The Apprentice

by Deborah Peters

Pairing: Severus/Lily

Rating: PG-13, with the occasional burst of R

Genre: Drama

Summary: In 1998, Severus Snape was given a second chance. In 1976, he has to figure out how to take it.

Prologue : Early June, 1976

And then, suddenly, the pain cleared, and all his blood rushed to his head.

As previously all his blood had been gushing out of a ragged wound in his throat, this could only be considered an improvement.

And then he opened his eyes, and saw that he was being dangled, in midair, by his ankles, courtesy of Harry Potter, who seemed to have lost his glasses.

Harry Potter, who seemed to have gained the company of a two-years-dead, twenty-years-younger Sirius Black, as well as a less-scarred Remus Lupin and Wormtail—

That wasn't Harry Potter. And this was all too familiar. And a young redhead who was not, in fact, Ginny Weasley, said, "Let him down!"

Severus Snape groaned, muttered, "For Merlin's sake, not this again," and wordlessly Summoned his wand, which smacked satisfyingly into his hand. He countered the jinx and righted himself, floating to the ground with as much grace as a hallucinating dead man can muster. He landed in front of—well, he might as well admit it—the late James Potter, who was staring at him, mouth open.

Severus pulled his wand on him. Potter froze.

How satisfying.

"Potter," he spat, fifteen years' teaching instinct kicking in. "I have had quite enough. You will immediately stop this nonsense. If you attempt to surprise me again in such a manner, you will immediately find yourself in multiple pieces with no hope of restitution and as I can only presume Mr and Mrs Potter would, for whatever reason, miss you," he sneered, "let us both strive to prevent that unfortunate, but by no means inevitable, scenario, shall we?"

Potter's mouth hung open stupidly. He barely managed to muster a weak, "Whaa?"

Severus stared him down over the tip of his wand. Potter didn't move. Neither, strangely, did Black, Lupin, or Pettigrew—or any of the other students gathered for the spectacle. In fact, every single person on the shore of the lake was staring at him in silence.

It was disconcerting.

Severus nodded at the still-gaping Potter, tried (and failed) to avoid glancing at the young redhead, and stalked off towards the castle with a customary flourish of his (worn, graying, too-short) robes.

This was the strangest dream (near-death hallucination?) he had ever had.

He had almost reached the castle when the voice he'd never managed to forget called out from behind him. "Sev?"

He stopped.

"Sev, wait a second."

Severus turned around, and there she was.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"You know very well what I mean," Lily said. "How did you—since when could you put Potter in his place like that? What happened to you—" She gestured vaguely at his face. "—all red faced and sputtering and 'bloody' and inappropriate suggestions about his mother and everything? How are you so calm? Did someone cast a soapmouth hex on you? And that's putting aside the wandless accio—where has that been hiding all this time?"

It had been twenty years since he'd heard one of Lily's disjointed speeches, and yet his subconscious was still somehow capable of providing one for him. It was almost amusing, really.

Unless—

Unless somehow—

"Lily?" Severus asked, before he could stop himself.

"Yes, what?" Lily replied, a little testily.

"It's not actually you you," Severus said slowly. "It's not. Is it?"

"What?" Lily repeated. "Severus, you didn't hit your head when Potter flipped you upside down, did you?"

The response was so perfectly Lily, so completely outside anything he would ever think to say, that Severus did something he hadn't done in at least five years. He laughed. Lily blinked at him.

"I am exploring new depths of my subconscious," he said by way of explanation, and he couldn't help himself—he reached out a hand to her.

She took it.

June 1976, part 1

When Lily took his hand, the amalgam of shock, amusement, and—Merlin forbid—hope, these long-forgotten emotions that were all battling for supremacy in his not-empty mind—did one find emotions in the mind or elsewhere—where were emotions? They were intangible, but they exploded all the same into a thousand tiny particles that ran up his fingers and along his arm straight into his spine.

She was real. He was touching her.

Circe, she was so young.

Sixteen, to be precise, and given the state of his unstained, even-bonier, shorter (but still fairly long) fingers (he hadn't dared to look at his left forearm), he was physically the same age. And, more importantly, not at all bleeding to death from a gaping throat wound.

And he had put the ever-entitled Potter the elder quite firmly in his place.

He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead, unless this was an afterlife. And for all Severus' faults, blind optimism could not be said to be one of them. As a) a terrible person, who b) had enjoyed mocking the adherents of any and all religions for many years (twenty-three), Severus had no doubts that, if there were an afterlife, he would not be getting an invitation to the good sort. And here he was, sixteen years old with the sixteen-year-old love of his life. So.

Which serpent venoms have hallucinogenic properties?

Ophiophagus hannah and Naja naja may be hallucinogenic when dehydrated and inhaled, but the Indian alchemists tended to mix the venom sacks with potent cannabis, so their reports were somewhat less than reliable.

And he'd done so many tests on Nagini under the guise of caring for her health that hallucinogenic properties would surely not have gone undetected…

A Time Turner? (The Time Turners had been destroyed in 1996.) A Pensieve malfunction brought on by ill-executed memory extraction? (He had already diverted from the original memory.)

Perhaps…perhaps he was truly there.

But why?

"Why?"

Severus blinked rapidly. "I beg your pardon?" he murmured, Occluding his face to a safe neutral.

Lily was waving her free hand in front of his face. "Why are you staring at me? Sev, are you quite there? You haven't said anything for a whole minute."

Severus allowed her hand to drop. "My apologies, Lily," he said smoothly. "Please forgive me. I've been rather lost in thought."

Lily was looking at him askance. "I can see that. Sev, are you going to explain to me what happened out there?"

Severus ran his fingers over his wand—not so smooth as it had been twenty-two years later—and shook his head. "What can I say?" he said mildly. "Potter needed to be put in his place."

"I'll say. But how did you possibly—"

"It's amazing what one can do when one distances oneself from one's baser emotional reactions," Severus said. "Which I have resolved to do."

Lily blinked at him. "What?"

Severus swallowed. "I'm trying to think before I act," he said.

"Well, it worked." Lily smiled at him. "I've seen you do a couple of wordless spells here and there, but I've never seen you do wandless before."

Severus shrugged.

"It's not…" Lily bit her lip. "It's not something you learned from…your other friends, this year, is it?"

Severus snorted. "Those imbeciles? I think not." Seeing the relief in her eyes, he added, "Incidentally, I don't believe I'll be spending further time with them. They add nothing to my academic career and their social company leaves much to be desired."

"That's…that's great," Lily said. "That's really wonderful. You know I—I worried—"

"I know," Severus said. "I should confess that I…appreciate. Your concern."

Lily smiled. "Thank you, Severus."

"If you'll excuse me. I'm sure there is studying I yet need to do."

Lily's mouth quirked. "We've only got one practical exam left."

"Yes, well, one can never…learn too much." Severus inwardly scoffed at himself. Two decades a spy, and he couldn't hold a conversation with a 16-year-old girl.

"That's…wise," Lily said. She grinned at him and added, as though quoting, "You are such a Ravenclaw."

"Better a closet Ravenclaw than a shameless Gryffindor," Severus replied, the customary retort coming to his lips as easily as it had when he'd been fifteen. Lily looked as though she was likely to burst into either laughter or tears—Severus wasn't sure.

"Well, secret son of Rowena," she said at last, "You'll probably want this." She held out a bedraggled object Severus belatedly recognized as his own schoolbag. "I can't believe you left it out there. You're usually so protective of it."

Severus took it from her with a slight bow. "My thanks," he said.

Lily smiled wryly. "Say whatever else about those Slytherins you've been keeping company with," she said, "but at least they've improved your manners."

Severus blushed—he blushed, for Merlin's sake—and nodded to her. "Good day, Lily," he said, and turned to enter the castle.

"Severus," Lily called. "Are we—I mean. We are friends?"

Severus glanced back at her. "As I've never had another," he said, feeling bolder at that moment than he had when he'd willingly gone to his death, "I certainly hope so."

Severus collapsed onto the green-curtained four-poster bed that he was fairly certain was his—at least, it was where he'd remembered and was surrounded by stacks of advanced Dark Arts and Potions texts—and closed the curtains around him with a flick of his wand. A few—well, several—privacy spells later, and he was able to relax (as much as he ever relaxed).

He was, he decided, in 1976. To continue to consider other scenarios—that he was dead, or locked in a hallucinogenic dream—would only drive him mad. So, until he was given concrete evidence to the contrary, he would operate under the assumption that he had gone back to the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts.

Severus lay on his back in the darkened room, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply.

Assuming he was, in fact, in 1976—and assume it he would have to, or face insanity—there had to be a particular reason for his return (or else life was random and meaningless, another prospect that would drive him to madness).

Severus exhaled slowly.

When he had—when he had died, back, in the future (oh Merlin), it had seemed that all had been going according to plan. All of Dumbledore's machinations were bearing fruit, and each of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes—Severus Snape was not the fool the Dark Lord and Dumbledore still seemed to expect him to be; he knew what it meant for a "fragment of soul" to live inside Harry and tie the Dark Lord to this Earth—each of the Horcruxes had, he was certain, been destroyed, with the obvious exceptions of the thrice-damned snake and the Dumbledore-damned boy.

Severus had had two purposes in his miserable life, which was to protect Harry Potter and to bring down the Dark Lord (admittedly, these goals were more than somewhat related, but the thought of having had just one purpose was simply depressing). So if, upon his death, he was not cast into darkness or absorbed into the magical ether or any number of other possibilities that, frankly, he would not consider at this time—

Severus turned over onto his side.

It stood to reason—and Severus was big on reason—that Severus' life goal had not been achieved, and he had been sent back to 1976 in order to do the damn thing properly, or else the world would be thrust into despair and all would perish in the blazing inferno of a Dark Lord-run totalitarian etcetera etcetera.

Because the thought that he had been sent back for the purpose of correcting his own personal mistakes—the small, petty ones that had led to a life of misery—well that was just silly. If anybody deserved that kind of second chance, well…

It wasn't Severus.

So, Severus was here—he had to be here—in order to bring down the Dark Lord, who was—if memory served, and it generally did—currently amassing followers and amusing himself with little jaunts, rather than full-on reigns, of terror.

He pulled his knees up to his chest (Salazar, he was bony).

When had the Dark Lord created his Horcruxes? Severus had gathered that they consisted of the Diary, the damnable Ring, Hufflepuff's Cup, the Blacks' locket, and whatever the hell it was Harry Potter had been looking for in the Ravenclaw Common Room—and then, of course, the boy and the snake. Presumably, all but the boy and the snake had been created by 1976. Surely.

Severus made a mental note to look at a few choice old newspapers, just to be certain, and he breathed out.

His path was clear: he needed to destroy the Horcruxes and take down the Dark Lord, before he had a chance to make an extra Horcrux or two and rise again. When the Dark Lord fell, he would fall for good.

One destroyed Horcruxes with Basilisk venom, or with Fiendfyre.

Severus groaned and rolled onto his back.

As an adult, he had been perfectly capable of producing Fiendfyre, although he had never been so foolish as to do so outside of a fully-controlled, warded laboratory environment. Given what had happened at the lake, he was fairly certain he would also be able to do so now—but between the Trace (oh Merlin, that was something he hadn't had to worry about for half a lifetime) and the lack of a sufficiently warded environment, he somehow doubted a Fiendfyre-wielding 16-year-old would go unnoticed.

And if there was one thing Severus really, really wanted, it was to be unnoticed.

That left Basilisk venom. Unfortunately, given how many years it had been since someone had seen a Basilisk, let alone killed one—Severus chose not to think upon the enormous monster still lurking underneath the school—the cost of Basilisk venom was so high that he'd have to be a Malfoy in order to afford the amount of venom necessary to destroy even one Horcrux.

Severus, he had never been too modest to admit, was a man of many skills. But charging into a secret dungeon chamber in order to slay a great mythic beast was not a scenario for which his particular skill set was suitable.

Not that he couldn't do it.

But when it came to devising a way to get around the limitation of an extremely limited supply of what was, essentially, when it came down to it, a Potions ingredient?

Severus opened his eyes.

Well, he'd just have to work a way around it. And if the theory didn't exist—which it didn't—well, he'd have to be the man who devised it. And soon.

Severus smirked and took down the protective spells around his bed.

"Mr Snape," Professor Slughorn said, his walrus mustache twitching in what Severus could only assume was surprise. "To what do I owe this, er, visit?"

"May I come in, sir?" Severus asked from the doorway.

Slughorn Levitated a box of candied pineapple off of one of the overplush chairs and gestured for Severus to take a seat. "What seems to be the trouble? Surely you feel pleased with your performance on the exams."

"I had no trouble with the exams," Severus said evenly. "Which is my issue. Sir, I would like to sit my NEWTs early."

Slughorn frowned. "You realize that is unorthodox," he said, tapping a pudgy finger on the top of his desk.

Severus inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Yes, sir, but I believe I am wasting time here on multidisciplinary studies when I could be focusing on a truly worthy field."

Slughorn smiled. "Ah, a man after my own heart, of course, of course. So it's Potions for you, is it? I rather thought it would be."

"Indeed, sir."

"Well, Mr Snape," Slughorn said, "as I say, it is unorthodox, but I am perfectly willing to discuss the possibility of your moving into seventh-year classes next year and sitting your NEWTs a year early. How does that sound?" He beamed at Severus, clearly expecting a bounty of gratitude.

"Well, sir, that is kind of you," Severus replied, "but I was rather hoping to take this year's examinations."

Slughorn's eyes flew open. "Mr Snape!" he exclaimed. "I've never thought of you as having a—I mean, of exhibiting such a uniquesense of humor, but you almost had me for a moment." He chortled. "Why, the NEWTs begin tomorrow."

"I know, sir," Severus said, "which is why I came to you this evening. The lack of a challenge provided by the OWLs have proven to me that I have nothing to gain by remaining at this institution for another two years."

"It simply can't be done," Slughorn said. "It's far too unorthodox. Far too. Unorthodox." His finger tapped the desk.

"Yes, sir, but mightn't we make an exception?" Severus said. "Frankly, I can't imagine any of the professors are eager for me to remain at Hogwarts for two more years."

Slughorn, amusingly, managed to bluster out a "oh no, dear boy, I don't know what you're talking about" that was almost convincing. Severus simply watched him until Slughorn relented, "But still, it's simply too short notice."

Severus affected a sigh. "All right, sir, I'll tell you the real reason I am so eager to leave Hogwarts. Sir, I am afraid for my personal safety." He glanced nervously behind him at the open office door.

Slughorn frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"Sir," Severus said seriously, leaning forward, "I was attacked by the lake this afternoon with no provocation whatsoever. I was hexed and publically humiliated by a pack of fifth-year Gryffindors with no sense of consequences and I have absolutely no doubt that it will happen again."

Slughorn waved a hand dismissively. "Youthful high-spirits," he said. "I'm sure there was no malevolence behind it. They're just boys, after all."

"Technically," Severus said lightly, "one is a dangerous Dark Creature who should not, legally speaking, even be at this school."

Slughorn blinked. He stared. He quickly waved his wand and the door of his office closed with a smooth snick. "That," he said quietly, "is a rather serious accusation you make, Mr Snape."

"It is," Severus agreed.

"Such things are not to be said lightly."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Slughorn leaned back and stared at him.

"You want to sit this year's NEWTs?" he said at last.

"Yes, sir," Severus said.

"Which?"

"Potions, naturally," Severus said, swallowing back the crow of triumph that had uncharacteristically risen in his chest. "And Defense. Charms, Transfigurations, and Herbology, of course, and also Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."

"That's all?" Slughorn asked mildly.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well," Slughorn said. "I'll see what can be arranged."

Severus stood. "Thank you, sir. I truly appreciate it."

Slughorn waved him away with one wide hand. Severus left the office, feeling Slughorn's eyes on him all the way.

All the hopes Severus had entertained of skulking unobtrusively into the Great Hall for dinner were immediately quashed when Evan Rosier—who was not, of course, dead yet—waved him over with an over-loud, "There he is!"

Severus groaned inwardly and quickly decided that, were he to take the only other empty chair at the Slytherin table—one amongst the second-years—his behaviour would be remarkably strange, and so he would have to take the seat between Rosier and Avery. He rather hoped Lily wasn't watching, and then he wondered why he should care so very deeply.

"So," Rosier said, clapping Severus rather roughly on the shoulder, "I can't believe I missed it."

"'Missed it'?" Severus repeated, his face a careful neutral.

Rosier snorted. "Like you don't know what I'm talking about."

"Did you really hex Potter's glasses into the lake?" Mulciber asked, leaning across the table towards him.

"Did I—no." Snape shook his head.

"I heard," said Avery, "that Pettigrew actually shat himself."

"Not to my knowledge," Severus said dryly. He pulled his plate towards him and, in the hopes of fighting off a seemingly never-ending hunger, took a large forkful of potatoes.

"Well I heard," Rosier said, grinning wickedly, "that you took down all four of the fifth-year Gryffindors wandlessly."

"It was just Potter," Severus said. Avery dropped his fork, and it clattered against a plate.

Severus glanced up, his eyes expressionless. "Yes?" he asked pointedly.

"So you did take down Potter wandless," Rosier said breathlessly. "How did you do it?"

"I studied," Severus sneered.

Oddly, Mulciber and Avery seemed to relax at that. "That's old Sniv—er, Snape," Avery said.

"What?" Severus asked. This was getting tiresome.

"Your face," Mulciber said, gesturing vaguely. "It was all blank. Creepy."

Severus blinked, and Occluded, and Avery and Mulciber visibly recoiled. "There you go again," Avery said.

Evidently, it had been his habit at sixteen to walk around with hatred plastered firmly on his face at all times—and without twenty-two years' misery etching its lines across his features, his habitual, cold expression seemed out of place. He forced a sneer. Avery and Mulciber relaxed.

"Mr Snape," said a familiar voice over his shoulder, and Severus had to fight the urge to jump out a window. He turned around and said, "Yes, Professor?"

Minerva was frowning at him. "The Headmaster would like to meet with you in his office immediately after dinner," she said. "We will see you promptly at seven o'clock."

"'We,' Professor?" Severus repeated, a kernel of dread rising in his stomach.

"Professor Slughorn, the Headmaster, and myself," Minerva said. "At seven o'clock."

"Yes, Professor," Severus said, nodding.

Minerva peered at him for a moment, and then she turned on her heel and veritably marched to the head table.

When she'd left, Rosier turned back to Severus. "What did you do, Snape?" he demanded.

"I've petitioned to sit my NEWTs early," Severus replied, seeing no reason to dissemble.

"What, next year?" Avery said.

"No," Severus replied. "Tomorrow." He took a sip of pumpkin juice and wished for Firewhiskey.

"Tomorrow?" Mulciber sputtered. "Tomorrow, tomorrow?"

"And tomorrow and tomorrow," Severus muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Why in Merlin's name would you want to go and do a thing like that for?" Rosier demanded.

"It's time I moved on to receive my education elsewhere," Severus said vaguely, and he took another forkful of potatoes.

When he arrived at Dumbledore's office, Slughorn was waiting for him outside the gargoyles. "Ah, Mr Snape," he said, "the very man."

Severus inclined his head. "Good evening, Professor."

Slughorn turned to the gargoyle and said, "Ziggy Stardust." The Gargoyle stood aside. Severus blinked.

"After you, Mr Snape," Slughorn said with a wave of his hand, and Severus started up the spiralling staircase. Minerva and Dumbledore—Severus' mental shields slammed into place—were waiting for them within.

If Severus had been a less practiced spy, it would've been too much for him. Here was a Dumbledore untouched by a debilitating curse, a Dumbledore not killed by Severus' unwilling hand—and, perhaps he was imagining that he could see it, but a Dumbledore who didn't view him solely as a soulless weapon to be wielded against the Dark Lord.

"Good evening, Headmaster," Severus said.

"Severus, my boy," Dumbledore said. "Please have a seat."

Severus took the centre chair; Slughorn sat to his left; McGonagall hovered behind the chair to the right. Dumbledore leaned over his desk. "So," he said, "Professor Slughorn tells me that you are interested in—nay, you insist upon—taking this year's NEWTs."

"I would appreciate the opportunity," Severus replied.

"I'm sure you would," Dumbledore said. "Now, I am given to understand that you fear for your safety at this school. Is this correct?"

"Yes, sir." Severus nodded. "Only this afternoon I was attacked without provocation by a dangerous group of Gryffindor boys-"

"Headmaster!" Minerva objected.

"Yes, thank you, Severus, Professor Slughorn has shared with us your account of this afternoon's events," Dumbledore said. "He also said that you feel unchallenged by the current curriculum, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir," Severus said. "I had no difficulty whatsoever with the OWLs, and I truly believe that, given how much of my extracurricular time has been devoted to my studies, I am currently ready to take on the NEWTs. Spending two more years here would only prolong my exposure to certain unsavoury elements of—"

"Headmaster!" Minerva again.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said. "Supposing we allow you to sit your NEWTs this year, what do you intend to do thereafter?"

"Ideally, sir," Severus said, "I would begin an apprenticeship under a Potions Master. That is, of course, if my professor is willing to grant me a recommendation." Severus chanced a slight, hopeful smile at Slughorn…who simply stared at him. Damn.

Dumbledore nodded. "A worthy ambition, to be sure. Well, Severus, I see no reason why you shouldn't begin the examinations tomorrow."

Minerva made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat.

"Thank you, sir," Severus said.

"Your future career plans will, of course, be determined by your performance," Dumbledore continued. "I do want to stress to you that if you are not happy with your marks in any way, you are free to resume your education next year and try again in the future. In any way," he repeated. "You are welcome to try again even if you merely wish to turn Es into Os."

"Thank you, sir," Severus said, "but I truly believe I am ready now."

"Well, I am delighted by your confidence," Dumbledore said. "You have permission to take the examinations, and we can evaluate the next step to your career once the results are sent in mid-July."

Severus scooted to the edge of his chair, the face of anxious anticipation. "Sir, is there any way I could begin, perhaps, an informal apprenticeship before the formal results are sent?"

"Whatever for, my boy?" Dumbledore seemed mildly concerned.

"It's just that—I'd rather not go back. Home. That is." Severus looked down at his hands, frowning and fidgeting.

"Ah." Dumbledore smiled sympathetically. "Too many painful memories? I was so sorry to hear of your mother's passing."

Severus nodded sadly.

"Well," Dumbledore said, "I suppose that's something we could take into consideration, though I don't know if too many Potions Masters would be eager to accept a sixteen-year-old boy who may, or may not, in fact, be qualified to begin an apprenticeship a month later."

"I would work for free," Severus said, a touch of desperation creeping into his voice. "I just—" He swallowed. "I would much rather not go back."

"I understand," Dumbledore said. "Now, one more concern before I bid you 'good evening' and leave you to an exciting evening of revision…"

"Yes, sir?" Severus kept his mental shields slammed down tight.

"In your years at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, "you may have become familiar with practices of this administration which might be…disagreeable to you personally."

Severus kept his silence.

"If you exit this institution early," Dumbledore continued, "I hope you will keep in mind the need for discretion regarding such policies, as to bring certain discussions to a non-scholastic venue could very well do far more personal harm than public good." He regarded Severus solemnly over his spectacles.

"I have no reason," Severus said distinctly, "to speak ill of an institution that has so readily prepared me for my future career."

McGonagall made a small noise of protest, but said nothing.

"I am pleased to hear that," Dumbledore said. "I will arrange a place for you in the examinations, and we will take into consideration your request for an interim summer position. Good evening, Severus."

Severus bowed his head and rose to his feet. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate this. Very much." He headed for the doorway.

"Mr Snape," Slughorn called, "let me head down with you." The fat man joined him in the revolving stairwell and, once they had descended about halfway, said, "Well, that was impressive."

Severus turned to him blankly. "Sir?"

"Just a few words of advice, Mr Snape," Slughorn said quietly, placing one pudgy hand on Severus' angular shoulder. "If one is going to utilize the death of a family member for personal gain—"

"Sir!" Severus said, eyes widening.

"—one should take care to appear at least slightly affected by that death when it happens, and not only four months later."

"Sir," Severus said again, "I am not sure what you're implying—"

"My second piece of advice," Slughorn continued mildly, "is, that when one begins to utilize Occlumency on a daily basis, one should ensure that one's face does not suddenly become totally without expression."

Severus cursed his unlined child's face and affected confusion in his eyes.

"Better," Slughorn said. They had reached the bottom of the stairwell, but Slughorn kept his hand on Severus' shoulder. "All the same, an otherwise impressive performance." He shook Severus' shoulder slightly, smiled, and said, "My business partner might be able to use some stock help over the next few months. I'll owl him." He stepped out of the alcove, glanced back at Severus, and added, "Whether he offers you an apprenticeship is, however, up to you. Best of luck on the examinations." And Slughorn set off down the hallway.

Well after lights out, Severus stood in front of the mirror in the Slytherin boys' lavatory, peering at his sixteen-year-old self. Really, not much had changed in twenty-two years—his nose still took the starring role amongst his facial features, and the unimpressive whole was still curtained by sheets of (greasy) black hair. At thirty-eight, his hair had been shot through with the occasional unobtrusive gray, and—of course—the lines on his face had given him an air of permanent derision. That was the only real difference; as Slughorn had pointed out, Severus' sixteen-year-old face looked oddly blank when not twisted into a sneer.

Severus would either need to retrain himself to constantly maintain an unpleasant expression until it became natural to him (a distasteful prospect), or figure out some other way to alter his appearance.

Severus' gaze landed upon a stray comb that someone had left behind. He picked it up and, furrowing his brow in concentration, tapped it with his wand.

He slipped his newly-created spectacles onto his face and blinked at his reflection. The black, rectangular frames did a fair job of blocking his expression, but—he realized suddenly—did not fit his current decade. Casting through his memory for a contemporary example, he tapped the glasses once more until they enlarged slightly; the frames were now square, and larger, covering his face from brow to cheekbone. Another tap of his wand darkened the glass ever so slightly, so that the lenses were tinted with just a hint of gray.

Severus looked at himself in the mirror. He sneered; he Occluded. The difference was not overly discernible.

As a bonus, he was now confident he could still pass a Transfigurations NEWT.

June 1976, part 2

Severus awoke early, as was his custom, and, after a quick rinse in the showers, threw on his robes (and new glasses) and headed to the Great Hall. He knocked back a quick cup of tea, snagged two pieces of toast off the table, and, dreading a morning's conversation with Mulciber and Avery—Rosier was tolerable, but not the three of them together—strode swiftly out onto the grounds.

He threw his satchel under a tree and sat heavily next to it, munched on his toast, and tried to remember everything he'd ever learned about Arithmancy and forgotten about in the last two decades.

At fifteen past nine, he pushed his way through the crowd of merrymaking students who had already finished their exams and queued up behind the seventh year Slytherins in the Entrance Hall.

After a few moments, one of the boys elbowed another, who turned around. It was Marty Wilkes, the head Slytherin Prefect, who had always been uncharacteristically decent to him. "Snape," he said with some surprise, "have you forgotten? OWLs were finished yesterday."

"I think the Transfigurations practical is this afternoon," Severus said lightly, "but I won't be taking it."

Wilkes peered at him. "What's with the specs?"

"Too many fine print books in poorly lit dungeons," Severus answered.

"So," Wilkes said slowly, "you know you're waiting to take the Arithmancy NEWT?"

Severus nodded.

"And," Wilkes added, "you're wearing glasses to it?"

Severus nodded, and allowed some of his impatience to show in the set of his shoulders.

"All right then." Wilkes turned back to his friend and Severus clearly heard the words "bloody weird" and "none of my business, really."

The last few breakfast stragglers wandered out of the Great Hall. Severus tried hiding in plain sight by shaking his hair into his face.

"Sev!" Lily exclaimed as she entered the Entrance Hall, and Severus cursed under his breath. Honestly, if he'd wanted to go unrecognized as himself, he would have been better off pushing his hair back. With a damned ribbon.

Lily trotted over to him. "What's with the glasses?" she asked.

"My eyesight's been going," Severus said. "Too much reading in poor light, I think."

Lily grinned. "I almost didn't recognize you."

"Hmm." Severus leaned around Wilkes and peered into the Entrance Hall. They were still setting up the tables.

"So…what are you waiting for, here?" Lily asked. "Were you—were you waiting for me? Did you want to revise for the Transfigurations practical?"

"No." The tables seemed to be set up; they were adding the chairs.

"Oh. Okay. Sorry. I know we haven't done that in ages. I just thought, what with yesterday, if you wanted to… I didn't mean—"

Severus glanced back at Lily, who was chewing on her lower lip. "What?" Severus said. "I—Transfigurations? Sorry. Sorry." He felt his cheeks colour, which was, frankly, absurd. "No. It's not—thank you. I actually. Well." He took a deep breath. "I appreciate the offer, certainly," he said, "but I will not be taking the Transfigurations practical this afternoon."

"What?" Lily blinked. "Why ever not?"

"I have petitioned for, and been granted, permission to sit this year's NEWTs instead."

"Since when?" Lily said, surprise plain in her green eyes.

"Since—last night." The Slytherins were being called into the Great Hall. "Lily, I'm sorry, but I have to go—the exam is starting."

Lily frowned. "Okay. But I want to meet up later today. After dinner? In the rose garden?"

"Fine, fine," Severus said, and he walked quickly to catch up with the seventh-years.

Much to his surprise, Severus enjoyed the exam. Because of his experimental potions work, he was still well practiced with the application of many Arithmantic concepts—and he enjoyed the logic puzzle of figuring out the others. He rolled up his parchment a full ten minutes before the examination officially ended; he was confident his performance was enough to secure a solid E, if not quite the O he had achieved in two years, twenty years ago.

Maybe it was the tinted spectacles, but Severus' head was starting to hurt.

He found a quiet corner of the Entrance Hall in which to wait for the tables to be moved for lunch, and he leaned into the wall, his forehead pressed against the cool flagstones, and thought about ancient runes. He peripherally registered that he must have looked rather odd—he was fairly certain he heard a group of lower form girls giggling at him—but he was too engrossed in translating his thoughts to cuneiform to be concerned. (And even if he hadn't been lost in thought, what the devil did he care of what some brainless children thought of him?)

At lunch, he sat amongst the seventh-years—who shot him a few odd looks, but paid him no attention after Wilkes rolled his eyes and drew them into a conversation about the upcoming exams. Severus managed to eat half of a sandwich with one hand while the other supported a heavy rune dictionary. Rosier, sitting with Avery and Mulciber a ways down the table, tried to catch his eye; Severus simply ignored the other boy until he gave up.

Once the meal was over, Severus followed the seventh-years back out into the Entrance Hall and took up a sheltered position amongst them to wait for the next exam. The seventh-years, it seemed, had decided as a whole to ignore the sudden anomaly of his presence (which suited Severus just fine). But, he had to admit, there were far more fifth-years taking the Transfigurations practical OWL than Slytherns taking their NEWT in Ancient Runes, and someone was bound to spot him.

So it was with resignation rather than surprise that he heard, at last, "Oy, Snivelly, are you lost?"

Severus involuntarily turned around, the familiar hatred rising in his chest. Black was posturing near the front of the line of fifth-years, chest out, chin up, somehow swaggering while still. Severus wrestled with a child's instinct to shrink into his skeleton and hide, a teenager's impulse to pull his wand on Black and hex the bloody smirk off of his aristocratic face, and the adult's inclination to…pull his wand on Black and hex the bloody smirk off of his aristocratic face.

Severus settled for raising one eyebrow. "Black?"

Black snorted. "Decided to do us all a favour and hide that ugly mug at last, I see," he called. "Or were you finally blinded by all that grease dripping into your eyes?"

"Leave him alone, Black," Lily said angrily from her position in line. "He wasn't doing anything to you."

"Oooer," Black said suggestively. He cupped his hand around his mouth and called down towards the end of the line. "Hey, James. Better watch out. If it weren't a physical impossibility I'd think Evans has a thing for Snivellus."

All at once, Potter let out a clap of laughter—"Ha!"—Lily exclaimed, "Shut up, Black!"; Severus felt his face heat up as he sputtered, "You dare—"; and Wilkes whirled around and bellowed, "If you fifth-years don't shut up right this second I will start taking points." He glared furiously at each of them. "Some of us have a very difficult examination in four minutes and would like to be able to hear ourselves think."

Black and Potter fell silent with a great show of holding back laughter. Lily continued to alternate between glaring at Black and shooting apologetic glances at Severus, in which he tried not to be too interested. Wilkes murmured, "If you can't ignore them, Snape, then I don't know what good you are as a Slytherin," and turned back to his friends.

From the end of the line, Rosier finally succeeded in catching Severus' eye by expediently hopping up and down and waving. What?mouthed Severus.

What are you doing? Rosier mouthed distinctly.

Sitting the exam, you dunderhead.

Exaggerated confusion. What?

Writing, Severus pantomimed, the exam.

Over here. Wrong line. Rosier beckoned.

I'm taking the Ancient Runes NEWT.

What?

Severus rolled his eyes, pulled a spare scrap of parchment from his bag, and scribbled, "I'm taking the Ancient Runes NEWT. Other NEWTs too." He tapped it with his wand and directed the paper airplane at Rosier, who opened it up, read it, and mouthed, Why?

In response, Severus gave him a look that had withered two decades of first-years.

Rosier shrugged back at him, but then held up his hands to form two circles around his eyes. Why glasses?

Sod off, Rosier.

What?

Exasperated, Severus simply flipped him two fingers and turned back around to face the entrance to the Great Hall.

He fought the inane urge to smile when he heard Lily's stifled giggle behind him.

The Ancient Runes exam did not go quite so well as he had hoped. Although he had been in the habit, as an adult, of reading ancient Potions and Dark Arts texts in their original languages, it had been years since he'd been forced to do so without a dictionary. Really, the examination was a completely artificial environment that did not accurately reflect a real-world application of a sound knowledge of ancient runes. Severus refused to believe that a slightly lower mark on this examination was any reflection of his abilities as a translator. If anything, it would be evidence that his mind had far better things to do than retain five hundred characters that he'd memorized twenty years ago. So.

At dinner, he'd been unable to avoid sitting with the ever-curious Rosier, who had grabbed him by the elbows in the Entrance Hall and escorted Severus to a seat between Mulciber and Avery. Severus repeated his explanations regarding his decision to take his NEWTs and the sudden appearance of his glasses. Fortunately, Avery and Mulciber had easily agreed that the fewer years spent in school, the better—"And it's not like you've got friends who—er, sorry"—and that the glasses couldn't possibly detract further from his appearance.

What kind friends he'd had.

Immediately after dinner, Severus managed to lose his housemates under the guise of heading to the library to revise for the NEWTs. Once they'd ambled off towards the dungeons, Severus doubled back, headed out of the castle, and waited for Lily in the gardens.

She caught up with him within only a few minutes and plopped down onto the bench, sitting sideways so that she faced him. She leaned forward and peered into his face.

He edged away. "What?"

Lily withdrew. "They're all right," she said. "The glasses, I mean. You can barely see your eyes behind them at all, but they're kind of stylish, so." She nodded. "They'll do."

"Thank you." Severus' upper lip quirked into half a smile.

"Now," Lily said, "regarding your sudden insane decision to take this year's NEWTs."

Severus leaned back on his elbows, reclining on the bench. "Yes?"

Lily drummed her hands on her knees. "Well? Why?"

Severus glanced at her, once more grateful for the slightly-tinted glasses. "I've spent enough time here," he said. "I know the material, and the only thing I'll get out of two more years at Hogwarts is two more years of being attacked by Potter and his cronies."

"But what will you do?"

"Go into Potions," Severus said evenly. "Just…two years earlier than I'd originally planned."

"Will you…be going home for the summer?" Lily asked.

Severus shook his head. "Not if there's any way to avoid it. Slughorn is looking into an interim position for me, for the month before our exam results are in. I think he's also going to write me a recommendation for an apprenticeship." He snorted. "Strangely, after five years of ignoring me, he's taken a sudden interest in my career."

Lily lightly pushed his shoulder, grinning. "I told you he didn't hate you."

Severus sniffed. "I never said he hated me. I said he was completely indifferent to me, which I rather thought he was."

Lily laughed. "I'm honestly just surprised he hasn't tried to collect you before." Her eyes snapped open. "Oh. Oh Severus. You realize he's going to invite you to the end-of-term Slug Club dinner."

"Oh joy," Severus said dryly. As Lily laughed, Severus' hearing picked up a small scrabbling noise—and out of the corner of his eye, he saw something small and furry scurry through the leaves—

"Stupefy," Severus snapped out, pointing his wand behind the bench. The noise stopped.

Lily jumped off of the bench and drew her wand. "What is it? What's going on?"

Severus held up one hand. "I think I got it." He lit his wand with a flick of his wrist and shined the light into the leaves.

"What is it?" Lily repeated.

Severus' lip curled. "It's just a rat." He snatched it up and walked away from the bench.

"Please don't kill it!" Lily called after him.

Severus glanced back. "Of course not. I'm just taking it to the Forest." And he set off toward the trees.

When he was well out of earshot, he Ennervated the rat, and, holding the point of his wand against its trembling belly, said, "Listen to me, Wormtail."

The rat stilled.

"I know," Severus said, low and threatening, "that Martinius Wilkes occasionally spares a kind word for you. Perhaps, at this time, he has even extended to you an offer of a beneficial friendship to be taken up when you leave Hogwarts."

Wormtail twitched.

"If I hear," Severus said, "that you have had any contact with Wilkes—or with Rosier, Avery, Mulciber, or any Black other than the disowned Black the elder…"

He jabbed the rat with his wand.

"I will personally make your life a living hell." Severus paused. "Minus, of course, the 'living' aspect."

Wormtail squealed, and Severus let him fall to the ground.

Thursday and Friday brought the Transfigurations and Charms exams, respectively. Severus performed the practical portions with no problem whatsoever, and was reasonably certain that he had remembered the theory well enough to do almost as well on the written exams. He'd had a brief moment of panic when the Charms examiner, a jittery-looking old man, had asked Severus if he'd invented any spells of his own. If he demonstrated a particularly vicious combat hex, or an extremely advanced defensive spell, of his own devising, it would be to his detriment—but which of his spells would seem impressive without being unlikely—

And then Severus almost rolled his eyes when he remembered that, at sixteen, he had invented a few spells of his own. Severus demonstrated muffliato and langlock and the instructor had seemed impressed, if a little nervous.

But that moment had reminded Severus that he'd have to be most cautious—if he displayed ability that surpassed "precocious sixteen-year-old" to the point of being uncanny, he'd draw extremely unwelcome attention to himself.

Outside of the examinations, Severus had passed the days without incident. He had managed to avoid the fifth-year Gryffindors by staying amongst the Slytherins and had managed to avoid the fifth-year Slytherins by simply refusing to be drawn into conversation with them (Rosier thought he was nervous about the NEWTs; Avery and Mulciber just thought he was an arsehole). And—he allowed himself to feel pleased—he had thoroughly resisted the temptation to follow Lily around and stare at her.

Ah, maturity.

So it was with some dread that he finished dinner on Friday with nothing but the vast emptiness of Saturday and Sunday looming before him. He had resigned himself to two days of lurking in the library—the only other students this time of year would be seventh-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs—and decided to get a head start by lingering at the Slytherin table and hiding behind the seventh-year Herbology text until everyone had left.

When the noise in the Great Hall had dwindled to a minimum, Severus snapped the book closed and stood up—only to drop back down into his seat with surprise.

"Hello," Lily said, smiling at him from across the Slytherin table.

"What—what are you doing here?" Severus said in a harsh whisper. He glanced up and down the table, but the only other students there were the first-year girls, who seemed to be making plans to get together over the summer.

Lily's face fell. "Well, if you don't want to be seen with me I can—"

Severus quickly shook his head. "No, no, that's not what—" He shook his head again. "Please, that's not what I meant. You surprised me, that's all."

Lily broke into a seemingly relieved grin. "I'm not surprised. Working hard, then?" she said, indicating the book.

"Yes. Quite. I am. Working." Severus briefly considered hitting himself in the head with the book.

"Well, you've got two days to study for the next exam," Lily said brightly. "Do you need to spend the whole time in the library?"

Severus leaned back and looked at her warily over the tops of his glasses. "What would the alternative be?"

Lily leaned forward over the table. "Come to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow."

The heavy book slipped slightly in Severus' fingers. "I—me?"

Lily pressed her lips together, laughter dancing in her eyes. "Yes, you. Unless…you need to focus on revising?"

Severus blinked. "Well, I—I probably should be revising. Er. I still have three exams left."

"Which ones?" Lily cocked her head to the side.

"Herbology, Defence, and Potions. So," he added wryly, "only the most important ones."

"Ah," said Lily, "but also the ones you know the best." She smiled at him expectantly.

Severus exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry," he said at last, "I would love to, but—" Lily frowned. Severus hastily added, "Really. I'm—I'm honoured that you've asked me to. But I don't think it would do for me to be seen gallivanting in Hogsmeade while the seventh-years revise for their NEWTs—especially when I've been given a special dispensation to take them."

Lily smiled softly. "I suppose that makes sense," she said. "But…if it weren't for that, would you be going with me?"

"Certainly," Severus said. "As I said…" He swallowed. "I would be honoured." He repositioned the Herbology textbook in his arms, holding it loosely over his chest.

"Well, that's nice to know," Lily said, ducking her head. She glanced up and added, "I've noticed, by the way, how you've been ignoring Avery and Mulciber."

Severus shrugged.

"Well…I'm proud of you, that's all," Lily said, colouring slightly. She rose to leave, and then turned back to him. "By the way, Sev," she said. "'Gallivanting'?" She snorted, grinning, and left.

Severus dropped the book on the table, leaned over, and rested his forehead on top of it, exhaling in relief. Amazingly, he had managed to avoid making a complete fool of himself, and she had believed his explanation, which was fortunate, because somehow he doubted she'd accept "I don't want your husband from an alternate timeline to see us together, or the Dark Lord, or—worse—Dumbledore," as a reason to avoid going to Hogsmeade.

A hand suddenly came down on Severus' shoulder. He jumped, and a voice behind him chortled. "No need to be frightened, Mr Snape."

Severus sat up. "Hello, Professor," he said, looking up over his shoulder.

Slughorn beamed. "I've been in touch with my business partner," he said, "and he's willing to meet with you to discuss a possible summer position."

Severus sat up a little straighter. "That's excellent, sir. Thank you."

"Be in my office at four o'clock on Sunday," Slughorn said, and, with a barely-discernible flick of the eyes up to Severus' hairline, added, "And do try to make a good impression, Mr Snape." At that, Severus allowed the smallest sneer to appear briefly on his face.

To his surprise, Slughorn raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly. "Very good," he said. "The glasses suit you, my boy." He turned and waddled off.

With a groan, Severus slumped back over onto his Herbology book.

June 1976, part 3

In the morning, Severus attempted to again sneak out of the dungeons before anyone else was awake. He was taken quite by surprise when he flung aside the green bedcurtains to see Evan Rosier sitting, awake, on the bed opposite Severus', his face lit from underneath by his wand. "Good morning, Snapey," Rosier whispered loudly.

Severus jumped backwards, grabbing his wand out from under his pillow. "You're awake rather early," he replied at the same volume.

"Ah," Rosier said, "It's a Hogsmeade weekend, and we proper fifth-years are finished with our examinations. Can't waste a day like today by sleeping through it."

"I quite agree," Severus said. "So if you'll excuse me, I'll make my morning ablutions—"

Rosier snorted. "'Ablutions'? What are you, my father?"

Severus just shrugged. "I'll be going to the toilet now. Enjoy the day in Hogsmeade, Rosier."

Severus pulled his worn dressing gown tightly around his too-bony shoulders and started to walk past Rosier toward the boys' toilets. He was unsurprised when Rosier grabbed his elbow. "Won't you be joining us in Hogsmeade, then?" Rosier asked, his voice low.

Severus shook his head. "I still have three NEWTs left. I'll be spending the next several days in the library."

"With the Hufflepuffs? Please." Rosier rolled his eyes.

Severus, his patience wearing thin, pulled his arm roughly from Rosier's grasp. "I don't know if you've noticed," he said, "but I'm taking examinations normally undertaken after an additional two years' study. Forgive me," he sneered, 'if I prefer to be as prepared as possible."

Rosier, his ghoulishly lit expression oddly one of satisfaction, nodded. "See you around, then."

"Quite." Severus stalked off to the lavatory.

He managed to avoid the other Slytherins throughout his early breakfast (which consisted of far too many sausages—Merlin, he was hungry all the time) and narrowly managed to skirt the incoming group of fifth-year Gryffindors as they crossed paths in the Entrance Hall (the only one to notice him was Wormtail, who visibly paled when Severus met his eye and feinted towards his wand). As Severus had predicted, the Library was deserted, save for a few seventh-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws—tradition called for Gryffindors to put off revising until it was time for all-night revision sessions, while the Slytherins preferred to stay in their nicely-appointed dormitories where they could a) share notes, and b) sabotage each others' notes (Severus had not been invited).

Severus set himself up in a corner of the library behind a wall of advanced Potions, Herbology, and Defence texts and proceeded to think.

The problem did not lie in brushing up on his Potions and Defence knowledge—that notion was laughable. Rather, Severus' main concern was that it would become obvious that he was far too knowledgeable about his pet subjects. If he went in there, wand a-blazing, using spells he'd refined and techniques he'd invented in his twenty years as a Potions Master, well—

Someone was bound to notice.

So Severus set about calculating exactly how he'd need to perform on the examinations.

He'd need to do exceptionally well, but within reason. He would have to show that he was capable of coming up with innovative procedures, without demonstrating any that would be outside the abilities of an outstandingly precocious teenager. And he'd have to keep in mind what he'd learned as a child at Hogwarts, and what he'd learned as an apprentice, and what techniques he'd learned outside of England that a 16-year-old halfblood from Manchester wouldn't've even seen…

Severus drew out a scrap piece of parchment and began to scribble:

What not to do

Ptns techniques devlpd p-1976

Dfnc spells self designed

ANYTHING DARK

Non-Engl Ptns techs (which are?)

Probably can

Wordless all

Wandless some

Wordless and wandless BASIC defence spells (ex shield yes, ptrnus no)

Anyth did in orig tests (personal recipe yes)

Severus looked over his list and added "bloody FLY" to the "What not to do" list.

Sighing, he drew out another piece of parchment and began to sketch a timeline of recent—or future—developments in Potions, making care to note which new techniques and theories he might be inclined to utilise during the exam.

On a separate parchment, he listed, in approximate chronological order, the spells and Potions he had personally invented. He drew a thick black line on the page at the point where his inventions had been made well after he'd finished his Hogwarts education.

On a fourth piece, he drew a vertical line and under two headers—"English" and "other"—he listed several of his more commonly-used brewing techniques. This was the area in which he knew he was most likely to slip. He'd done his Mastery under a Bulgarian wizard, and although the closest the man had come to actually instructing Severus had been to demand a higher quantity of stock potions (Severus still had nightmares that included the phrase "Ve vill need at least sreedozen more of thees"), Severus had still picked up a few techniques just from watching Master Rotislavic brew the occasional complex potion. After twenty years, they'd become as much a part of his repertoire as the skills he'd learned from Horace Slughorn—but they would certainly look odd to an Anglocentric examiner.

Severus read his four lists. He read them again. Then he lit them on fire, Vanished the smoke and the ashes, and proceeded to write them all out again on fresh parchment.

He repeated this until his guidelines were imprinted firmly in his memory, and then he did it one more time.

The day passed more quickly than he'd expected.

At dinner—he'd missed lunch, and his sixteen-year-old's body was letting him know it—he sat in silence while Avery and Mulciber related with glee their expedition into the Hog's Head ("it's a total slum, but that disgusting old barman actually served us Firewhiskey") and Rosier continued his too-close examination of Severus' reactions (thank Merlin for tinted glasses). As soon as he'd inhaled enough food to satisfy his body's demands, Severus left the table without a word, fled to the dungeons, and read his Herbology textbook behind heavily-spelled bedcurtains until he fell asleep.

In the morning, he left his sleeping dormmates before the sun was up, snagged a quick, solitary breakfast in the Great Hall—the only other occupants were a pair of seventh-year Ravenclaws—and skulked off to the library.

He had just secured himself behind his wall of books when he heard a most unwelcome clearing of the throat. Severus glanced up to see the Head Boy—a Hufflepuff whose name escaped him—standing across from Severus, his hands flat on the table. "It's Snape, isn't it?" the boy said.

Severus raised an eyebrow in response.

"You're the fifth-year who's taking the NEWTs, right?"

Severus leaned back and crossed his arms.

Visibly flustered, the boy tried again. "Are you revising for tomorrow's Herbology exam?"

Severus indicated the Herbology texts with one hand.

The Hufflepuff shifted his weight from one foot to another. "Well, we're having a revision session as soon as everyone gets here. You're welcome to join us."

Severus could think of any number of things he'd rather do than join a Hufflepuff review session—especially when his knowledge of the subjects might draw unwanted attention. In response, he leaned forward. The Hufflepuff took a tiny step back. Severus smiled. "No," he said, "thank you."

"All right then," the boy said, taking a few more steps backward. "We'll be—we're over there. If you change your mind."

Severus snorted. "Unlikely."

The Hufflepuff made a hasty retreat to the other side of the room, where Severus clearly heard him say, "No. Wilkes was right. That kid is an arsehole."

Satisfied, Severus cracked open a seventh-year Herbology book and settled down to read.

Lunch came and went—Avery and Mulciber seemed to have given up on conversing with Severus, although Rosier still, unfortunately, seemed tobe observing him far too closely—and before long, the hour of Severus' appointment in Slughorn's office had drawn near. Remembering with dark humour Slughorn's none-too-subtle recommendation that he make himself "presentable," Severus went back to the dungeons and threw on a clean set of school robes, charmed the lint off of them, and, just before running out of the dormitory, made quick use of Mulciber's comb. (There might have still been a few snarls on the back of his head, but they were difficult to reach, and Severus somehow doubted anything could improve his appearance enough to make a difference. If Slughorn's associate wanted an attractive stockboy, then no amount of hair-combing would convince him to take on Severus.)

Severus climbed the stairs to Slughorn's office, paused briefly to gather himself, and knocked smartly on the door at precisely four o'clock.

"Come in," called Slughorn from within, and Severus swung open the door.

Sitting stiffly on one of Slughorn's overplush chairs was a man whose face seemed extraordinarily familiar to Severus, but whom he couldn't recall having ever actually met. The man was older, though not quite as old as Slughorn, with longish greying hair pulled back neatly in a low knot. He was thin, and dressed in simple black robes, and although it was hard to gauge exactly since the man was sitting, Severus gathered he was quite tall—most likely an inch or two above Severus' adult height.

"Hello, Severus," Slughorn said jovially from his position behind his desk. "Arsenius, may I present Severus Snape, the young man I was telling you about. Severus, I believe you are familiar with the works of Arsenius Jigger."

Severus' heart clenched. That's how he'd recognized the man—from his much-younger photo in Defence and Potions periodicals. The man was notoriously reclusive but equally prolific, having been responsible for a many of the most important field developments in the 20th century. In fact, Severus' own Mastery work—a potion designed to increase a subject's susceptibility to Veritaserum (and, unofficially, Legilimency)—had been greatly influenced by Jigger's work in combat potions. Truthfully, Severus' whole career had been greatly influenced by Jigger's work—the man was without a doubt the leading expert in the dual area.

But Severus had never met him as a student, and by the time he had begun to accumulate enough credibility as a potioneer to feel justified in contacting him professionally, Jigger had died.

So Severus was being entirely genuine when he stepped forward, extended a hand, and said, "It's an honour to meet you, Master Jigger. I've admired your work for years."

Jigger nodded brusquely and allowed Severus to shake his hand, though he didn't rise. Slughorn indicated that Severus should take the other seat; Severus sat down.

"Arsenius here is my partner in the Diagon Alley apothecary," Slughorn said. "I'm sure you're familiar with Slug & Jigger's?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Arsenius here has just lost his shop boy," Slughorn announced. "As unaccustomed as he is to, shall we say, customer service—"

He shot a sideways grin at Jigger, who raised an eyebrow in return.

"—he's looking for someone to man the shop while he brews the more intricate potions for sale."

"I don't pay much," Jigger said abruptly. His voice was low and gravelly. "But I understand you're more in need of lodging than of employment, and there's a small flat above the shop that's perfectly serviceable."

"That sounds agreeable, sir," Severus said. "What is it I would be expected to do?"

"Sell the stock. Offer advice to those who can't tell aconite from asphodel. Attempt to be…pleasant to the shop's patrons."

At this, Slughorn focused his attention on Severus. "Can you do that?"

Severus fought the urge to scowl, and was once more grateful for his glasses. "Yes," he said.

Jigger glanced from Slughorn back to Severus. "Can you?" he repeated.

Annoyed, Severus decided to put on his best Pureblood-at-the-Party mannerisms. "Certainly, sir," he said silkily, bowing slightly in his chair. "It would be an absolute pleasure." Recalling Lucius Malfoy, he put his hand over his heart and lowered his head.

Slughorn blinked. "All right, then," he said at last. "Now, Arsenius—you recall that young Severus here is currently in the midst of taking his NEWTs."

"I recall, Horace."

Slughorn beamed. "Right. Two years early, in fact!"

"I am aware," Jigger said blandly, "of young Mr Snape's age."

"So," Slughorn continued, "he'll be receiving his results in mid-July."

"And?" Jigger said.

"And…" Slughorn rolled his eyes. "Tell the boy what you told me."

Jigger huffed, and turned to face Severus. "Young man," he said, "I am not in the habit of taking on apprentices."

Severus nodded. It was true—as far as Severus was aware, the man had never taken an apprentice.

"I find most seventeen-year-olds to be unsuitable workers with insufferably immature attitudes," Jigger continued. "And I cannot tolerate children in my working space."

Severus suppressed a smirk. Neither could he.

"However." Jigger shot a glance at Slughorn, who smiled. "Horace has impressed upon me that you are a most…unusual student, who may, he believes, somehow be up to my scrutiny. However unlikely that may be."

When Severus said nothing, Jigger continued, "If I find that improbable scenario to be the case, then, once we have received your NEWT results, we may negotiate an apprenticeship."

Severus leaned forward in his chair. "Thank you, sir."

Jigger eyed him narrowly. "Do not take this lightly, young man. My standards are very high and you will more likely fail to live up to them than not."

Slughorn tsked. "Don't be so negative, Arsenius. I assure you, Severus' work ethic is excellent and his brewing is inspired."

Severus inclined his head towards Slughorn. "Thank you, sir."

Slughorn waved a hand in dismissal. "I only speak the truth. So, Severus. Will you take the position?"

Severus nodded. "Yes, thank you. It would be an honour to work with you, Master Jigger."

Jigger snorted. "Please refrain from flattery. It's unimpressive."

"I only meant—" Severus stopped short when he noticed Slughorn shaking his head. Severus swallowed. "Yes, sir."

Slughorn smiled. "Well, that's settled then. Severus, when you leave here at the end of next week, you'll be going to the apothecary. Doubtlessly Arsenius will put you to work right away, but ah! That is what you wanted, is it not?" Severus opened his mouth to reply, but Slughorn simply waved him away. "Off with you, then! I'm sure you'll want to be sharing the good news with all your…with somebody."

"Thank you, Professor. Thank you, Master Jigger. It will be—" Severus stopped himself in time. "Good evening, sirs." He bowed slightly and walked through the door, which closed behind him.

Severus leaned against the corridor wall, exhaling slowly. He was annoyed that he'd let himself become so flustered—evidently, the presence of his academic idol (not to mention the opportunity to actually learn from the man—Merlin!) was enough to turn him into the awkward sixteen-year-old boy he was purported to be.

Which, to be honest, was at least helpful in maintaining his deception.

Severus had absolutely no doubt that he'd perform excellently in his NEWTs, and even less doubt that he'd be an exemplary apprentice—after all, what could a Potions Master want more than an apprentice who already knew all the techniques? Severus had never, himself, taken an apprentice—he saw quite enough of the dunderheaded students in their seven years at Hogwarts and had no desire to add another four years beyond that—but he could only assume that the less actual teaching involved, the better (Merlin knew Master Rotislavic had been far more interested in getting cheap labour from Severus than actually instructing him).

Instead, he and Jigger could focus on developing new methods and potions in the often-neglected field of combat potioneering—together. This was truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. In fact—Severus smirked to himself—it was a once-in-two-lifetimes opportunity.

So it was with uncharacteristically high spirits that Severus climbed the stairs up to the Great Hall for dinner. His spirits were so high, in fact, that he neglected to properly skulk through the Entrance Hall and wound up face-to-face with perf—Lily Evans.

"Oh, hello, Sev," she said, smiling brightly. "Been revising hard?"

Severus swallowed and took a step back. "Oh. Yes. Quite."

"You seem…happy, dare I say," Lily said, prodding his arm teasingly. "And—don't take this the wrong way, but you seem a lot taller when you don't, er, hunch over so much."

Severus scowled and tried to assume the poor posture that had been his standard as a child, but Lily just laughed at him. "Don't!" she said, resting her hand on his arm. "It's…nice." Her damnably emerald eyes shone up at him and Severus felt something unpleasant squirm into his lower intestine (what did they feed the students back in the '70s?).

It was, of course, at that moment that Potter and his entourage—minus Lupin—wheeled into the Hall. Severus struggled briefly to keep his face neutral before he made the happy realization that it would be far more noticeable if he didn't sneer and say, "Wonderful. Potter and his cronies."

Which he did.

Lily squeezed his arm. "Don't let them get to you, Sev," she said.

"What's this, then?" Black said, strolling up behind her. "Snivellus, you really need to stop begging girls to talk to you. It's pathetic."

"Black. Potter." Severus turned toward Wormtail. "Pettigrew," he said slowly, drawing out the syllables. Wormtail flinched. Severus suppressed a smile. "Where's your pet—" He stopped suddenly. "…prefect?"

"Oh, he's around," Black said, waving his hand laconically.

"He's somewhere that isn't here," Potter said. "Maybe you should join him?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Knock it off, you lot. You're not funny."

"Sure we are!" Potter replied. "We're terribly funny, all of us. Aren't we funny, Pete?"

Wormtail, an eye on Severus, simply nodded wordlessly.

"See?" Potter said. "Pete can't even talk for how funny we are."

Lily seemed to be fighting a smile. Severus felt his face warm. Before he could stop himself, he spat out, "Pettigrew can't talk because he's a worthless excuse for a human being, not because he's struck dumb by your wit, which is, incidentally, nonexistent."

"Well that was unkind," Black said, stepping in front of the blinking Pettigrew. "I don't think you should speak to people that way, Snivellus."

"You really should be more polite," Potter chimed in. They both made a show of not quite reaching for their wands.

Severus suddenly felt a presence to his right. He glanced over and saw that he had been joined by Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery, who had apparently decided that it fell to them to perform the role of back-up in this adolescent drama.

"Piss off, Potter," Avery said. "And take the girl with you."

"Excuse me?" Lily repeated, eyebrows raised. "'The girl' will not be 'taken' anywhere."

Severus suppressed a sigh. "Perhaps it's best you go ahead inside," he said. It wouldn't do for Lily to witness any more of his irrationally childish responses to Potter's provocations.

Instead of agreeing sensibly, Lily placed a hand on her hip, a mulish expression on her ange—face. "You can't tell me you agree with him?" she demanded, jerking her head towards Avery.

"I only said that it might be best if you leave this idiocy behind and take your seat for dinner," Severus said reasonably.

With that, Lily threw up her hands. "'Idiocy'?" she repeated. "Oh, thanks."

Severus blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I know I'm not smart enough to sit my NEWTs yet," Lily said, her face reddening, "but there's no need to insult me." She turned and headed towards the Great Hall.

Severus cursed mentally and called after her, "That's not at all what I—"

Lily didn't turn around as she called back, "Save it. I'm not interested."

Potter the arsehole flipped Severus a grin and dashed after her. Black smiled nastily and flipped Severus two fingers, and dashed after Potter. Pettigrew scurried after them, refusing to look in Severus' direction.

Merlin.

"Tough luck, Snape," Rosier said, clapping his hand down tightly on Severus' right shoulder. "Guess you'll have to find yourself a new Mudblood."

Severus, without thinking, switched his wand into his non-dominant hand and, his hand wrapped around it in a fist, swung upwards and then straight down, driving the blunt end of his wand onto Rosier's knuckles. Rosier shrieked—rather, satisfyingly, like a little girl—and snatched his hand away. Severus flipped his grip on his wand and, whirling around to face the boy head on, pointed it at him.

"What the bloody fuck is wrong with you?" Rosier said, clutching his hand to his chest, gasping.

"Not on," Mulciber said, shaking his head. "Not on at all." Avery stared, open-mouthed.

"Do not," Severus spat, "use that word in my presence."

"Since when?" Avery recovered enough from his shock to demand.

Severus twitched his wand in Avery's direction. "Right now."

Rosier was studying his hand—from what Severus could tell, it seemed to be fine, minus the growing red blotch that would most likely develop into an ugly bruise. That was fine by Severus—such a bruise would not be the ugliest thing to ever mark the skin on Rosier's left arm.

Rosier massaged his hand lightly and, finally, looked up to glare at Severus. "I don't know what the fuck you're playing at," he said at last. "But it's not fucking funny."

"I'm not fucking joking," Severus said lightly, and then he let his wand drop. "Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I find I have no desire to join you for dinner this evening." Listening closely for any sudden movements from the trio of fifth-year Slytherins, Severus turned around and shouldered his way through a group of students, heading toward the dungeons.

Nobody stopped him.

June 1976, part 4

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 knowwhy."

"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.

June 1976, part 5

The morning before his Defence NEWT, Severus awoke to an eerie stillness in his dormitory. Assuming he had been somewhat…overzealous with his silencing charms, he shrugged off the strangeness and swept out of the room towards the toilets.

The dormitory was still silent when he returned from showering, and Severus exercised great caution when scooping up his satchel, which…come to think of it…

Severus knelt down. He tore open his unusually lightweight bag and peered inside. It was entirely empty, save for three quills, two inkpots, and a sheaf—blank—of parchment.

His eyes swept his bedside table and the floor next to and under his bed. His trunk, he knew, had not been tampered with—one of the umpteen alarm spells on it would've alerted him if it had been—but there was no denying it; his Herbology, Defence, and Potions books—and notes—had all disappeared.

"Missing something, Snapey?"

Severus, still crouching, whirled around. Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery were all awake, and each watching him with varying degrees of cruel amusement. Rosier, who had (of course) spoken, was (overly) casually toying with his wand, while Avery smirked from the next bed over.

"My notes," Severus said at last. "And my books. Where are they?"

Avery tsked. "Losing your books right before your NEWTs? Not very bright at all."

Rosier nodded, and frowned. "Oh, no," he said softly. "It's only your most important exams left, too, isn't it?"

Of course. Severus successfully fought the sudden urge to laugh. This was their big revenge? Salazar Slytherin must be spinning in his tomb at the thought that this was the most nefarious plot his scions could contrive.

Granted, if he had been sixteen years old, and genuinely attempting to take his NEWTs on just five years of schooling, missing his Potions and Defence textbooks and notes just days before the exams would be enough to throw a large hex into his plans. But, as is?

Ha.

So Severus scowled and stood up, drawing himself up to his full height, as his hands shook just ever so. "Give them to me," he said.

Rosier shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know where they are," he said. "Do you recall where you were when you last saw them?"

"Check the lost and found," Mulciber suggested unhelpfully.

"I don't know," Avery said. "Sometimes lost books tend to find their way to, oh, the bottom of the lake."

The three boys smiled nastily at Severus, who sneered, grabbed up his bag, flung it over his shoulder, and stalked out of the room.

Just before he slammed the door behind him, he heard Rosier call out, "We'll save your bed for you for next year, Snapey."

Severus delighted in frightening the few students awake at such an early hour as he stormed through the Slytherin Common Room and up the many flights of stairs to the library, where he snatched up all the seventh-year Defence and Potions texts he could find and barricaded himself behind a stack of them. Anyone who saw him would be sure to note how furiously he scribbled page after page of notes—

And, hopefully, report what they'd seen back to his fellow fifth-year Slytherins, so that they might be satisfied with their oh-so-clever child's retribution.

He was shortly joined (at a distance, of course) by a somewhat smaller group of seventh-year Hufflepuffs than usual, as the Care of Magical Creatures NEWT was scheduled for that morning. Lunch came, and went, and the afternoon saw fewer Ravenclaws and more Hufflepuffs as the students took their Astronomy examination.

At some point, Severus switched from "I'm feverishly rewriting all my notes" to "I'm feverishly reading all these Defence textbooks," which was really "I'm feverishly reading the only Potions text in the library I've never seen before, which, I've deduced, was destroyed sometime in 1979."

The afternoon passed quickly, and Severus enjoyed his dinner, which primarily featured sitting at the far end of the Slytherin table and glaring malevolently at his dormmates (and, when possible, James Potter, which was, really, just for show).

Severus hustled away from dinner and into bed, where he finished reading the book that he might, in fact, have smuggled out of the library (which clearly couldn't be trusted to keep it safe). He fell asleep early and awoke well before his roommates, who were apparently sleeping the satisfied sleep of the avenged.

The Defence examination absolutely could not have gone any better. He produced no less than twenty eloquent inches of spidery script for the essay portion, and as for the practical, the examiner was impressed—but not alarmed—by his mastery of nonverbal spells, as well as the few mild hexes of Severus' invention that he demonstrated for her (she was particularly impressed withmuffliato). The woman even went so far as to smile at the examination's conclusion and say, "You certainly have a bright future ahead of you, Mr Snape."

So it was with no small amount of satisfaction that Severus took his seat at dinner amongst the Slytherin seventh-years, one of whom was lamenting his inability to perform a reliably strong, nonverbal Shield Charm. Once again, Severus marvelled—and despaired—that it would be another twenty years before the students saw a competent Defence instructor.

Or, rather, it would have been another twenty years, as Severus had absolutely no intention of teaching again, Defence or otherwise. The students would simply have to learn for themselves, as he had. Perhaps, if he managed to vanquish the—

He stopped that thought before it had a chance to materialize.

Wilkes' voice suddenly cut in on his reverie. "I imagine Snape had no difficulty," he said. "He's quite the prodigy."

Severus contented himself with raising an eyebrow behind his over-large glasses. "Oh?" he said simply.

"Might I go so far as to hope," Wilkes continued, "that you would deign to join us for our Potions review session tomorrow afternoon?"

Severus had no desire to chance revealing preternatural Potions knowledge to a group of potential Death Eaters. "I may be unavailable," he said idly.

Wilkes snorted. "Don't be absurd. You're available. It's the Muggle Studies exam tomorrow afternoon."

"Still," Severus said. "I—"

"Professor Slughorn," Wilkes interrupted, "suggested that you join us."

Severus sat back. That explained Wilkes' sudden interest. "Very well," Severus replied. "In your dormitory, then? One o'clock?"

Wilkes rolled his eyes. "Don't do us any favours," he said. The boy to Wilkes' left—a doughy-faced blonde, some Parkinson offshoot?—laughed.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Severus replied darkly.

Wilkes smirked. "Good."

Severus focused his attention on his dinner, ignoring the speculative glances the other seventh-years were now turning his way.

At the meal's end, Severus started for the dungeon staircase only to find himself flanked by Rosier and Avery, with Mulciber drawing up behind them. "Oh, good," Rosier said. "You're heading back. So are we."

Severus suppressed a groan. "Ah."

He and his unwelcome entourage started down the stairs.

"We heard," Avery said, leaning in and leering unpleasantly, "that you'll be revising with the seventh-years tomorrow."

Merlin, this was tedious. "Yes," Severus said, drawing out the s in a sibilant hiss.

"That's good, then, isn't it?" Mulciber put in from behind him. "Considering you lost all your books and all."

"Yes, considering," Severus repeated.

"So," said Rosier, as they approached the bottom of the stairs, "here's hoping you do well on your exams, then." He stopped suddenly and held out his hand for Severus to shake.

Severus glared at him. "What's this?" he asked.

Rosier smirked. "Wishing you luck on the NEWTs, of course." He proffered his hand again.

Severus glanced behind him, where a dozen or so upper-form Slytherins were backed up on the stairs, half of them pretending not to eavesdrop while the other half pretended to be pretending not to eavesdrop (Slytherins!). He glanced back at Rosier, who grinned up at him from the step below.

Sighing, Severus reached out and shook the boy's hand. "Thank you," he said. "One might say that I'll be needing it."

One would be incorrect, but still—one might say it.

"That's why you've got all those seventh-years to revise with," Rosier said. When Severus stepped down on to the floor, Rosier companionably slung an arm around Severus' shoulders. "But for now, let's please have a game of chess. You know Avery's no good at it, and it's no sport at all losing to Mulciber each time."

Severus snorted—even as a child, Evan Rosier had never beaten Severus at chess—but he simply said, "Certainly. I assume there's a wager involved."

Severus may have had the intellect and experience of a 38-year-old Potions Master, but he still only had the coffers of a teenaged student.

Two hours later, his coffers more resembled those of a well-heeled heir-apparent Pureblood, which, Severus reflected, was an event for which even his sixteen-year-old self would have forgiven the slight of a few missing books.

On his way across the grounds and towards the lake the next morning—Severus could not abide the thought of one more morning spent trapped in the library with nervous Hufflepuffs and disdainful Ravenclaws—Severus unexpectedly found himself utilizing skills he had honed over nearly two decades of spying on and for the Dark Lord as, without consciously registering what stimulus had prompted his response, he ducked behind a tree and cast a hasty Disillusionment Charm on himself—

—which turned out to be for nought.

"Severus," Lily Evans said, peering around the tree, "I saw you hide back there." She squinted at him. "Oh, can you do a Disillusionment now, then? I mean, I suppose you'd need—they were probably on the NEWT, I mean the Disillusionment Charm probably was. Was it?"

Severus girded his loins (and then promptly resolved to never even think the word "loins" around Lily Evans ever again) as he straightened his posture and, tapping his wand briskly on the back of his own head, released the Charm.

Lily smiled. "Hello," she said.

"Yes," Severus replied.

Lily blinked. "I'm sorry, yes what?"

"Yes," Severus said, "the Disillusionment Charm was on the NEWT."

"Did you do it properly?" Lily asked.

They stared at each other.

"Right," said Lily, blushing. "That was stupid. Of course you did. I just—right."

"The exam went well," Severus said. And then, because it suddenly felt like the right thing to do, he reached up and needlessly adjusted his glasses.

"Good," Lily said. "I'm glad."

They regarded one another for one long moment.

"I feel quite strongly as though I owe you an overdue apology for the unfortunate events of a few nights past," Severus said suddenly, the words bubbling up from his chest before he had a moment to censure them, just as Lily exclaimed, "Sev, I'm so sorry about Sunday night, you must think I'm the most irrational—"

They paused, and then Lily said, "I'm the one who owes you an apology, I was just being ridiculous—" while Severus shook his head emphatically and said, "I assure you, I could never hold a negative opinion of you—"

Without warning, Lily reached up with one pale hand and pressed a finger against Severus' lips. He backed up against the tree and his stomach clenched as Lily said, quite seriously, "Remus told me what happened after I left. You—I can't believe you did that."

Lily removed her hand and Severus, after a moment, eloquently offered, "Well."

Lily shook her head. "You probably shouldn't've done that, I can only imagine what you've had to deal with from your dormmates because of it, but I—well." She smiled. "It was surprisingly noble."

Severus shrugged and allowed several strands of hair to fall into his face. Lily reached out and, blushing, brushed them aside. "Really, Sev," she said. "Thank you."

Severus' cheek burned where Lily's fingertips had brushed his skin. "I—anything for you," he said guilelessly, and promptly wished that the earth would swallow him whole, or the Giant Squid would extend a tentacle and sweep him into the lake, or Evan Rosier would get tired of playing childish games and—

"Don't worry," Lily said solemnly. "I promise to use this power for the good of all mankind." She caught Severus' hand in her own, and, squeezing it, said, "May I accompany you during your last ride on the Hogwarts Express?"

Severus glanced down at their joined hands. "How could I possibly refuse?" he replied.

How, truly, could he?

He couldn't.

"Great," Lily said, smiling. "Really—wonderful." She squeezed Severus' hand once more before letting it go. "So it's a da—a deal, then."

"Quite," said Severus, whose sudden loss of eloquence was by no means rectified when Lily Evans suddenly swooped in and pressed her lips to his cheek.

For the second time in two weeks, Severus' heart stopped.

Lily pulled away. "Right then, good luck on the exams," she said breathlessly, and then she was gone.

Severus slid to his feet, the back of his robes catching on the bark of the tree he leaned against, and lay sprawled like a mangled spider amongst the upraised roots of the tree.

Bloody hell.

So much for avoiding unwanted attention. So far, he'd managed to attract Martinius Wilkes' scrutiny and physically assault Evan Rosier—and he sincerely doubted that James Potter would fail to notice if Severus Snape spent the whole of the train ride in the company of Lily Evans.

But Severus would just have to handle Potter's childish, possessive fury, because, although Severus' skills were many, "refusing Lily Evans" was not among them.

Severus opened his satchel, pulled out a book, and refused to think about radiant green eyes.

Soft pink lips never crossed his mind. At all.

That afternoon, Severus lurked in the doorway of the seventh-years' dormitory, which was as he'd remembered from his own seventh year. Instead of being a small room with just a bed for each student, the seventh-year dormitory also contained desks and a small assortment of chairs, which formed a small study area at the near end of the room. The sleeping area at the other end was separated by a thick curtain running the width of the dormitory, which was currently closed—presumably due to the presence of guests in the room.

In addition to Wilkes, the room also contained the blonde maybe-Parkinson, a ginger boy who was not a Weasley, and a skinny boy called Smythe (or was it Smitts?). To Severus' surprise—although he should have expected it—the boys had also been joined by two girls whom he had surely seen before, but absolutely could not place. The six students had drawn up chairs into a circle and were leafing through their Potions textbooks, murmuring quietly to one another. Given the presence of an additional empty chair in the circle, Severus rather assumed they were waiting for him to join them.

So, Severus straightened his shoulders and stepped into the room. "Hello," he said, and six pairs of eyes turned up to fix on him.

"Ah, good, you're here. Take a seat," Wilkes said, gesturing toward the empty chair. "Everyone, this is Severus Snape, Professor Slughorn's young Potions prodigy. Snape, I'm sure you know everyone here."

Severus didn't. "Certainly," he said easily.

"Right," Wilkes said. "Professor Slughorn suggested that you and your Potions expertise might assist us in revising for tomorrow's NEWT." Then, to Severus' surprise, Wilkes leaned back in his chair. "So," the Prefect said, "assist us."

Severus, who had just sat down, blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

One of the girls giggled.

"Assist us," Wilkes repeated. "As we are apparently in need of assistance."

Smythe-Smitts grinned.

Ah, so it was to be the "humiliate the pretentious swot" game, one with which Severus was not, it must be admitted, unfamiliar. He ascertained the situation at once; of course Wilkes resented being told to ask the assistance of a younger student, and of course he would go out of his way to prove to his peers (and himself) that said assistance was entirely unnecessary.

Frankly, it was damned foolish of Slughorn to think that this might have been a good idea.

But it was even more foolish of Wilkes to believe that he could outwit Severus.

"We have studied many Potions in our time at Hogwarts," Severus began, his voice low and silky. "But it is not the knowledge of any single, particular potion that will make the difference between an acceptable score and an outstanding one. Rather"—and here he dropped his voice even lower—"it is theory. One may be able to follow directions to…the…letter, but then, ah…" Severus glanced around at the students, several of whom—despite themselves, Severus would wager—were quite captivated by his quiet speech. "If one does not fully understand, does not truly comprehend, the reason we stir clockwise here, and counter-clockwise here, and crush with the flat of the blade of a stone knife hewn in the moonlight there—"

Severus spread his long fingers and extended his hands, palms upward. "Then," he continued, "one cannot hope to truly brew, andthat, gentlemen—and ladies—"

To his complete (well-concealed) shock, one of the girls ducked her gaze and blushed.

"—is the difference between brewing," Severus said, "and following a recipe."

Severus surveyed the seventh-years. He had their full attention.

"And so, let us turn our attention to the Third Law of Golpalott, and its implications not only on antidotes, but also on the brewing of poisons in and of themselves. I'm sure Mr Wilkes will be kind enough to share his doubtlessly perceptive insights on the matter?"

Martinius Wilkes did not, in fact, seem pleased.

Although Severus had never enjoyed teaching, he had to admit—lecturing and humbling were, of course, entirely different matters.

Forty-five minutes later, and Severus was circulating amongst the students, speaking with them individually about their personal concerns about the examination. It wasn't as difficult as he'd feared—after all, he knew the Hogwarts Potions curriculum like the back of his wand, and it was easier than he'd dared hoped to keep his advice within the confines of the knowledge a particularly studious youth might acquire in the course of his education.

He finished answering Smythe's (Smitts'?) embarrassingly elementary question about the steeping time of volatile animal-derived ingredients ("Longer is better." "Really?" "Merlin help us") and moved to stand behind the last person in the circle, which was (naturally) Martinius Wilkes.

"Is there anything I can assist with?" Severus asked plainly.

Wilkes indicated the seat next to him, which Severus took with some caution, and leaned forward. "You do know what you're talking about," Wilkes said quietly. "I'll give you that."

Severus inclined his head.

"Which leads me to wonder," Wilkes continued softly, "why this is the first time I've heard of your impressive Potions acumen."

Severus shrugged. "I've never concealed it," he said. "I might assume that any previous murmurings you might have heard might have been simply dismissed as excited babbling from unknowledgeable children in lower years than your own."

Wilkes smiled wryly. "And you might be correct." He sat back. "Snape—is that an English name?"

"My father was from Manchester," Severus said flatly. Wilkes wasn't far off from encroaching on the time-honoured Slytherin tradition of Don't Inquire about Blood Purity to Someone's Face (Even if He Is a Dirty Halfblood).

"But your mother was a Prince, is that correct?"

Severus did not like the turn this conversation was taking. He knew very well, of course, that Wilkes was destined for the Dark Lord's inner circle. And, if Severus' own date of induction was any indication, it was not at all unlikely that the proud eighteen-year-old before him already bore His Mark.

"She was," Severus replied evenly.

"The last of the Princes, I believe?" Wilkes asked.

"Indeed."

"So I wonder," Wilkes said, "why an intelligent young man with no connections to speak of—I hope you'll allow me to speak plainly, as I mean no offense at all, you understand—would not choose to utilize his remarkable abilities to build favour amongst his peers, rather than antagonising them?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Am I to infer that you are referring to a specific incident?"

Wilkes smirked. "I heard that you stabbed Evan Rosier."

"I did not, as you say, stab Evan Rosier," Severus replied, rolling his eyes.

"But you attacked him"—Wilkes' upper lip curled, ever so slightly—"physically. Unless I've been misinformed?"

"You were not," Severus said.

Wilkes leaned forward. "What would possess you to do such a thing?" he asked.

"Rosier is an arsehole."

He really was.

To his surprise, Wilkes leaned back and laughed openly. "Oh, but you are perceptive, aren't you?" he said. "He definitely is; I'll give you that. But," he continued, more soberly, "Rosier is not the only person worth forging a relationship with at this school. So I ask you again—why leave school now, and lose the opportunity to build those relationships?"

"There is not a single person at this school who could assist me in progressing my career," Severus pointed out. "And there are others who would, frankly, delight in doing the opposite."

"Your little Gryffindor foes?" Wilkes asked. Severus nodded. "Yes, I can see how that would become tedious. So—what will you be doing, once you've sat your early NEWTs?"

"Take up under a Potions Master," Severus said.

"Do you have one in mind?"

"Why, yes." Severus leaned back in his own chair. "I'm sure you're familiar with the works of Arsenius Jigger? He's agreed to have me on as an apprentice—assuming, of course, that my NEWTs are in order, which…" Severus trailed off, waving one hand dismissively.

"Well, well," Wilkes said, his eyes widening slightly. "Professor Slughorn didn't share that bit of information with me. You are to be congratulated, then."

Severus smirked. "Thank you."

"So you'll be starting, when, in July? After we get our results?"

"Ah, on Saturday, actually," Severus said.

Wilkes smiled crookedly. "You must be eager, then," he said, "to forgo your last opportunity for a holiday."

Severus snorted. "As you've heard, my mother passed away earlier this year," he said. "I've no desire to cool my heels in her husband's house when I could be working with the greatest Potions mind in centuries."

Wilkes' expression changed suddenly. "I take it, then, that you are…unfond of your father's family?" he asked casually.

Severus' thoughts stopped cold.

Two years from now and eighteen years ago, Wilkes had taken Severus to his first party at Malfoy Manor.

A year after that, Wilkes had brought in his dear friend Peter Pettigrew.

Really, Severus was quite the fool for not realizing sooner that Wilkes would already be recruiting for the Dark Lord.

Severus made a decision.

"I am fonder of Potions," he said, "and research therein." And, recalling the nervous gesture he had found himself making that morning, he reached up and needlessly adjusted his glasses.

Wilkes pursed his lips. "I see," he said. "So it's academics before all else, then?"

"Precisely."

"What about politics?" Wilkes asked. "Any interest there?"

"I cannot tell you," Severus said slowly, "how entirely uninterested I am in politics."

"Hmm." Wilkes leaned forward. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that the proper connections can ensure a most well-respected career—even in academics. Where else does research funding come from, if not from highly-regarded patrons?" he asked rhetorically.

Severus inclined his head. "But if I had a patron," he pointed out, "my accomplishments would be considered his, and not my own."

Wilkes suddenly smiled, and sat back. "There it is."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'd been wondering if I was talking to a Slytherin," Wilkes said, "or a Ravenclaw."

Severus snorted. "There are worse things to be called." He smirked. "I've been called many of them."

"I can't imagine why," Wilkes said dryly. He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs in front of him. "Very well, Snape," he said, "you're free to go. I'll be sure to tell Sluggy how very helpful you were."

"You're too kind," Severus said.

"Yes," Wilkes said. "I am." He waved Severus away.

And with that ominous statement ringing in his ears, Severus packed up his few belongings and left the room.

Thanks so very much for all your reviews-they mean a lot to me! They also help me in guiding the tone of the story-I've had the overall plot arc planned out for almost a year, but the subplots have been very much informed by my readers' input, so thank you all!

In the next chapter - Severus takes his Potions NEWT and James Potter attempts to plot.

June 1976, part 6

That evening, after dinner, Severus excused himself from his dormmates' grating company and made his way towards the dungeons, fully intending to get an early start on his night in order to be well-rested for the next morning's Potions exam.

Evidently, however, James Potter fully intended to continue making his life as miserable as possible.

As Severus crossed the Entrance Hall, heading for the staircase, Potter jogged up from the side of the room and leapt directly into Severus' path.

On reflex, Severus flipped his wand into his hand and pointed it at him.

"Hey," Potter protested, eyes widening, his hands in the air. "I don't—put that away, Snape. Merlin."

Severus raised an eyebrow at him.

Potter lifted his school robe to the side, showing Severus the wand that was firmly in the other boy's pocket. "I'm not going to hex you. I just wanted to speak to you."

"Really."

"Yes, really." Potter let both hands drop. "Look, can we take this outside, or something?"

Severus snorted. "You must be joking."

Potter ran a hand through his hair, which—Severus smirked—just made it look even worse. "Yeah, I guess I wouldn't go anywhere alone with you if you asked me, either. Fine." He jerked his messy-haired head towards a bench in the corner, and the two of them sauntered over and sat down (Severus, of course, kept his wand in his hand).

"I just wanted to let you know," Potter said, taking a deep breath, "that I'm on to you."

"Are you, now?" Severus asked mildly.

"Yes. I know what you're doing, and although it's a good try and all, it's not going to work." Potter leaned back and crossed his arms.

"What, pray tell, do you believe me to be doing?" Severus asked.

Potter smiled crookedly. "Fine, I'll bite. Your whole nasty Pureblood act wasn't getting you into Evans' good graces, so you've decided to show your intellectual"—he said the word like it pained him—"side in the hopes of impressing her. But you forgot one thing."

"Do go on, I beg of you," Severus said lightly.

This was damned entertaining.

"Evans isn't a Ravenclaw, to be impressed by swotty tossers. And she's not a Slytherin, to be impressed by—whatever it is Slytherin girls like. Good lucks and breeding and money, I guess, which come to think of it wouldn't do you any good anyway—"

Severus pointed his wand up at Potter's heart. "Do go on," he said again, "I beg of you."

Potter glanced down and audibly swallowed. "Right. Anyway. Evans is a Gryffindor. What she wants," he said, "is a gentleman. A knight in shining armour."

Severus blinked. "And you believe you qualify, I suppose?" he asked, allowing his amusement to show in his voice.

"More so than you, I'd say," Potter said. "And although you can try to keep up this virtuous act you've got going on, we both knowyour true colours."

"Do we, now?"

"Yes. You can be the next Potions prodigy all you want, but nobody's forgotten," Potter said, shaking his head for emphasis, "that there's one thing you know better than anybody should, and that's Dark bloody Magic."

Severus shrugged. "What exactly is your point? I trust you have one, although perhaps my trust is over-optimistic."

Potter scowled satisfyingly. "My point is that you'll only be able to keep up this noble, adult pretence for so long before it all comes crashing down."

"Your lack of confidence wounds me," Severus said flatly.

"You're not cut out to be the good boy, Snape," Potter said, leaning back against the wall. "But me, on the other hand—I have 'good boy' written all over me." He swept his hand down his body for emphasis. Severus snorted.

Potter continued, "So someday, when you get tired of pretending, Evans is going to be reminded what you really are, you snake, and when she does"—Potter grinned—"she's going to remember the good boy who's been right there all along."

"So that's your plan?" Severus asked. "Act as the paragon of virtue until such a time as I reveal myself to be the vortex of evil you so sincerely believe me to be?"

Potter crossed his arms. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Are you interested in hearing a critique of this brilliant plan of yours?" Severus offered.

"Go ahead."

"First of all, one should never plan one's successes on the basis of the assumed failures of others, as one is certain to be disappointed," Severus said. Potter indicated for him to continue, so Severus added, "Secondly, it is generally regarded as a poor decision to reveal one's plan to one's rival."

Potter seemed to allow that to sink in, and then he grinned and said, "But that's where we're different. I, Snape, just want to give you a sporting chance, of course. As I said, I am a gentleman."

"Very well, then." Severus stood. "Best of luck to you on your imbecilic plan, Potter, which I assure you will never come to fruition." He affected a mocking bow in Potter's direction and added, "I bid you good evening."

Severus swept across the room towards the staircase, leaving Potter on the bench, alone with his unwarranted expression of satisfaction.

Severus felt like he had blinked, and then he was suddenly handing in his finished Potions written examination—one he had been careful to seed with intimations of new theories and "discoveries" he would shortly be making as an apprentice.

Severus blinked again, and he was corking a sample of a beyond-perfect Amortentia (which he had refused to smell) and handing it in to an examiner who glanced at the vial through magnifying spectacles and said, "My word—what did you say your name was, young man?"

Severus told him, and the examiner smiled and said, "That's a name I'll be sure to remember, Mr Snape. I'll be watching the Potions periodicals."

Severus nodded modestly and said, "Thank you, sir."

And then Severus was at the Leaving Feast, and the Ravenclaws had won the House Cup—bully for them—and then the plates were cleared away and he was marched between his fellow fifth-years down to the dungeons, where the sixth-years had smuggled in a fair supply of Firewhiskey from Hogsmeade (there was Butterbeer for the lower forms—they were Slytherins, not degenerates) and Severus allowed himself to be given a tumbler of whiskey, which he immediately regretted upon realising that his sixteen-year-old's body would not have nearly the tolerance he'd had at thirty-eight, and he was forced to perform a wordless Switching charm in order to replace it with water (a tragic waste of what was, he gathered, excellent Firewhiskey).

So Severus sat in a Common Room chair and watched children from twelve to eighteen chatter happily, optimistically about their futures—never mind the Dark Lord who was rising and, if Severus didn't do his job properly, would rise again—and it was going too fast, it was all going much too fast, and then the inexplicable giggler from the previous day's review session was leaning towards his chair and asking him how he had done on the exam, and what score he predicted he'd get, and if he would like to dance with her, and Severus said, "Excuse me," and asked a passing sixth-year for another glass of Firewhiskey, which he tossed back expertly—"Good show, Snape," the sixth-year said appreciatively—and felt much better for it.

And the girl smiled, and offered him her hand, and of course Severus demurred and the girl insisted, and he was beginning to attract others' attention—why would Snivellus decline the opportunity to dance with a gorgeous older girl, he must be mad, or maybe he just didn't like girls, ha ha ha—so, his face warming, he took the girl's hand and brought them both to their feet and out to the impromptu dance floor in the centre of the room.

The music was loud, contemporary, and non-Muggle, which meant that it sounded like early punk with the unlikely additions of a bagpipe and a glockenspiel—Wizards did not, it must be confessed, do music well—and Severus did his best to sway convincingly to the music. The girl, whose name he still didn't know, didn't seem to care that he was probably the worst dancer in the history of the Wizarding world—he could waltz, of course, but a waltz this was not—and it occurred suddenly to Severus that she had most likely been celebrating the end of her Hogwarts education with a whiskey or three of her own.

"Would you care to sit down?" Severus asked her, as the song seemed to be drawing to a close.

"What?"

Merlin. "Would you care," Severus yelled over the music, "to sit down?"

She shook her flushed face. "No, I'll stay here, but feel free to sit out—thanks for the dance, love!"

To Severus' shock, she pressed her lips to his cheek before saying, "Owl me this summer, won't you?" and turning to the other seventh-year girls, joining them in their uncoordinated dance in the centre of the floor. Severus distinctly heard the lot of them giggling—again—and he whirled in the opposite direction towards a low table where he helped himself to another Firewhiskey, because he seemed to be handling the first one just fine and if it came down to it, he was damned ace with a Sobering charm—Rosier had, or would have, taught him an excellent one in a year's time, nineteen years ago—and what had made her think that he wanted her to kiss the cheek that Lily had kissed just one day before?

Severus swallowed his whiskey, and it warmed his throat, and then Rosier was clapping him on the back. "Brilliant, Snapey," he said. "Greengrass? Didn't know you had it in you."

Greengrass? Oh, the girl. "Yes. Well."

The music grew quieter, and the whiskey-distributing sixth-year jumped on top of a chair. He cast a Sonorus on himself and said, "Ladies and gentlemen—and visiting Hufflepuffs—"

The crowd laughed, and Severus heard someone say, "Wait, somebody invited some Hufflepuffs?"

"—thank you for joining us in bidding adieu to our dearly departing Slytherins," the sixth-year continued. "We've had many years to get to know and loathe them—or in the case of our dear firsties, just one year—hey, firsties, why are you still up? As your Prefect I insist you go to bed. Actually, as your sixth-year Prefect, I insist your fifth-year Prefects round you up and make you go to bed. Go on. Second-years too. Off you go."

Behind Severus, Rosier groaned good-naturedly and left to shoo away the younger students.

"Now that we have rid the rooms of the impressionable youths—those still young enough to have hope of redemption, that is—"

The gathered students laughed again.

"Let me welcome your seventh-year Prefect—until tomorrow, of course, when I become your seventh-year Prefect—"

"Oy!" shouted a girl, whom Severus belatedly recognized as the female sixth-year Prefect.

"—Right, when I become one of your seventh-year Prefects—anyway, here he is, Mr Marty Wilkes!"

Severus sank down onto a nearby chair. Merlin, they were all so…happy, so…optimistic. None of them had yet lost friends or family members to the war. Had any of them already pledged themselves to the Dark Lord? Probably. But—Severus surveyed his classmates—not one of them yet had any idea of what that truly meant.

The children around him cheered for Martinius Wilkes, Death Eater, who jumped up on the chair next to the sixth-year. "Thanks, Selwyn, now get the hell off my chair." Selwyn grinned, bowed, and jumped down.

"First of all, I want to thank the sixth-years for providing the materials for such a…festive farewell gathering." Wilkes toasted the air with his glass. "May the current fifth-years do you as well on your last night at Hogwarts."

Rosier, who had just returned from the lower forms' dormitories, placed his hand over his heart and nodded solemnly, much to the amusement of the students around him.

"We've spent seven long years at Hogwarts," Wilkes began, "learning from our estimable professors…and our not-so-estimable professors—"

"—and seven different Defence hacks!" called out the ginger not-Weasley seventh-year.

"Yes, and them," Wilkes said, "for which we all deserve medals, frankly." The students responded with laughter and jeers. "But the one thing that has always remained consistent for each of us—even the lucky buggers who are skipping out two years early—"

Severus felt dozens of eyes turn and focus on him, in his chair, with his ill humour and his glass of Firewhiskey, and he assessed the atmosphere of the room and the temper of the students—

Severus indicated with a quick jerk of his right hand that Wilkes was a wanker, and everyone laughed, and their attention turned back to the boy standing on the chair.

Severus' grip on his glass relaxed.

"Yes, thank you, Snape," Wilkes continued. "Charming as always. As I say, what has remained consistent for all of us, throughout our years at Hogwarts, is the same thing that brings us all together here tonight: Slytherin House."

A few students nodded, and Wilkes resumed speaking. "You've certainly heard grumblings from lesser minds that ours is a House for Dark Wizards. To which, of course, I reply that we have exactly as many Dark Wizards as any other House—but we can't help it if we're always the best at what we do."

Even Severus cracked a smile at that one.

"But truly, ours is a mighty House," Wilkes said, "where honour is more important than blind loyalty, shrewdness more valued than recklessness, and understanding more vital than inapplicable knowledge." Wilkes paused. "Unless, of course," he added, "you're a certain lucky bugger who's skipping out two years early."

Severus didn't hesitate before flipping Wilkes two fingers, which delighted everyone (especially, Severus rather thought, Martinius Wilkes).

"So here's my parting advice, from a wise old man to his many breathless acolytes," Wilkes said—"Yeah, right!" Selwyn called up—"and shut up, Selwyn. My advice is this: Never forget that you're a Slytherin, never bring dishonour to Slytherin, and never forget that your true friends"—he paused to gaze earnestly around the room—"are in Slytherin. Which is a good thing, too—because who runs the world?"

"Slytherin!" came the standard response.

"Exactly!" Wilkes said approvingly. "A toast, then, to the mighty House of Slytherin!"

Wilkes lifted his glass, and Selwyn jumped up next to him. "A toast, too, to our departing seventh-years—to Wilkes, Emery, Bagshot, Sturgeon, Smythe—"

Aha!

"—Greengrass, Wicker, Lovelace, Parkinson, and, why the hell not, Snape." Severus rolled his eyes.

"To Slytherin!" Wilkes called.

"To Slytherin," echoed the mighty House of Slytherin—even, why the hell not indeed, Severus Snape—and that mighty House set about noisily finishing off the last of their high-calibre Firewhiskey.

Severus, however, had had quite enough alcohol and optimism. He took his leave, seeking the solace of his empty dormitory for one last time.

The train was slowing slightly, and Lily stood and, much to Severus' shock, began unbuttoning her robes. Severus inhaled sharply. "Lily, what are—"

She turned her back to him and said, over her shoulder, "I can't very well go out into Muggle London dressed like this, can I?" she asked. Suddenly, one of her shoulders was bare.

Severus swallowed. "Shouldn't—ah, that is, shouldn't you—wouldn't you like to do that in the girls' lav?"

"Don't be silly," Lily said, smiling. "We're friends, aren't we?" The other shoulder was now bare.

"Yes," Severus said. "Yes. We are."

"Shouldn't you get changed, too?" Lily asked sweetly. "You can't very well wear those, either."

Severus glanced down. He was wearing his Death Eater's robes.

"Here," Lily said. "I'll help you take them off." Her robe fell to the floor, revealing that she wore only a pair of pink lacy knickers underneath.

Just before she turned around to face him, she frowned slightly and asked, "Oy, Avery, have you seen my Ballycastle socks?"

Severus sat up in bed.

"Sweet merciful Merlin, no," Avery groaned, "I haven't seen your bloody Ballycastle socks. Now shut the hell up."

Mulciber was digging through his trunk. "I know I should've packed last night like you lot did but I was fucking pissed, all right, now who has my fucking Ballycastle socks?"

"Nobody has your socks, Mulciber," Rosier called from behind his own bedcurtains. "Now shut up and let us sleep for half a sodding hour more."

Severus fell back onto his mattress.

Two hours later, he was walking down the corridor inside the Hogwarts Express as it departed Hogsmeade Station, glancing in each compartment until he finally reached the one containing just one red-headed, beautif—person.

Severus slid open the door. Lily looked up from her book and smiled at him. "Hello," she said.

"Hello," Severus replied. He slid the door closed and took his seat on the bench opposite hers.

"So," Lily said without preamble, "did you go all the way with Evvie Greengrass, or did you just neck for a while?"

Severus sputtered, and Lily laughed. "Oh, Sev, you should see your face. Relax. You and I both know how the Hogwarts gossip mill works. Mary heard early this morning from some Hufflepuff or other that you danced with Greengrass at Slytherin's party, and then by the time the rumour came back around after breakfast from some Ravenclaw, it was that you'd taken her into one of Slytherin's many BDSM dungeons and had your wicked way with her." Lily grinned and added, "Which is preposterous, of course, I mean, you seem far more the type to want someone to have their wicked way with you."

Severus blinked. "Impressive," he said.

"I know!" Lily said. "To extrapolate all that from one dance…" She trailed off.

Oh. "One brief dance," he agreed. "Not even a slow one."

Lily visibly relaxed. "Really!" she said. "The whole story was just absurd. I mean, BDSM dungeons, honestly."

"In all fairness, the bit about Slytherin's BDSM dungeons is true," Severus deadpanned. "We have four of them."

Lily narrowed her eyes. "You're joking."

Severus shrugged, and Lily lifted one of her feet and prodded his leg with it. "You're joking," she repeated, and Severus shrugged again. Lily kicked him. "You're joking!"

"I suppose you'll just have to find another Slytherin," he said, "and ask him."

Lily threw up her hands. "Fine, fine," Severus said. "I'm joking about the BDSM dungeons."

"Thank you," Lily said.

"We don't have four of them."

"Oh my God."

An hour's worth of conversation later, and despite Lily's objections, Severus was gallantly paying for both of their tea trolley purchases with the money he'd won off Rosier in their most recent chess matches. He was receiving his change back from the trolley witch when a door three compartments down from his own slid open and Potter and his cronies spilled out, swarming around the trolley like unfed wildebeests.

"Oy, Sniv—" Potter began, and then he stopped suddenly, looking behind Severus.

Severus glanced behind himself to see Lily watching them through the open door of their compartment, making a what's going on?gesture from her seat.

"Er, hello, Snape," Potter said instead. "I hope the journey is going well for you. I trust we're not in your way?"

"The bloody fuck?" Black said from behind him, while Lupin stifled a grin behind his hand.

"Not at all," Severus replied. "I was just returning to our compartment. If you'll excuse me."

If Severus placed a little extra emphasis on the word "our," well—he did have to keep up appearances as a teenage boy, didn't he?

While Potter's face turned red, Severus sauntered back through the open door of his compartment, reclaimed his seat, and said, "Potter sends his regards," before he closed the door with a quick flick of his wand.

The door muffled, but did not block out, Black's loud demand of, "What the hell has gotten into you, mate?"

Severus turned to Lily and said, "I brought you an extra pumpkin pasty."

Shortly after they finished their overpriced train luncheon, there was a quick knock on the door, which slid open to reveal Marty Wilkes, already dressed in dark green street robes. "Ah, Snape," he said. "There you are. I wanted to—oh, hello."

Wilkes' attention had turned to Lily, who was raising her eyebrows at Severus. "My apologies," Severus said. "Lily Evans, may I present Martinius Wilkes, seventh-year Slytherin Prefect."

"Recent Hogwarts graduate, rather," Wilkes said, "much like Mr Snape, here. Snape, my family will be hosting a gathering at our place in the country in two weeks' time. I do hope you'll be able to join us."

Severus inclined his head. "If my work permits," he said.

It wouldn't.

Wilkes nodded. "Naturally. I'll be sending a formal invitation, then. Care of…?"

"Slug and Jigger's."

"Excellent. Enjoy the rest of the trip, Snape. Miss…Evans." And Wilkes was gone.

Lily stared pointedly at Severus. "Slug and Jigger's?" she repeated.

"I'm not sure of the exact number," Severus explained. "On the low end, I imagine, as it's not far from the Leaky Cauldron, but…"

Lily cocked her head to one side. "And why, exactly, would you be getting mail at the apothecary?"

Severus felt the blood drain from his face. "I haven't told you?"

Lily, clearly amused, shook her head.

"My apologies, then. I know I meant to—I had planned to right after I found out—but then Potter was there and—"

"And then we bollocksed it all up, I know," Lily said, smiling. "Tell me what you'll be doing at the apothecary."

"I'm sure you're familiar with the works of Arsenius Jigger?" Severus asked.

"Yes, of course."

"As it turns out, he and Professor Slughorn are business associates—partners in the Diagon Alley apothecary—and Master Jigger recently lost his shop boy."

Lily grinned. "Aha! So you'll be working in the shop, then. Lord help your customers, Sev."

"Thank you for your vote of confidence," Severus said wryly. "With luck—actually, it's rather a given, honestly—I won't be terrorizing the apothecary patrons for long. Providing Master Jigger is impressed with my work ethic and with my NEWT scores, which…" Severus waved one hand dismissively. "He has agreed to take me on as his apprentice." Severus paused, and then added, "He's never taken an apprentice before."

Lily's eyes widened. "Wow," she said. "That's amazing. He's the leading expert in combat potions, isn't he?"

Severus nodded. "Possibly the only expert," he said. "The opportunity to learn from him, well, it's—it's more than I could've ever hoped for."

"Well, you deserve it," Lily said, smiling, "Mr 'I Sat my NEWTs and my OWLs in the Same Week.'"

Severus allowed himself a smile. "I assure you, Lily," he said, "that this is one of many things I truly do not deserve."

They spent the remainder of the trip talking of this and of that—their plans for the summer, the possibility of a visit, the idiocy of James Potter, who walked by the compartment, whistling, no fewer than four times—and before long, the train was pulling into King's Cross.

Severus shouldered his trunk and lifted half of Lily's, following her onto the platform and through the barrier into the station proper, where her mother was waiting for her, open-armed. After releasing Lily from her fierce hug, Mrs Evans—a slender woman with fading red hair—turned to Severus and, much to his surprised, squeezed him briefly.

"I was so sorry to hear about your mother, Severus," Mrs Evans said. "Are you holding up all right?"

"Mum, he doesn't want to talk about it," Lily hissed.

"No, I—thank you, Mrs Evans, but I—the pain eases with every day."

Indeed, the pain had eased immensely over twenty years.

"Well, if you need anything, we're just down the street, you hear?" Mrs Evans said, unsubtly pinching her daughter's arm.

"Mum!" Lily said. "Severus is actually—he's finished school, Mum, he's sat his NEWTs early and he's taking up under a Potions Master here in London!"

"Well, well," Mrs Evans said, smiling, "congratulations, then! Where is this Potions Master?"

It hadn't even occurred to Severus that Master Jigger would come to the station to meet him, but Lily's mother was surveying the crowd gathered near the barrier, while Lily rolled her eyes. "Mum, I'm sure he's on the other side," she said pointedly.

Mrs Evans hand flew to her face. "Oh, of course. That was silly of me. Well, if you're sure he's here to meet you—"

Severus wasn't.

"—then let me wish you good luck!" Mrs Evans hugged him again, and Lily reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it lightly. "Good luck," she repeated, "and write every day, okay?"

"Every day!" Mrs Evans repeated in dismay, while Lily pulled her mother away from the barrier and towards the car park. "I'll talk to you soon, Severus," she called, and then she was gone.

Severus picked up his trunk where he'd let it fall and stepped back through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾, which had emptied out greatly since he'd left it. Sure enough, Master Jigger was not among the smattering of parents and children left on the platform.

Cursing the still-extant Trace, glad that he'd already placed his school robes in his trunk, and grateful, for once, for his mismatched Muggle shirt and trousers, Severus shouldered his trunk once more and prepared himself for the long walk through Muggle London to Diagon Alley.

June 1976, part 7

Severus allowed his trunk to fall heavily at his feet and, once more, cursed the Trace that prevented him from casting a Featherweight charm—or, more importantly, a Point Me.

Muggles pushed past him as he stood on a street corner, trying to get his bearings. He was familiar with a great deal of London—he'd lived there from '78 to '83 and should, for all intents and purposes, have recognised this corner, if it was at all on the route between King's Cross and Diagon Alley, which it was, it had to be—

He was standing in front of a Tesco, which meant he could buy himself a map—if he'd had any Muggle money on him, which of course he didn't—and across from a Tube stop, which meant—

Oh. Yes.

Severus lifted his trunk and crossed the street and—blast it—carried the damned thing down the stairs to the station, where, sure enough, there was a map on the wall. Satisfied that he was on the right track, only slightly turned around, Severus climbed the stairs—getting fully out of breath, now, why did he own so many books—and headed out of the station and around the corner.

He cut through a city park and carried on past the library toward his destination, which he eventually reached—a scrawny boy hauling a an overlarge trunk attracted some attention, though not quite so much near the universities as it might have elsewhere—an exhausting forty-five minutes later.

Severus and his trunk, upon which he really should have cast a featherweight charm while still aboard the Hogwarts Express, headed through the Leaky Cauldron with the barest of nods to the surprised bartender. When Severus reached the wall, he tapped his neglected wand in the customary pattern on the bricks and, when the wall swept aside to admit him, hefted his trunk one last time as he stepped back into the Wizarding World.

Severus crossed the alley and, barely registering the "Closed" sign, pushed open the door to Slug & Jigger's Apothecary.

Master Jigger was inside, seated at a well-worn desk at the rear of the shop, his back to the door. "You're late," he said by way of greeting, his gaze apparently focused on the parchment ledger in front of him.

"I—I beg your pardon, sir?" Severus asked, as he attempted to set down his trunk with a minimal thunk.

"The agreement was that you would come here straightaway from the Hogwarts Express, which, if I am not mistaken, reached King's Cross an hour ago," Jigger said. "What, pray tell, required your attention so urgently as to keep you from your appointment?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Severus said. "I found myself disoriented somewhere near Russell Square, but I corrected my route straight away." And he'd had to stop a few times to rest because he was in possession of what had to be the heaviest, most unwieldy trunk in the world.

"You were—" With that, Jigger finally turned around to face Severus. "How, exactly," he asked, his brown eyes piercing, "did you become disoriented?"

"I haven't often walked through Muggle London, sir, and—"

"Did it not occur to you to Apparate?" Jigger asked.

Severus fought the urge to sit down on his trunk as he swayed—imperceptibly, he hoped—on his feet. "I don't have my license, sir."

Jigger, with no small amount of exasperation evident in his expression, set his quill heavily down on the desk. "Did you fail your examination?" he demanded.

"No, sir."

"You haven't bothered to sit the examination?" Jigger asked.

"Sir, I'm sixteen." As he well knew.

Jigger adjusted his quill's position on the table and said, "Ah." Standing suddenly, he walked across the shop to where Severus stood, and, looming down at him with all the advantage his four extra inches' height granted him, said, "Very well, your tardiness is excused, providing this incident isn't repeated."

Jigger, it seemed, had very particular views on punctuality, but Severus supposed that such a brilliant man could be excused an eccentricity or two. "Thank you, sir," Severus said, "It will not be."

"Good." Jigger gestured with a jerk of his head for Severus to follow him over to the back right corner of the shop, where the door to the back alley sat opposite a narrow staircase leading up to the second floor. "This is where you'll enter and depart after hours," he said, indicating the door, "and up there"—he indicated the staircase—"is where you'll be staying. Feel free to ward the bottom of the staircase during business hours if you feel nervous about the customers wandering about." Jigger paused, and added, "It might be advisable. Clients have a tendency to expect a…" His lip curled. "Public washroom."

Severus nodded. "Thank you for the warning, sir. I'll be sure to. But…"

Jigger glared down at him. "Yes?"

"Sir, the Trace. Am I permitted to…?"

"Yes, yes," Jigger said, waving his hand jerkily. "Horace had me sign the revised contract and filed it with the Ministry. You may perform magic within the shop as necessary for your employment and, hypothetically, your apprenticeship."

"Sir," Severus said slowly, "how will it be determined what magic is considered 'necessary' for my employment?"

Jigger's nostrils flared. "Don't ask me to spell it out, Mr Snape."

Ah. So he was free to perform whatever magic he liked, then—excellent. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

"You'll find your work wardrobe upstairs," Jigger continued, "and I expect you to be back here, fully presentable, at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. We open precisely at ten and I expect you to have learned the basic workings of the shop by that time."

"I will do my best, sir."

"As you should. Well," Jigger said, reaching for the knob of the back door, "I will leave you to settle in for the evening. Should you have any questions…"

He peered down at Severus. "…I expect they can wait until morning." And Jigger left.

Severus, exhausted, walked back across the room and, checking to make sure the front door of the shop had locked—it had—gratefully cast a Leviosa on his hated trunk. Guiding it up the narrow staircase—the treads of which were perhaps half as deep as the length of his shoes—proved to be rather more difficult than he had originally anticipated, and it was with no small amount of relief that Severus allowed his trunk to come to a rest at the top of the stairs.

He sat down on his trunk and surveyed his new living quarters.

They were…

Tiny.

The room in front of him contained a small kitchen on the left, which was open to the rest of the room, such as it was—a table with three chairs (why three?) in the centre and a large armchair, nestled into the back right corner. Severus leaned forward and looked along the wall to his right, where two doors led to what appeared to be a standard W.C. and what was a large closet that might, on second glance, actually be a bedroom.

Supposedly.

Severus stood tiredly and walked over to the bedroom, which was (rather like the shop below) longer than it was wide. Inside, there was a bed—most likely shorter than he was—pushed against the back wall. A small desk squatted next to the bed, and directly to his right loomed a wardrobe that, upon opening, revealed itself to be stocked with regulation work robes in, thank Merlin, stark black.

Severus sat down on his new bed, which squeaked admirably, and leaned against the wall.

It was, as Jigger had promised, adequate—and that was all he'd needed.

Severus kicked off his boots and, with a whispered nox, fell gratefully asleep.

In the morning, he made use of his new bathroom (and until spending two weeks back in the Slytherin dormitory, he had quite forgotten the luxury of a private loo) and dressed in one of his new work robes, which, he discovered, had liquid-repelling, permanent de-creasing, and self-cleaning charms—they were easily as high-quality as any he'd owned and worn as Hogwarts' Potions Master. They also had an embroidered S&J on the left lapel, as his school robes had displayed a Slytherin crest—which reminded him to take his school robes to a second-hand shop; he had no use for them, now, and he could certainly use the Galleons.

In the kitchen, Severus examined the contents of the cabinets—one for dishes, one charmed to keep food cool, and one to hold food at room temperature—and set about making himself a bowl of oatmeal (after not preparing his own food for eighteen years, he decided to stick with something simple).

He burned it.

He ate it regardless—only the oats that had stuck to the bottom of the pan were inedible, so he let those be—and, leaving his dishes to soak in the sink, headed down the stairs at fifteen minutes to nine.

Master Jigger had not yet arrived, so Severus busied himself with becoming better acquainted with the layout of the shop. The stairs to his living quarters were at the back corner of the shop; Jigger's accounting desk lay against the back wall. The shop was long and narrow, as was typical for Alley shops; the walls were lined with shelves holding ingredients (on his left) and standard potions (on his right). Various larger herbs that were sold in their whole, versus powdered, forms, hung from the ceiling. In the centre of the shop was a line of barrels, each filled with the more common, hardier ingredients.

Severus strolled to the front of the shop, which widened slightly—most likely, the staircase took up the extra width in the back part of the shop. On his left was the counter and till, behind with stretched a close glass cabinet—most likely locked—displaying the more exotic ingredients and potions. Behind the counter was a door marked "Staff Only," and Severus—who was, after all, staff—opened it slightly to see another staircase leading down.

"The downstairs laboratory is off-limits to you." Jigger's voice suddenly came from behind him.

Severus closed the door and turned around. "Yes, sir," he said. "I was merely trying to acquaint myself with the layout of the shop."

Jigger was standing just inside the shop's front door, staring Severus down with an expression that Severus suddenly realized most likely matched his own—impassive and Occluded.

Interesting.

"The laboratory may be entered by licensed Potioneers and their apprentices, which, Mr Snape, you are not," Jigger said.

"Yes, sir," Severus said again, not allowing his impatience to creep into his voice. Honestly, he wasn't a child—he understood perfectly Master Jigger's objections.

"If I have reason to believe that you are visiting my laboratory without my permission, I will be forced to ward you out of it," Jigger said.

"I will not, sir," Severus said. Really, there would be plenty of time for him to examine the laboratory in a few weeks, once his NEWT scores had arrived.

"Very well," Jigger said. "Since you have taken it upon yourself to go behind the counter, let us turn our attention to the till." Jigger stood opposite the counter from Severus and gestured toward the machine sitting on the counter. Its shape was not unfamiliar to Severus, of course, though he had rarely had cause to examine it from the retailer's side—on the side he faced, the bi-level box had three rotary displays of numbers at the top (labelled G, S, and K), and a slot for inserting coins on the bottom (as well as a narrow roll of parchment, presumably for writing receipts). On the right of the box as it faced him were an inkpot and quill stand, and on the side facing the customers, below three more rotary dials, a cup was attached to the front, into which their change would roll. Below the counter was a stack of small paper sacks.

"It's standard, and quite modern—you enter the costs of each individual item thusly…" Jigger tapped his wand at the right side of the box, causing the rotary dials to display 1G15S, 3K, and 1S28K in turn. "When you have finished, sum them like so…" And Jigger tapped the left side of the contraption, whereupon the dials rolled around to display 2G2K.

"And then, of course, you insert the client's money…" Jigger extracted two Galleons and a Sickle from his pocket and, reaching over the device, slipped them into the slot near the bottom. "And the till computes the change necessary and submits it to the client." As he spoke, the dials on the customer's side rolled around to display 27K as twenty-seven Knuts clinked out into the cup.

"Should the customer desire a receipt, you will have one written thusly." Jigger tapped the quill stand with his wand, and the quill immediately set to dipping itself in ink and scrawling a list of items and their costs onto the narrow roll of parchment. "When it has finished, simply tear it off, hand it to the customer, and always thank them for their custom." Jigger eyed Severus narrowly. "I do hope," he said, "that you are as proficient with wordless magic as Horace intimated."

"I believe so, sir," Severus replied.

"I will not have my shop keeper muttering incantations in front of customers. It's sloppy."

"Yes, sir."

"This apparatus is of the highest-quality charmsmanship and retains a list of costs, so you will not be expected to learn the price of each ingredient." Jigger paused, and added, "Yet."

Jigger turned to indicate the set of pewter scales to Severus' right. "Of course," he said, "you will also need to measure the items before you enter them into the till, but as these are self-balancing, you should have no trouble."

"Yes, sir."

"And the sacks are held beneath the counter, as you see." Jigger turned suddenly to peer at Severus. "Have you any questions?"

"I don't believe so, sir."

"Very well. Let us practise." Jigger turned around to a barrel on the floor behind him, from which he took one scoop of beetle eyes and added it to a small paper bag. "Ring this up, Mr Snape," he said, handing it to Severus.

Severus took the bag and placed it on the scales—and fought the urge to raise his wand defensively when Jigger's hand suddenly slapped down on the table. "Incorrect," Jigger said. "Beetle eyes are priced per the scoop, Mr Snape, and not by weight. Try again."

Severus' cheeks coloured slightly as he held the package in one hand and, tapping the right side of the till, thought one scoop beetle eyes.

The till displayed 3K, and Severus looked up at Master Jigger and said, "That will be three Knuts, please, sir."

Jigger handed him a Sickle, which he slipped into—

Jigger's hand slapped the counter again. "Incorrect," he said. "You have not rung up the total cost."

Severus felt his face grow warmer as he tapped the till on its left side, whereupon the dial spun around to display, again, 3K. This time, Jigger allowed him to slip the Sickle into the till, which proclaimed 26K and spat out the appropriate Knuts.

"May I write you a receipt, sir?" Severus asked, which earned him a curt nod from Master Jigger. Severus tapped the inkpot with his wand, and the quill wrote on the parchment:

Beetle eyes 3K/scoop…3K

Total…3K

Given…1S

Change…26K

Severus tore the narrow piece of parchment off the roll and offered it to Jigger. "Thank you for visiting our apothecary," he said, and Jigger nodded.

"That was almost passable," he said. "Providing you refrain from making such careless mistakes again, your performance should be acceptable."

He was too kind. Really. "Thank you, sir."

"I will be in the laboratory for the duration of the morning," Jigger continued. "I will be monitoring your activities occasionally. Should you have any questions, I trust you are familiar enough with the requirements of potioneering that you will not dare to interrupt me mid-brew."

Severus swept aside the insult—after all, Jigger had yet to see his test scores. "Of course, sir."

"Good. Should you need my assistance, simply ring this bell here"—Jigger indicated a small bell to the left of the door to the laboratory—"and I will be alerted. I will ascend when it is convenient for me."

Severus belatedly realized what Slughorn had meant by "Arsenius can be…demanding."

"Take the next few minutes to acquaint yourself with our stock, especially regarding which items are priced per scoop, per ounce, or per item," Jigger said pointedly. "At ten o'clock you may open the shop. No earlier, and no later. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"You will close from one to one-thirty, at which time you may take your lunch," Jigger said. "You will not have any other breaks, except in cases of emergency, in which case you must be sure to lock the front door."

"Yes, sir."

Jigger came round the counter and opened the door to the laboratory. Pausing, he glanced back at Severus and said, "You will comb your hair on your lunch break." And then he was descending, the door closed behind him.

Severus had known he should've nicked Mulciber's comb.

So Severus paced around the shop—he noted that the only items sold by the scoop were those in the barrels along the floor, which, of course—and when it was ten o'clock—no sooner and no later—he flipped the sign on the door to read "Open" and unlocked the door.

He retreated behind the counter and attempted to ready a pleasant expression.

He settled for "not disdainful."

Had he not been a master Occlumens, his neutral expression would've been sorely tested when his first customer walked through the door:

Lucius Malfoy.

He was, of course, twenty years younger than last Severus saw him, cowering before the Dark Lord. And Severus noticed with some amusement how Malfoy so loosely carried his wand—the Malfoy he had known would've given the last six inches of his hair to have his wand back. He might've even given his left hand for it.

"Well, well," said Malfoy, stepping toward the counter. "There's a face I've not seen for, what must it be, three years? Why, Severus, you've not changed a bit."

"Strangely, I recall being rather shorter at the end of my second year," Severus said. "What brings you to the apothecary this morning, Mr Malfoy?"

To Severus' total lack of surprise, Malfoy preened unsubtly at being addressed as an adult. "I find myself much more interested in what brings you to the apothecary," he said. "Particularly what puts you behind the counter." Malfoy's lips quirked. "Perhaps you have sought summer employment?"

Severus' lack of funds had been an open secret since the day he arrived in Slytherin, of course, so it was no wonder that Malfoy would allude to it now. And Severus felt—and immediately quashed—the sudden urge to casually mention that he had finished with his schooling, and that he was shortly to be apprenticed to Master Jigger himself, and that—

And that he had no desire to inform another agent of the Dark Lord of his abilities. Wilkes' involvement had been regrettable but unavoidable, but his interest would, presumably, fade over time. Severus could not afford to pique the interest of Lucius Malfoy as well.

"I am employed here," Severus acknowledged, inclining his head slightly.

"As I recall, you had a knack for Potions," Malfoy said benevolently (to Severus' irritation). "This seems a fitting position for you."

Elitist arsehole. "I hope so," Severus replied. "And how may I be of assistance this morning?"

"Why, yes," Malfoy said. "My dear fiancée—you remember Narcissa Black, of course—has been feeling under the weather. I trust you carry a decent Pepperup?"

"Certainly," Severus replied. He walked around the counter and crossed the shop to the prepared potions which, fortunately, were sorted in alphabetical order. "Which size would you prefer?" he asked, stooping down to the low shelf where the Pepperup was kept.

"The larger, please," Malfoy replied. "Assuming it's fresh."

Severus stood up, a bottle of Pepperup in hand, and tapped it with his wand, casting a wordless tempus condere. "This one was stoppered five days ago," Severus replied. "It will remain potent for…" He passed his wand over the bottle once again. "…a fortnight more."

Malfoy nodded, one eyebrow slightly raised. "That will do," he replied. "And you may pass my complements on to your employer on the strength of his training."

Jigger's training? Hardly. These were the most basic spells in any Potioneer's arsenal. But… "Thank you, Mr Malfoy," Severus said. He headed back for the counter, potion in hand, and added, "Is there another way in which I might be of assistance?"

"That will be all," Malfoy said.

Severus rang up Malfoy's purchase—and remembered to total it—and wrapped it—and provided him with a receipt. "Thank you for visiting our apothecary," Severus said, handing him the package.

"My pleasure," Malfoy said. "Enjoy your summer, young Severus. I hope it is…beneficial to you."

And Severus hoped Malfoy would choke on the stopper. "Thank you, Mr Malfoy. I wish you the same."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he said, and he turned and swept out of the shop.

As he left, he held the door for a middle-aged witch who stopped in front of the barrel of beetle eyes, looked at the sign that readBeetle Eyes, 3 Knuts a Scoop, and asked, "How much are the beetle eyes?"

Severus could swear he saw Malfoy smirk as he closed the shop door behind him.

Dear Lily,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have now spent my first day as the shopkeeper of Slug & Jigger's Apothecary.

Suffice it to say that I am eagerly anticipating my NEWT results.

Best regards,

Severus Snape

Dear Severus,

Your poor customers.

I've had a lovely week, thanks ever so for asking. Tuney's been less miserable than usual towards me…I think she's lonely, since all her friends have gone off to university, or been married off, or run off to Manchester proper, and she's left with Mum and Dad, which of course they're lovely people but they're our parents you understand, so even her you-know-what sister is better than our parents.

Poor Tuney.

Anyway we've gone to see one film already and I've only been home a few days but Sev. Sincerely. This film was terrifying. Tuney hated it even more than I did but it was just creepy. There's a hanging and a decapitation and throughout it all there's this little boy, ugh, and at the end he does this smile…

I will be honest that I did not sleep at all well, last night, and I really wish I had some Dreamless Sleep but ah well, this is the price we pay. Please do not take this as indication that Muggle entertainment is bad, you know it's not, I'm sure if we'd gone to see the film with David Bowie in it we'd've be fine but Tuney can't stand him for whatever reason. I will never see another horror film again, I really won't. God knows we have enough horror in the real world.

So you must tell me about Master Jigger, of whom you did not speak a word. Are you impressing him yet with your Potions prowess? I'm sure you are. You must tell me.

Love from

Lily

Dear Lily,

Master Jigger is exacting. He has not allowed me to even look upon his laboratory, as, I quote, "The laboratory may be entered by Potions Masters and their apprentices, which you, Mr Snape, are not." I'm fairly certain he hates all people indiscriminately. And, naturally, I cannot wait until the day when I am able to work with him.

Best regards,

Severus Snape

Dear Severus,

Has it occurred to you that there's a reason for that?

What's it been like in the shop? You haven't really said.

Love from

Lily

Dear Lily,

I am not entirely sure what you're implying.

A small child vomited into the barrel of Chizpurfle carapaces today. I'm not certain if you've ever had the opportunity to clean vomit off of a score of Chizpurfle carapaces. I do not recommend it.

That is how I would describe working in the shop.

Best regards,

Severus Snape

Sev,

Think about it.

Did you hex the child?

Love from

Lily

Dear Lily,

I do not hate indiscriminately.

I have reasons for hating everyone.

I did not hex the child. Or its mother.

As far as she knows.

Best regards,

Severus Snape

July 1976, part 1

Mr Severus Snape
Slug & Jigger's Apothecary
Diagon Alley, London

Mr and Mrs Martinius Wilkes
Mr Martinius Wilkes, Junior
request the pleasure of
Severus Prince Snape's
company on Saturday evening the twenty-fifth of July
at ten o'clock
Wilkes Estate
Dancing
R.s.v.p.

Dear Sev,

If I don't get my OWLs soon I may die I honestly may. I know you've got far more to worry about what with the NEWTs but really. After speaking with Professor McGonagall you know I really have decided that Healing's what I want to do (and Heaven knows it will be useful). And I know my Charms and Potions are up to snuff but Herbology, you know I've always thought it so boring and I just hope I managed to retain enough of it to spit back out on the examination because if I don't make it into the NEWT class then my chances at being accepted at a really good program will be limited and I'll have to take a correspondence course or something.

Love from

Lily

Severus, old school robes in hand, exited through the back door of the shop and walked behind the buildings, coming back around to Diagon through the narrow alleyway next to the Quidditch shop. He strode quickly down the Alley, heading past Gringotts—the usual Friday lunchtime queue was already growing—and, finally, he reached his destination: The Second-Hand Corner.

It was much as he'd remembered from his time as a student (and, for that matter, as an apprentice): a dimly lit, but clean, room filled with a labyrinth of clothing racks, each crowded with multicoloured robes. Severus worked his way to the back of the shop, where the plump, alarmingly matronly shopkeeper kept her counter piled high with deposited garments. Madam Corner herself sat behind the counter, directing a needle through the motions of repairing a ripped seam on a plush-looking maroon robe, humming idly to herself.

Severus cleared his throat, and the witch glanced up, a smile suddenly appearing on her face. "Now there's a lad I didn't expect to see again so soon," she said. "Outgrow your Hogwarts robes again, did you? And only just getting a new set last year. Look at you, you lanky thing."

The woman actually clucked.

"Not exactly, Madame," Severus replied. "I've completed my Hogwarts education and, as such, now have no need for the school-issue robes. I'd like to trade them in, please, for day-to-day wear." Severus set his robes down on the counter.

Madam Corner directed her needle to a standstill and folded up the maroon robes as she spoke. "Completed, did you say? Funny, I always thought you for a NEWT student. It's not for everyone, though, goodness knows."

Severus inclined his head. "Your instincts were correct. I have indeed taken my NEWTs this year."

Corner laughed. "Goodness, how time does fly. I'd had you in my mind as a fifth-year!"

This conversation could not possibly have grown any more tedious. "Yes, well," Severus said.

Corner reached for Severus' discarded robes and unfolded the top set, holding them at arm's length. "Yes," she said, "these will do quite nicely. I'm in luck, actually—there's a young man in the dressing room right now who'll just fit them. Thank you for coming in, dear boy."

The shopkeeper rose to her feet, robes in hand, and walked between the clothing racks with surprising deftness until she reached a curtained-off cubicle. "It's your lucky day, young man," she said to the curtain. "I do believe I've just been brought the proper robes for you."

"Thank you, Madam Corner," said the curtain, who snaked out one pale arm to grab the robes and whisk them within.

The voice was familiar.

"And don't you worry, I'll switch the crest to Gryffindor as always," Corner continued.

Bollocks.

"How is the fit, then?"

The curtain was pulled aside to reveal, much as Severus had suspected, Remus Lupin—wearing his Slytherin robes.

"Perfect, as usual," Lupin said. "Hello, Snape. I rather suspected it was you."

Severus felt his face twist into a sneer and did nothing to prevent it. "You heard me speak at length, Lupin," he pointed out.

Corner laughed. "I believe Mr Lupin is referring to the fact that he has been the lucky recipient of your outgrown robes for the past four years, Mr Snape. You and he have remarkably similar builds—he's just a bit shorter."

Lupin shrugged. "I assumed it was you," he said. "You're the only Slytherin matching that description, and…" He trailed off, gesturing to the crest on the robes.

"Interesting," Severus said drily. "Does Potter know?"

"I hardly see how that knowledge would benefit either of us," Lupin said mildly. "I've never mentioned it, as I have no desire for a Potter-purchased brand-new wardrobe."

Severus sneered again. "Please, don't utter such inanities while clad in a Slytherin robe. It's ill-suiting."

Lupin, much to Severus' dismay, smiled. "Why, Severus, I do believe you've made a joke."

Severus bit back a retort and, instead, turned to Madam Corner. "Madam, if you'll excuse me, I'll begin my perusal of your stock."

"By all means," said Corner, who was looking obnoxiously bemused by his repartee with Lupin. "Mr Lupin, if you'll change back, I'll get started on switching the crests."

"Yes, please. Thank you, Madame."

Lupin disappeared back into the cubicle, and Severus quickly scanned the shop until he found four sets of plain, black robes, which he brought to the counter. "Will any of these fit me?" he asked simply.

Corner peered at the robes briefly. "That one should do," she said, indicating—to Severus' total lack of surprise—the longest and narrowest set. Severus nodded and handed the robes in question to Corner, who made short work of wrapping them up.

"Let's see, that's one Galleon eight Sickles for each of your robes turned in, and two Galleons for the robes you're taking, which comes to… five Galleons six Sickles back to you, dear, and the robes of course."

"Thank you, Madam."

As Madam Corner counted out Severus' coins, Lupin exited the cubicle and reached within his own pocket. "That's ten Galleons for the full set of five?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, dear, and here's your package." Corner pushed a larger bundle towards Lupin, who counted ten Galleons out of his pocket and laid them on the counter. Severus, meanwhile, took his own money, and attempted to head unobtrusively out of the shop—only to be joined just outside the door by the young werewolf.

"Funny old world," Lupin said mildly. "May I ask where you're headed?"

"No," said Severus abruptly, and he turned and strode off in the direction of the apothecary.

Lupin was shortly at his heels. "Conveniently, my errands this afternoon also bring me in this direction," he said.

Severus stopped in the middle of the Alley. "Please tell me," he said softly, "that you are not headed for the Apothecary."

Lupin smiled. "As a matter of fact—"

"Merlin save us." Severus resumed his journey back to the shop, his pace quickening just beyond the speed at which Lupin's slightly shorter legs could keep up, and he managed to lose his unwanted shadow completely as he ducked into the alley behind the Quidditch shop and strode back towards the apothecary, through the back and up towards the front door, which he unlocked promptly at 1:30.

The moment the door was unlocked, Remus Lupin opened it. "Hello, Snape," he said.

"Welcome to the apothecary," Severus said flatly. He walked back behind the till, where he laid his hands flat on the counter and asked, "How may I be of assistance?"

Lupin, an obnoxious smile flitting briefly around his (less-) scarred face, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, surveying the interior of the shop. "I say," he said, "how do you manage to deal with the…smell, all day?"

Severus said, in the perfect detached tones of a professional, "I imagine my sense of smell isn't as highly developed as yours, Mr Lupin."

Lupin flinched and glanced sharply at him. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"How," Severus said again, "may I be of assistance to you?"

Lupin seemed to be chewing on his tongue. "Muscle relaxant," he said at last.

"Very good," Severus said. He walked around the counter and back down the shop, reaching down for a small bottle of thick liquid, which he brought back to the till. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Have you been talking to Lily this summer?" Lupin asked with clearly forced pleasantness.

"I'm afraid I can't help with that," Severus said flatly. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"I was just curious," Lupin continued. "I know she likes to write to her friends all summer. She's been writing to me, for example."

"Has she."

"And she hasn't, for example, been writing to James."

Severus maintained his perfectly neutral expression (and did not visibly clench the bottle in his hands). "Is that so."

"It is," Lupin said. He leaned forward, over the counter. "I just thought you might like to know," he said. "And yes, that will be all."

Severus rang up Lupin's purchase, bagged it, and handed it over. "Thank you for visiting our apothecary."

"Thanks for not hexing me out the door," Lupin replied.

"I'm not allowed."

Lupin blinked, and smiled. "That's two jokes in one day. You should be careful, or I might start to think that you enjoy my company."

"Have no fear of that," Severus said drily. "And I wasn't joking."

"I'm sure," Lupin said. "Take care, then."

Lupin headed out the door, an infuriatingly mysterious smile still on his unnaturally young face.

Mr Severus Snape
regrets extremely that a previous engagement
prevents his accepting
Mr and Mrs Wilkes'
kind invitation
for Saturday the twenty-fifth of July

Dear Lily,

Don't be ridiculous

[The above has been crossed out.]

Dear Lily,

I have the utmost confidence in your abilities and therefore your inevitable OWL scores. Do kindly remember that you are a brilliant witch and, in the extraordinarily unlikely event that you receive anything less than an Outstanding on your Herbology examination, you will most assuredly receive the Acceptable necessary to continue your Herbological education at Hogwarts.

Best regards,

Severus Snape

Snivellus Snape,

It has come to our attention that your nose has been abusing customers in Diagon Alley, which is of course not on at all. We regret to inform you that we are dispatching hit wizards henceforth to remove the problem.

"Thank you for visiting our apothecary," Severus said as he handed a package to a witch who had, in fact, been in the shop thrice in the past fortnight—each time buying a bottle of Pepperup. Evidently the woman enjoyed a nice steaming placebo for a tipple.

The next customer—a youngish wizard in his fifties—stepped up to the counter. "Excuse me, young man. Do you know much about sleeping draughts?"

Severus inclined his head. "I do."

The man smiled. "Wonderful. I've just brewed one this morning, but as I was cleaning up I noticed that my starthistle leaves had gone slightly brown. Is the potion still safe?"

"Which draught?"

The man frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"Which draught did you brew?" Severus repeated with as much patience as he could muster.

"A sleeping draught, I said."

Merlin save him from inept potioneers. "Ah, yes, my apologies. I meant, Mr…?"

"Unger."

"Mr Unger, I meant which sleeping draught did you brew—Borage's?"

Unger scratched his head. "It was…"

Severus refrained from sighing and asked, "Do you recall which book the recipe was in?"

At that, Unger brightened visibly. "Yes, certainly. Medicinal Draughts for Daily Discomforts."

"Ah, the Viridian, then. Yes, Mr Unger, that should be fine."

As Severus spoke, the door to the basement began to open, and Severus—on reflex—stepped to his left and, as usual, felt his spine tense up. It always did, when Jigger entered the room.

As Master Jigger passed around the counter, heading for the back door to the shop, Severus' customer asked, "So you're sure it's safe to ingest?"

"Certainly," Severus replied. "A sleeping draught is designed to be mild, and if the starthistle has gone slightly dry, it may decrease the potency of the draught, but it certainly will not affect its toxicity. If a truly deep sleep is your goal, you may wish to consider re-brewing, but—"

"My apologies," came Jigger's gravelly voice from Severus' right. Severus glanced over to see that Jigger had paused on his way through the shop and was looming at him from just beyond the counter. "My young employee has misspoken," Jigger continued. "Given the volatile nature of other ingredients in the draught, the moisture level in the starthistle could indeed have grave consequences. I do recommend that you re-brew. We also carry a fresh stock of sleeping draughts, if time is of the essence."

As Unger blinked in confusion, Jigger turned slightly to Severus and said quietly, "Do not give advice on matters in which you are not qualified to evaluate."

Severus turned to Unger, said, "Please excuse us, sir," and cast a quick muffliato—Jigger raised an eyebrow—and said, "Sir, forgive me if I speak out of turn, but I spoke with Mr Unger about the particulars of the draught he was brewing. I assume you to be concerned about the amount of potassium in the standard Borage recipe?"

Jigger nodded, and Severus continued, "Mr Unger did not brew the Borage draught, but rather the Viridian, which—"

"Which has inherently low potassium levels," Jigger cut in. "Very well, Mr Snape. Your reasoning was sound." To Severus' complete shock, Jigger nodded curtly and resumed his path towards the rear of the shop—but not before pausing before Severus' customer and saying, "My young employee's advice was sensible, Mr Unger. In the future, may I suggest Borage's sleeping draught, which tends to have slightly fewer side effects."

Jigger swept out of the shop, leaving Unger, who, to Severus' continued dismay, smiled at him.

"Bosses, eh?" the man said, shrugging.

Severus blinked.

Mr Potter:

You will not contact me at my place of employment again.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape

Sev,

You're sweet.

Lily

Dear Severus:

I saw you're unable to attend the reception—does Jigger have you working, then? If you're able to get away I do hope you will. Many interesting guests will be in attendance. I have much to celebrate.

Very sincerely,

Martinius Wilkes, Jr.

"Hello, Snape."

Severus glanced up from the till to see a young teenager—no more than fourteen, he'd gauge, and after fifteen years of teaching, he was adept at such estimates—looking at him expectantly. The dark-haired boy wore high-quality robes (common to wealthy Pureblood children on holiday) in a Slytherin green, which might explain why he seemed to know Severus—and the distinctive family crest on the robes' buttons explained who the boy was.

Regulus Black was young even in Severus' memory, having died at the age of nineteen, but it was still a surprise to see him looking like such a…child.

"Good morning, Black," Severus said. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Mother has run out of armadillo bile," Regulus said, wrinkling his nose. "She would also like some scarab beetles, if you carry them pre-ground."

Severus nodded. "I can certainly grind them. Did Mrs Black mention a quantity?"

Regulus shrugged. "Not of the beetles. She said at least six ounces of the bile, though."

Severus nodded and walked around the counter to the opposite side of the shop, where the more common liquid ingredients were kept on tap in long, narrow barrels on the wall. As he measured out the armadillo bile, he asked, "If Mrs Black has requested six ounces specifically, how many ground beetles do you suppose she needs?"

"I've no idea."

"Think, Mr Black, of which common potions require both ingredients, and which might be of particular interest to Mrs Black." Severus stoppered the vial of bile and walked down the shop toward the barrel of scarab beetles. Regulus, following him, shrugged.

"I strongly suspect a certain potion—fourth-year standard—and if you will answer one question for me, we can be sure to provide Mrs Black with the precise amount she requires," Severus said, standing next to the barrel of scarabs. When Regulus gestured for him to continue, Severus crossed his arms and asked, "Do you know of any social engagements on her schedule for this evening or tomorrow?"

Regulus frowned. "Nothing unusual, I wouldn't think. Our cousins are joining us for dinner tomorrow, of course, and this evening is her book club, but—"

"Indeed," Severus said. "Thank you, Black." He reached down and deftly counted out eighteen scarabs, which he placed into a bag for transporting back to the front counter.

"How did you know to take sixteen?" Regulus asked, following him back to the front of the shop.

"Eighteen, I think you'll find," Severus said, "and simply thus: the ratio of armadillo bile to scarab beetles in a standard wit-sharpening potion is one ounce to three units."

Regulus leaned against the counter. "Are you sure that's what she's making?"

Severus pulled out the larger mortar and pestle from under the counter and began to grind the beetles with an easy, practised motion. "So I assume," he said. "The other likely suspects were a certain fertility potion and a notoriously difficult-to-brew weed killer, and, given that Mrs Black does not plan to do any gardening today, and does have a meeting of her book club…"

"I see," Regulus said, as he watched Severus funnel the crushed beetles into a paper packet. "I say, you do know what you're doing, don't you?"

Severus snorted. "I should hope so."

"My git brother didn't think you would, you know," Regulus said.

"Is that so?"

"He heard you were here from that Halfblood, Lupin, you know the one—"

"Unfortunately."

Regulus smirked. "And he said you'd be the worst shop boy that ever was and really it would be hilarious, he said, hilarious, to see you forced to be nice to everyone, and he couldn't wait for an excuse to come in."

Severus finished ringing up Regulus' purchases. "That will be fifteen Sickles, nine Knuts, please," he said. As Regulus reached into his pocket, Severus asked, "I may regret this, but may I ask why I have not, then, been gifted with the dubious pleasure of Mr Black the elder's company this morning?"

Regulus handed over a Galleon, which Severus popped into the till, and said, "Because that would require running an errand for Mother, not to mention getting up before noon, of course."

"Of course," Severus repeated. As the Sickle and Knuts clinked into the change cup, and the till's quill wrote out Regulus' receipt, Severus asked, "And, out of sheer curiosity, may I ask if you will you be telling him that I am, in fact, the worst shop boy that ever was?"

Regulus scooped up the coins and, looking at Severus quite as though hippogriffs had just flown out his ears, said, "Why would I tell him anything? He's a Gryffindor."

"So he is," Severus acknowledged. "Well, Mr Black, thank you for visiting the apothecary this morning. Given the alternative, you have my sincere thanks indeed."

Severus handed Regulus his parcel, and Regulus asked, "Will I be seeing you at the Wilkes party?"

Severus shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

Regulus, to Severus' surprise, flushed slightly. "I—well, not many invitations were sent out," he said. "I'm the only fourth-year invited, I'm fairly certain, and it's just because of my family I'm sure—you shouldn't feel slighted, or anything—"

Severus, feeling oddly charitable, shook his head. "I unfortunately had to send Mrs Wilkes my regrets," he said, "as I am unable to get away from the shop that day."

"Oh," Regulus said, his tense grip on his parcel loosening from its visible tightness. "Well, then, that's… what a bit of bad luck, I say."

Severus inclined his head. "Thank you for visiting the apothecary," he said again. "Should Mrs Black find she is low on the ginger required for her potion, we received a fresh batch just yesterday. Please feel free to visit again."

"Yes, thank you, Snape." Regulus headed for the door. "I'll be returning before long, I'm sure. Mothers, you know." The boy flushed again. "Not that—I'm sure—oh Merlin, I'm sorry, I know you—that is, I heard that your—"

Others' discomfort was, truly, endlessly amusing. "Take care, Regulus," Severus said, and, in a flash of embarassed gratitude, the boy fled from the shop.

Dear Martinius:

I am so sorry that I shall be unable to join you on the twenty-fifth, as I am unable to arrange time away from my place of employment.

With many thanks for your kindness in thinking of me,

Best wishes,

Severus Snape

Dear Lily,

I am sure that I do not

[The above has been crossed out.]

Dear Lily,

I only speak the truth

[The above has been crossed out.]

Dear Lily,

Not as swe

[The above has been crossed out.]

Dear Lily,

[The above has been crossed out.]

July 1976, part 2

Severus turned out the lights in the front of the shop and trudged up the narrow rear staircase. That afternoon, he'd caught yet another customer attempting to climb the stairs in search of a public W.C. It was, frankly, ludicrous, and he fully intended to ask Master Jigger if he could post a sign near the front door that this establishment did not have—

Severus stopped at the top of the stairs. There were two owls in his window.

Neither animal was Lily's. Both were tawnies.

And they were, without a doubt, Ministry owls.

Severus stepped forward into his kitchen-living-dining room and approached the animals, both of whom lifted their right legs as he neared them. Severus, with a hand that was not at all shaking, reached out and untied the first square envelope.

He pulled out the single sheaf of paper within, which read:

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

Pass Grades
Outstanding (O)
Exceeds Expectations (E)
Acceptable (A)
Fail Grades
Poor (P)
Dreadful (D)
Troll (T)

Severus Prince Snape has achieved:
Arithmancy: O
Astronomy: E
Charms: O
Defence Against the Dark Arts: O
Herbology: O
History: E
Potions: O
Study of Ancient Runes: O
Transfiguration: I*
*The student did not complete his OWL examination.

Severus barely glanced at the results—he remembered, of course, what OWLs he had achieved and had no desire to revisit his lacklustre Astronomy and History marks, worthless memorization subjects might they be—and, instead, reached for the second envelope.

He untied it and withdrew:

Nastily Exhausting Wizard Test Results

Pass Grades
Outstanding (O)
Exceeds Expectations (E)
Acceptable (A)
Fail Grades
Poor (P)
Dreadful (D)
Troll (T)

Severus Prince Snape has achieved:
Arithmancy: O
Charms: O
Defence Against the Dark Arts: O
Herbology: O
Potions: O*
Study of Ancient Runes: E
Transfiguration: O
*The student holds the record for highest mark in this subject.

Severus surveyed his marks grimly. It seemed he had underperformed on the Ancient Runes examination, much as he had feared; originally, he had achieved a full round of Outstandings. However, holding the record for the highest mark on the Potions N.E.W.T….That was not something that had happened before. (How close had he come the first time?)

Severus frowned. How disappointing, to have set only one such record. Who could've possibly…? It was irrelevant. And probably for the best, given that holding two such records (or more) might garner too much attention. So.

Regardless, this was (with a few exceptions) the best result he could've hoped for. Surely Master Jigger would have no choice but to accept such a truly exceptional student as his apprentice.

One of the owls gave a low, warning hoot, and Severus set the paper down on the small table and crossed to a kitchen cabinet, from which he pulled out the bag of owl treats he'd purchased for Lily's animal and offered one to each of the Ministry birds. The owls took them daintily and sped out his living room window—just as Lily's owl arrived.

The bag still in hand, Severus gave the new arrival a treat and took the letter tied to his foot. Severus unrolled it and, smirking, read:

Sev—

WELL?

Impatiently, Lily

Severus belatedly remembered that the test results were generally sent to the students early in the day—presumably his results had been delayed by the wards on the shop—and that Lily would've assumed that he'd had his marks for quite some time. He ignored a sudden mental twinge (if they'd been waiting in his windowsill all day he really should've given the owls more than one treat apiece) and headed towards his desk, already formulating his response.

Dear Lily,

I trust you're referring to my exam marks? Rest assured; my results were sufficient, if perhaps not quite as exceptional as I might have wished. "Disappointed" is too strong a word; let us say instead "not quite satisfied."

But I myself am far more interested in learning if you, Lily, are satisfied with your performance.

Best regards,

Severus Snape

The next morning, Severus paced up and down the shop, a copy of his N.E.W.T. results in his pocket. It was fifteen to ten; most Wednesdays, Jigger arrived quite early to begin brewing the store's stock potions. Evidently, this was not most Wednesdays.

As Severus turned and began one more circuit, Jigger entered through the rear of the shop and made his customary brisk way to the laboratory staircase with a brusque "Good morning." He had never once sounded like he believed it.

"Good morning," Severus replied. Jigger continued past him, so Severus called, "Master Jigger?"

Jigger stopped near the laboratory stairs and turned around. "Yes?"

"My N.E.W.T. results came yesterday." Severus held out the copy of his results, which Jigger regarded for a brief moment quite as though he'd never seen a piece of parchment before. He blinked and, finally, took the paper from Severus' extended fingers.

A lifetime later, when he had finished reading, Jigger glanced back up to meet Severus' gaze. "Very well," he said, his face, as always, its stolid neutral. "I will begin drawing up the contracts. Once we've both looked them over, I'll send them off to the Ministry for filing. You are, of course, welcome to procure a solicitor to examine them on your behalf."

Severus nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Jigger glanced back down at the parchment. "I can't very well refuse a mark such as this," he said. "I assume you're pleased with yourself."

How kind. "I'm more than pleased to be able to begin my apprenticeship," Severus replied. "I know I have much yet to learn from you."

Jigger's eyes narrowed. "I do not care to reiterate my caution against flattery," he said, thrusting the parchment back towards Severus. "And do not feign modesty; it ill suits you. You've scored better than any other British wizard in the last two hundred years, and you've done it at the age of sixteen."

That was…not entirely accurate, but. "Thank you, sir." Severus folded the parchment and returned it to his pocket.

"You'll note that what I just told you was merely a statement of fact, rather than an obsequious display of adulation," Jigger said. "So, by all means, make another attempt: I assume you're pleased with your N.E.W.T. performance."

It seemed that Jigger's first lesson to his young apprentice was to be one of…social interaction.

The man was far more qualified to teach Potions. Frankly, the man was more qualified to teach Divination, and Severus had (much to his amusement) heard the man decry the discipline on no fewer than three occasions to women who had mistakenly thought the apothecary a supplier for haruspices.

"I am," Severus acknowledged, but Jigger didn't respond—he seemed to be waiting for Severus to continue.

This conversation was well within his capabilities—he had been a triple agent for over a decade, for Merlin's sake—but it still surprised him. He could not, of course, have been more pleased to be Jigger's apprentice, however unfriendly the man might be (and Severus was not wont to be the pot that calls the cauldron). But when Severus gave the man his honest opinion, Jigger accused him of flattery. And so, to obscure the total truth—which Jigger thought was a fabrication—Severus had need of an appropriate partial truth.

"And I am pleased to be able to begin my apprenticeship," he said, "as…my research will be more likely to be taken seriously with your name attached."

Jigger nodded. "Correct, and somewhat insightful." He turned back towards the staircase before he turned around to add, "Of course, you'll need to find a part-time shop assistant. Once you've found a suitable person, we'll sign the contracts."

"Certainly," Severus said. Jigger disappeared down the laboratory stairs.

Severus exhaled in relief, patted the test results in his pocket, and went to open the shop.

Oh Sev,

What does that mean "sufficient" but "dissatisfied"? Let me guess—you got an E in something? You hold yourself to impossible standards, you realise. Just please, please tell me if you've done well enough in Potions to please Master Jigger? I'M SURE you have but I am just so excited/worried/nervous for you…

And as for me, yes! I shouldn't've worried—I got the mark I needed in Herbology after all (better than, actually, if I may say so)… I'll be able to take all the NEWT classes I need! Potions, Charms, Herbology, Transfigs… I think I'll also carry on with Defence, even though it's not required for even St. Mungo's program, because, well, you know. And I'll have to chat with Professor McGonagall but I think it might be a good idea to carry on with Ancient Runes and History, since it may help to understand the older diseases…that is if I can handle the course load!

You must tell me how it goes with Master Jigger,

Love from

Lily

Diagon Alley, London

Slug & Jigger's Apothecary

Ministry of Magic
Division of Magical Education
Diagon Alley, London

To Whom it Concerns:

I am inquiring as to the current record-holder for highest mark in the Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. I have enclosed a self-addressed envelope and await your return owl.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape

When Severus entered his flat the next evening, he was surprised to see a scroll of parchment on his table. Unrolling it, he immediately recognized Jigger's overly-tidy handwriting from the shop ledgers, and a brief glance revealed the document to be a standard apprenticeship contract, much resembling the one he himself had entered into under Master Rotislavic.

A note attached to the scroll read, "SS: Please approve by end of this week. You are welcome to send to a solicitor. A.J." Severus briefly entertained a twinge of annoyance that Jigger had, evidently, been in his flat without his knowledge, but waved it aside in favour of reading the contract.

It was, indeed, standard; as Jigger's apprentice, Severus' stipend would be raised from three to five Galleons a week, and his room and board would still be provided for. His duties in the shop would change from Tuesday through Sunday to merely Saturdays and Sundays, and he would continue to have Mondays free. Tuesdays and Thursdays would be devoted to brewing the stock potions, and—to Severus' satisfaction—Wednesdays and Fridays would be for his own education and research. In addition, he would have free access to the laboratory in the evenings.

The contract also contained the standard clauses regarding published material (to be credited to "A. Jigger and S. Snape," with the exception of Severus' Mastery project, which would be "S. Snape under A. Jigger") and length of apprenticeship (five years, or until the completion of a Mastery project as accepted by the International Board of Potioneers). Altogether the contract was agreeable; Severus scribbled as such on the back of Jigger's note and set the parchment aside to return to Jigger in the morning.

Division of Magical Education
Ministry of Magic
Diagon Alley, London

Dear Mr Snape:

Enclosed you will find a list of the current record-holders for the Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. I have also taken the liberty of including the list of record-holders for the Potions N.E.W.T., as I thought that might also be of interest to you.

Congratulations on your achievements!

Kindest regards,

Malfalda Hopkirk
Assistant Secretary, Division of Magical Education

Highest Achievements in the N.E.W.T. for Defence Against the Dark Arts
As of 20 July, 1976

1. Albus Dumbledore (1899)
2. [Redacted]
3. Severus Snape (1976)
4. Alastor Moody (1938)
5. Arsenius Jigger (1923)

Highest Achievements in the N.E.W.T. for Potions
As of 20 July, 1976

1. Severus Snape (1976)
2. Arsenius Jigger (1923)
3. Belvina Black (1904)
4. Libatius Borage (1873)
5. Terence Boot (1968)

Dear Lily,

To satisfy your curiosity, I have enclosed a copy of my test results. I'm afraid you have me sussed; I am indeed somewhat dissatisfied with my performance on the Ancient Runes examination.

Congratulations on your Outstanding Herbology O.W.L. (and, no doubt, the many other Outstandings to your name). I've long held the utmost faith in your academic abilities and am confident that you will succeed at any and all courses in which you enrol for next year.

I have indeed spoken with Master Jigger and, to my satisfaction, he is amenable to my undertaking an apprenticeship with him.

Best regards,

Severus

Three days had gone by in which Severus and Jigger had not spoken more than a dozen words to each other, and Severus found himself growing increasingly ill-at-ease. Since his belated realisation that yes, of course, his achieving the top record in the potions N.E.W.T. meant he was ousting the previous record-holder—and his discovery that the previous record-holder had been, in fact, his new mentor—Severus had been unsure as to how to approach the man about his impending apprenticeship.

Feeling an odd compulsion to prove himself worthy of his mark, Severus had spent the previous evenings drafting a proposal for his research—which would, with any luck (or rather skill) solve his disposal-of-Horcruxes problem—and had even copied the outline onto fresh parchment with a new dicta-quill (Jigger was none too fond of Severus'…unique handwriting). And now, well after closing, Severus was wiping the spotless counter for the umpteenth time, waiting for Master Jigger to emerge from the as-yet-unseen laboratory.

Finally, the door opened, and Severus renewed his pointless wiping with vigour. "Good evening, Master Jigger," he said, stilling his hand.

"Good evening," Jigger returned, closing the laboratory door behind him.

Severus extracted his proposal from his pocket. "I've completed my proposal for the trajectory of my research," he said, "up to and including my Mastery project." He held out the roll of parchment.

Jigger peered down at it. "Have you secured a replacement shopkeeper?" he asked simply.

Severus withdrew his hand slightly. "Not, ah, not yet—"

"Then I suggest you do so, so that we might sign our contracts and you might begin your research," Jigger said. "Good evening, Mr Snape."

Jigger walked away from Severus' research proposal and out the back door.

Once his rage at the injustice of it all had subsided, Severus flipped over the parchment, transfigured it to a stiffer paper stock, and used the till quill to write out HELP WANTED.

Severus stuck the new sign in the shop window and, kicking the counter as he passed it, went upstairs for the night.

Sev—

Oh my GOD, congratulations! I am completely unsurprised but so very proud of you. The RECORD HOLDER for the Potions NEWT? Amazing. I wonder if anyone we know holds the records in the other subjects?

Anyway it's no wonder Jigger agreed to take you on, with a mark like that (which is of course completely deserved). I'm so excited. When do you think you'll be able to begin?

So, so, excited for you,

Love from

Lily

"Are you…are you hiring?"

Severus glanced up from the till. The speaker, the only other person currently in the shop, was a man older than Severus was currently but younger than he had been, who was now looking at him with an idiotically hopeful expression on his doughy face.

"Yes," Severus said. "We're in need of a new assistant shopkeeper."

"I can do that," the man said immediately.

"May I ask what your qualifications are, Mr…?"

"Felix."

Severus blinked. "All right, Mr Felix. May I ask what your qualifications are?"

Felix snorted. "Not sure what you mean."

"Do you hold a Potions N.E.W.T., for example."

In the month or so that Severus had been working in he shop, he had decided that, rather than an Order of Merlin, what he truly deserved was an Order of Patience. This particular man, he gauged, should earn him at least a second-class medal.

"Why would I need a Potions N.E.W.T. to work in a shop?" Felix asked.

Severus pressed two fingers to his right temple and, rotating them clockwise, said, "Mr Felix, if you don't know Potions how can you possibly expect to work as a Potions supplier?"

"I can work a till."

"Do go on."

Felix shrugged. "Used to work the August rush at Quality Quidditch."

"'Used to'?" Severus echoed.

"Yes, well, it was seasonal, you know."

"I see," Severus said. "And this was regularly, or…?"

"Well, once," Felix said. "In, er, would've been '63."

"Nineteen sixty-three?" Severus repeated drily. When Felix merely blinked at him, Severus sighed and said, "Mr Felix, what have you been doing for the last thirteen years?"

Felix shrugged. "You know. This and that."

"Ah, but I don't know," Severus said. "Pray tell."

"Listen, kid," Felix said, his eyes sudden narrowing. "I get that you're taking the mick and that's your priorgative. Why don't you just tell me when your boss will be here so I can talk to him about the job, eh?"

"'Priorgative'?" Severus repeated.

"Yes. It means 'duty.'"

Severus closed his eyes and considered Vanishing the man on the spot.

"So when can I come by and speak to your boss, then?" Felix said, drumming his fingers on the countertop.

"Alas," Severus said, "Master Jigger has entrusted the hiring of my assistant entirely to me."

"What teenager needs an assistant, pray tell?" Felix asked.

"I am Master Jigger's new apprentice, and we need someone to work in the shop. I hate to disappoint you" (he didn't) "but that person will not, I'm afraid," (he wasn't) "be you, as you have no qualifications."

"The sign didn't say anything about qualifications," Felix pointed out.

Severus counted to five.

"Yes, well, that is my…'priorgative,' was it?"

Felix glared at him. "You think you're funny?"

"Occasionally."

"Go to hell, kid," Felix said and, with a passable sneer, stormed out of the shop.

"Thank you for visiting our apothecary," Severus said quietly, and made a mental note to send an advertisement to the newspaper.

Dear Lily,

You may be interested to know that the Headmaster, unsurprisingly, holds the highest Defence N.E.W.T. mark.

As for my apprenticeship, Master Jigger has informed me that I may begin as soon as we (meaning I) have found a suitable part-time shopkeeper to be my replacement. Look out for the job listing in tomorrow's Prophet and kindly wish me luck in locating such a replacement as quickly as possible.

Best regards,

Severus

Dear Mr Snape:

Your assistance last week was most welcome to both myself and my mother. Mrs Black sends her regards to both you and Mr Jigger, and fully intends to speak highly of you to Mr Jigger herself when next she visits the Apothecary in person.

Mrs Black would also like to inquire as to your plans for the future, and if they are to involve tutoring. I find myself in need of additional instruction in the fine art of Potions. If you are amenable, please let me know, and I will have Mr Black owl you to discuss the financial arrangements.

Sincerely yours,

Regulus Black

"Hello, Severus."

Severus, currently levitating so that he might dust the highest shelf of bottles, replied, "One moment, please." He set the last bottle down and, floating to the ground, said, "Yes, how may I be of assistance?"

He turned around and found himself face-to-face with a familiar-looking teenaged girl. "I've come about the position," she said, smiling demurely, and then it clicked into place.

She was the inexplicably giggling seventh-year Slytherin with whom he'd been roped into dancing on his last night at Hogwarts. The one called…Merlin, the one called…

"Miss Greengrass," Severus said. "What a pleasant surprise."

Greengrass tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's lovely to see you," she said. "I saw your notice in the Prophet, and, well, I've not got anything lined up just yet, and I did get an E on my Potions N.E.W.T., so…"

"Congratulations," Severus said, inclining his head.

Greengrass had the audacity to blush. "Oh, I couldn't've done it without you, I'm sure."

She probably couldn't have. "I'm certain that's not true," he replied smoothly. "Now, may I ask what it is about working at the apothecary that particularly interests you?"

Greengrass shrugged. "Oh, you know. The opportunity to work with…people."

That was not an opportunity that Severus himself relished (or, truly, more than barely tolerated), but he supposed Greengrass might be one of those incomprehensible people who enjoyed others' company. "I see," he said. "Well, if you'll leave me a copy of your CV I will go over it with my employer. If he is amenable, we will owl you for an interview."

Greengrass smiled and shook her head. "I'm so sorry, I don't have one with me. My CV, I mean."

Severus waved a hand. "No matter. You may owl one to my attention here."

Greengrass reached into her handbag and pulled out a quill and a scrap of parchment. "Let me leave you my floo address," she said, scribbling. "In case you need to contact me."

Severus frowned. "That's not necessary," he said. "It's no trouble to wait for your owl."

Greengrass handed him the parchment. "Well, just in case, then." She smiled at him.

Severus glanced at the parchment—"Evelyn Greengrass, Greengrass Gables"—and back up at the girl. "Please do send your CV and we will be in touch," he said.

"Lovely," said Greengrass. "Will I…will you be at Marty's party?"

Severus shook his head. "Alas, my duties here prevent me from attending. Do send him my regards, if you will."

Greengrass nodded. "I will. We'll talk soon?"

Severus nodded—what else could he do?—and Greengrass exited the shop.

He crumpled her parchment and Vanished it, marvelling at the remarkable lack of planning demonstrated by a person who went to apply for a position without a copy of her CV.

Dear Sev,

Yes, I saw the listing in the Prophet. Honestly, Sev. "No dunderheads need apply"? Really?

Love from

Lily

WANTED: PART-TIME SHOPKEEPER

Slug & Jigger's Apothecary, Diagon Alley. Must hold 'E' Potions N.E.W.T. or have equivalent knowledge. Minimum three years' retail experience required. Should have a pleasant but not overly-buoyant demeanour. No dunderheads need apply. Contact Severus Snape, Slug & Jigger's.

With each passing day, Severus' now ever-present headache increased as he entertained job seeker after underqualified job seeker. Either they knew nothing of potions, or they were unwilling to work more than three days, or fewer than five days, or they were obnoxious cretins.

Three were obnoxious cretins who knew nothing of potions and refused to work more than three days a week.

Thus far, two candidates had seemed promising, but both had balked at the low pay Jigger was willing to offer (a notion that Severus found vaguely insulting, as it was far more than he himself earned for his position at the shop), and every applicant, qualified or no, had been rather put off by Severus' apparent age. The experience had been, altogether, almost as frustrating as attempting to teach double Potions to a Slytherin/Gryffindor class containing the Weasley twins.

And so Severus was not feeling precisely chipper as he straightened the stock and prepared for closing, and then the shop's door opened and Martinius Wilkes walked in.

Severus briefly considered Disillusioning himself and running upstairs.

"Lovely," Wilkes said. "I was afraid you'd closed already."

"Not quite," Severus said, stepping away from the shelves. "How may I be of assistance?"

Wilkes leaned on the counter. "We missed you at the party," he said. "Practically all of Slytherin above fifth year was there. Frankly I started to feel insulted—it was my party and all I heard was 'Where's Snape, where's Snape?'"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "For some reason I doubt that."

Wilkes shrugged. "All right, perhaps not. But a certain Miss Evelyn Greengrass did mention that she had recently seen you."

"Yes, she applied for a position here."

Wilkes left out a single bark of laughter. "Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry. Did I hear correctly that Evvie Greengrass applied for a position here?"

"Yes," Severus said, refusing to roll his eyes.

Wilkes smirked. "I heard she didn't have any marriage prospects, but honestly, a shopgirl. No offense meant to you, of course."

"Of course," Severus repeated drily.

"I trust your N.E.W.T. results were satisfactory?" Wilkes asked.

"Quite," Severus replied. "I will begin my apprenticeship as soon as I am able to acquire a weekday shopkeeper."

"Are you going to hire Greengrass?" Wilkes said, amusement evident in his voice.

Severus let his distaste for that prospect show in his face, and Wilkes laughed. "Right," Wilkes said. "I can't blame you."

Severus nodded and, following social protocol, inquired, "I assume you were pleased with the outcome of your N.E.W.T.s?"

Wilkes nodded. "Of course. I was glad to receive them before the party, as they gave me even more to celebrate."

Severus crushed the feeling of foreboding that crept up his spine and said, "I'm glad to hear it." Seeing Wilkes glance around the shop, Severus added, "And how may I be of assistance this evening?"

"Do you carry burn salve?" Wilkes asked, his tone just a touch too casual.

Severus—who was, of course, much more experienced in such matters than Wilkes—nodded and smoothly replied, "Certainly. Would you prefer a paste or poultice?"

"A paste, I think."

Severus crossed the room and located a jar of burn salve—which was, not incidentally, also what he prescribed for healing fresh tattoos—which he showed to Wilkes, who nodded. "Will that be all?" Severus asked.

Wilkes nodded, and Severus rang up his purchase. Transaction completed, Severus handed Wilkes the salve and his receipt. "Thank you for visiting our apothecary," Severus said.

"Thank you for the salve," Wilkes replied. "Take care, Severus."

"And you," Severus replied.

Wilkes nodded and left the shop.

Dear Mr Black,

I am most flattered to receive such a missive from you and your esteemed family. Unfortunately, my commitments to the Apothecary and as Master Jigger's apprentice prevent me from such an undertaking.

I am confident that Professor Slughorn will be able to recommend a more suitable instructor.

With many thanks for your kindness in thinking of me,

Very sincerely,

Severus Snape

Dear Lily,

You would be amazed at how incapable people are of adhering to the barest minimum of requirements for a position.

Exasperatedly,

Severus

Severus had been on the cusp of abandoning all hope that he would find a more suitable applicant than the over-friendly and under-qualified Miss Greengrass, when, finally, a somewhat promising owl arrived for him from a Miss Sheridan Cadogan. One of the few applicants who went to the trouble of including both a cover letter and CV, Cadogan's missive explained that, although she had been working in the Muggle world for the four years since she left Hogwarts, she had been an avid Potions student—she'd enclosed a copy of her N.E.W.T. results, which testified by means of her 'O' in Potions—and that she continued to keep up with the Potions quarterlies.

That, by itself, was better than anything he'd read thus far, and so he'd owled the woman for an interview at closing time.

She was punctual—she turned out to be tall for a woman, with short light hair (unusual for a witch) and a tight smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Snape," she said, shaking his hand.

"Likewise. Won't you please have a seat." Severus guided her to the rear of the shop, where he'd Summoned a chair from his flat next to the desk's chair. Once they'd both been seated, Severus pulled out her letter. "Miss Cadogan," Severus said, "let me begin by saying that I find your Potions background to be adequate for this position, providing you still retain most of the knowledge you acquired in your Hogwarts days."

Cadogan smiled. "Given that it was only four years ago, let us hope so."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he said. "But please, allow me to ask what has inspired you to seek employment in the Wizarding world, after a four-year absence?"

Cadogan nodded—it seemed she had anticipated Severus' line of questioning. "I'm a musician," she explained. "When I left Hogwarts, I was hired by an orchestra in Ulster—I don't know if you know about Muggles culture…?"

"A bit," Severus replied. Of course, that "bit" had been acquired from his father, and as such had never included classical music, but.

"Unfortunately the BBC dissolved the orchestra several months ago," Cadogan continued. "And my husband—he's a violist—he's now with the London Philharmonic, but I haven't had as much luck. And since, aside from my music, I've not any qualifications for working in the Muggle world…" Cadogan spread her hands in a so there you have it gesture.

"Your husband," Severus repeated. "Is he…?"

"A violist," Cadogan said again.

Of course, Cadogan's refusal to answer the question most certainly indicated that her husband was, in fact, a Muggle, but Severus still felt his opinion of her rise slightly at her polite defiance. "Do you also play viola?" he found himself asking.

"The cello, actually."

"I see." Severus regarded Cadogan for a long moment. "How is your wordless casting?" he asked.

Cadogan drew her wand and flicked it at a quill on the desk, sending it upwards with a leviosa. "Anything more complicated?" Severus asked, his eyes fixed on the quill, which, a moment later, turned bright green, shrank, and drifted back down to the desk.

Severus turned back to Cadogan. "I hope Master Jigger wasn't overly fond of that quill," he said drily. When Cadogan merely shrugged, Severus smirked.

"If I came into the shop," he said, "and asked you for valerian, sopophorous bean, and asphodel, what would your response be?"

"I would also sell you wormwood," Cadogan replied, "but not until after I'd asked you if you had a license to brew the Draught of Living Death."

Severus nodded. "As I would hope. Well, Miss Cadogan—or, I beg your pardon, Mrs Cadogan?"

Cadogan smiled. "It's Ms Cadogan. Socially, I'm Mrs Graves."

That, more than anything, clinched his suspicion that Cadogan was Muggle-born. "Well, Ms Cadogan," he said, "do you have any questions about the position—the duties, compensation, anything that was unclear in my owl?"

Cadogan nodded. "You explained that it is a Monday through Thursday position. I assume the hours are the shop's hours?"

When Severus nodded, Cadogan said, "Then I suppose my only question is why you're seeking a replacement. Are you headed back to Hogwarts?" When Severus shook his head, Cadogan added, "I apologise if I offend—it's just that you look rather young. Are you finished with school, then?"

Severus smirked. "Indeed. I am to begin my apprenticeship under Master Jigger, and as such, I will no longer be able to work the shop weekdays."

"Congratulations, then."

"Thank you. If you have no other questions?" Cadogan shook her head. "Then my thanks to you for your visit this evening. I will be speaking with Master Jigger and we should have a response for you by the end of this week."

They rose, shook hands, and Cadogan departed.

Severus locked the shop's front door behind her, turned off the lights, and, relief slowly building somewhere near his diaphragm, sat heavily on the floor.

Severus fell back, lay against the stone floor—he really needed to cast a sweeping charm—and allowed himself to almost entertain the possibility that, at some point in the future, he might be able to consider being somewhat hopeful.

Oh Sev,

I'm not sure whom I pity more—you, or your poor, misguided applicants.

Love from

Lily

August 1976, part 1

Severus had just locked the front door of the shop when Jigger emerged from the laboratory. The older man muttered a quiet "good evening"—Severus idly wondered what had caused him to be in such a buoyant mood—and headed towards the back alley entrance. Severus hastily followed him, calling, "Master Jigger?"

Jigger stopped next to a barrel of serpent scales. "Yes?"

Severus caught up. "Have you had a moment to look at the applicant I recommended?"

He certainly had; Severus had left him all of the information two days previously.

Jigger stared impassively down (damn his sixteen-year-old's height) at Severus. "Yes," Jigger said. "The Muggle-born, was it?"

Severus suppressed an irrational burst of irritation. "The musician, yes."

Jigger's left eyebrow quirked ever so slightly. "Yes. Cardigan?"

Honestly. "Cadogan."

"Yes. Cadogan." Jigger's expression remained Occlusively passive as he said, "She's not qualified." And with that dismissal, he resumed his path towards the back of the shop.

Severus followed. "She knows more about potions than any other applicant," he said.

Jigger stopped in front of the door. "Does she?"

"Yes."

Jigger snorted. "Then I'd hate to see the other applicants."

He had no idea. "She knows more than enough to be able to help customers," Severus said. "And were she uncertain, she would be easily able to consult me, as I'd be just one floor away, in the laboratory."

"And if you were unable to step away from a volatile potion?" Jigger demanded.

Severus' irritation finally broke through and he found himself retorting, "In the unlikely scenario in which I would be unable to cast a stasis charm, the customer could bloody well wait."

Jigger's eyes narrowed. "If you think you can cast a stasis charm on any—"

"Stasis charms cannot be cast on potions with time-sensitive ingredients, including, but not limited to, moondew, wolfsbane, or Mooncalf dung—nor on potions affecting time, such as the Ageing Potion or any of the Everlasting—"

"Yes, thank you," Jigger cut in. (Severus ignored the strange compulsion to adjust his glasses.) "Very well. Putting aside that she has no Potions background other than, I believe, that 'she reads the quarterlies,' there's the matter that she has no retail experience whatsoever." Jigger regarded Severus and flatly added, "I believe it was you who argued for a required two years' minimum experience?"

"Nobody with usable Potions knowledge would consent to spending two years in retail," Severus snapped.

They looked at each other.

"Fine," Jigger said at last. "If she's inadequate, you'll dismiss her, and you'll be back behind the counter until you find a suitable replacement."

"Agreed," Severus said coolly.

Jigger raised an eyebrow. "Have her start Monday, Apprentice Snape," he said, just as frostily, and then he left the shop.

Severus locked up after him and, annoyance and cautious satisfaction struggling for dominance somewhere near his sternum, stomped up the stairs to his flat.

Dear Ms Cadogan:

I am pleased to offer you the position of Part-Time Shopkeeper of Slug & Jigger's Apothecary. As previously discussed, this position's hours are Tuesday through Friday, 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., with one half-hour for lunch. Compensation is 15s/hour.

If you are amenable, please sign and return the enclosed contract, and we will see you on the morning of Tuesday, 3 August.

Best regards,

Severus Snape

Dear Lily,

Fear not; I have, at last, obtained a suitable part-time shopkeeper. She seems to be a moderately competent human being; let us hope she lasts.

I do hope your summer continues to pass pleasantly, and that you have managed to avoid strangling your sister.

Best,

Severus

Severus, in the midst of polishing the counter, suddenly became aware of an unusual noise emanating from somewhere to his right.

Severus glanced up. He hadn't imagined it; Jigger was standing in the laboratory doorway, and he was…clearing his throat.

"Yes?" Severus asked, stilling his wand.

"If you have finished closing the shop," Jigger said, "I'd…like to show you around the laboratory."

Severus immediately slipped his wand into his sleeve. "Certainly," he said.

Jigger nodded, and, finally, Severus followed him down the stairs and into the laboratory.

The room, like the shop above, was long and narrow; unlike the shop above, it was antiseptically clean, with none of the ingredients-borne old-pantry smell, and Severus found himself breathing ever so slightly more easily. He stepped away from the staircase and took in the spotless countertops lining the walls; the cauldron rack hanging from the ceiling; the two industrial-sized sinks; the three work tables in the centre of the room; and the two doors at the opposite end of the laboratory, which—he estimated—would lead to the hot and cold storerooms.

"This is an excellently appointed laboratory," Severus said, turning to Jigger.

To his surprise, Jigger snorted. "Compared to the student laboratory at Hogwarts, anything would be," he said, and Severus cursed inwardly and belatedly reminded himself that, no, he had never been to Munich, or Paris, or New York…

Severus affected a small smile. "Indeed."

Jigger indicated the left storeroom with a jerk of his hand. "Cold storage," he said, and, pointing to the right storeroom, added, "Warm storage." He gestured toward the lantern affixed to the wall near the foot of the staircase and said, "Should your new shopkeeper pull the cord at the top of the stairs, this lantern will flare green. Do try to head upstairs shortly after it does so."

Severus nodded, and Jigger took a few steps toward the staircase. "You will not," he said, "brew anything non-standard without consulting me. You will not brew anything both non-standard and potentially toxic without my presence. Is that clear?"

"Certainly," Severus replied.

Jigger pointed at the work table closest to the staircase. "That is your station," he said. "You will maintain it in perfect order."

"Of course."

"Very well. Then…" Jigger began mounting the stairs. "Good evening."

Severus watched Jigger's ascension until the man was out of sight. He turned to his new work station and spread his fingers across the smooth stone countertop. After a moment, Severus turned and walked down the length of the laboratory to the storage rooms.

He assembled the ingredients for Felix Felicis and brought them—along with a spotless, smooth iron cauldron—back to his table.

Dear Sev,

Aww, I'll have to tell Tuney you're asking after her.

…kidding obviously. Seriously? I have basically had it up to here with her. She finally met some boy at a local pub—he was in town for some dull-as-doorknobs business conference—and he's perfectly hideous. I would say "at least he treats her well" but all I can say for him is that he takes her out to nice dinners (which are totally lost on her since she doesn't eat).

Anyway all she talks about is "Vern this, Vern that" and it's nauseating.

So tell me more about your new shopkeeper? Are you her BOSS?

Love from

Lily

Severus stood behind Cadogan and silently observed as she interacted with their few Tuesday afternoon customers.

It was, he reflected, even duller than speaking with the customers himself—and standing next to the door to the laboratory, while unable to enter through it and begin brewing, was beyond frustrating.

Fortunately, Cadogan looked the part of shopkeeper more than he did—the woman was, admittedly, capable of smiling, and she somehow seemed less dishevelled than he in her uniform work robes. But he had had to step in thrice thus far to keep her from mis-totaling a purchase, or forgetting to offer a receipt, or inaccurately weighing a handful of newt tails (which was dangerously shoddy potioneering). But she seemed to be learning, if slowly, and Severus felt confident that he'd be able to leave the storefront for the laboratory within a few days.

"Pepperup Potion? Yes, I think that'd be fine to take concurrently with a Fever Reducer."

Severus sighed and upgraded his estimate to "within the week" as he stepped forward to prevent their customer from burning himself alive.

Dear Lily,

She's called Cadogan and I overestimated her.

Sincerely,

Severus

A week later, Severus sat on a stool next to his work station—a cauldronful of Felix merrily bubbling away on the far flame—as Jigger eased himself onto the stool opposite and, sliding a parchment booklet across the table to Severus, said, "I've outlined your next year's study here. It's rather loose, so that we might spend more time on the particular areas that interest you."

Severus nodded and flipped through the pages quickly. When he had finished, he looked back up at Jigger. "And we'll be doing original research simultaneously, or…?"

Jigger frowned. "You won't be embarking on your 'original' research until you've passed your QUAILs, of course."

"QUAILs?" Severus repeated.

"Yes, your Quintessentially Unpleasant Area-Intensive Levels," Jigger said. "As is standard for British potioneers, and as was laid out in your contract. Which you did, I trust, read."

Severus had, in fact, read the entirety of his contract, but had dismissed the exams as a formality. "So we'll begin my research after I've sat my QUAILs?"

"Yes, yes," Jigger replied testily.

"I see," Severus said. "Shall I make an appointment with the Ministry for, shall we say, mid-September?"

"Whatever for?" Jigger said, now outright scowling.

"For taking my QUAILs," Severus said. "Unless we don't need to register with the Ministry…?"

"Yes, you'll need to register with the Ministry. When you take your exams. Which you will, with sufficient hard work on your part, next July."

Severus felt the muscles along his jawline tense up. "'Next July'?" he repeated.

"Yes, Mr Snape, next July. A year from now." Jigger glared at him from across the table. "You did, I trust, read your contract before you signed it?"

"Of course," Severus snapped. "I simply—" He inhaled and exhaled slowly. "I had rather hoped to expedite the examination process."

"There will be no expedition," Jigger said, his nostrils flaring. "The Ministry mandated time is one year, as it has been for every English potioneer since 1643."

Severus had not, originally, been apprenticed to an English master. Since Rotislavic had used Severus primarily as a brewing factory, the man had allowed him to set his own schedule—and Severus distinctly remembered having worked on his own research as often as he could, as early as he could. But given that, at the time, he had been rather occupied with being a servant to the Dark Lord, he could not remember when he'd taken his QUAILs. Presumably, the answer was "whenever he bloody well got around to it."

"Read up on the theories listed on the first page," Jigger said pointedly. "We will discuss them tomorrow. I trust you will have no further objections?"

Severus shook his head, and Jigger rose from his stool. "Then we will meet again tomorrow morning," he said. "Which reminds me. Did you finish the batch of Calming Draught?"

When Severus nodded, Jigger said, "Good," and headed up out of the laboratory.

Severus stared down at the year's worth of lessons that stood between him and a Horcrux disposal solution.

He stopped himself short of a wordless, wandless Incendio.

Dear Severus,

Oh, you poor thing, having to work with a mere mortal! I'm sure she's perfectly competent. She's just not perfect. The nerve of her, really! (- Please note sarcasm.)

And wait, wait, does this mean you've been able to start working with Master Jigger? WHAT is he like when you're learning from him? Have you discovered the Next Big Thing In Potions yet? Please tell me you have so I can brag about you to Petunia, because frankly if she tells me one more word about the Dreaded Vern's middle management expertise I will hex her hair out.

Love from

Lily

The following afternoon, Severus was preparing ingredients—Jigger had ordered him, as a "review," to brew the antidote to an "unidentified poison" (which was obviously a draft of Weedosoros)—with Jigger half-observing, half-brewing his own potion at the next work station.

Severus began mincing a small tray of billywig stings and, flipping the knife over, began crushing the sting ends with the flat of the blade. Almost immediately, Jigger was on his feet. "Explain yourself," he said, standing beside Severus' table.

"These are drier stings," Severus said. "But the ends still retain a bit of moisture, which is exuded more readily when crushed with the flat of—"

"What makes you think this antidote requires more moisture?" Jigger said.

"It's Fire Seed-based," Severus replied. Obviously.

Jigger frowned, nodded, and returned to his table. Severus resumed preparing the stings.

When he had finished, he set them aside and picked up a graphorn horn, which he pulverized with a quick tap of his wand, and set the powder—

"Explain."

Severus glanced up from his powdered horn. "I'm starting with the antidote to uncommon poisons base," he said.

"Why would you ever use your wand to prepare an ingredient, Mr Snape?" Jigger said, his eyes fixed on Severus.

"This antidote works primarily on a purely chemical level," Severus said. "Moreover, pulverizing the horn does not alter it on a magical or chemical level, but merely enables it to be more easily dissolved."

Jigger nodded. "Carry on."

Severus set the horn aside and, placing a low-sided cauldron over a medium flame, proceeded to dry-toast half a dozen Fire Seeds. He shook the cauldron in a smooth, circular motion, and when the seeds were evenly toasted, he took the—

"Mr Snape."

Severus' growing annoyance at being repeatedly interrupted reached its peak. "I'm dry-toasting the seeds because, as you know, Fire Seeds react poorly to being cooked, from raw, in liquid." He took the cauldron off the flame and set it on a cool section of his work table. "Master Jigger, haven't you repeatedly stressed the importance of not interrupting a potioneer mid-brew?"

Jigger raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying that you lack the concentration to answer my questions as you prepare the ingredients for a standard antidote?"

Severus turned to face him. "I am implying that it is unnecessary, and distracting, to repeatedly ask me questions to which any potioneer with a basic grasp of theory knows the answer. More than that, it is insulting."

Jigger paused, his expression unreadable. "Mr Snape," he said at last, "may I remind you that I do not know how well you know your Potions theory, and I cannot unless I ask. More importantly, you are taking shortcuts, and unless I ask after your reasoning, I cannot know if you are a clever potioneer or if you are merely lazy. If it is the latter, you are all too likely to blow yourself up, and take my expensive laboratory with you."

Severus, his hackles only slightly soothed by Jigger's use of the word "clever," nodded, and reached for a fresh cauldron.

"But Mr Snape, when you interrupted me, I had not been about to ask you a question."

Severus turned back to Jigger. "No?"

"I had been about to tell you that, starting tomorrow, you will tie your hair back while you are in my laboratory."

Severus chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"It's a question of hygiene," Jigger continued. "And you will cast more frequent cleaning charms on your spectacles. I won't have the purity of my shop's potions compromised due to your…personal habits."

Severus stared at Jigger. When the man made no move other than to continue to look expectant, Severus lifted his wand and tapped first the back of his head—he felt a twinge as his hair snagged on his newly-conjured elastic—and then the side of his glasses.

"Good," Jigger said. "Continue."

Severus turned the flame on under the cauldron, which he imagined as Jigger's self-important head.

Dear Lily,

I have not yet been able to start any original research, as Master Jigger seems to be under the impression that I will first need to sit my QUAILs. Frustratingly, he has thus far insisted that I spend a year preparing for them, which is, of course, nonsense. I'm fully confident I could earn top marks if I sat the exams in two weeks. He seems to enjoy finding fault in the mildest offense and is an entirely unpleasant person; regardless of his Potions acumen he is by no means qualified to teach. I am now unsurprised that he has never before taken an apprentice.

Don't hex your sister's hair out. Hex her repulsive boyfriend's instead.

Or Master Jigger's. (Please note lack of sarcasm.)

Sincerely,

Severus

"Oh, good," Cadogan said, as Severus emerged from the laboratory. "Jigger wanted to speak to us both."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "And Jigger would be…"

Cadogan shrugged. "He said he'd be back. He did not, quote, 'have all evening to await Mr Snape's arrival.'"

"Charming," Severus said drily.

"I think he'll be back before too long," Cadogan said. "If he doesn't, he'll owe me overtime."

"You don't get overtime."

"If he doesn't come back soon," Cadogan said grimly, "I'll ask for it."

"Bon chance, Ms Cadogan."

The rear door to the shop opened, and both employees silently watched Jigger make his way towards the counter. "Excellent," Jigger said flatly. "I wished to speak to you both about scheduling for the next two weeks."

Cadogan crossed her arms. "Is something the matter, Mr Jigger?"

Severus smirked inwardly at the way Jigger seemed to flinch each time Cadogan called him "mister."

"Merely the impending arrival of September first, Ms Cadogan," Jigger said. "We are sure to shortly experience the August rush." When neither Severus nor Cadogan reacted, Jigger continued, "Given that neither of you has any Diagon experience, you may be unaware that this shop—as all shops—experiences an extreme uptick in business in the weeks preceding the new academic year at Hogwarts. Not only do the children come in for supplies, but their parents accompany them and often see it fit to do their own shopping while they're here."

"So…scheduling?" Cadogan prompted.

"Quite. Severus, I'll need both you and Ms Cadogan in the shop over the next two weeks. And Monday, I'll need you downstairs, brewing, so that we might keep our stock supplied."

"You'll need me on the weekends?" Cadogan asked.

"Yes."

"Then I want overtime."

Severus glanced sharply at Cadogan before he could stop himself. Jigger, to his amazement, snorted. "Fine," Jigger said. "You'll get time and a quarter on Saturday and Sunday."

To Severus' left, Cadogan smirked.

"And I'll be brewing on my day off?" Severus asked.

Jigger's expression turned from one of slight amusement to one of annoyance. "Yes," he said. "If you must, you may have a day off of your choosing. After September first."

Severus felt a snarl of frustration rise in his chest. "I don't mean to insist—"

Jigger waved a hand. "Regardless. I will see you both in the morning."

As Jigger walked away, Cadogan turned to Severus and whispered, "Jaysus, Snape, what did you ever do to him?"

Severus shook his head wordlessly.

Oh Sev,

I'm sure Master Jigger just wants you to have the best education possible. (Besides…the QUAILs are not the NEWTs! Maybe even youcould use more than two weeks' preparation? I'm confident in your abilities but do you really think you already know everything about the current state of the field of Potions? What's the rush?)

I'd love to hear more about your apprenticeship…maybe you can tell me in person? Mum and I are coming down to London this weekend for school shopping. I hope I'll be able to see you! We'll be there on Saturday.

Love from

Lily

August 1976, part 2

Dear Lily,

Your visit will be the only bright point in the weeks leading up to September 1. Anticipating a great rush of Hogwarts shoppers, Master Jigger has returned me to the shop, where Cadogan and I have spent the last two days assembling forty "Hogwarts Potions Kits," as Jigger believes—and I am inclined to concur—that the average eleven-year-old is incapable of procuring the individual ingredients unguided.

As is, for that matter, the average parent.

I look forward to seeing you on Sunday. As I—along with the barely-competent Cadogan—will be working in the shop at that time, I do hope you'll bring with you several questions that only a talented Potions apprentice can answer.

Sincerely,

Severus

It was chaos.

With barely a week left before the first of September, Slug & Jigger's Apothecary was constantly filled with a rotation of Hogwarts students, their parents, their family friends who had tagged along in order to celebrate little Hippolyta's going off to school, the parents' friends who were taking advantage of their being in London to catch up after all these years…

And the children.

Severus was perfectly capable of handling even the youngest Hogwarts students—after seventeen years as an instructor and as the Head of Slytherin House, he ought to be—but first-year students, he was quickly discovering, were often not the youngest children in their families.

If he saw one more five-year-old thrust his grubby hands into the supplies barrels, his use of Diffindo Manus would become indiscriminate.

So as Cadogan attempted to ring up customers' purchases as quickly as possible, Severus did his best to corral the child whose mother seemed to think "in a shop full of toxic substances" was the perfect place to ignore him in favour of a banal conversation with another woman (whose child had, incidentally, wandered off to the rear of the store and fallen asleep behind a cabinet).

And that was, of course, when Evan Rosier and Maximilian Mulciber walked in.

"A-ha!" Rosier cried, triumphant, and three mothers' heads whipped around to cast dirty glances in the direction of the loud, teenage boy. "The elusive Snape!"

"Looks like Marty Wilkes was right," Mulciber added, leering. "You are a shop boy."

Severus, who had leaned down to physically restrain the child from putting a chizpurfle carapace into its mouth, straightened to standing. "Rosier," he said. "Mulciber. What a pleasant surprise." He plucked the carapace from the child's hand and pushed the brat unceremoniously toward its mother. Tossing the carapace back into the appropriate barrel, Severus turned to his former classmates and nodded. "How may I be of assistance?"

"I say, Snapey," Rosier said, "whatever happened to 'brilliant Potions apprentice'?"

Severus allowed his irritation to show in a scowl. "I've taken time away from my studies in order to provide assistance in the shop, as we are rather…busy at the moment." He spread his fingers and indicated the pandemonium around them.

"Right, right," Rosier said. "So your NEWTs were sufficient, then?"

Severus, remembering that the boys in front of him had "sabotaged" his performance, affected a glower. "Yes," he said, drawing out the last consonant in a show of sibilant annoyance.

"Good, good," Rosier said, grinning, as Mulciber smirked.

"Excuse me, young man," a harried-looking father cut in. "Where are your cauldrons?"

"We don't sell cauldrons," Severus replied. "You'll want Potage's Cauldron Shop, across the Alley."

The man blinked. "But aren't you a Potions supplier?"

"We're an apothecary, yes," Severus said. "We don't sell cauldrons. You'll want Potage's for that."

"Across the…?"

"Across the Alley," Severus repeated with concealed exasperation.

"Right, then. Cheers." The man left…but, of course, his absence was merely filled by yet another shopper.

Rosier and Mulciber watched the man leave. "So how many times has that happened?" Rosier asked.

"Only twice," Severus replied.

"That's not so bad," Mulciber said reasonably.

"This morning."

Rosier and Mulciber winced.

"Then we won't keep you," Rosier said. "Seeing how much fun you're having here…" He grinned wickedly at Severus, who fixed him with a flat stare. "We'll just be needing the supplies on this list." He brandished a scrap of parchment, which Severus recognized at a glance as the standard ingredients needed for sixth-year Potions class.

"You'll be taking the NEWT, I see." He turned and briskly began gathering the supplies needed, in duplicate.

"Well, we figured if you can do it…" Mulciber said, as he and Rosier fell into step behind Severus.

"Is Mr Avery not joining you in this endeavor?" Severus asked, as he wordlessly Conjured a small basket, into which he placed the boys' purchases.

"Avery's a big no," said Rosier. "He didn't get the OWL, so…"

"Given that he hardly studied, I am unsurprised," said Severus. He pushed the basket into Rosier's hands. "There you are. Thank you for visiting our apothecary. Ms Cadogan will be happy to ring up your purchases."

"Oi," Mulciber said, frowning. "No discount or anything?"

"You have had your ingredients hand-selected for you," Severus pointed out, a tiny, sharp point of pain amassing somewhere behind his eyelids.

"That's true," Rosier replied with a show of thoughtfulness. "The service has been superlative. Do give our compliments to your…employer."

Mulciber snickered. Severus briefly resisted—and then gave in to—the temptation to roll his eyes. (Honestly. As though he could be shamed by a reminder that he worked for a living.)

And—well, in for a Knut, in for a Sickle. "My employer, as you say, is providing me with research opportunities unavailable anywhere else in the world," Severus said, adjusting his glasses. "I'd say you should see the laboratory facilities here, if I thought you able to appreciate them."

"Oh, shut up, you bloody swot," Rosier replied good-naturedly. "Nobody cares about your precious laboratory."

Five points to Slytherin.

"So that bird'll ring us up, then?" Mulciber asked, gesturing towards Cadogan.

As Severus nodded, Rosier grinned and added, "I'd like to ring her up, yeah?"

Mulciber elbowed Severus. "Did you ever, eh?"

Severus curled his lip. "Hardly."

"What's the matter?" Rosier said, his eyes lighting up, like a dog who had just scented a wild something-to-mock-Snapey-with. "She seems fit."

"She's my employee," Severus spat out.

"Exactly," Mulciber insisted. "She couldn't very well refuse her boss."

"That's repulsive," Severus said flatly. "Regardless, she is married." When neither Rosier nor Mulciber seemed impressed by this line of reasoning, Severus added, "And she's not…my 'type.'"

Inexplicably, Rosier and Mulciber both nodded sagely at this admission. "Right, right," Mulciber said. "I like 'em more womanly myself."

As Severus digested this unpleasant fact, Rosier nodded and said, "Ta, Snapey," and both boys headed towards the ever-growing queue at the till.

Severus watched their progress, which culminated in Rosier's sending an exaggerated wink in Cadogan's direction. Cadogan, Severus was pleased to note, looked vaguely disgusted.

At that moment, the shop's front door entered, and, as a family of six squeezed out into the open air, two dark-haired teenagers pressed their way into the apothecary.

Severus had no sooner registered the faces of James Potter and Sirius Black than he was striding behind the counter, telling Cadogan he was taking his lunch break, ignoring her dismayed reaction, and sweeping out the rear door of the shop and into the back alley.

He leaned heavily against the brick exterior wall of the apothecary and exhaled loudly.

"You too?"

Severus glanced over. Mimicking his position behind the back door of the telescope shop was a short wizard, also wearing a set of uniform work robes, whose expression went beyond exhausted and all the way to desperate.

"I don't envy you," the wizard said. "At least I only get first-years and the rare NEWT student who's upgrading."

"Yes, well," Severus said.

"But I'm trying to stay positive," the wizard continued. "It could be worse. I could be…" He indicated the shop on the other side of him with a jerk of his head.

The two shopkeeps stood, wordless, surrounded by the echoes of the screams and shrieks of children, doubtlessly pressing their grimy faces against the freshly-cleaned glass of the shop window in order to take in the latest inventory—the shouts of parents telling their children that, no, they couldn't afford a new broomstick this year—the wheedling pleas of first-years asking their parents to bend the rules, just this once—

Severus closed his eyes and silently thanked the unlikelihood of a deity that he was not employed at Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Severus wasn't sure which was worse—the never-ending parade of first-years (how, he wondered, did there seem to be so manywhen he knew there to be only a certain number of children in each year—it must be the way they swarmed), or the occasional NEWT student who knew exactly who he was, and delighted in letting him know it.

He had managed to avoid Potter and Black ("Your friends," Cadogan had told him when he'd returned from the back alley, "are arseholes," and then she'd gone on break for an hour, which Severus had rather thought was fair), but he had not been able to so expeditiously evade a rash of Slytherin sixth- and seventh-years, including the Prefect Selwyn, who had attempted to be "chummy" with him. (It hadn't worked.)

He'd also seen the custom of Lily's friend Mary, who kept watching him as though she expected him to turn into a gorgon, and a Ravenclaw girl he couldn't quite place, who kept fixing him with an inexplicably knowing smirk.

Of course, not all visits from former classmates were entirely unpleasant—they were merely fraught with the danger of attracting the attention of the Dark Lord. When Regulus Black entered the shop, Severus nodded to him, but attempted to keep his distance.

He was unsuccessful.

"Severus," Regulus said, approaching him, another boy in tow. "It's good to see you. How is your apprenticeship going?"

"It goes well," Severus said neutrally. "How is your family, young Mr Black?"

"As well as they ever are," Regulus replied. "I'm sure you've heard about my…brother."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I have not."

Regulus' eyes flew open, and he coloured slightly. "Oh," he said. "Well…he's been, ah, disowned."

"Am I sorry to hear that?" Severus asked quietly.

Regulus' embarrassment turned into a small smile. "Well…not entirely."

The boy who had come in with Regulus took this opportunity to clear his throat. "Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry," Regulus said, and just as Severus recognized the other boy, Regulus said, "Severus, may I present Bartemius Crouch, Junior."

Severus accepted the boy's handshake. "Pleasure," he said.

Crouch nodded and asked, "Did you really stab Evan Rosier?"

Severus scowled. "I did not 'stab' Evan Rosier," he said, as Regulus sharply elbowed Crouch in the ribs.

Severus hadn't known Barty Crouch at school, though in retrospect he had surely been aware of his existence, as a Slytherin only two years behind Severus. But he was familiar with the Cruciatus-happy Death Eater and the insane fanatic who had arranged for the Diggory boy's death, and he had seen him receive the Kiss.

Seeing him as a young, tactless fourteen-year-old was, admittedly, a slight shock.

"My apologies," Crouch said, rubbing his ribs, and shooting Regulus an annoyed glance. "But one hears things. And given how…unpleasant Rosier can be…"

"Mr Rosier and I have made amends," Severus said, "although, now that I have moved on to my post-Hogwarts education, it must be admitted that we have little in common."

"How did you convince them to sit your NEWTs at sixteen?" Crouch asked. "And now you're apprenticed to Master Jigger—how did you do it?"

"Barty wants to follow in your footsteps," Regulus said wryly. "He's quite the swot. Not, that—I mean—" Regulus' face turned quite red.

"Do go on, Mr Black," Severus said. This conversation was the most entertaining aspect of his afternoon.

"I mean, he's taking all twelve classes," Regulus continued. "I imagine he'll lose his mind somewhere over the next year."

"I'm trying to drop Muggle Studies," Crouch said conspiratorially, "but Father rather insists I keep on with it."

Regulus wrinkled his nose. "Eugh."

"Might I interject," Severus said, "that the best manner in which to ensure academic success is preparedness. May I assist you in gathering your supplies?"

He had already turned to begin retrieving them.

Of course, the majority of customers were merely irritating in their tediousness. He had especially tired of the mothers who were convinced that higher quality supplies would ensure a higher class performance; they refused to believe his assertions that, no, they wouldn't, and regardless, the apothecary did not keep a hidden store of superior materials.

Although it did occur to Severus that he had a rather easy way of earning a few extra Galleons, should he choose to take it.

But most of his time was spent reiterating that the shop did not have a public W.C., that he could not exchange pounds to Galleons, that—

"No, we don't sell scales," Severus said. "They have them at Wisacre's, six shops down."

"Hold on." The ruddy-faced man who'd inquired after the scales seemed utterly perplexed. "You don't sell scales?"

"No."

"Aren't you a Potions supply, then?" he asked sceptically.

"Yes," said Severus, his limited patience stretching especially thin. "We are an apothecary. As such, we do not sell laboratory equipment. Wiseacre's Wizarding Supplies, six shops down, has an admirable selection of scales."

The man gestured toward the counter, where a bemused-looking Cadogan seemed to be watching their exchange. "You have scales there," the man said pointedly.

Something within Severus finally snapped. "So we have," he spat. "We do have a set of scales. Those are the shop's scales. You may likewise note that we sell neither quills, nor tills, nor barrels for holding things in. We sell Potions ingredients. Are you in need of Potions ingredients?"

"Should I come back later?" a high, clear voice cut in.

Severus turned away from his now-irate customer to see the ang—

To see perf—

Severus shook his head slightly.

"Lily," he said. "Not at all. I was just directing this gentleman to Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. Sir," he said, turning back to his customer, "if you tell Julian at Wiseacre's that Severus at Slug & Jigger's sent you, he'll be glad to provide you with a ten percent discount."

Severus had no idea if Wiseacre's employed anyone called Julian.

The ruddy-faced man broke into a smile. "That's all right, then. Six shops down, you said?"

"Six shops down," Severus confirmed, and the man departed.

Lily, to his surprise, darted forward and squeezed his hands with her own. "It's so good to see you," she said, grinning.

"And you," Severus returned. "Is your mother…?"

Lily waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, she's seeing a show with a friend tonight. She finally realised I'm old enough to do my school shopping by myself." She glanced around and added quietly, "And, things being like they are, I figured she might not feel so…welcome in Diagon."

Severus nodded. "Possibly a wise decision."

"So…" Lily glanced around the shop. "How much longer until you've closed up?"

"A few minutes yet," Severus replied.

Lily smiled. "I don't suppose I could talk you into coming out to dinner once you're free?"

"He's free now!"

Severus turned to the counter, from whence Cadogan had cheekily spoken out of turn. "Am I?" he asked drily.

Cadogan didn't even have the grace to blush. "I don't mind closing up. Sir." She winked at him.

"I won't forget this," Severus promised flatly.

"Oh, think nothing of it!" Cadogan said. "We're not so busy tonight. I don't mind closing."

"That's so nice of you," Lily interjected. "I'm so sorry, you must be Ms Cadogan. I'm Lily." She and Cadogan shook hands.

Severus did not visibly wince, for which he thanked seventeen years of spying.

"Oh, it's Sheridan, please," Cadogan said. "So Severus has mentioned me? Oh, I do hope he hasn't said anything too terrible."

"Of course not," Lily said, because she was effortlessly charming.

"Thank you," Severus cut in, "for closing up tonight, Ms Cadogan. Should you need my assistance, please do contact me."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Cadogan said. "You have fun."

Severus turned away before he could see her wink at him again. Lily, calling out, "It was lovely to meet you, Sheridan!" fell into step behind him as they made their way out of the shop.

"She seems perfectly competent," Lily said, once they were outside.

"She's deceptive," Severus said darkly.

They both automatically started for the Leaky Cauldron—Lily, presumably, because she wasn't familiar with anywhere else, and Severus, because he wasn't sure what else he could afford—which was predictably crowded for a Sunday evening. But they were able to find a small table for two in a back corner, and Tom arrived in short time to take their orders—or, rather, to say, "I won't serve you naught but Butterbeer, kids, but I've some tasty pies if you're looking for a bite," which they happily accepted.

As Severus watched Tom's retreat back to the kitchen—and marvelled at the newfound sensation of being utterly unrecognised by someone who had always seemed simultaneously awed and disgusted by him—Lily laughed. "I guess we don't pass for seventeen, then," she said. "And you in your smart glasses and your shop's robes and everything."

Severus glanced down at his apothecary robes. "I suppose 'menial labourer' doesn't necessarily imply age," he remarked.

Lily huffed. "Oh, please, you're much more than a menial labourer. How is your work with Master Jigger going?"

Severus shrugged. "It's been temporarily halted, as, during the August rush, I'm frankly of more use to him as a shopkeeper." When Lily opened her mouth to protest, he shook his head. "I speak only the truth," he said. "But, with any luck, I'll be able to resume my formal apprenticeship forthwith."

Lily's lips quirked. "'Forthwith'?" she repeated. Severus scowled, and she quickly added, "Oh, I'm only teasing. You do realise I would remember that you're a genius even if you spoke normally, don't you?"

Severus, to his dismay, felt his cheeks heat slightly. Lily caught his eye, smiled, and quickly turned her gaze to the table.

Thankfully, Tom arrived at that moment with their dinners and drinks, which he set before them with a jolly, "Enjoy!"

They hesitatingly began to dig into their pies, which, as it turned out, were nowhere near as good as Tom had indicated, but were a far sight better than Severus had rather expected. He mentioned as much to Lily, who, satisfyingly, snorted into her Butterbeer, sloshing just a bit over the edge of her mug.

"So," Severus said, "have relations with the dreaded Petunia improved at all?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Never," she said. "At least now that she's got that wretched boyfriend she's out of the house more. Did I tell you he came over for dinner last week?"

"You did not."

"Yes, and he was dreadful. Beyond dull, just…" Lily shuddered. "Not an original thought to him, he just parroted things he'd heard on the telly or read in the paper, and, Sev, he talked about his boring job endlessly, as though anyone cared—"

"Didn't Petunia care?" Severus asked casually.

Lily set her mug down with a clunk. "Ha very ha," she said, obviously fighting a smile.

They talked well through their meal, and well afterwards—Severus learned that Lily had spent the summer reorganising her childhood bedroom ("Severus, you would not believe what I found in the back of that closet") and had entertained visits from her friends Mary and Maureen ("I thought Petunia's head was going to explode at the thought of three witches in the house"). Severus, for his part, entertained Lily with stories of the more ridiculous customers ("Sev, he did not say 'priorgative'—please tell me he didn't say 'priorgative'").

Around them, the pub gradually cleared out, and eventually, they were among the few diners left. When they could no longer ignore how many times Tom had cleared his throat, Severus closed their tab—"I really must insist, Lily"—and they headed through the back and once more into the night.

Severus glanced up and down the Alley, which was nigh on deserted. "It must be quite late," he remarked. "My apologies for keeping you so long."

Lily swung her arms back and forth. "Oh, please don't apologise!" she said, smiling. "I don't care how late it is."

"Surely your mother is expecting you?" Severus asked pointedly.

"Oh, not 'til tomorrow," Lily said. As Severus' heart stopped and his throat closed completely, she added, "I'm spending the night at Maureen's—her family lives just off the Alley."

Severus smoothly regained his composure. "I see," he said. "In that case, please allow me to escort you there."

Feeling simultaneously quite bold and rather foolish, he offered her his arm—which, to his tremendous relief, she took with a smile.

He allowed Lily to direct them both back past the apothecary, all the way past Gringott's, and around a small corner to a clearly residential inlet. She stopped in front of a particularly well-appointed townhouse and said, "This is it."

"Then I bid you adieu, Miss Evans," Severus said, releasing Lily's arm with a slight bow. "Thank you for a lovely evening."

"No, thank you," Lily returned. She placed one hand on the waist-high wrought iron fencing in front of the house and leaned against it. "So…what are we doing tomorrow?"

Severus blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Mum's not expecting me til the afternoon, and Mo's got Quidditch practise tomorrow, so I'm free all morning." Lily shook her radi—hair back from her face and smiled at him. "So I thought we could spend a little more time together."

Severus, in what was becoming somewhat of an unpleasant trend, found himself at a loss for words. "I—I would be , ah, delighted," he said, "but regretfully I must spend tomorrow in the laboratory."

Lily frowned. "But—but you have Mondays off."

"I do, generally, but Master Jigger has ordered me to spend tomorrow in the laboratory, so that I might catch up on the stock brewing I've missed," Severus explained, as he watched Lily's expression grow increasingly disappointed.

"Oh," she said in a small voice. "I—I guess I just assumed you'd be free, and thought you'd want…"

"I would," Severus said. "Truly. If it were any other Monday…"

"But Master Jigger ordered you to. No, I understand." Suddenly, Lily's eyes flew open as she straightened up and said, "I know! What if I just sat with you, in the laboratory, while you brewed?"

Severus reluctantly shook his head. "As much as I would enjoy that, we cannot," he said.

"I wouldn't get in the way," Lily said, "you know that. And I'd be happy to help with the prep, or even just the washing up, if you like."

"I would love your assistance, and your company," Severus said, "But—"

"But?" Lily said.

"But I'm afraid that wouldn't be acceptable for Master Jigger," Severus said. "He's said many a time that the laboratory is only to be entered by licensed Potions Masters and their apprentices. Even Cadogan can't set foot down there. And if he found out—and I'm certain he has it warded—I'd be out of a position and out on the street before you could say 'Libatius Borage.'"

Lily shoved her hands in her pockets. "I—I guess I sort of figured that. I just…" She smiled ruefully. "It's just, we were so close for so long, and then this last year…not so much, and then just when I felt like I was finally getting you back, the real you…you'd gone." She shrugged. "I guess I was just hoping for one more day together."

"I wish the same," Severus said softly.

To his surprise, Lily suddenly flung her arms around him. "I know you do," she said. "I know." She withdrew and, blinking, said, "I guess I'll see you at Christmas. Unless—unless, is there any way you'd be able to make it up for a Hogsmeade weekend?"

Severus waited for his brain to fight through the realisation that, yes, Lily had embraced him, and, yes, she no longer was. "I'll find a way," he said, once he had processed what she'd said.

"Wonderful," Lily said. "Then—then I'll see you soon." She leaned forward, pressed a warm kiss to his cheek, and quickly darted back to the house's doorstep. "Goodnight, Sev," she said, and then she'd disappeared through the door.

Severus dazedly retraced his path back down the deserted side alley and back to the main street. He wondered if he'd be able to leave the shop for a weekend, and how he'd get to Scotland, and if he could go in disguise so that he wouldn't have to put up with Potter, and come to think of it, had anyone seen him with Lily at the Leaky Cauldron?

"You think it's good sport, fucking a mudblood, do you?"

Before Severus had completely processed what he'd heard, he'd ducked into the shadows beside the Magical Menagerie, crouched behind a garbage bin, and drawn his wand.

The voice had not, as he had first feared, been addressing him. Across the Alley, he could barely make out three figures just off of Knockturn—one man had another pinned against a building, while a third shoved the point of his wand into the second man's neck.

The wand-holder spoke again, and Severus recognized his voice—it was Antonin Dolohov.

"You're diluting Wizarding blood," Dolohov said, "and it's bloody disgusting."

"Disgusting," echoed the enforcer, whom Severus identified as Amycus Carrow.

Their victim said something that Severus couldn't make out, but which Dolohov, evidently, did not care for, as he struck the man soundly on the side of the head.

Through the man's gasps of pain, Dolohov said, "I'm sorry, what was that you said?"

"She's—she's my w-wife."

"Now, that's what I'd thought you'd said," Dolohov remarked. "You really oughtn't say such things of mudbloods—they'll only put on airs."

Either Dolohov or Carrow—Severus couldn't quite make it out—struck the man again.

Severus had no idea who the man was; he was, most likely, merely someone who had offered some slight to either Dolohov or Carrow—possibly both—and who was now being taught a lesson for daring to have a muggleborn wife.

Dolohov and Carrow were, of course, both loyal servants of the Dark Lord, whose service well predated his own. And Severus had little doubt that any interference in their endeavours would be met with further violence—and that there was no way, short of killing them and disposing of the bodies, that the news of that interference would not make its way back to their master.

The Alley was otherwise deserted; there was a chance that an Alley resident might hear the scuffle and call the Aurors, but given the late hour—and that the Diagon residents typically ignored the Knockturn goings-on—Severus felt it rather unlikely.

Dolohov's voice cut clearly across the Alley. "Crucio."

Severus lifted his wand.

He silently Disillusioned himself and crept past the intersection with Knockturn Alley. He headed for home.

September 1976

Dear Sev,

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

I can't believe you LEFT ME here.

Mary's not taking the Potions NEWT and you're off in grownup land so guess who's my lab partner?

James BLOODY Potter and I can't believe you left me here.

Love from

Lily

Dear Lily,

Was the Giant Squid unavailable?

Severus

SHOEMAKER FOUND DEAD IN LEEDS

The body of Wilbur Blishwick, aged forty-seven, was found in the River Aire on Tuesday. Blishwick, the proprietor of a Hogsmeade shoe repair shop, was reported missing by his wife on 31 August. Aurors told the Prophet yesterday that they had no reason to suspect foul play, as Blishwick had no particular enemies and was known to be both clumsy and an avid fisherman.

Blishwick is survived by his wife, Elizabeth Blishwick née Jones, and two children.

"What's the matter?"

Severus glanced back at Cadogan. "I beg your pardon," he said, although he didn't.

"You look," Cadogan said with obvious caution, "as though you're walking to the firing squad."

Severus had paused with one hand on the knob to the laboratory door. He allowed his hand to drop and turned to face his nosy employee (who really should be careful of using such obvious Muggle expressions in the current political climate). "Do I?" he asked simply.

Cadogan nodded. "I've been working here for well over a month and I've yet to see you hesitate before dispensing Potions advice that's so far over my head I couldn't reach it with a stepladder, or before throwing would-be shoplifters out the door. Literally."

Severus smirked. He had enjoyed that.

"But each morning when you head down to the lab," Cadogan continued, "you pause for just a moment, and then you take a deep breath and I can practically hear the funeral march: dun dun DUN dun."

The woman actually sang. And she wiggled her fingers on a phantom instrument while she did it.

"Thank you for your concern," Severus said. "Please don't do…that…again."

Cadogan shrugged. "Noted." She leaned forward over the counter. "Is he really that bad?"

"Master Jigger can be…" Severus remembered the delicate way Slughorn had phrased his description. "Demanding."

"I see," Cadogan said. "That's…unsurprising?"

"Rather."

"Well," Cadogan said, "good luck, I suppose. I hope it gets better for you."

"So do I, Ms Cadogan," Severus said. "I appreciate your wishes." Cadogan nodded, and Severus turned back to the laboratory door.

"Incidentally," he said, as he began his descent, "all it takes to expel a shoplifter is a concentrated repelling charm."

"Got it," Cadogan called out. "Thanks."

He closed the door behind him and continued down the stairs.

It wasn't that he and Jigger didn't get along, as that would imply that the two had some sort of real relationship. As a point of fact, since Severus had been able to resume his duties in the laboratory, his interaction with Jigger had been limited to a) summarizing the articles Jigger had assigned for him to read; b) handing Jigger samples of the potions the man had instructed him to brew; and, over and over, c) justifying his brewing techniques as Jigger interrupted time and time again to inquire as to why Severus brewed the way he did.

(At least Jigger hadn't offered further critiques of Severus' hygiene. Although Severus detested the feeling of having his hair pulled tightly into a damnable piece of elastic, he could follow instructions when given them.)

Severus had managed to keep his frustrations to himself since his initial outburst, as he did have to admit that, as unpleasant as Jigger was, he really couldn't know how skilled Severus was with a knife and cauldron until he'd had time to observe him. (And, given how frustrated Severus found his students' unwillingness to grant him proper respect, Severus was determined to act appropriately until Jigger accepted his superior skills and knowledge and they developed a true working relationship.)

But, weeks later, Severus couldn't help but wonder how bloody long this observational period was going to continue.

"An Everlasting Elixir, today," Jigger said by way of greeting when Severus entered the laboratory. "At least fourth tier complexity."

"Yes, Master Jigger," Severus said, and reached for a cauldron.

Dear Sev,

Ha very ha. YES.

Potter isn't half bad as a partner although he's slightly hopeless at the material (I don't know how he got the OWL but I suspect cheating). And he and Black (who's partnered with poor Pettigrew—he's such a nice boy, I don't know why he hangs out with Black and Potter, it must be the same Gryffindor disease that's got poor Remus) keep making fish faces at each other when Slughorn isn't looking, which is often. KILL ME PLEASE.

Does Master Jigger love you yet?

Love from

Lily

Dear Lily,

Master Jigger does not, I am fairly certain, "love" anyone. However, he does seem to tolerate my presence ever so slightly more, as I believe he may have unintentionally forgotten to insult my intelligence yesterday—a victory for the House of Slytherin, to be sure.

You should hex Potter when he's not looking. Frankly, you should hex Potter when he is looking.

Incidentally, did you notice anything odd about my OWL scores?

Sincerely,

Severus

Diagon Alley, London

Slug & Jigger's Apothecary

Ministry of Magic
Division of Magical Education
Diagon Alley, London

Dear Ms Hopkirk;

Many thanks for your reply and your warm wishes. I would also like to inquire as to the "Incomplete" mark on my Transfigurations O.W.L. I understand that I did not sit the practical portion of the examination; this was due to my taking the Arithmancy N.E.W.T., which was scheduled for the same time.

Given my score on the Transfigurations N.E.W.T., might my O.W.L. score be adjusted to reflect what would, surely, have been an exemplary performance?

I eagerly await your thoughts on this matter.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape

Severus, on his way from his flat to the laboratory, reached the end of the rear staircase just as Cadogan entered through the back door. "Ms Cadogan," he said by way of greeting, and gestured for her to precede him to the front of the shop.

Uncharacteristically, Cadogan did not reply with "Mister Snape," or with "Try not to sound too excited to see me," or even with "How is your redheaded lady friend?" (Although Severus did have enough faith in the woman's intelligence that she would never try that particular greeting again—not after Severus had assigned her to inventory all the eyeballs and entrails in the shop.) Instead, Cadogan merely nodded and, head lowered, walked briskly to the front of the shop, where she took her place behind the counter without a word.

Severus followed at a more moderate pace. He didn't need eighteen years' spying experience to observe that Cadogan was upset—but he had no interest in delving into his employee's personal life. It was unprofessional.

(And he didn't care.)

So Severus merely turned to remind Cadogan that, should she need anything, she should alert him via the cord next to the laboratory door—

"Ms Cadogan," Severus said suddenly, "are you injured?"

"What?" Cadogan said. "No, I—" She put her hand up to the large, red welt on her left cheek. "Oh, I—I'm sorry, I—" She reached for her wand. "Epiksey."

"The incantation is 'episkey,'" Severus said quietly.

"Right. I—I did know that, I just—episkey." The welt on her cheek disappeared; she touched her face, feeling the now-smooth skin with calloused fingers, her eyes closed.

"Forgive me if I intrude," Severus said, "But how is it that you came to acquire such an injury during your lunch break?"

Cadogan shook her head. "It was nothing," she said.

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"It—it was just some arseholes," Cadogan said. "They thought they'd have a bit of sport with a few stinging hexes. I'm fine."

"You were attacked?" Severus asked pointedly.

He watched with no small amount of alarm as Cadogan angrily wiped at her eyes. "It's not me, personally," she said. "I was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong blood."

"Did you recognise your assailants?" Severus pressed.

Cadogan shook her head. "No, I didn't know them," she said bitterly. "Like I said, they were just some blood purist arseholes who saw a Mudblood and—"

"Please," Severus said, as his shoulders tensed involuntarily. "Don't use that word."

Cadogan, clearly startled, fixed him with a curious gaze. "All right," she said. "In any case, that's the word they used, and no, I don't know who they were."

"Were they observed?" Severus asked.

Cadogan shrugged. "I doubt it," she said. "I was taking the shortcut behind Fortescue's—"

"The one adjacent to Knockturn Alley?" Severus asked.

"Look," Cadogan said, her expression turning from hurt and embarrassment to irritation. "I appreciate your concern, but if you're going to tell me that I should know better than to use that shortcut, just—just don't. I shouldn't have to choose my route based on whether some Pureblood delinquents are—"

Severus held up a hand, and, to his surprise, Cadogan fell silent. "I was merely verifying the location of the attack," he said.

Cadogan nodded. "All right."

"Are you…" Severus phrased his question carefully. "…planning to report the incident to the DMLE?"

Cadogan snorted. "What, and let the blood purists there know that I'm an uppity Mud—sorry."

"Unfortunately," Severus said, "I believe you may be correct. If—would you prefer to take a break before we re-open?"

Cadogan shook her head. "No. Can we—I just want to carry on."

"Very well," Severus said. "If there's any way I can be of assistance…?"

Cadogan let out a single bark of laughter. "Sorry, sorry," she said. "But, er, I think I can excuse you from 'comforting' duty."

That was unfair. Severus had been doing an admirable job of feigning interest in Cadogan's well-being. It was simply unfortunate that she couldn't provide any substantive clues as to the identities of her attackers.

"Then I'll leave you to re-open," he said. "Do alert me if you need assistance and, ah, do recall the banishing charms."

"Thank you, Mr Snape," Cadogan said, pointedly turning to the front of the store.

Severus opened the laboratory door. "Incidentally, Ms Cadogan," he said as he descended, "you are uppity."

Cadogan whirled around, a hint of a smile on her still-reddened face. "Away with you!" she exclaimed.

Severus—who felt oddly accomplished despite the fact that he had learned absolutely nothing—closed the door.

Dear Sev,

Do you mean the Incomplete on your Transfigs score? I guess I figured that wasn't a big deal?

I am not going to hex Potter, as a) that would be stooping to his level, and b) he really isn't that bad—he's really been on his best behaviour this year, for what that's worth—he's just, ugh. Childish I guess? Which, I know we're the same age. It's just, comparing him to, like, I don't know. You?

He's just such a little boy.

I hope that doesn't sound weird.

Love from

Lily

Ministry of Magic
Diagon Alley, London

Division of Magical Education

Dear Mr Snape:

I have spoken with Ms Marchbanks of the Wizarding Examinations Authority. Given the uniqueness of your situation, the Ministry is prepared to make an adjustment of your "Incomplete" score and change your mark to "Acceptable."

If this is not agreeable to you, you are welcome to file an official appeal with the Division of Magical Education, at which point a make-up examination will be scheduled for you.

Kindest regards,

Malfalda Hopkirk
Assistant Secretary, Division of Magical Education

Dear Lily,

I noticed the errant score last week, when organising my previous correspondence. I somehow failed to notice when I received them. Perhaps my eyesight is going further. Regardless, I have taken steps toward rectifying this mistake.

I am flattered that you think me mature, but I rather wish there had been a higher standard for comparison than James "Isn't It Amusing When I Put This Up My Nose" Potter.

Rest assured that I have always regarded you as far more refined than our peers.

Sincerely,

Severus

Slug & Jigger's Apothecary
Diagon Alley, London

Ministry of Magic
Division of Magical Education
Diagon Alley, London

Dear Ms Hopkirk;

Enclosed you will find Appeal Form 11.3.µ, Appeal to Make Up O.W.L., Transfigurations.

I am available at any time on Mondays at your convenience.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape

"Master Jigger," Severus said carefully, as the other man closely observed as he brewed a standard all-purpose antidote (honestly, as though any NEWT student couldn't do the same in his sleep). "I'd like your opinion on something."

"Yes?" Jigger said (neutrally, always neutrally), his gaze never wavering from Severus' moving hands.

"Yesterday, when I was practising the extra-potent Wit Sharpening Potion—"

"The one I approved for sale this morning?"

"Yes. I told Cadogan to mark it up twenty-five percent from the standard ones in stock and label it 'for emergencies only.'"

"Good. We'll probably need more. But go on."

Severus finished the thirtieth counterclockwise stir—he paused for comment, but, surprisingly, none came—and set his stainless steel stirring rod down on the charmed spoon rest. "It occurred to me, as I added the ginger, that, were we to incorporate certain elements known to cause confusion in the drinker, we might be able to produce a potion that simultaneously sharpens the mind of the drinker and muddles his own perception of it."

The primary ingredient was lovage, and, in Severus' Mastery project, he had given the potion the admittedly unimaginative title of "Draught to Increase Susceptibility to Veritaserum."

Jigger, as far as Severus could tell, seemed thoughtful. "And the application of such a potion would be?"

"It might," Severus said, "open the drinker's mind to interrogation, through Veritaserum, truth charms, or…more direct methods."

The two Occlumenses regarded one another for a moment.

"An interesting hypothesis," Jigger allowed. "And one we can certainly consider investigating, after you have passed your QUAILs."

"I understand," Severus said. "But, since this idea is directly related to the potions I have been revising—learning—" Severus inwardly cringed—what was he, to misspeak like that? "—I thought, perhaps, we could incorporate this experimentation as part of the QUAIL preparation process."

Jigger leaned back slightly on his stool. "I gather that you are…frustrated with the pace of your apprenticeship?"

Severus adjusted the cauldron on his table. "I am…eager to begin original research," he said. "And given how quickly we have progressed through our schedule…"

"Yes, thanks to your constantly pushing to move on to the next subject."

Severus bit the inside of his cheek.

"You will continue to brew the potions I assign, with my supervision, on Wednesdays," Jigger said.

Severus' eyebrows lifted of their own accord. "Leaving Fridays for experimentation?"

"Yes, fine." Jigger's eyes turned to the periodical in front of him. "You've shown that you may have earned that NEWT record after all."

Severus hadn't been so begrudgingly complimented since it had been intimated to him that he was more than "just" a Slytherin.

"Sir, I'd like to say something," Severus said, "and I hope I won't be misconstrued."

Jigger glanced back up. "Do go on," he said drily.

"I would not have been able to set that record if I hadn't had fifty years of others' research to study so closely."

Jigger was silent for a moment. "I dislike flattery," he said at last.

"And that is why I don't employ it," Severus replied.

Jigger said nothing.

"Did you know," Severus said into the silence, "that they only notify those who have set the top record?"

"Do they?" Jigger said.

Severus nodded. "One might achieve the second-highest score in, for example, the Defence Against the Dark Arts NEWT, and never be told, even if that record remains in the top five fifty years later."

Jigger, to Severus' satisfaction, looked ever so slightly pleased for just a moment. "Really," he said, and then his expression neutralised once more. "I wonder why you inquired as to those records. Allow me to guess—second-highest?"

Severus, to his annoyance, felt his cheeks colour slightly. "No. Ah. Third."

Jigger picked up his magazine once more. "Very well," he said—and, for the first time, Severus heard the slightest hint of amusement in the man's voice. "Make your Mind-Opening Potion, Mr Snape."

Severus blinked. "That—that's an excellent name for it," he said.

Jigger opened the magazine. "Flattery, Mr Snape," he said. "I won't say it again."

Severus opened his mouth, and, realising that there were only so many battles one could fight and win, closed it again.

Division of Magical Education
Ministry of Magic
Diagon Alley, London

Dear Mr Snape:

I have scheduled your make-up Transfigurations practical O.W.L. for Monday next, ten o'clock a.m. Please report to the Division of Magical Education no later than nine forty-five.

Kindest regards,

Malfalda Hopkirk
Assistant Secretary, Division of Magical Education

Dear Sev,

Come on, Potter hasn't done that nose trick since at least fourth year.

Love from

Lily

Diagon Alley, London

Slug & Jigger's Apothecary

Ministry of Magic
Division of Magical Education
Diagon Alley, London

Dear Ms Hopkirk;

Many thanks for your assistance in this matter. I will certainly report to the Ministry tomorrow at nine forty-five a.m. for my make-up Transfigurations O.W.L., practical portion.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape

Severus was finished at the Division of Magical Education by ten-thirty. The practical examination had been laughably easy—he had amused himself by modelling his tortoise-cum-teapot on the Hogwarts china, which had delighted the examiner—and he had fled the company of the department's loquacious secretary as soon as he could. (The woman, only a handful of years older than Severus was at the moment, had the unnerving tic of blinking far too many times in rapid succession. As she also stared intently at him through half-closed eyes, she presumably had some sort of vision problem.)

So he still had the bulk of his day off to look forward to—he planned to check on his Felix Felicis, to clean his loo (Jigger employed a housekeeper for the shop and the flat, but Severus had yet to see any indication that the woman had even once taken a wand to the bathtub), and, of course, to write to Lily—and he waited for the lift in a somewhat pleasanter mood than usual.

Of course, the lift opened to reveal Lucius Malfoy and Antonin Dolohov, at which point his mood soured considerably.

"Severus," Malfoy said, surprise evident in his over-posh voice. "What a surprise."

"Mr Malfoy," Severus said with a nod as he stepped into the lift.

He did not know Dolohov. He had never seen him before. He didn't acknowledge him.

"Antonin, this young man is in the same Hogwarts House that I myself was once in," Lucius said by way of introduction. "Severus, Mr Dolohov is an associate of mine."

"A pleasure to meet you," Severus said, shaking the murderer's hand.

The lift sped upward, and Malfoy turned an inquisitive gaze to Severus. "I simply must ask," he said, "what brings you to the Ministry when, given the time of year, you should be at Hogwarts. Surely you're not skiving off? Don't tell me you've been expelled. You certainly can't be here on…family business."

Yes, yes, all of Slytherin knew Severus was a destitute halfblood. Very clever. Regardless, this particular destitute halfblood still had no desire to crow about his accomplishments to two of the Dark Lord's servants.

"A scheduling conflict prevented me from taking the practical portion of my Transfiguration OWL," Severus said honestly. "I've just taken it."

"I see," Malfoy said. "How did you do?"

"Well enough, I suspect," Severus said. "Thank you."

"Good, good." The lift opened onto the Atrium, and Malfoy gestured with his ostentatious cane that Severus should exit first. He did so.

He did not enjoy having his back to the two men.

Malfoy, to Severus' visceral displeasure, continued to walk with him through the Atrium. "We've just been meeting with the Minister," Malfoy drawled. "A lovely man. You can rest assured that our Ministry is in the appropriate hands."

"Excellent," Severus said.

"And here we are," Malfoy said as they reached the row of fireplaces, and Severus belatedly realised that Malfoy expected him to floo back to Hogwarts. "Do give my regards to Horace—to Professor Slughorn, I mean," Malfoy said.

"Ah, certainly," Severus said. "Nice to meet you, Mr Dolohov."

Dolohov nodded, his lack of interest in an unconnected student clearly evident in his face, and Severus relaxed ever so slightly.

"Take care, Mr Malfoy," Severus said, and, no better ideas presenting themselves, he stepped into the green flames and clearly—but quietly—stated his destination.

Tom the barman blinked when Severus tumbled out of the Leaky's fireplace, but after Severus cleaned up all the scattered soot, the man said nothing.

October 1976

Division of Magical Education
Ministry of Magic
Diagon Alley, London

Dear Mr Snape:

I am delighted to inform you that your Transfigurations O.W.L. score has been adjusted to 'O.' Congratulations! Your Ministry record will be updated accordingly and you will receive a full copy of your results within the fortnight.

Kindest regards,

Malfalda Hopkirk
Assistant Secretary, Division of Magical Education

Dear Lily,

At long last, I feel I am making headway in both my apprenticeship and my relationship with Master Jigger, which is to say that I may actually have a relationship with him. He has, finally, acceded that I may, in fact, be a qualified Potioneer, and we have embarked upon the creation of an original potion, marginally related to Combat Potioneering, about which I will say no more.

He is still, on the whole, humourless, demanding, and unyielding, but at least he no longer seems to believe me to be a complete idiot.

Speaking of which, I do hope your Potions classes have improved.

Sincerely,

Severus

Dear Severus,

A little bit. I threatened Potter with bodily harm if he bollocksed up a single potion, so he hasn't done any damage to my grades at least. (And anyway it's not like Sluggy would give me anything lower than an 'O' anyway, which is either flattering or creepy. I haven't decided.)

But Potter's the same as ever outside of class—always way too nice, like I don't remember how he treats people and like I can't see how fake he's being. He actually asked me to go to the Halloween feast with him and was seriously surprised when I said no.

So I was wondering if you might be able to meet me in Hogsmeade on Halloween, since you can't be my date to the feast.

If you can't that's fine. You don't have to. I won't be angry.

But I'd like to see you.

Love from

Lily

Severus stared at the parchment in his hand.

He pushed up his tinted glasses and stared at the parchment again.

Since you can't be my date to the feast…

Severus let the spectacles fall back onto his nose, and then he let himself fall back onto his rickety bed.

My date to the feast.

Severus released the parchment from his fingers, and it fluttered to the floor.

My date.

Merlin.

In retrospect, he should have realised sooner that Lily was interested in building an…accord with him. The parade of letters he could attribute to her being, as she had always been, his closest (only?) friend (and to her remarkable loquacity), but the lingering touches—as well as the two (two!) chaste kisses she had pressed upon him—spoke to a different objective.

But…for Merlin's sake, why?

He had a sour disposition and an unpleasant appearance (although he had, on occasion, been described as "striking" by overly-optimistic women). And, until recently (from Lily's perspective), he had been marching plainly off into the scaly embrace of the Dark Lord. Granted, he was intelligent, but not much more so than she. There was absolutely nothing, excepting their shared childhoods, that would appeal to—

Severus sat up and blinked.

He had been turning towards the Dark Lord. He had stopped. Lily had begun to show him affection.

It wasn't his dubious charms that drew Lily to him; it was, rather, her selflessness and indefatigable optimism. She clearly intended to continue steering him towards the path of Gryffindor righteousness.

Should he allow her to do so?

Severus fell back onto the mattress.

Associating with Lily Evans would doubtlessly attract attention from James Potter and, thereby, Albus Dumbledore.

Likewise, associating with Lily Evans—an outspoken Gryffindor and known Muggleborn, whose circle of friends had already been targeted by at least two future followers of the Dark Lord—might very well attract attention from his contemporaries amongst the Death Eaters; an underaged Potions apprentice might be written off as an uninteresting swot, but a blood traitor?

In essence, associating with Lily Evans would move Severus ever so slightly out of the precisely grey political position he had worked so hard to establish; associating with Lily Evans would mark Severus as at least sympathetic to the position of Dumbledore's Order.

Severus had no intention of being marked as anything.

And yet…

Severus flicked his glasses off of his face and onto the mattress beside him.

It was important for him to avoid attracting attention because he had to dispose of the Horcruxes so that the Dark Lord might be defeated.

This meant that he had to find them—the Diary, the Ring, Hufflepuff's Cup, the Blacks' locket, and, again, whatever the hell it was Harry Potter had found in the Ravenclaw Common Room—and create an alchemical means of destroying the damned things (which was, after all, the reason for his apprenticeship)—without the Dark Lord noticing.

No; "Making advances to Lily Evans" did not fit into Severus' plan in the slightest.

Severus rubbed his eyes.

But there was something—some not-yet-realised idea—

Severus sat up.

The Diary, the Ring, Hufflepuff's Cup, the Blacks' locket, Ravenclaw's artefact, the damnable snake, and Harry Potter: the Dark Lord's Horcruxes.

At the time of Severus' death, every Horcrux—with the exception of the living ones—had been destroyed. Yet Severus had been flung back to 1976 for the purpose (it had to be the purpose—there had to be a purpose) of ensuring the Dark Lord's downfall.

Perhaps Dumbledore had miscalculated. Perhaps living Horcruxes were not so simple; perhaps Harry Potter's sacrifice was in vain, or perhaps Harry Potter was unable to sacrifice himself (unlikely for a Gryffindor, but still a possibility). Dumbledore wasn't infallible. Something must have gone wrong.

So, perhaps—

Perhaps the best way to ensure the destruction of the Horcrux inside Harry Potter was to prevent such a Horcrux from existing. And perhaps the best way to prevent the Horcrux from existing was to prevent Harry Potter from existing. And the best way to prevent Harry Potter from existing…

Well, it was to prevent the Potters from becoming the Potters.

Severus nodded once to himself and slipped his glasses back on.

To fulfil his duty—to bring down the Dark Lord—and for the sake of the Wizarding world—

Severus Summoned parchment and a quill and prepared himself to accept a date with Lily Evans.

Dear Lily,

It would be my honour.

Sincerely,

Severus

"And how, pray tell," Cadogan said, "would such an arrangement be of use to me?"

Severus blinked. "Was that meant to be an impression of me?"

Cadogan grinned and resumed wiping an ink spill off of the counter. "Maybe."

"It was terrible."

Cadogan shrugged. "You could tell, though."

"Only," Severus said, "because you pitched your voice an octave lower and mimed spectacles with your fingers. Consequently, there is now ink on your face."

Cadogan waved her wand at her face. Incredibly, the blotch of ink merely grew larger. Irritated, Severus flicked his wand at the offending stain, which promptly disappeared. Cadogan smiled. "Cheers."

"So," Severus said, "are you, in fact, willing to switch days in the shop with me? By all means, if you would prefer to mock me further, do continue."

Cadogan stilled the rag she was inexplicably using to clean the counter (though, given the accuracy of her cleaning spells…). "Oh, really," she said. "Where's that dry wit I've come to love and fear?"

"I left it in the laboratory."

"There you go," the harpy said. "In any case, what's so important that you just have to have Sunday free?"

"That is none of your concern," Severus told her.

"No?" Cadogan said. "You know, I don't have to switch with you."

"I have an appointment," he said flatly.

"With?"

Severus glowered at her.

Cadogan grinned. "With your redheaded lady friend?"

"That is none of your concern," Severus said again.

Cadogan lay her hand on her chest. "Ah, young love," she said. "I look back upon it fondly, now that I'm an old married woman."

Severus, exasperated, turned on his heel and opened the laboratory door.

"Wait, wait," Cadogan said. "I'm sorry. Yes. I'll work next Sunday, if you'll do next Tuesday."

Severus turned back around. "Very well," he said. "Providing Master Jigger is agreeable, that will be our plan."

Cadogan's eyes flew open. "You haven't asked Master Jigger yet?"

Melodramatic woman. "What would be the point of asking him before you had agreed?"

"What was the point of asking me before he had agreed?" Cadogan retorted.

Severus rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. "Good day, Ms Cadogan," he said, and then he turned and descended into the laboratory.

Jigger was already there, and was in the midst of reading the research outline that Severus had given him the evening before. "Mr Snape," Jigger greeted him. "An interesting hypothesis. The lovage idea especially seems likely; I suggest you begin with that."

There was something to be said for a man who refused to waste time on frivolous social constructs like saying "good morning."

"Yes, Master Jigger," Severus said. "But, ah… Before we begin, I'd like your permission to switch days in the shop with Ms Cadogan next week, Tuesday for Sunday."

Jigger set the parchment down. "When did she agree to this?"

"Just now."

"I see," Jigger said. "Well, frankly, I'm just surprised it's taken you so long to use the day off you insisted upon last month."

When did…? Ah, yes, when Jigger had mistaken his request for clarification as a wheedling request for compensatory time. "Actually," Severus said, "I had forgotten about that. I had planned to ask if I might brew the stock potions on Monday, rather than Tuesday."

Jigger scowled. "I've said you may have a day and you shall have it, Mr Snape. I am a fair employer."

Severus idly wondered how Jigger defined "fair," but simply said, "Thank you, Master Jigger," and headed for the cold storage closet.

Dear Severus,

I'm so very glad! I've missed you terribly this term, really I have, like I can't even say.

Shall I see you at the Hogwarts gates, at ten o'clock? Sooner if I can sneak out. Just kidding. Mostly.

Love from

Lily

Severus stepped out of the Three Broomsticks' floo and, seeing Madam Rosmerta wrinkle her nose, promptly Vanished the few bits of ash he had scattered. The proprietor nodded, and Severus strode out of the pub and turned left, heading for the Hogwarts gates.

As he neared Hogsmeade station, he realised he had a small amount of soot on his new (old) robes (he had chosen to wear the one everyday set he owned in lieu of donning his apothecary uniform). He started to clean them—realised he was no longer in Diagon, and therefore his Trace might be in effect—realised he had always seen students using magic in Hogsmeade—realised there was no way the Ministry could hope to monitor underaged magic in Hogsmeade—realised he had already done magic in the Three Broomsticks—and by the time he reached Hogsmeade Station, he realised he was quite overthinking the matter, and cleaned his robes with a quick flick of his wand.

If Severus didn't fully know better, he would think he was nervous. Which, well. Ridiculous.

Severus climbed the hill up to the gates and, deciding he didn't particularly care to be seen by every single exiting student, hung back near a tree and waited.

The gates opened at promptly ten o'clock, and Lily Evans was the first through them.

Severus' heart did not leap, as that was a physical impossibility.

Lily walked through the Hogwarts gates and stopped after a few steps, her expression changing from expectancy to puzzlement and, alarmingly, to disappointment, before Severus realised what an idiot he was and stepped out of the tree's shadows, lifting a hand in greeting.

Lily's expression immediately brightened, and she headed toward him—accompanied, unexpectedly, by a dark-haired girl whose expression seemed far more "sceptical" than "eager for a Hogsmeade weekend."

Severus had just recognised the other girl as Lily's friend Mary when the two reached him. "Severus!" Lily exclaimed—and in what was less of a surprise to Severus than it would have been before Lily's most recent letters, she wrapped her arms around his ribcage in a tight hug. Severus' breath still caught.

Lily pulled back, her cheeks pink, and smiled up at him. "I'm so glad you could make it," she said. "Did Master Jigger give you a hard time about leaving?"

"I—we managed to come to an agreement," Severus said. Lily smiled. Mary, standing slightly behind Lily, glared at him over Lily's shoulder.

"Good morning, Miss Macdonald," Severus said, inclining his head.

Mary turned to Lily. "Since he showed up after all, do you still need me?"

Lily flushed crimson. "Mary! Don't be rude."

Mary shrugged. "You know I think it's a bad idea. And I know how his friends feel about girls like me—girls like us. So yes, I still think you're making a mistake, but since I can't stop you I'd really rather not watch."

"You're such a good friend," Lily said flatly. "Don't let me keep you."

Mary shot another glare in Severus' direction, and headed down the path, joining a group of Gryffindor girls on their way into the village.

Severus really couldn't imagine what had inspired Mulciber and Avery to hex her.

Lily watched Mary's progress, and then turned back to Severus. "I'm sorry about Mary," she said. "She—she likes to hold a grudge."

"I know the type," Severus said. Lily snorted and, after the barest moment's hesitation, linked arms with him and pulled him towards the village.

Other than Mary and the other Gryffindor girls, the few students who were about at this hour were mostly third- and fourth-year students for whom Hogsmeade was still a new experience (the older forms tended to have a bit of a lie-in on Sundays, Hogsmeade weekend or not). The village was decked in its Halloween finest, its high spirits not yet muted by the impending war; as Severus recalled, the subsequent years had seen fewer and fewer festive decorations, until, by 1981, the villagers had given up on Halloween merriment entirely—only to bring out the sum of the décor the next day, when every Light-minded person in the world celebrated the fall of the Dark Lord, and Severus lost, finally and absolutely, the only person who had ever mattered to him.

Lily squeezed his arm. "Something the matter?" she asked.

Severus swallowed. "Not at the moment," he replied. "May I ask where we're headed?"

Lily grinned. "I thought maybe Tomes & Scrolls?"

"Not Madam Puddifoot's?" Severus deadpanned.

"For some reason I thought a great lot of books would appeal more to you than fat cherubs and screeching girls," Lily said. "Although, of course, now I run the risk that you'll ignore me the rest of the afternoon in favour of those books…"

"Never," Severus assured her. "Not unless they have the latest issue of Potions Quarterly."

"Really."

"Of course I speak in jest," Severus said.

"I knew that," Lily said, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

"The next issue won't be out til December."

Lily elbowed him harder.

They casually walked into the village proper and off the side street that led to the bookshop—Severus was relieved to not recognise any of the students yet in the village—and proceeded to spend upwards of ninety minutes browsing the shelves together. Severus left with a used defence text he'd not seen before, and Lily left with a thick novel and the latest issue of Witch Weekly, about which she was charmingly defensive.

"Oh my god, can we go eat now?" Lily said brightly (as though she'd had to drag him out of the shop, when she was the one who had spent twenty minutes picking up and putting down the same book).

"Are we finally to go to Puddifoot's?" Severus asked.

"Stop it," Lily said. "I was hoping the Broomsticks would be all right with you, if you're not too grown up for such shenanigans."

Severus wasn't so much too mature for The Three Broomsticks as he was too cautious, but there was nothing for it—the Hog's Head was all too likely to play host to once and future Death Eaters who had realised that Aberforth Dumbledore could be convinced to serve them beverages rather stronger than Butterbeer, and Madam Puddifoot's was… out of the question.

So Severus said, "I'm not if you aren't," and Lily smiled at him and led him back toward the high street and The Three Broomsticks, where they managed to secure an out-of-the-way table in the back corner opposite the bar (Lily said nothing about his choice of seats; Rosmerta, however, gave him a sideways look that Severus chose not to decipher).

Rosmerta returned shortly with a pair of Butterbeers and two bowls of what was ostensibly stew, which Lily began consuming with gusto while Severus regarded it sceptically. "I believe Tom may have the advantage over Rosmerta when it comes to his establishment's fare," Severus remarked.

Lily snorted. "Don't let Rosmerta hear you say that."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Do you take me as suicidal?"

And then, with no warning other than a faint whoosh, something cold and wet hit Severus' face and fell into his stew, which immediately splashed over the edge of the bowl and onto Severus' robes.

It occurred to Severus that it might have been better if he had worn his excellently Charmed Apothecary robes.

He glanced down and recognised the object that had hit him and polluted his lunch—it was, inexplicably, a snowball.

Perhaps it wasn't quite so inexplicable, however, when one noticed a certain table across the pub, around which were seated Black, Potter, Pettigrew, and Lupin—and that Black had his wand out and pointed in Severus' direction.

So Severus wordlessly disarmed him.

He had Black's wand in his hand no more than five seconds after the snowball had landed.

"What—did Black just—is that a snowball?" Lily sputtered.

"Yes," Severus said, as he Vanished the snow from his face and glasses—and the stew from his robes—with, satisfyingly, Black's wand.

"Is that Black's wand?" Lily asked.

"Yes," Severus replied. "Would you like it?"

"I'd like to hex him with it," Lily snapped. "BLACK! Oh."

She had turned to shout across the pub—but Black, along with Potter, had already crossed the room and were standing beside their table.

"Give me my wand," Black demanded of Severus.

"I'm so sorry, Evans," Potter said, eyes wide. "I told him not to."

"Give it," Black said again, "or I will hit you like a Muggle."

"Evidently, you're not his keeper," Lily said disdainfully.

"Did you hear me, Snivellus?" Black said. "I said, give me my bloody wand."

Potter turned on Black. "Sirius, apologise to Lily for ruining her afternoon," he said.

Because Severus was a master of Occlusion, his face did not bare the same dumbstruck expression as Sirius Black's.

"What?" Black said.

Lily scoffed. "He needs to apologise to Severus," she said.

"You're the one who said, 'I can't believe she's sitting over there with him in broad daylight. I wish someone would hex him so he'd leave,'" Black said to Potter.

Potter coloured. "I didn't say that."

"Yeah, you definitely did," Black said.

"Well even if I had said it, which I didn't," Potter said, with an obvious glance at Lily, "I wouldn't mean for you to actually do it. Now apologise to Evans."

"Oh bugger off, James," Sirius said, and then he stormed back over to his table, where Wormtail was practically falling off of his seat in his efforts to watch the proceedings.

Potter watched him leave with an amusingly hopeless expression on his face. "I'm so sorry," he said again to Lily. "I swear, I didn't tell him to do that."

"You shouldn't swear when you don't mean it," Lily said. "But I have to ask—why a snowball?"

Potter shrugged helplessly. "Doesn't it seem like it's always snowing in Hogsmeade?"

"It's October," Lily said flatly.

"It could be snowing," Potter said.

"Not enough for a snowball," Lily said, her voice dripping with beautiful disdain.

"He—it—he thought it was funny, okay?" Potter said. "Don't ask me to explain him. I'm not his keeper." He tried for a winning smile. Lily ignored it.

"So, er, I." Potter looked back and forth between Lily, who was pointedly ignoring him, and Severus, who was watching Potter's attempts at reconciliation with a satisfied smirk. "Look, ah, Sni—Snape. I'd like to apologise on Sirius' behalf."

Lily's eyes flew open.

Well, damn.

"Yes, Potter," Severus said, "you may have Black's wand." He lifted the won item between his thumb and forefinger and extended it towards Potter.

"I—I wasn't just asking for the wand back," Potter said.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Frankly, I don't care. Please take Black's wand and leave me to what's left of my meal."

Potter coloured again. He took Black's wand, tucked it into a robe pocket, and then, after a moment of hesitation, brought out his wallet. "Ah, let me at least get you another bowl," Potter said, pulling out a Galleon.

Severus noticed the blood draining from Lily's face even as he reached up to push Potter's hand away. "No," Severus said, "thank you."

"Please," Potter insisted. "I—it's the right thing to do." He glanced at Lily again.

"Go," Severus said, "away."

Potter tried for a winning smile. "Can't I—"

"No," Severus said. "You cannot. Now leave, before I take your wand as well as Black's."

Potter turned to Lily. "I tried," he told her.

"Get lost, Potter," Lily said, and, finally, Potter left them, shooting one intense glare in Severus' direction as he left.

Lily buried her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry," she said, her voice muffled.

Severus—who was well aware, of course, that Potter was watching their every movement from across the pub—reached across the table and took Lily's hands away from her face. "It certainly is not your fault," he told her, holding her hands in his own.

Lily squeezed his hands. "That was mortifying," she said. "Is everyone staring at us?"

Severus glanced around. Potter was staring at them—and Lupin was, inexplicably, watching them as well—but, fortunately, nobody else seemed to find the goings-on of a handful of sixth-year Gryffindors particularly interesting.

"Nobody is staring at us," Severus said, and then, feeling particularly bold, he added, "and if they were, it would only be due to jealousy that they don't share my luck in dining companions."

Lily blushed and said, "Can we get out of here, please? This stew is awful, and mine doesn't even have any Conjured snow in it."

"Really," Severus said. "I doubt it's Conjured. Black most likely used a Freezing Charm on a glass of water."

"If he does that again," Lily said earnestly, "I'll use a Freezing Charm on his bollocks."

"By all means," Severus said. He pulled out a handful of coins and left them on the table—Lily, thankfully, said nothing—and the two of them headed for the door, ignoring Potter and his cronies as they went.

They stepped outside and walked back towards the street, only to hear a young voice call, "Snape!"

Severus looked over to see Regulus Black jogging towards them, Barty Crouch following at a more sedate pace behind him. "Snape," Regulus said again as he reached them. "What are you doing here? Is it a coincidence that you're here on a Hogsmeade weekend? Are you here on business? Is Master Jigger here? Is—oh." Regulus suddenly stopped talking, his eyes on Lily (who, Severus noted, looked more amused than anything). "Hello," Regulus said. "I'm, ah, hello."

"Hello, hello," Lily said, smiling kindly.

There was nothing for it, so Severus said, "Lily, may I present Regulus Black, a fourth-year Slytherin, and his friend Barty Crouch. Regulus, this is Miss Lily Evans, a sixth-year Gryffindor."

"I know who she is," Regulus said. "She's a Prefect. And James Potter is hopelessly in love with her. Or, ah." Regulus cringed. "So I've heard."

"So we've all heard," Lily said drily. She said nothing else; Severus assumed that she was aware enough of Gryffindor gossip to know that Sirius was no longer considered part of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. After all, if he knew it, surely someone with a veritable plethora of friends and acquaintances would be well aware.

"Evans," Barty said slowly. "Are you, by any chance, related to Mulfinias Evans, the celebrated Goblin liaison?"

Regulus' eyes flew open. Severus' eyes remained Occluded behind his glasses. Lily's eyes narrowed.

All four of them were, without a doubt, well aware of Lily Evans' blood status. After all, she was a popular Gryffindor and Prefect. If they knew enough to know that Potter was obsessed with her, these blood purists knew exactly what type of family begat Lily Evans.

But to Severus' surprise, Regulus said, "Come on, Barty, not everybody is as obsessed with their famous ancestors as you."

It was the first time Severus had known the boy to exhibit any semblance of tact whatsoever.

"It was nice to see you, Snape," Regulus continued. "Have a good afternoon, Miss Evans." And then he pulled a frowning Barty away toward the Three Broomsticks.

As they left, Lily said quietly, "That Crouch kid is creepy."

"I wouldn't disagree," Severus concurred, and they turned back toward the high street.

They walked slowly back towards the direction of Hogsmeade Station; Lily glanced in a few shop windows as they went, but declined to go into any of the shops. "I'm really just putting off going back up to school," she explained with an uncharacteristically shy smile.

"Ah," Severus replied eloquently.

So they took a meandering route down a few side streets—Severus steered them away from one street in particular, but Lily didn't seem to notice his refusal to go near a certain building in which he'd drawn his final breaths—and, at some point, Lily slipped her hand into his.

Severus was calculating the best way to cast a Drying Charm on his increasingly moist right hand without Lily noticing when he spied Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery turning the corner. He immediately pulled Lily off the street and behind a large tree.

"Severus!" Lily exclaimed, but Severus hissed at her to be quiet. She closed her mouth, but looked up at him curiously.

The three sixth year Slytherins passed their hiding place without incident—Severus rolled his eyes at the sound of Mulciber's unpleasant, braying laugh—and once they had stepped out of earshot, Severus explained quietly, "My apologies. I had no desire to speak to my former dorm mates at this time. Please forgive my…impulsiveness."

Lily smiled. "No, it's fine. I wouldn't want to run into them, either—I know how awful they can be." She laughed, and, blushing quite fiercely, added, "When you first pulled me over here, I thought maybe you had an entirely different goal in mind."

"And what would that be?" Severus asked, as the realisation slowly, impossibly, grew.

"Oh, you know. What, ah, most people want to do on dates." Lily grinned, tilting her head to one side.

"I am not most people," Severus pointed out, his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

"I," Lily said. "I, ah. I kind of am."

And then she reached up, threaded her hand through his hair behind his head, pulled his face towards hers, and got hit in the eye by his nose.

"Oops," Lily said as Severus died inside. "Let me—"

And then her lips were on his.

Severus had experienced several kisses in his life. Until the age of five or so—before Eileen Snape had given up on her family and, it must be admitted, her life—he had received many maternal kisses. In his seventh year at Hogwarts, he had dated a sixth-year Slytherin named Lucrezia, who had already made the rounds with every other Slytherin boy in the sixth and seventh years (and, reportedly, with one particularly good-looking fifth year). At Rosier's goading, he had gone so far as to "seal the deal" with Lucrezia, an experience that had been, on the whole, underwhelming for the both of them.

At twenty-six, when the ever-present grief had cleared enough for him to be able to almost feel once more, he had spent a few evenings in the company of that year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, an optimistic woman called Jezzie, who hadn't been unattractive and who hadn't taken immediate offence to Severus' immediate initial dismissal of her overtures. Unfortunately, she had left the position after the customary year due to her mother's increasingly ill health, and Severus hadn't heard from her—aside from a yearly, overly chatty letter at Christmastime—since 1987.

The others—Maude, Claire, and…ah…Evelyn?—had been uninspiring and, clearly, forgettable. Charity Burbage, drunk, had once approached him at the Hogwarts staff Christmas party; in the morning, a well-placed Obliviate had ensured that he had been forgettable.

Not a single encounter came even close to the sheer physical and emotional satisfaction of this single kiss with Lily Evans.

When she slipped her tongue into his mouth, his knees, quite literally, physically weakened, and he was forced to place a hand on the tree trunk next to Lily's face for support. In response, Lily grabbed the front of his robes and pulled his body flush against hers.

Severus found himself in immediate danger of his body behaving quite sixteen years old about it all, and he distanced himself ever so slightly away from, frankly, the object of his overwhelming desire.

She tasted, Severus noted, like strawberries and second chances, which was an entirely inane thought.

When a tiny moan emanated from Lily's throat, Severus very nearly died a second time.

The peal of church bells cut across the village—three o'clock—and Lily, unfortunately, pulled away. "Oh damn," she said (and Severus had to ignore the observation that she was breathing heavily, and that her chest was rising and falling with every deep breath, contain yourself, Mr Snape). "I've got to get back. I've got duty escorting the third-years, and every time, one tries to stay out after curfew. It drives me mad."

Severus, one hand on the tree trunk and the other somehow wrapped around Lily's waist, nodded. "Yes. Ah. Mad. Indeed."

A slow, satisfied smile crept across Lily's face. "Why, Severus," she said. "Are you, for once, at a loss for words?"

Severus, never one to sacrifice his dignity, settled for nodding. Lily laughed delightedly and pressed her lips to his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

"Ah, Lily," Severus said, as she pressed a series of kisses to the skin where his neck met his shoulder. "Might I, ah. Suggest that we. That you. Lily." He reluctantly stepped away from her and snapped, "If you wish to return to Hogwarts within the next two hours might I suggest that you head in that direction now, while I am still able to restrain myself?"

Lily blushed. "Well, really," she said.

"Really," Severus promised her. He took a step back towards the street and held out his hand; she, after straightening her robes, took his hand and followed him back to the village centre.

"I hope I'll see you at Christmas?" Lily said as they walked. "I mean—I don't suppose you'll be at, ah, home, but maybe you could visit? Mum would like that. If you're available, I mean."

"I shall make myself available," Severus vowed. Lily smiled up at him. Severus gave into the urge to smile back. Lily's smile brightened.

They shortly reached their destination. "I—I really should be rounding up errant third-years," Lily said, regret clear in her voice. "But thank you, for, ah." Lily took a deep breath and blurted out, "Severus, may I call you my boyfriend?"

Severus blinked.

Lily bit her lower lip.

"What a ridiculous question," Severus said unthinkingly.

Lily's eyes flew open. "Excuse me?" she demanded.

Blast, not again. "No, I—Lily," Severus said quickly. "I only meant that I would have to be completely daft to refuse, and that I wish I had made such a proposal myself."

He was completely daft.

Lily smiled. "Oh. Ah. That's—okay. So. Okay, then. Great." She grinned. "Okay."

"Okay," Severus echoed helplessly.

"Okay," Lily repeated. "I. I'll see you at Christmas, then. You'll—okay." She leaned up, pressed one last kiss to his lips, and trotted away towards a milling group of younger students in Gryffindor crests.

Severus heard her say, "Okay, where's Anderson?" as he turned and headed back towards the Three Broomsticks.

In a daze, he headed into the pub and towards the floo, at which he stared for a full minute.

"You have to put the Floo Powder in first, love," Madam Rosmerta's voice came from behind him.

Severus glanced over his shoulder. "Yes. Thank you," he said irritably.

To his surprise, Rosmerta laughed. "Young love," she said fondly. "I cater weddings. Remember that."

Severus, scowling, flung a handful of powder into the flames. "Diagon Alley," he said distinctly as he stepped in, and off he whirled through the grates of London.

November 1976

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