Written for QLFC S3 - Round 2 for our seeker.

It was hard, in the beginning.

…

She remembered him from back then, even now with her smooth skin turned wrinkled and her sharp voice gone dull. She remembered his limp hair, his dark scowl, his defensive posture like the world was pressing down down down on him and would never let him up. She remembered those wide eyes turning slowly away.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said, smiling, always smiling. "Meet our new Potions Master, Severus Snape."

She remembered those eyes turning black.

The boy (no— a man now) sneered disdainfully down at her.

"Minerva," he said, coldly. "Pleasure."

"Severus," she said back, not letting her surprise show on her face. "How nice to see you again."

They stood in Albus' office with the sun casting deep shadows over all of their faces. The portraits of the previous headmaster's dozed in the evening naps. It was just the three of them.

"If you'll excuse me," he said abruptly, breaking the silence. "I have things to be doing." With a terse nod at the two of them, he turned on his heel and strode away to the dungeons.

They observed his fading back and the door as it slammed shut behind him.

"Do watch over him, Minerva," Dumbledore said at last, turning to her. "He needs it."

"Of course, Albus," Minerva said. The image of his back, still hunched over and tense, remained in her mind long after they had both left.

…

They prepared for the students to come, same as always. It was a routine as ingrained in them as Hogwarts itself, and it would not change for something so trivial.

When they bumped into each other in the halls it was a small, polite nod. When they required something of each other it was a short, curt sentence exchange.

And then came Quidditch season.

She hadn't noticed back then (back then, back then, she was always thinking of back then and the students she had loved dearly), but the new Slytherin team soon proved his determination. By the end of his first year, the undefeated Gryffindor's, the brave and the wild, had fallen off their throne. The one thing she registered through her shock was his face, smug and entirely too self-satisfied for his own good.

She wasn't angry, she firmly told herself. It was a win, fair and square.

But oh, he was going down.

The next time she slipped into his classroom to grab some ingredients, Minerva disdainfully looked at the House Cup trophy sitting proudly on his desk.

"It won't be there for long," she remarked.

His eyebrow raised in an entirely sardonic manner as he continued stirring the cauldron in front of him

"I wouldn't be so sure," he snarked at her, and she rolled her eyes back at him.

(And for one glorious moment, she forgot that he used to be the skinny boy she hadn't saved from bullying)

...

And so it went. And so it got better.

Until it didn't.

...

She heard them before she saw them. The door to the Headmaster's office was thick, but not thick enough to completely muffle the sound of outraged yelling.

"—can't believe what you're doing!"

That voice was most definitely Severus. Another voice followed, but it was quieter and she couldn't hear through the door.

Minerva made it to the top step and knocked firmly on the wood. There's a pause before:

"Come in."

Minerva entered the room, taking stock of the situation as she strode inside. Dumbledore was seated with his fingers steeped in front of him, and Severus was standing stiff in front of his desk. His face was red in anger.

"Is anything the wrong?" she asked.

Dumbledore didn't respond, but Severus stormed past her and down the stairs with a, "You would know, wouldn't you?"

Minerva raised an eyebrow, shocked by the hostility in his tone.

"Albus," she said, with a forced calm. "What exactly happened?"

He let out a deep sigh, which was unlike him.

"This year," he said slowly. "Harry Potter is coming to Hogwarts."

Oh no, she thought.

"Excuse me," Minerva said to him, and rushed out the door, completely forgetting her original purpose in going up there.

He couldn't have gone to the lake, like most people did when they wanted to be alone. The Whomping Willow was there, and she had a eking he'd rather not be at a place that reminded him off them.

Not the Quidditch field. Not the student dorms.

Ah. Of course.

Minerva changed direction abruptly and headed downstairs. She should've looked there first. The Potions classroom.

She peered inside and saw him rather violently chopping up some monkswood. He threw them into the bubbling cauldron, and then glared up at her.

"What do you want?" he asked coolly.

"Harry is different from his father," was what slipped out and she immediately regretted it.

He stopped moving entirely.

"What do you know?" he asked, silky smooth and dangerous. "You weren't the one who had to go through that— that— hell!"

Minerva stayed silent.

"I expected better of you. I thought you would tell them off, but you didn't! All those pranks they did and I could never retaliate because Slytherin are the bad guys aren't they? I thought you would help and you didn't!"

His last yell echoed in the enclosed space, battering at Minerva again and again.

You didn't. You didn't. You didn't. You didn't.

"... I'm sorry," she finally whispered. "I know— I know that doesn't make up for it. Not at all. But I am sorry."

He gave her an unreadable look, and then sighed.

"I accept your apology," he said quietly. Then, muttered, "It was all Potter's fault anyhow."

She wisely pretended she didn't hear that.

As they walked back to the Great Hall for lunch, Minerva spoke up.

"We're still friends, then?" she asked, and a startled expression came across his face.

"Yes..." he said slowly, testing out the word in his mouth. "Friends."

"And about earlier..." Minerva said, amused. "I seem to remember an incident where all the Gryffindor's hair turned pink for a week. They never did find the perpetrator."

Severus stayed silent at that, but a small smile curled up on his face.