wandering around at night, especially near the third floor."

"You suspect the students are planning something?"

"Yes…the students. They might become curious…too curious for their own good."

"What exactly is the beast guarding?"

"Ouch!"

In his shock at being treated like an equal, entrusted with a special assignment by a school professor, Filch had squeezed Snape's leg too roughly.

"A thousand apologies!"…

…"Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but –

"POTTER!"

Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.

"I just wondered if I could have my book back."

"GET OUT! OUT!"

Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor…

…Harry sprinted up the steps as though Snape himself was chasing after him. He knew it! Snape had been trying to get past Fluffy! That must have been where Snape was headed during the troll attack on Halloween! He couldn't wait to tell Ron and Hermoine what he had just witnessed.

"That boy has been at the center of trouble since day one Professor."

"He's his father's son – such a cheeky and disrespectful attitude."

The unlikely pair sat in silence for a while – Filch trying to gently finishing wrapping Snape's leg and Snape trying to focus on something else besides the throbbing pain.

"All done. But the wound continues to bleed."

"Yes, a dark creature creates dark wounds."

"Shall I fetch Madam Pomfrey?"

"Thank you Filch, but I can handle it from here. Most appreciated."

Filch got up, but hesitated at the staffroom door, the ever present Mrs. Norris winding her way between his ungainly feet.

"Professor Snape?"

"Yes?"

"What exactly is the three headed beast guarding?"