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Harry paused a moment at the gates, staring up the hill at the imposing castle. The sun was far from set; the summer days were still long, though this far north there was already a sharpness of autumn to the air. He never thought he'd see this place again. Certainly not this way.

He began to walk again, approaching the massive stone steps of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Reopened once again, nearly two years after it had been forced to close by Voldemort's reign of terror. No one had dared send their children away to school; it was dangerous enough in their own homes. Every skilled witch and wizard had been needed for the fight, and Acting Headmistress McGonagall had been forced to close the school soon after Dumbledore's death.

The battle had been worse than any of them had feared. Nearly a quarter of the wizarding world had perished in the fight or its aftermath. But they'd prevailed, thanks chiefly to the Order of the Phoenix. They'd carried on without Albus, and in the end it had been Snape of all people who had exonerated himself by carrying back word of the Dark Lord's one weakness, the final horcrux. Harry, Remus and the rest of the Order had found it and destroyed it, and then they were able to vanquish the evil Voldemort for good this time. As predicted by the prophecy, it had been Harry who had dealt the final blow, but he knew it had been a group effort.

They'd all received the Order of Merlin, First Class, and Snape and Sirius (posthumously, of course) had been formally cleared by the Ministry. The new Minister of Magic immediately banished the Dementors from Azkaban, though it still overflowed with criminals. It was just an ordinary prison now.

Finally, Minerva had gotten the go-ahead to reopen Hogwarts. The problem was, they'd lost nearly half the staff. Harry had refused her request the first few times. He was still shellshocked by losing so many of his friends. Ron had been killed in the final battle, just before he and Hermione had been set to marry. Those halls would hold far too many memories. But his former teacher was not so easily dissuaded. She had a valid point; there were few who knew as much about Defence as he did. He would be the youngest teacher ever at Hogwarts. He'd be helping to rebuild the Wizarding world. He was a hero, and would give the rest of them hope.

In the end, it was the fact that his parents' house was far too big and too empty to stay in alone any longer. He accepted McGonagall's offer finally, without asking who else had.

So here he was. The doors opened for him, and he strode through them, no longer a student but a teacher.

Severus didn't ask who else had accepted positions, either. He didn't intend to interact with any of the other professors any more than he absolutely had to, so it didn't matter. As he started unpacking his few personal belongings that had survived intact in his old rooms, he wondered if he'd made a mistake. It was eerie being back. The place had a hollow feeling to it, like it was just a replica of where he'd spent so many years of his life.

He hadn't protested when Minerva asked him back. He needed a job, anyway. Heroism didn't pay much, and most of the wizarding world wasn't convinced he was actually a hero, anyway. That was hardly surprising. He was used to it. He'd ceased to care about it. He hadn't shown up for the ceremonial bullshit at the end of the war. He hadn't wanted to face everyone and see the suspicion in their eyes still, though he'd risked his own life dozens of times to defeat Voldemort.

He was tempted not to attend Minerva's little dinner to welcome all the new staff. He wasn't really new staff, after all. But perhaps it wouldn't hurt to just make a brief appearance. Minerva was nearly the only person he'd spoken to since the end of the war. He wasn't completely convinced his voice still worked.

Headmistress McGonagall stood at the head of the table, beaming and looking slightly nervous. The great hall was empty save for one long table, and the new faculty members of Hogwarts were filing in solemnly. Little Professor Flitwick was there, climbing up on a specially made chair, but Hagrid was conspicuous by his absence. Harry walked in, glancing around, recognising nearly no one. He gravitated toward McGonagall automatically, marveling at the fact that he was no longer her student but her peer, nearly.

Severus approached the hall with some trepidation. He had no idea who he would meet there, other than Minerva and Filius. He stood outside the door and took a deep breath. He summoned all the bravado he could manage and pushed through, striding across the long hall, head held high. He noticed Minerva immediately. As he got closer he saw Professor Flitwick, and he nearly smiled at him. And then his eyes fell on another man. He was young; and then it hit him. Harry Potter. His stomach lurched.

He headed for an empty chair at the end of the table, away from everyone else. He didn't look towards Potter again.

Harry was beginning to relax when he spied a very familiar flash of black robes. He looked up just as everyone was sitting down, and he wondered why he was so surprised to see Snape. He found himself staring, a thousand memories coming back to him, all of them strong.

Then Minerva began to speak, welcoming them all, attempting to instill in them a sense of pride and adventure in the task before them. Harry kept stealing glances down the table at Snape, and he wasn't sure why. He looked different somehow. No older, but... different.

Severus took the very first opportunity to escape the uncomfortable social situation. He exchanged a couple of words with Professor Vector near the end of the meal, and then made his exit, retreating back to his dungeons. He was shaking a little when he got there, rattled by the situation more than he thought he ought to have been. He poured himself a glass of scotch, his only luxury anymore, and sat before the fire, soothing his jumbled nerves.

Harry noted Snape's quick departure. He could tell that relations between Gryffindor and Slytherin weren't going to be warming up any time soon. He could barely believe that not only was he going to be teaching at Hogwarts, he was head of Gryffindor as well. He assumed Snape would once again be head of his house.

The dinner broke up relatively early, and Harry spent the last few days before term began planning classes and doing some research. It was harder than he'd thought.

On the morning before classes began, Harry was running a little late. He'd skipped breakfast, so he headed for the staff room to get a cup of coffee before his first class. He walked in, and almost dropped his books when he spied another familiar face. "Remus!" he cried happily, rushing toward the other man.

"Harry!" Remus returned, embracing him and patting him on the back. He held him back by the shoulders, examining his face with an expression of wonder. "Minerva told me you'd be here. I can't think of a better man for the job," he said, grinning broadly.

Harry couldn't stop smiling. He hadn't seen Remus in ages. The older man looked a little grayer, but not too bad. "Where have you been? I've missed you. Did you come to visit?"

"No, actually... I've taken Minerva's old job. I'm teaching Transfiguration. It seems this old place is finally desperate enough to weather the criticism it will surely get having a teacher... well... like me. But medals and whatnot go a long way to reassure people. And, of course, Severus will be supplying me with Wolfsbane again." He released him and stepped back. "Oh Harry, your father would be so proud of you, teaching at Hogwarts, and head of Gryffindor, as well."

Harry hadn't felt this happy in... he actually couldn't remember. "That's brilliant! You and me, both teaching here..." Impulsively, he hugged Remus again, then laughed. "It would be perfect if it wasn't for the old git. Snape's here, too." He wrinkled his nose a little.

Remus smirked. "I doubt Severus will trouble you much. You're not his student anymore, after all." He stuffed his hands down into the pockets of his warm robes. "He was cleared of all wrong-doing, you know," he added gently.

Harry sighed. "I know that. But he still hates me. The feeling's mutual." He frowned. He didn't really hate Snape. There was just something about the older man; somehow Harry couldn't ignore him. "But with you here, I think I can manage!"

Remus tilted his head to one side. "You know hate is a very strong word, Harry. I seriously doubt that Severus hates you. Or that you hate him. Anyway... just steer clear and I'm sure we'll all get along just fine. Just... don't put a boggart in front of a student that's afraid of him, all right?" He laughed a little and clapped him on the shoulder. "Time to get to work, I believe."

Harry snickered. "I'll try to remember that." He grabbed a cup of coffee and headed out the door to teach his very first class.

It was harder than it seemed. The students looked so very young, and there was so much for them to learn. Even with Voldemort dead, there were still a few Death Eaters on the loose. And no doubt someone else would try to grab power. Defence was still necessary. But the children were just in awe of Harry, and wanted to hear stories of the final battle rather than learn.

At the end of the day, Harry collapsed back in the staff room, in a chair in front of the fire.

Severus felt enormously old. It was difficult to get back into his old routine after years away from it. Still, he'd managed to intimidate the whisperers into silence. He didn't have to hear what they were saying to know what they were saying. 'He's the one that killed Dumbledore.' He'd been hearing it since the end of the war, everywhere he went. Apparently, it was one of the violent details that the wizarding world felt comfortable sharing with their 11 year olds.

He slipped into the teacher's lounge, his hand curled around the flask of whiskey in his pocket possessively. He intended to just slip a little into his tea and enjoy a few minutes alone before his first detention began. He hardly noticed someone else in the room as he poured himself a cup of tea. Then his eyes fell on a mass of disheveled black hair above the top of the arm chair. "Oh," he said softly. "Pardon my intrusion." He made his way to the far side of the room and took a seat facing the door.

The silky tones of his former teacher startled Harry, and he sat up straighter unconsciously. He had the urge to flee, but then he wouldn't give the old bat the satisfaction. He looked over at him, making out his hawklike profile. The righteous anger began to bubble up in him again. He couldn't leave it well enough alone. He knew that Dumbledore had been dying already, and that he'd ordered Snape to kill him. It had been the only way for the older man to regain Voldemort's confidence, and without Snape as a spy, they might never have defeated the evil wizard. But that still didn't explain why he had felt he'd had to be such a horrible person to Harry all those years.

Harry set aside his empty cup and stood, striding over to the chair where Snape sat looking surly as ever. "Well, Professor," he said, jaw clenched. "I don't believe I've had a chance to say hello since I've got here." He had no idea why he was doing this. He just had to.

The response tumbled off his lips before he could think better of it. "Not to worry, Professor Potter. I wasn't expecting manners or civility from you. Please, feel free to continue on as you were." He looked away and took a sip of his tea. He realized he probably shouldn't have been so harsh, but there was something in Harry's tone that invited it.

Harry didn't know why he expected anything more from the sour teacher. He was just the same as always. "Why thank you, I shall." He seated himself across from Snape, reveling in the fact that he had no authority over him any more. He studied the man across from him; he looked no older, but maybe a little more tired. He, on the other hand, knew he had changed a great deal. He'd grown taller and more muscular. "So... shall I call you Severus now?" He knew he was pushing, but he couldn't stop.

Severus raised his eyes to Harry's face. "If you feel compelled to pretend our relationship is something approaching cordial, by all means, indulge your delusions. I can hardly stop you, in any case." Clearly the boy... or man, rather, intended to bait him. He meant to look away dismissively again, but something about Potter drew the eye. Perhaps it was how much he'd changed. It was as if every torment, every trial and struggle of the war had manifested itself as beauty in the shape of Harry Potter. Adulthood suited him entirely too well.

Merlin, did the man take lessons in how to be snarky? Harry instantly felt like a 12 year old boy around him. Those glittering black eyes on him made him shiver. "No, you can't stop me, and it must just kill you, mustn't it, *Severus*?" He used the man's name deliberately, not because he wanted to, but because he knew Snape would hate it. Then, of course, he felt petty and annoyed with himself for rising to the bait. He stood abruptly, and said, "I'll leave you to your solitary ruminations, then."

Well. He'd quite successfully alienated the only person who'd made an effort to speak to him in several months, in record time. It left him feeling rather cold and somehow disappointed. Not that there was any chance Potter would ever feel anything but loathing towards him. Perhaps it was just as well. They could avoid each other, and very likely both would be better off for it. Certainly, Severus wouldn't have the first clue about how to conduct a friendly conversation if he was given a script to read from. "Good evening, Professor," he said softly.

Harry paused on his way out the door, considering Snape's final words. Try as he might, he couldn't find any trace of an insult in them. He shook his head as if to clear it, and continued out the door without another word.