Snape chuckled dryly. “Oh? I thought it would be very appropriate for us,” he murmured softly, taking a step towards me. I gulped -- trying not to let him see, of course -- and stepped backwards, desperate to put a considerable amount of space between us -- but tripped on the stairs.

“Shit!” I hissed, tumbling backwards with a sudden, frantic expression on my face, aware that my landing was about to be very painful. Snape moved in a dark blur and grabbed my arm, steadying me before I hit the cold steps. I stared up at him in shock, and perhaps a slight amount of fear, acutely conscious of how my arm was burning where he was touching it. Heat surged up my arm and through my body. Then I saw emotion flicker in his eyes and immediately realised I was participating in something extremely dangerous.

For several long moments all we did was stare at each other, our breathing heavy. “Th-thank you,” I whispered at last, feeling my heart in my throat.

Snape did not reply; he merely looked at me and I felt a shiver dance along my spine and fought not to wrench myself away from him, knowing I’d hit the stairs in a very undignified way if I did. To my shame, I knew I also felt grumpy that Snape now had the upper hand, whether he knew it or not. But, despite that, I was intensely heedful that my heart was thudding in my throat, my blood was pounding in my head and my cheeks were steadily becoming more and more flushed.

So much for my years of learning to control myself. Of course, Snape was the one person who could cause me to feel like this and he knew it and wielded it to his advantage. I was playing with fire in one way and Snape was definitely unpredictable. Dangerously so.

And there was no denying that this was becoming truly embarrassing.

Snape’s midnight eyes continued to bore into mine, and as I watched, emotion started to pour into their dark depths, emotion that I wasn’t prepared for. It was like the war had never ended and we had never gone our separate ways. It was as if time had never passed between us and... things were still as they had been.

But even as time appeared to stand still, I knew things would never be as they had been. Too much had changed. And it was becoming apparent to me that Snape was just as helpless as I was for controlling his emotions, at least, where I was concerned. The realisation was mildly comforting.

Of course, I wasn’t even sure if Snape -- or even myself, for that matter -- wanted things to be as they had been. Or if we wanted anything to happen at all.

Suddenly, he blinked and hauled me to my feet. I stood on the steps, straightening my robes, looking everywhere but at him and trying to convince my legs to stop trembling. There was no way Snape could ignore the fact that my face was absolutely flaming at this point and I was furious at myself for allowing it to be.

I was in the process of figuring out what to say to him, when Snape abruptly broke the ice between us. A familiar sneer curling his lips, he said acidly, “Falling down the steps, Potter! My, what would your students-to-be think of that?” It was a feeble barb on Snape’s part and not at all up to his usual standard, but I rose to the bait eagerly. It meant a fight was going to come and I could cope with Snape’s anger a lot better than his... other feelings towards me. I needed to let loose and he just happened to be the one to receive the brunt of it.

I smirked at him, feeling like I was a teenager again and was intentionally driving him up the wall in Potions class. “Is that the best you can come up with, Snape? My, your standard has fallen drastically, do you know that?” I raised an eyebrow, pasting a seemingly-innocent expression on my face, hoping frantically that Snape would simply respond with loathing anger, instead of... not arguing with me. I didn’t think I’d be able to cope if he didn’t.

Fortunately, it appeared Snape was thinking along similar lines, for a snarl curled his thin lips. “You’re one to talk, Potter. Were you desperate when you took this job?”

I glared at him fiercely and I think even Snape was inwardly taken aback at the venom in my face. But he’d finally crossed the line by bringing this into the conversation. “You may despise teaching here, Snape,” I growled at him angrily, “but that doesn’t mean everyone else does.” I was not going to tell him that I truly felt like Hogwarts was my only real home. I didn’t feel like I could trust him anymore.

Snape didn’t answer, instead giving me a measuring look, clearly wary of me now. When at last he spoke, his voice was quiet. “You’ve changed... Harry.”

I shrugged, anger still in my eyes. Deliberately ignoring that he had called me by my first name and the intimacy that went with it, I replied curtly, “You haven’t.” Then, unable to deal with this anymore, and trying to ignore the part of me that screeched not to be a coward and walk away from him, I did just that. Without another word or look, I turned and walked away, my head low and my steps quick and tense.

As I hurried up the stairs and turned to walk down the right corridor, I could feel his eyes on me.

 

* * *

 

The next morning I almost rolled over when I opened my eyes, and nearly went back to sleep, thinking I was in my house. Then, when my eyes were fluttering shut, it suddenly occurred to me: when had I put curtains around my bed? I frowned, my eyes still closed... and then I remembered where I was.

The blankets flew up into the air as I sat bolt upright in bed, my eyes wide, terrified for a moment that I had overslept and the embarrassment that would entail from it. Yanking my glasses on, a quick glance at the clock told me otherwise, much to my relief. Sorting myself from the tangled sheets, I rummaged for my robes, yawning hard.

I was still yawning when I arrived into the Great Hall and tried not to show it. I lowered myself into my seat and proceeded to dump honey and milk into my porridge.

“Morning, Harry!” A cheerful voice broke into my sleep-induced state and I winced. Opening one eye, I watched Lavender sit down beside me, cheerful, fresh and looking like she had got plenty of sleep. I groaned and fought not to bury my hands in my hair in despair. Lavender blinked, looking over me carefully. “Didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?”

“Shut up,” I muttered at her, digging my fingers into my hair. “I had bad dreams.” Dreams that, unfortunately for me, had included a dark-haired Potions Master. I’d had woken up in a sweat at least six times throughout the whole night. Lavender gave me a sharp look and handed me my timetable.

Glancing down between mouthfuls of porridge, I saw that I had Ravenclaw Second Years first. My first lesson wouldn’t be so bad then; Ravenclaws were willing workers. Ravenclaw made me remember Cho Chang and a shadow passed over my face. Don’t remember, I warned myself, but I was already.

“Who’ve you first?” Lavender asked curiously, glancing at me while she neatly sprinkled sugar on her own porridge.

“Second Year Ravenclaws,” I replied, buttering a slice of toast. “Speaking of teaching, how do you find being the teacher yourself?”

Her face broke into a bright smile that completely transformed her. “It’s brilliant!” she gushed, looking ecstatic. “It’s so challenging!” It had been revealed during the war that Lavender really did possess the Sight. Although, in Trelawney’s favour, some of her visions had been real.

I gave her a dry look. “I just hope your classes are a lot better than Trelawney’s ones,” I muttered, and grinned as she gave me a gentle whack on the shoulder. “What?!”

“Idiot,” she laughed. “Unfortunately, there’s no one who can be given daily death warnings like you.” But I could see the shadows return to her eyes, before she turned to speak with Madam Hooch and mentally noted to be careful with mentioning Trelawney near her. It seemed that Lavender hadn’t truly got over her death yet.

I resumed eating, but gradually became aware that I was being watched, judging by the prickling sensation along the back of my neck. I looked very slowly to my right and my worst fear became reality. At the end of the table was Snape, who was watching me intently and not bothering to hide it.

I gritted my teeth and met his eyes directly. Our gazes locked and stayed that way for several moments as we tried to search the other’s eyes, until Snape looked down to concentrate on his food. I relaxed fractionally, my breathing hard and looked at my plate like I wanted to drill a hole through it.

“All right, Harry?” I glanced at Lavender, who was watching me with a rather concerned look on her face and nodded, giving her -- in my opinion -- a weak smile. She looked unconvinced, clearly not believing me (not that I could blame her), but didn’t say anything more to me about it. She did, however, wish me good luck for my first class, which I personally thought I dearly needed. I desperately wanted Luck on my side today.

I could feel Snape’s eyes on me when I left the hall to prepare for my first class, and shivered.

After stopping at my room to retrieve my briefcase, I walked briskly through the corridors towards my classroom, admittedly nervous but putting on a cheerful facade to hide it. I had faced many things in my youth -- surely teaching a simple class couldn’t be that bad? Although, the task did seem daunting... I gritted my teeth, but kept on walking, trying to appease the fluttering in my stomach.

I heard the familiar sounds of students talking and laughing as I approached and then the expected, “He’s coming!” followed by the scrambling to desks. When I walked into the room, fifteen faces looked up at me.

“Morning,” I said briskly, thumping my briefcase onto my desk and opening it to search for the correct register. “Ravenclaw Second Years, am I correct?” Nods and murmurs of affirmation answered my question. I went through the register leisurely, trying to place a face to the name and suddenly realising how hard it would be try and remember all of the students. I was the only Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; I was, technically, teaching the entire school. The thought was daunting.

“Now,” I continued, when the register was complete and I had a vague idea of who was who. “Would anyone like to tell me what you’ve done so far?”

As a girl in the front row began to rattle off the topics they had completed in the previous year, I quickly jotted them down. Giving her thanks, I picked up my copy of the textbook and thumbed through the pages absently. “Due to the fact that this is a new book and I don’t know how good your last one was, we will spend the next two weeks doing a quick revision of what you’ve done so far.” Resigned sighs followed this statement, but the students obediently opened their books anyway.

As the class progressed, I realised there was a certain feeling of satisfaction whenever the students picked up on what I was explaining or when a student answered a question correctly. It had never occurred to me when I had been a student, that the teacher might have been pleased when we had done things correctly (like nearly every student in the school, I had thought of them as slave-drivers in general). Perhaps this was what caused people to go into teaching and maybe that also explained why they enjoyed the occupation. Of course, this was also my first day and my first class; I wasn’t going to blind myself entirely.

As the class ended, I shouted quickly, “Read Chapters One and Two and be ready for questions on them tomorrow!” The groans were audible this time and I chuckled; they had obviously thought, that, as I was a new teacher, I wouldn’t assign homework on the first day. I wasn’t a complete walkover. Besides, I’d give them no homework on Friday, then.

I was considerably more cheerful when the class finished; I hadn’t a class until before lunch and could relax. Overall, for a first class I imagined I’d done quite well. Well, I hoped so. Then, realising that I had First Year Hufflepuffs before lunch, I opened the textbook and decided to figure out what I was going to start with.

 

* * *

 

On Thursday I finally had First Year Slytherins. It wasn’t that I was nervous about teaching -- I’d been doing it for almost four days by then and was finally settled in -- it was the fact that Callidus was in that class and I had no idea on how to deal with him. He would definitely have learned by now that I had been the person who had defied, and eventually defeated, Voldemort. And I wasn’t sure on how he would react to that piece of information and wasn’t really sure I wanted to know either.

I was at my desk when the class filed in, trying to figure out how Fourth-Year summaries on Grindylows could be written with such difficulty. I didn’t look up until they were all seated, and then rose, walking around my desk until I was leaning against it and facing them.

“Welcome to my class,” I began, looking at each new face in turn. I’d finally figured out my own ‘speech’ to tell them, having relied heavily on the one Snape himself had given my class at our first Potions lesson. Defence Against the Dark Arts wasn’t exactly like Potions, but the speech was pretty much the same. “You’re here to learn on defending yourself against some of the most dangerous magic of our time and some of the most unforgivable curses created... that is, if I can do my job right.

“Many people have decided that Defence Against the Dark Arts isn’t really that important anymore. Now that Voldemort--” Many eyes widened upon hearing me same his name. “--has been defeated they tend to think that all Dark Magic has gone along with him. That isn’t so. Many of Voldemort’s followers are still out there, and there are many Dark Witches and Wizards still out there who weren’t in league with him. They aren’t going to stop just because Voldemort has fallen. They’ll learn from his mistakes.

“These people aren’t going to let you alone just because you never learned the proper defence for whatever way they’re about to kill you,” I continued, and was grimly pleased to see everyone was now listening to me. “Those of you who are truly willing to work might one day find yourself in my Advanced class. But hear this: I will have NO slackers in my class. This class is not the definition of ‘having a good time’. If you won’t work, then you’re going out that door, preferably after I’ve thrown you out myself.” My eyes flickered over Callidus and I was surprised to see that he was listening to me attentively. “Everyone will work; understood?”

There were murmurs of “Yes sir” and the class then hauled out their books. I leaned back and picked up the register. “Answer ‘Here’ when I say your name,” I ordered. “Alison Alderwick?”

I continued steadily down the register until --

“Callidus Riddle?” I was glad to see that my voice didn’t shake, as I called out his name and waited for an answer. There was tense silence as everyone slyly (or attempting to be sly) glanced at him. He looked up at me with frozen, emotionless sapphire eyes, strange eyes that set me at unease, eyes that seemed to pierce through my soul. I stared back at him, emerald eyes locking with sapphire. I was only dimly aware that the rest of the class were staring at us with bated breath.

He broke the gaze first and drawled out, “Here.”

I nodded curtly and continued with the register, only slightly aware that the class had let out their breath like a collective breeze and their relief could almost be tasted on the air.

As I got members of the class to read about banshees, interrupting here and there to further explain on a paragraph, I noticed that the desks around Callidus had subtly been left empty. I frowned at them, uncertain as whether to feel satisfied or angry. Clearly, his classmates didn’t trust him at all.

I assigned the Slytherins homework, ignored the groans as they scribbled it down, and sank into my chair while they ran out of the classroom for lunch. Once the last person was out of the room, I let my head fall into my arms and sighed heavily.

There was something very wrong about Callidus’ attitude, something that unsettled me. Perhaps it was the way he’d looked straight at me, unflinching and uncaring. I’d a feeling he’d be difficult to deal with as he grew up and went through the school. And having no friends wouldn’t help him in the slightest -- it would make him cold and unfeeling, something I was extremely apprehensive about. Even Snape had known friends at school. On second thought, perhaps he hadn’t been the best example to use, after all.

I wasn’t aware that my eyes had drifted closed until it suddenly hit me that I was dreaming... no, not dreaming... remembering.

 

The rain fell from the thundering sky in heavy sheets. I closed my eyes and let it hit my face like sharp hailstone, like needles pricking my face. I felt it soak my hair and robes, seeping through them to touch deeper inside me and I didn’t care. I felt it run off my face into my neck and felt blissfully free.

I wasn’t aware that someone was coming towards me, due to the intensity of the rain, until they were only a step behind me. But I knew he was there; I could feel his dark eyes on me. “Yes?” I asked softly, my voice barely audible in the pouring rain.

“You know he’s coming, don’t you? You can feel him.” The voice had once been accompanied by a sneer, had insulted me and snarled at me so many times. Before, that voice had been icy cold and emotionless. Now, it was trying to be indifferent and casual, but I could sense the worry and fear as undercurrents, though they were carefully hidden.

In answer, I reached up to brush my sodden fringe away from my forehead and let my fingertips rest on my scar. It was burning furiously, despite the freezing rain that pounded on it and it sent stabs of sharp pain through me -- a warning. “Yes,” I whispered, opening my eyes and staring at the edge of the dark forest we were facing, “I can feel him. He’s coming.”

There was only silence for the next few minutes, broken only by the steady thrum of rain and the rumbling of thunder overhead, as we stared at the forest before us, hardly remembering to breathe. Then I said, “Thank you. Thank you for the help you gave me.”

His voice was harsh when he replied. “I told you that you didn’t have to thank me.” I was pissing him off and we both knew it. We were fighting to remain calm, for we were about to participate in the battle of our lives. The battle that could kill us.

My lips curled in a bitter smile. “I know. I’m doing it anyway.” I could feel him trying to break through the shields we had placed at the other end of the Forbidden Forest. Behind us, Hogwarts waited with tense breath.

“Damn you, Potter.” I could sense the hysteria building inside him and I knew the hysteria frightened him. The last time he had been hysterical was when he had come face-to-face with a werewolf, because of a joke that was cruel. He took the step so he was beside me, and I felt a hand brush my cheek. I closed my eyes again and leaned into the caress, wishing this wasn’t happening and unable to change anything. Yet.

“Snape...” I tried to ignore the hoarse note in my voice, and then yelped. Snape froze, eyes boring into mine as they snapped open. “He’s broken through the barriers,” I hissed. We looked as one to the trees. Despite the ferocity of the rain, we could hear the shouts and roars of the Death Eaters as they rushed through the forest towards us.

Voldemort was coming.

We looked at each other again, dark eyes meeting green, sending silent messages back and forth, as we gave each other the courage to deal with the battle that was about to come. The battle where we could easily live or die. Just because we were on the Side of Good, didn’t mean we wouldn’t die.

As the first Death Eater burst through the trees, Snape and I simultaneously lifted our wands and shouted our curses...

 

I jerked awake, a cold sweat clinging to me, my breathing heavy and my eyes wide. What had caused me to remember the first battle I had participated in, fighting alongside Snape? I wasn’t sure and couldn’t think of any reasonable answer. Shaking, I lifted my head from my arms and glanced at the clock. I still had enough time to grab a quick lunch... but they would wonder why I had been so late. And my stomach churned at the thought of food. No, lunch wasn’t an option.

I sighed again as I rose from my desk and walked to the door. A quick walk would do me good and clear my head, before I taught my first class after lunch. And it would calm me down.

Although... I think only getting reasonably drunk would have been able to sufficiently calm me down after a memory like that.

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