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The Second Hundred Years	By : MerryWizards Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 6017 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Second Hundred Years
- 1
TITLE: “The Second Hundred Years”
Email: vickydann@sbcglobal.net
SITE: none
AUTHOR: Rosebeth66
DISCLAIMER: I’m not JKR, hello?? These are her characters, not mine. Just having
fun like everyone else.
DISTRIB: merrywizards
SPOILERS: You mean that someone out there actually hasn’t read books 1-5? What
on earth is your problem? Go away and stop wasting our time! And by
the way, the ship sinks at the end of “Titanic!”
SUMMARY: Elderly Headmaster Snape is sent back in time with Fawkes.
PAIRINGS: SS/HP.
RATING: Mild R - for languand and sexual references.
A/N: Written for the Merrywizards Secret Santa challenge 2003. #8
REQUESTED: Pairing SS/HP (delivered) Type: romance, angsty (delivered)

PROLOGUE – 1998

In the end, it wasn’t a Slytherin who betrayed Hogwarts. Well, not technically. It was Argus Filch, Lowlife Squib. Why hadn’t anyone seen that one coming? You might wonder as to his motivation – considering the Dark Lord had as little love for Squibs as he did for Muggles. Well. In Himself’s typically seductive way, he’d promised the bitter caretaker the “reward” of a certain ancient Dark spell able to germinate seeds of magic inside powerless purebloods. Classic Voldemort bullshit, of course, but convincing enough for that gullible old prick, Argus, to reveal crucial information about a certain long-forgotten entrance to the school leading from Hogsmeade.

When the Death Eaters appeared in the Great Hall on that fateful June morning, by all rights, it should have been a massacre. Voldemort and his most powerful followers against several hundred children and barely a dozen teachers. But in his typical blindness and arrogance, the Dark Lord had failed to reckon with two things: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy?

No surprise with Potter. He was born to astonish, dazzle, and rise to every occasion. But Draco shocked everyone that day, with the exception of two people – Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore. At the end of 6th year, Lucius Malfoy had beaten him within an
\inch of his life when the boy displeased him. Apparently, his son had raised objections to certain required practices of full-fledged Death Eaters. Rape neither interested him, nor appealed to the boy’s vanity. If any form of copulation did not include at least one of the following breathless phrases-

“Oh, Draco!”
“More, Draco!”
“Again, please, Draco!”

-well, then…it wasn’t something the young Slytherin found remotely appetizing. Sex was a private thing to the fastidious Draco. Not to mention the straw that broke the hippogriff’s back – the infamous Initiation Ceremony. The Dark Lord burning a permanent tattoo onto his perfect pale flesh was one thing – and a quick kiss…well, (ick!) alright. But Voldemort was not going to put any part of his nauseatingly decayed anatomy inside any moist crevice belonging to Draco Malfoy, thank you, very much!

Draco had spent the autumn of his 7th year quietly canvassing his fellow housemates for similar stirrings of discontent. To his surprise, he’d actually managed to enlist the loyalties of Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle – all three of whom had also been battered by their Death Eater fathers one time too often. And so, instead of standing by passively during the Battle of Hogwarts, the four most hated Slytherins entered the fray and saved the lives of dozens of their classmates. When Draco stepped in front of Ron Weasley to deflect the Burning Curse, his own life changed forever. He would never be handsome again, but he would be loved, cosseted and adored by the entire Weasley family for the rest of his days.

But nothing would match the heroics of Harry Potter. Death Eater after Death Eater went down before his vengeful wand until he cleared the protective gauntlet around the Dark Lord. The Great Duel, as it would forever be known throughout the wizarding world, lasted over an hour. Every protective spell that bound the building had already been dissolved – one moment the two nemeses were going head to head in the Hall – the next moment – Voldemort and Potter were apparating through every level of the Castle, sparks of green igniting in their wake. The two most powerful wizards of their time battled each other in the Astronomy Tower, in the Greenhouses, in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, in the Hufflepuff Common Room, in Dumbledore’s office, in the kitchens and even in the Chamber of Secrets. In the end, there wasn’t a window left unshattered, a stone wall not pitted with blastmarks, a chair or table unsplintered or even a painting unscorched.

But it was back in the Great Hall, in f of of his teachers, schoolmates and the handful of surviving Death Eaters, that Harry Potter finally delivered his last Avada Kedavra and destroyed Voldemort forever. It was the crowning moment of his life –an explosion of relief, celebration and joy. Even Snape was smiling as he stood before the weary young Gryffindor and extended his hand in congratulations. Potter beamed back at his Potions Professor. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Sir. Never without you.”

“How touchingly humble, Mr. Potter,” the older man countered gruffly, but there was a strange glow in his eyes that Harry had never seen before.

The young man held onto his hand for a what seemed a moment longer than necessary. “Sir, I was wondering if…”

Snape would never know exactly what the boy had been about to ask him, because that was the instant when it all went horribly wrong. A vengeful, forgotten and rather bloodied Lucius Malfoy apparated out of nowhere, wand drawn and poised to strike. The pale-haiDeatDeath Eater had lost everything. His worthless son had betrayed him, his Lord was dead, and his honor destroyed. Before anyone could stop him, the enraged Lucius aimed a Killing Curse at the traitorous bastard who was the true source of his fury – Severus Snape.

It all happened so quickly, that no one could react to prevent it. Harry Potter swung himself in front of the Potions Master, shielding him from the deadly spell. The green light burned into his own chest, instead. A split second later, a dozen Avada Kedavras sizzled into Lucius Malfoy from all directions, but it ’t m’t matter now. Severus Snape stared down numbly at the motionless boy in his arms.

Harry Potter was dead.

************ ************ ************ ************ ************

HOGWARTS
Christmas, 2059

Headmaster Severus Snape wrapped his dark green cloak more tightly around his thin body as he stared out the tall windows of the mficeficent tower room. He’d left the Christmas banquet early again this year. His colleagues seemed to accept the usual excuse that he was rather tired these days. The truth was, he’d always found the holidays unbearable. He’d stare down the long, over-decorated table at the staff and few remaining students, and start remembering all those Christmases that Harry Potter had spent at the school because he’d had no real family anywhere else. And then he’d recall how unkindly he’d treated him each of those Christmases. How much would it have hurt to have given the child a single gift, no matter how inexpensive? And what would it have cost to give him even one kind word? A single gesture of encouragement, instead of years of endless sneers.

Years of endless sneers? You’re getting quite poetic in your old age, Severus.

He never expected to live past the age of forty. He’d been sure Voldemort would find a particularly painful and disgusting manner of death for his prize traitor. Instead, he’d outlived that Snake-Eyed abomination by over 60 years. He’d outlived them all. Lucius Malfoy. Lestrange. Avery. MacNair. Even that useless prick, Fudge. Wel Well, those were just the worthless bastards. He tried not to think of the others. Black. Lupin. Flitwick. Dumbledore. Pot…no. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about Potter. A shudder ran though his body. Even now, six decades later…it was still too much too bear.

But it’s your fault he died Your. Bloody. Fault.

Harry Potter. He’d been gone now for most of Snape’s life. How was it possible that barely seven short years could leave such a hole, such a crater of emptiness, longing and regret-

Oh, shut up, Severus, you maudlin old fool! Do you realize how ludicrous, how utterly pathetic you sound?

This painful reverie was mercifully interrupted by an soft trilling and he turned around to gaze fondly at Fawkes. The magnificent bird had adopted Snape long before he’d even succeeded Albus Dumbledore as headmaster. Fawkes had belonged to him ever since that dreadful day of the Battle of Hogwarts. Back then, he couldn’t even remember fleeing the Great Hall after Harry’s body had been taken away by officials from the Ministry. Snape had barely manage con control himself long enough to reach the wreckage of his dungeons, before he sank down onto the cold stone floor angan gan sobbing at last.

He simply collapsed into a ball, not even noticing the rubble of upturned desks and exploded benches. Shards of glass from smashed bottles pierced his legs though the thin robes. Snape could have cared less.

Harry Potter was dead! The boy who was more than a decent human being, and a brave soul. He had died at what should have been the moment of his highest triumph – died saving his life. No one had ever given a damn for Snape, certainly no one haer ser sacrificed himself to save him before. But there was no relief in his being alive now. Just an odd, aching kind of emptiness. A hollow, unrelenting pit of despair.

All these sensations might have faded with time, except for the snowy white owl which chose that precise moment to fly into the dungeons and drop a small piece of parchment onto the floor next to him. Almost mechanically, he unrolled the letter and began to read. His fingers gripped the paper as he recognized the handwriting from seven years of Potions essays.

ear ear Professor Snape –

I have this deal with Hedwig that if anything ever happens to me, she’ll
deliver this note to you.

Okay, so I’m dead. I’ll bet it was Voldemort-related. I mean, I’m pretty
sure I wasn’t hit by a bus. The point is, there are some things I’ve wanted to tell
you this past year, and I know I’ll never have the nerve to say them to your face.
Did you know that the Sorting Hat wanted to place me in Slytherin? I always
wondered what would have happened if I’d followed its advice. Harry Potter,
Slytherin. Would you have looked at me any differently? It matters that you
might have liked me. I believe we could have been – oh, what the hell – friends.
There. I said it . So, sue me. I’m dead, how embarrassed can I be now?

Allright. I’ve gone this far. I like you. Correction, I really like you. That’s
why it hurts so much when you – Okay. What?? You think that’s bad? I more
than really like you. I dream about – never mind! I’m The Boy Who Fucking
Lived. I went head to head with Voldemort four times – I can at least tell
Somebody that I love - oh, Hell! I’m going to die a virgin. Being dead sucks.

Yours always,
Harry”

Oh, Gods! The paper crumpled between shaking hands. Potter had loved him? Him! Severus Snape, greasy, unlovable, nasty-tempered git! Wave after wave of anguish ripped through him. All this time, he had been loved by this brave, kind and beautiful creature whom he’d treated with only callousness and contempt. Even during the torturous Cruciatus sessions administered by Voldemort – when he thought his bones would implode inside his body – heeverever felt such agony.

Snape’s sobs crescendoed into loud, keening wails. He cried for Harry. He cried for himself. He cried for lost chances and what might have been his, if only fate had been kinder, and he hadn’t been such a blidioidiot.

And that was the first time Fawkes came to him. It hadn’t even occurred to him then that the exquisite crimson creature had never appeared in his dungeons before. It alit next to him on the cratered floor, and beady eyes stared directly into Snape’s soul. And then it did something he’d never expected. The bird brushed its head against his own in a gesture of infinite understanding and tenderness.

Then it began to sing. Phoenix song requires no words. It’s an enchantment which cuts to the very depths of one’s heart to soothe and transform – to comfort and heal.

Something strange bubbled up from within Severus at that moment. The hard-faced, black crow of a man who didn’t have aicalical bone in body, began to sing along in exquisite accompaniment. Fawkes blinked, as if to express disbelief, and drew closer to the grief-ravaged human. And the beautiful, calming song continued.

The picture of that fateful June day so many years past, faded from Snape’s mind. He was back in his exceedingly comfortable leather armchair. He stared up at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. It was regarding him with a vague smile – almost conspiratorial.

Snape sighed. Even now, the former Headmaster seemed to be hiding something behind that benevolent expression. Then he noticed all the other portraits which hung around the circular room. They all seemed to be gazing at him strangely.

Well, Severus grumbled to himself. He’d probably look a bit odd, too, once his time came and his own “dead headmaster” picture joined the others on the wall of honor.

Not that he was in any particular hurry to shuffle off his mortal coil. It was simply that he was finding it hard to care one way or the other. He’d already achieved his greatest ambition. At tge oge of fifty-nine he’d become the youngest Headmaster in the history of Hogwarts. People said he had mellowed with age, and become quite easy-going and likable.

Easy-going and likable? He gave a derisive snort. Of course, a man’s character could change once he was admired, respected and psychotic dark wizards were no longer torturing him on a weekly basis. If one went by that measure, Snape certainly was a different person today.

His personality had softened with the passage of time. So much was different now. Take Hogwarts, for example. The rivalries between the houses, especially Gryffindor and Slytherin, had become less hostile and more good-natured.

It had much to do with the fact that people were simply weary after all that war and death. The wizarding world, in general, just wanted peace and quiet. Most of the old hatreds had finally faded from pure exhaustion.

And all that inter-marriage between houses hadn’t hurt, either. Snape had to smile. Gregory Goyle and Hannah Abbott – nobody saw that one coming. Millicent Bulstrode and Colin Creevy – the oddsmakers in Knockturn Alley could have made a bushel of galleons right there! Of course, the two very oddest ones were off the board completely:

The first was Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy. After the devastating battle, with his father dead and mother quietly going insane in St. Mungo’s – the badly burned young Slytherin had been placed under the care of an extremely grateful Weasley family. It is true that Draco had always held them in contempt. But that had been partially due to his father’s attitude, and also the hostile response of all the Weasley children. Imagine, suddenly, that the irascible twins who had dogged your life for six years – now consider you a little brother to be protected and admired. The freckle-faced boy who could never pronounce your name without a snarl – now calls you “The Drakester,” with open affection. The pretty red-headed girl who shot nothing but glares in your direction – now views you as the world’s greatest hero.

Well. Draco Malfoy had never experienced the wonder of siblings before. How could his snotty, arrogant façade not melt before such a loving onslaught? And when his relationship with Ginny Weasley developed into a deeper love, nobwas was more surprised than Draco, himself. Like all good Weasleys, his wife went on to present him with numerous children, including a set of twin girls who were both sorted into Slytherin. Draco often remarked wryly, that those two blonde demons made their parents suffer worse than any Cruciatus curse. And he should know. Harriet and Molly Malfoy made Fred and George look like Neville Longbottom.

Ah, Mr. Longbottom. Perhaps the greatest shock of them all. While it had been long known that the boy had been suffering the after-effects of Cruciatus administered as an infant – nobody had ever realized that there was actually a cure. Who knew that the kiss of a part-blood Veela could fix that? Thank you, Gabrielle Delacour!

Neville Longbottom was currently in his thirtieth year as the Minister of Magic. He was so capable and popular that it was impossible to find any witch or wizard willing to replace him. Neville considered the Headmaster to be one of his greatest friends. He often told him, over numerous mugs of spiked butterbeer, that he owed his life to his former professor. The fact was, after all those years of being intimidated by Snape during potions class, the final confrontation with a horde of angry Death Eaters didn’t seem so bad.

Snape stared out the tall windows again. The snow was falling softly, and everything was hushed into silence. He thought of all those happy couples. He’d taught their children. Their children’s children. On and on. Why couldn’t he have had a family that gave a damn about him? It had nothing to do with children or parents, really. Just that one person – a life’s companion. Being alone like this sucked on every conceivable level. But it had truly been Snape’s own fault. He hadn’t wanted anyone else – hadn’t needn’t anyone else - if he couldn’t have that one person with those unmistakable green eyes. Shit. He was crying again. Just like every Christmas for the past sixty years!

Bloody hell! He’d turned into the world’s greatest wimp and simply couldn’t care less!

He snorted derisively and downed another goblet of ancient brandy. Well, now. Right on schedule. Isn’t this the part where you pass out in your chair, only to be awakened the next morning by a house elf named Tinky, Pinky or Dinky carrying a pitcherful of WizardsEase Best Hangover Cure? Ah, yes. Quite. Who was Snape to tamper with his own holiday tradition? He poured himself another and raised his glass again.

To absent friends!

Oh, now really! That portrait of Albus Dumbledore was actually winking now! Didn’t that man ever stop? And what was with that damn twinkle? Snape did not believe in twinkling. Malicious gleam, of course. Evil glitter, certainly. But twinkle, never! It seemed almost as if –

He felt the rush of air behind him and Fawkes fluttered down in front of him.

Well, hello there, old sport! Care for a nip of Yuletide cheer?

Fawkes was doing it, too. Staring at him with the strangest expression in those liquid eyes. It was curious, really. Almost as if the bird were trying to tell him something. But what? Fawkes started trilling and the sound, which had always been so sweet and soothing – suddenly grew louder and louder, until it became painful…deafening. Snape dropped his goblet and it shattered on the floor. He covered up his ears but the noise punctured on through him. He might have started yelling, but there was no way of knowing. He could no longer hear a sound.

And Fawkes himself began to change. He glowed brighter and brighter and exploded into an incendiary ball. Snape had barely an instant to react – to step back and shield his face – before he, too, was engulfed by the bright red flames.

***************** ****************** ******************

Hogwarts
November, 1997

“…Another fifty points from Gryffindor if I see you helping Mr. Longbottom again, Miss Grang-“ Snape froze in mid-sentence. What was he saying? Why was he wearing his old black teaching robes? And where exactly the hell was he? Certainly not in his private quarters in the Headmaster’s Tower.

He was now standing in the potions classroom, apparently in the middle of a lesson. It all seemed eerily familiar. In the front row, a bushy, brown-haired girl glanced nervously at the quivering, moon-faced boy next to her – his shaking hands about to melt another unfortunate cauldron.

Granger and Longbottom???

Gone was the confident, distinguished gray-haired Minister Longbottom. Gone was the sleekly beautiful Professor of Charms, Granger-Weasley. It was as if he’d gone back in time-

Calm down, Severus. There must be a logical explanation. Ah, of course! You’re having a vivid dream. That’s it. A dream. As one cannot feel pain in a dream, simply confirm this hypothesis like so-

He hastily slammed his hand down on the desk, and gave a yelp of astonished pain. A trickle of blood ran down his wrist.

Oh. Right, then. Not a dream.

“Professor, are you alright?” the concerned voice of Draco Malfoy intruded on his spinning brain. He snapped his head up. The entire potions class was staring at him, as if he’d just grown two more heads. Oh, Gods, it was Malfoy – young and unscarred. All of them so very young. Parkinson. Goyle. Zabini. Weasley. Potter.

Potter???

Harry James Potter with his disheveled black hair, wire spectacles and emerald eyes. Harry James Potter, pale and slender and alive – a spectre rising from Snape’s fevered memories. The vision that had haunted his dreams all these years.

Severus, you idiot!. It’s not a dream. You just fractured your wrist. Fawkes went up in flames and took you with him. Into the past!!!

The scent of rosemary oil pervaded the room, and the unmistakable pale blue smoke rose from each cauldron. The Tranquilitus Balm. Standard seventh year mastery potion. Requisite part of the Fall curriculum. That would mean - this was 1997. He was back in bloody 1997!

What in the name of Merlin is going on here, Fawkes?

As if on cue, a blur of crimson and gold flew into the potions classroom, and perched itself on the de It It leaned against Snape’s shoulder, in the familiar pose of a long-time friend. Snape absently stroked the gentle bird, just as he had for the past sixty years. Fawkes blinked and something wet and glistening dropped onto the man’s hand.

Phoenix tears. Healing tears.

Instantly, the pain in his hand was gone. Ah, much better.

Thank you, old friend. Now, perhaps you’d like to tell me exactly what’s going on.

The phoenix began to trill and Severus Snape hummed in harmony. It was a ritual the two had observed for years. Fawkes simply adored the low, silky register of Snape’s voice. Quite flattering, really…to have an enchanted creature, in fact, any living creature, adore something about Severus Snape. The bird did wonders for his ego.

A new song, isn’t it, Fawkes? Quite lovely, that.

They both stopped trilling, and the magical bird brushed its velvety head against Snape’s cheek. With a graceful flutter of scarlet and gilt, Fawkes took to the air and whooshed out of the open dungeon door. And in that moment, he finally understood. A phoenix lived forever because it could travel not merely in body, but in spirit. For Fawkes, there was no past, no present, no future. Time meant nothing to this mystical bird – just an insignificant barrier to sail though, like an open window.

And this time, Fawkes had taken Snape with him.

But just his consciousness. A hasty glance at the small, pewter framed mirror in the top drawer of his desk proved the point. The silvery-haired, hundred year-old shell that was his physical self had been left behind in 2059. Staring back at him was his younger self. Black hair. Hmm, rather oily, but that could be remedied. Sallow, but unlined skin. The same ebony eyes surrounded by far fewer crinkles, and not a single white hair sprinkled his brows. Just as a man in his late thirties should look.

He was young again!

Belatedly, Snape noticed the room had lapsed into a shocked silence. Twenty pairs of eyes stared back at him in utter astonishment. Even Malfoy’s tradement smirk had dissolved into a dropped jaw. And once again, there was Harry Potter’s steady, thoughtful gaze. Warmth flooded through him.

Alive. Potter is alive!

Somewhere, there was a cough, and Malfoy’s puzzled voice spoke up again. “Professor?” Snape snapped out of his reverie and forced down the bubble of joy that pervaded his heart. He needed time to think, to understand, to fully comprehend what miracle had just occurred. But Snape couldn’t help it. He felt so good! Potter lived, and he could barely contain himself from rushing over and embracing the dear, sweet boy –

Watch it there, Severus!

He hastily turned his attention to poor, harassed Neville. “Minis – Mr. Longbottom…” His voice tried to maintain a condescending drawl, but instead sounded almost respectful. “Just try to have fun with it!”

“Fun, Sir?” Neville wore his usual deer-in-headlights expression.

Snape strode over to the boy’s cauldron and gave a sniff. “Drop in your Venus stems now…just let them fall gently….that’s right.” He gave an approving nod as Neville shakily followed his instructions.

“Well done, Mr. Longbottom. Ten points to Gryffindor for not blowing us up today!” Neville absolutely beamed. The rest of the class exchanged bewildered glances. There was Malfoy again, his eyebrow raised curiously.

He stalked back to his desk, amidst the hushed silence. Ah, no. This would never do. He dare not risk revealing himself nor arousing undo suspicions. Certainly not in the midst of this gaggle of conniving Slytherins and nosy Gryffindors. Not yet, anyway.
Come now, Severus. The old you. Your pompous, greasy git younger self. Remember how insufferably arrogant you sounded back then? Let’s give it a try, shall we?

He affected his most convincing sneer. “Yet another exercise in utter futility comes to a merciful close. Might I congratulate Gryffindor on a dazzling display of witless incompetence! Class dismissed!”

There was a low murmur of surprise. Snape releasing the class ten minutes early? Unheard of! “He’s got a bug up his arse for sure,” murmured Ron. “Strange, though…being so nice to Neville!”

“Sshh, Ron! He’ll hear you?” hissed Hermoine.

Snape gave a barely contained chuckle. His old self would have given that red-headed imp a week of detentions with Filch, but this particular Snape had grown to respect and admire Mr. Weasley, who had become a brilliant and courageous Auror.

“Ron’s right. Something’s definitely odd about Snape,” said Harry Potter quietly. “That thing with Fawkes…”

“Who knew the greasy git was musical?” muttered Ron.

“It’s more than that.” Something was different . Something hadngednged. Those brilliant green eyes furtively glanced towards the potions desk once more. Snape caught the glance and a frisson of excitement shot up his spine. He had to talk to the boy. To see him up close. Bask in his presence.

Get hold of yourself, Severus! He’s only seventeen and you’re his professor. Remember? His nasty-tempered Potions Master? The utter prig who’s been tormenting him for thst sst seven years?

The green eyes were staring quite openly now. Wonderfulvelyvely jeweled eyes. Suddenly, Potter seemed to realize that Snape was staring back. Embarrassed, the boy blushed and turned away hastily retrieving his books.

Wait. He blushed?

Snape cleared his throat. “Mr. Potter,” he boomed icily. “You will stay.”
The boy froze immediately, then gave a resigned sigh. He gestured to his friends to go on ahead. Hermoine and Ron shook their heads sympathetically and left the room.

Ah, Severus. You utter prick! A most magnificent homage to your old self!

But he couldn’t help himself. He’d dreamt of this for over six decades. What if Fawkes’ magic was only temporary? How dare he squander such a delicious opportunity? All that mattered was now, this moment! A second chance!

“You wanted to speak to me, Professor?” Potter was asking now. He stood uncomfortably at the potions desk, his gaze now hooded.

Ah, Harry. You have no idea what I want!

The boy was standing so much closer now. Snape suppressed a shiver, remembering. The last time the Harry had been this close had been that dreadful moment, when he had stepped in front of Snape to shield him from the Killing Curse.

You know what you want to do, you greasy git! Just do it, already!

“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter.”

“I beg your pardon, Professor?” Sorry for what, Harry wondered, slightly panicked. It wasn’t possible that Snape had seen into his mind again? Please, no! Not the part where he’d had those inexplicably lustful fantasies about his potions teacher. No, impossible! Think logically, Harry. It had to be something else. Alright, then. How had he managed to offend the potions master today? What unreasonable and nasty punishment was Snape about to bestow upon him now?

The frigid mask melted from the older man’s face, and it made him look almost nice. “I’m agizigizing to you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry stared back in disbelief. Somehow he managed to find his voice. “Apologizing for what, Sir?”

Snape smiled. He actually smiled. “I’ve been a bastard and I’m sorry. My behavior to you has been appalling.”

Is that relief on the boy’s face? What did he think I was going to say?

Harry was too stunned to reply. Snape apologizing? Snape smiling? Snape actually calling himself a bastard? And how to explain the oddest thing of all. Snape’s sudden affinity with Fawkes. The phoenix’s unexpected appearance in the potions classroom, and that unearthly duet. Harry thought he’d heard every phoenix legend – but he’d never known a phoenix could sing with a human in such perfect, exquisite harmony. And of all humans, Snape? He simply couldn’t get the picture out of his . A. At that momenrillrilling with the phoenix, Snape had seemed beautiful.

Harry stared down at his shoes, mortified. He was in love with Severus Snape! The man who had despised his father, his godfather, and most of all, him! Every day, it just seemed to get worse, too. He’d fallen in love with the dark-haired potions master this past summer, after another intense series of private Occlumency lessons. Harry’s feelings for the older man had grown the each time he’d witnessore ore painful, sometimes even horrifying events in his past. Snape had suffered brutally in his life, and he had borne most of it alone. It might sound odd to an outsider, but Harry was starting to believe that he had more in common with Snape than anyone else he had ever known. In a sense, they were kindred spirits. Well, except for the fact that Snape hated his guts.

“Harry,” came the familiar silky drawl. “Things are going to be different from now on. You might say, I’ve had a revelation.” Snape extended a hand to his student. “Consider us friends.”

In mute amazement, Harry Potter shook hands with Severus Snape, for the first time in his life. The professor’s fingers felt warm and vital as they lingered on his flesh. Snape was touching him! Harry prayed the man couldn’t feel his quivering, but didn’t want him to release his strong grip, either. This unexpected contact was secretly thrilling the Gryffindor.

You touched him, Severus! Enough! Do you want the boy to see how aroused you are?

Harry Potter was blushing again.

Did you see that? You could probably pull him into your arms his minute and he wout obt object. He’s actually quivering! Why, at this moment, a kiss wouldn’t be out of the question, either. Just one quick kiss on that beautiful mouth of his. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Severus? After spending the past sixty years dreaming about making love to Potter!

But Snape was a patient man who had been given the gift of time. He had absolutely no intention of doing anything so foolish. The boy was still a student, after all. And appearances to the contary, Severus was still ninety-nine years old. Or at least, he had been merely ten minutes ago. And nearly hundred year-old men did not go around kissing seventeen year-old schoolboys.

, at, at least until they graduated.

The potions master hastily released his grip on Harry’s hand, and gave him a thin smile. “About that revelation. Remind me to tell you about it – on the last day of class. Go and join your friends now, Mr. Potter.” Without another word, Snape turned and strode from the room with a great flare of his black robes.

Nobody can billow a robe like I used to! You’ve still got it, old man!

He didn’t need eyes in the back of his head to know that Harry Potter was staring at his wake in utter disbelief and confusion. He’d enjoy thinking about that later. Right now, there were serious matters to discuss with Albus Dumbledore…particularly, the matter of a certainl, cl, conniving, soon-to-be-unemployed Hogwarts caretaker.

***************** ******************** ********************

HOGWARTS
June 1998

The Battle of Hogwarts was over, and the castle stood proudly, if not a little worse for wear. Classrooms were still wrecked and windows still shattered, but this time things had gone a litdiffdifferently.

Snape understood the futility of trying to change the past. No matter how he might try to prevent it, there was still a destined confrontation between the forces of Darkness and Light. On the other hand, there was nothing wrong with tweaking the outcome, just a little.

Since his arrival back in Fall of 1997, he had revealed his true circumstances to Dumbledore. To say the old man was astounded upon witnessing the numerous memories in his Pensieve was an understatement. But it was difficult to dispute the cold, hard evidence of Snape’s memories. Eventually, other highly placed members of the Order were let into the secret, and they spent many hours replaying the battle in that pensieve over and over again, until they recognized each Death Eater and his attack strategy.

It was decided that Voldemort and his minions should continue to believe that Filch’s betrayal had been undetected. Meanwhile, numerous boobytraps were set inside the tunnel from Hogsmeade. Under cover of night, most of the younger students had been flooed away to undisclosed locations. It was still impossible to alert many other Aurors who might have aided in the fight, because it was still not known (and never would be) exactly how corrupted the Ministry of Magic had become under Fudge.

It was surprising how few things shifted in the outcome. Draco Malfoy still heroically saved a Weasley from the Burning Curse. Oddly, it was George, this time, who had accompanied his twin with other members of the Order, to aid in the defense of Hogwarts. Goyle still saved his Hufflepuffs, and Crabbe still stood side by side with Seamus and Lavender.

Harry still delivered the coup de grace to Voldemort inside the Great Hall. But this time, Snape was ready for Lucius. The elder Malfoy was the first Death Eater to fall in the Battle of Hogwarts – struck down by a harsh “Avada Kedavra” from Snape’s own hand.

And now, it was the end of June, and the long school year had come to an end at last. Amidst the elves and other workers who would spend that summer repairing the damage to the castle – there stood Snape, in his chambers, waiting.

He had changed the past. Well, the important parts. He’d saved Harry and that was all that mattered. Did that mean he would now be hurled back to his future? Or would Fawkes allow him to stay and live out his second hundred years right here? The truth was, he could bear anything, if that future had Harry in it. Even if the young man was destined not to belong to him, it didn’t matter. He lived and that was enough for Snape. Somewhere in this world, Harry Potter would be alive. And that would have to do.

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” he uttered nervously. Ah, and here he was, at last. No longer wearing his Hogwarts robes. Just a dark tee-shirt and well-fitting Muggle jeans. Must he always look so damned…attractive? “Potter,” he muttered blandly.

“Professor,” he began…then stopped. “Now that I’ve graduated, I thought we might…talk.”

Snape took a step towards him. “Talk about what, Mr. Potter?”

The young man shifted uneasily on his feet. “First of all, you might want to start calling me ‘Harry.’”

“Indeed?”

“Considering we’ve just been through a life and death battle, Severus.” He tried out the name aloud. It sounded…well, lovely. Severus. Sev…oh, my! The older man was standing even closer now. His cool breath practically wafting across Harry’s cheek…

“Harry.” The name was liquid silk on his lips. “What are your plans now?” Snape couldn’t prevent the slight edge to his voice. “Off to celebrate your victory? Baskthe the accolades of your numerous admirers? Taking up that offer of Reserve Seeker for Puddlemere United?”

“Actually, no.”

“Hmm?” Snape couldn’t resist now. He ran a slender finger across Harry’s lower lip, and felt him tremble.

“Uh, the point is…I’m not interested in a life outside of Hogwarts.” The boy’s voice broke off and he stilled the caressing finger with his own hand. “Why would I want to be anywhere else when-“ Emerald eyes bore into Snape’s heart.

“When what?” He tried to sound casual, but the words came out like a croak.

“I saw inside your Pensieve, Severus. I’d heard about it from Dumbledore.”

That wily old coot! Meddling again! On the other hand, why not? Things seem to be proceeding nicely. Quite nicely, indeed.

It was Snape’s fingers now gripped the boy’s chin. “And exactly what did you see, Harry?”

“The future,” he gave a convulsive swallow. Those firm fingers felt so…delicious. “I saw the original battle. How I died. How you…felt. How you…cared.”

“Well, then. Apparently, all our cards are on the table now, aren’t they?” The Potions Master continued to affect a casual tone, even as his arms reached out and grasped him around his slender waist.

But it was Harry’s turn to shock him when he leaned into the embrace and wrapped his own aarouaround the older man’s neck. Snape gave a groan. Sixty years was long enough to wait. His mouth swooped down to conquer Harry’s own. Ah, Ah, and well worth waiting for!

The boy sighed and opened his lips to taste Snape’s heated tongue. The professor tasted of mint, cinnamon and fine brandy. He could savor him forever. But soon, the gentle probing of tongues was no longer enough. Snape lifted Harry up and staggered back into his chair, hoisting his lover onto his lap. Harry thrilled be free at last to touch and taste this man to his heart’s content. And it delighted him. This dawning awareness that Snape was thrilled as well…he was practically purring.

Harry fed on Snape’s neck, overjoyed at his growl of approval, as he managed to unfasten the stiff row of buttons and expose the pale skin of the potion master’s chest. “God, Harry!” came the strangled moan.

And then, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to find themselves in Snape’s bed, wrapped in the heat of each other’s bare skin…as they began to drive each other onwards in the exquisite race for fulfillment. Harry was cng ong out Severus’ name over and over again, whimpering how much he needed and loved him. Amidst the hot tangle of intertwined limbs, Severus cried out his own words of love between breathless gasps. He was holding Harry. Come what may, Harry was his. He would keep him forever.

************* ************ ************ ******** ************

EPILOGUE
Hogwarts, Christmas 2059

As usual, it had been a delightful holiday feast. Still, the headmaster’s favorite time was now – sitting in front of the fireplace in his private quarters with his husband.

“Another brandy, darling?” he asked contentedly.

Severus shook his head and put down his empty goblet. “I’ve had more than enough, Harry, love.”

“Bed then?” the Headmaster gave a wink.

“Most definitely bed.” Snape drew himself up from the couch and pulled Harry up beside him. These past sixty years had been the happiest of his life. Harry had remained at Hogwarts to take up the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, and Severus had bcontcontent to continue on as Potions Master.

When Harry was offered the post of Headmaster twenty years later, he at first refused. He knew that the job was destined for Snape, and was reluctant to take it from his husband. But Severus was adamant. As far as he was concerned, Harry had been born to be Headmaster. Who else had his gifts, his character, his unique powers? Had fate not stood in the way the first time, Harry would have been Headmaster all along.

Besides, Snape was happy to return to his first love, potions. He didn’t need the ego stroke of a being Headmaster. He’d already served in that position for forty years. As Muggles were so fondsayisaying - “Been there, done that!”

No, thought Severus Snape, as he led his husband into their bedroom. He already had everything he’d ever wanted.

And somewhere in the Hogwarts’ highest tower, Fawkes gave a contented trill.

-FINIS-

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The Second Hundred Years