Chapter 32


3rd of September 1991
Hogwarts

Quirinus Quirrell skulked through the hallways of Hogwarts, his mind fixated on the mysterious third-floor corridor. He had to explore it - how else was he supposed to get the stone for his master ? Just as he thought he had his chance to sneak off, he felt the heavy, glaring presence behind him. Turning around, there was Remus Lupin, his eyes burning with anger for some reason. "Going somewhere, Quirinus? Need my help?" Lupin growled, his voice a low rumble that made Quirrell's skin crawl. "N-no, just taking a stroll," Quirrell stammered, his nerves fraying under Lupin's intense scrutiny. Lupin stepped closer. "Great! I could use some fresh air too," he said. Quirrell sighed internally, his hopes of exploring the third-floor corridor dashed as the angry werewolf fell into step beside him, clearly not planning to leave him alone anytime soon.

3rd of September 1991
Hogwarts dungeons

Draco Malfoy strutted confidently down the corridors of Hogwarts, eager for his first Potions lesson. His godfather, Professor Snape, was finally going to show the class what real wizardry was all about. Severus Snape had always been a figure of awe for Draco, a man of immense skill and power, and Draco was determined to impress him today. Though, he couldn't help but feel a bit puzzled—Snape had seemed unusually absent yesterday and during the feast, but Draco pushed the thought aside. Today was about potions, and nothing would spoil it.

Draco entered the dungeon classroom alone, with a slight pout of annoyance. The absence of Crabbe and Goyle—thanks to their ridiculous sorting into Hufflepuff—still irritated him. His father had been livid about that, ranting about how "everything was going to the dogs." But Draco pushed the thought away, surveying the room with a practiced sneer. The dungeon was as he remembered with his private tutoring session from his godfather: shrouded in gloom, with shelves lined with murky potions and jars of grotesque ingredients. The musty odor of the dungeon felt oddly comforting, like slipping into a familiar, albeit somewhat moldy, old cloak.

Then, to his utter horror, he spotted Ron Weasley sitting next to Harry Potter—a Slytherin! Draco could hardly believe his eyes. sitting with a Weasley, a member of the noble house of Slytherin? The world was truly going mad. His father was right ! He then started spouting Young Master Speech number 24.

"Everything's going downhill," Draco said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Conservative values are dead, and Hogwarts is letting any riffraff into Slytherin now. What's next, Muggle-borns teaching Dark Arts? Half)Bloods being Dark Lords ? Hah! "

Scowling, Draco searched for a seat, only to find the only available spot next to Neville Longbottom. His lip curled in disgust. "Move over, Longbottom," Draco sneered as he approached, his voice laced with contempt. "I'd rather sit next to a Troll - or even Granger -, but this will have to do."

Neville turned a deep shade of crimson and mumbled something unintelligible, but Draco paid him no mind, dropping his bag onto the table with an authoritative thud. He had worked on making thuds authoritative for a long time, and he was quite proud of this one. He was just about to settle in when the door creaked open, and in swept Professor Snape, his black robes billowing behind him like a dramatic thundercloud.

Draco straightened up, ready to bask in the stern authority of his godfather. But something was off. Snape didn't have his usual menacing scowl—instead, he seemed... dare Draco think it, cheerful? And then Draco noticed it: faint, purplish marks peeking out from the collar of Snape's robes. Hickeys. Snape had hickeys.

Draco blinked, his brain struggling to process this impossible reality. His godfather, Severus Snape, master of the dark arts, with hickeys? It was absurd. It was unreal. And yet, there they were, undeniable proof that someone had been, well, snogging Snape. Beurk. But the knew real men liked to song and bed witches - though he did not know what it meant. He also did not know he had a deficient parental model but, well, who did ?

Snape reached the front of the room, turning to face the class with a dramatic flourish of his robes. His usually sharp, intense gaze seemed softer, and was that... was that a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth? Impossible ! Someone had replaced him !

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," Snape began, his voice carrying its usual authority. "I expect each of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. After all, a well-brewed potion is like a perfectly crafted... date, with just the right amount of care and attention to detail."

Draco's mouth fell open slightly. Was Snape comparing potion-making to dating? This had to be a joke. Snape continued, seemingly oblivious to the stunned expressions around the room. "For those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death. And perhaps," Snape added with a subtle grin, "for the particularly ambitious among you, I might even share the secret to a potion that makes you simply irresistible. But remember, the real secret to success is a well-timed compliment and maybe a box of chocolates."

Draco stifled a laugh, casting a sideways glance at Neville. "See, Longbottom? That's what a powerful witch can do to a man. A witch ! Though, I doubt you'll ever be so lucky."

3rd of September 1991
London

Somewhere in London, a cute thirty years old muggle sneezed. The guy from yesterday had been cute - except for his greasy hair. Eurk. And that he cried when he nutted. But otherwise, a solid 6.5/10, as far as one night stands went.

"Then again," Snape continued,, "maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not pay attention!" He stopped directly in front of Harry, his dark eyes boring into him. Draco saw his godfather's smiles disappear. He paused, and times seemed to stretch. He had, for the moment, the face of someone hesitant and…his features hardened. "Mister Potter. Our new celebrity."

Harry looked up, feeling a rush of heat to his face. The entire class was now staring at him, and he swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure. Harry's heart pounded in his chest as Snape leaned closer, his breath cold and his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "Tell me, Potter," Snape said softly, "what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry's mind raced, but he came up blank. "I don't know, sir," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Snape's lip curled into a sneer. "You don't know? Well, let's try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry's stomach churned. He had no idea what a bezoar was. "I don't know, sir."

"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry's mouth went dry. He shook his head. "I don't know, sir."

"Pity," Snape said softly, straightening up and turning away from Harry. "Clearly, fame isn't everything, is it, Mr. Potter?"

"And clearly, competency in potions does not make a good teacher," a voice interjected sharply.

Snape's head snapped around, his eyes blazing with fury. "Who said that?" he roared.

"I did, Severus," Albus Dumbldore replied calmly as he materialized in a swirl of light, his robes billowing majestically. Snape's face drained of color. "I... I..." he stammered, his usual composure shattered. Dumbledore had witnessed everything. Fuck. He was not supposed to. And what if he wanted to bully a bit the son of the girl he loved? Okey, that seemed bad, put like that. And…he had been in such a good mood ! Seeing Lupin apologizing, then being supplied into oblivion by the Headmaster ! First shag in Years - the Headmaster had even helped him get laid ! But his hate for James Potter… And the eyes of Lily…

The students' eyes were wide with astonishment, their mouths agape as they watched the scene unfold. Harry and Ron, who were starting to become friends due to their time in the trial and the fact they had found themselves sitting together at almost every feats, exchanged stunned glances, barely able to comprehend the turn of events.

Dumbledore stepped forward, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Snape's. "Severus," he began, his voice full of disappointment, "our mission at Hogwarts is to nurture and guide, not to belittle and humiliate. Every student here, including Mr. Potter, deserves your respect and encouragement. A teacher's role is not only to impart knowledge but to inspire and uplift. Your approach, as I have observed, lacks the compassion and understanding crucial for effective teaching. By singling out a student, especially one burdened with undue attention, you undermine their confidence and distract from their education. This is not the standard we uphold at Hogwarts. Your methods of intimidation and degradation are unacceptable and unworthy of the position you hold."

Dumbledore's words were powerful, each one a deliberate strike. "While Harry may not have the answers now, it is your responsibility to ensure he learns. And for Merlin's sake, it's the first class! Teaching through fear and humiliation is not teaching at all. It is a failure on your part, not on the students'. Clearly, Severus, you are not suited to be a teacher. You are dismissed from this class. Wait for me in my office."

Snape's eyes widened. What? But…Hogwarts was everything to him! He couldn't, it wasn't…"Headmaster, I—"

But before he could finish, Dumbledore's aura flared, a brilliant and overwhelming force that seemed to push Snape back. Severus gulped, his bravado evaporating under the weight of Dumbledore's magical aura. He turned on his heel, almost fleeing from the room, his black robes trailing behind him. The students were left in breathless silence, their eyes fixed on Dumbledore, who now turned his gaze to them, his expression softening into one of warmth and reassurance.

"Now," Dumbledore said, his voice gentle yet commanding, "let us return to the purpose of this class. Potion-making is an art and a science, a journey that begins with mutual respect and a genuine desire to learn. Together, we shall embark on this journey."

With a dramatic flourish, Dumbledore twirled in place. In an instant, his flowing robes transformed into a white lab coat, complete with oversized safety goggles that magnified his twinkling blue eyes to comical proportions. A clipboard appeared in his hand, adorned with a smiley-face sticker.

"First, kiddos," Dumbledore began,"we're going to learn the technical competencies before brewing our first potion. Safety first!"

Dumbledore snapped his fingers, and the classroom was suddenly filled with an assortment of bizarre and random laboratory equipment. Beakers bubbled with neon-colored liquids, Bunsen burners flared to life with multicolored flames.

"We're going to start by familiarizing ourselves with the equipment," Dumbledore announced, holding up a large, inflatable banana. "Today, we'll be learning to make Crystal meth!"

"No, Naruto, I'm not your friend. I'm a lone wolf. Grrr. Grrr. Much edge. Also, Sakura is useless," Snape muttered the new password dejectedly as the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office pivoted aside. He stepped onto the spiral staircase, his mind a whirl of disbelief and indignation. Dumbledore couldn't just fire him like that... It couldn't be happening.

"Yes?" a voice broke through his thoughts, clear and melodic.

Snape looked up, startled. Instead of entering Dumbledore's office as usual, he found himself in an antechamber he had never seen before. The room was impeccably organized, with neat stacks of files, a typewriter clicking away by itself, and various Muggle devices he couldn't identify. Behind a sleek desk sat a young woman whose presence was both unexpected and striking.

"Miss Andersen?" Snape asked, his voice laced with surprise and a hint of recognition.

The woman looked up, her eyes locking onto his with a playful glint. She was stunning, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders in silky waves. Her tight, form-fitting blouse was buttoned just low enough to reveal a tantalizing hint of cleavage, the fabric straining to contain her ample, full breasts, the outline of lace from her bra faintly visible underneath. Her nipples, slightly erect, pressed against the thin material, adding to the allure. Her blouse clung to her curves, emphasizing the swell of her breasts with every breath. A short skirt clung to her hips, showcasing her long, toned legs encased in sheer stockings. Just above the hem of her skirt, a tattoo peeked out, hinting at more hidden beneath. Her red lips curved into a knowing, seductive smile, and as she shifted slightly, the motion accentuated the bounce and sway of her chest, drawing his gaze irresistibly. Her blouse dipped lower at the center, drawing attention to the deep valley between her breasts, where a faint sheen of perspiration added a glistening allure. Fuck, either Snape was still horny, or the author really, really liked making long-ass descriptions of sexy woman that nobody would read.

He was still horny. Yeah. Probably. The author had nothing to do with it.

"Yes, Professor Snape. It's been a while," she said, standing up gracefully and extending a hand. "I'm Celia Andersen, Professor Dumbledore's new secretary and personal assistant. Of course, you can call me Celia."

Snape shook her hand, his grip firm but his mind racing. "When did Dumbledore decide to hire a secretary?" he asked, unable to hide his incredulity.

"Recently. He thought it was time to introduce some modern efficiency to the administration here."

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly as he took in her appearance, the memory of her as a student surfacing. "I must say, this is... unexpected,".

"Do you have an appointment with the Headmaster, Professor Snape?" Celia asked, her tone professional but with a teasing edge.

Snape blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Appointment?" he echoed, the word foreign to the usual protocol he was accustomed to. "I... I..."

His mind spun, struggling to process the surreal situation. Could Dumbledore really fire him? He had nothing without Dumbledore—no purpose, no place in the world. The man had saved him from Voldemort's clutches, had given him a reason to live. The flood of emotions he had kept at bay for years surged forward, overwhelming him. Voldemort. Lily. The Maraudeurs. Fucking James. Lily. The torture, the curses, the war….Lily…A lone tear escaped, sliding down his sallow cheek.

Celia's expression turned to one of genuine concern. She took a step closer, her brow furrowing as she watched the formidable Potions Master crumble. "Professor Snape… are you alright?"

But it was too much. The weight of his fears, regrets, and insecurities bore down on him. His shoulders began to shake, and before he knew it, he was sobbing openly, his body wracked with years of pent-up sorrow. Celia, utterly flabbergasted, hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and enveloping him in a gentle hug.

"There, there," she murmured, her voice soft and soothing, though laced with bewilderment. She had never imagined seeing the terrifying Professor Snape in such a vulnerable state. Snape clung to her, his sobs muffled against her shoulder. The students who had feared him, the colleagues who had respected him—all would have been stunned to witness this moment.

After what felt like an eternity, Snape pulled back, his face flushed with embarrassment and eyes red-rimmed. "I... I apologize," he stammered, quickly wiping his tears away with the sleeve of his robe. "Headmaster Dumbledore himself sent me here."

Celia nodded, offering him a warm, sympathetic smile. "It's alright, Professor. Sometimes we all need a moment. Please, take a seat over there," she said, gesturing to a set of chairs that looked more like abstract art than furniture. One was shaped like an oversized teacup, complete with a handle and saucer. Another resembled a giant hand, its fingers curved to cradle the sitter. The third was a large, inflated rubber duck, complete with a beak that bobbed slightly whenever someone sat down. The final chair was perhaps the most ridiculous—a plush, pink unicorn with a rainbow mane and a cushioned saddle for seating. Each chair seemed to belong in a whimsical, cartoonish dream rather than an office.

Snape, still feeling a bit out of sorts, made his way to the chair shaped like a giant hand and sat down gingerly. To his surprise, the chair molded itself to his form, providing an unexpected comfort. He watched Celia return to her desk, her demeanor professional.

"Would you like some tea while you wait, Professor?" Celia asked, breaking the silence, her tone gentle.

Snape looked up, surprised by the offer. "Yes, please," he replied, his voice steadier now.

Celia nodded and with a flick of her wand, a teapot and two cups appeared on her desk. She poured a cup for him and brought it over, her steps light and graceful. "Here you go," she said, handing him the cup.

"Thank you," Snape murmured, taking a sip and feeling the warmth spread through him, calming his frayed nerves.