DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter.

"Sev."

"… No."

"C'mon, just for a little while?"

"No."

"There's nothing else to do here!"

"There is, if you would have the barest of an iota of an initiative to finish your meditative exercises." The man observed as the lad lazily took to slowly leafing page by page from his Occlumency tome, before it was seized all too quickly and used by greasy-haired git for another purpose.

The loud thwack made him think of the number of brain cells he must have lost. "Page 394, cheeky prat."

The lad grumbled, ceasing the act when the professor sent another, yet more intense, glare in his general direction—of course, which referred to just all of him.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I must attend to delegated duties in need of my presence as Hogwarts professor."

"But you'll just be stuffing your face at the Halloween feast!"

"Exactly. Stay here and do. Not. Touch. Anything. Do not even attempt to leave. Try it, and I assure you that you will not have the ironic pleasure of cleaning after your own entrails once they've been blasted out of your twig of a body."

The finality of Severus Snape's voice trailed after his billowing robes as he made to exit his classroom, making his way to the Great Hall for the feast that Halloween night. A wave of his wand shut the door with a loud thud, with the barest sound of his footfalls echoing away.

The boy grumbled in frustration, wondering why the man had to be an insufferable git at times. Having come to spend most of his time with Severus, he was used to the demeanor with which the greasy-haired Potions Master used to associate with other people—what the boy would never get used to, though, was having to react every time Severus just had to be a git. He had wondered briefly before if the man was even capable of smiling, but thought better of it since it was a very haunting facial expression if ever plastered upon the professor's face, one that he was sure would keep him awake in the dead of the night.

Then again, he would always defer to Albus when it came to the reasons behind the attitude of one Severus Snape. The elderly wizard would always have that sad smile on his face when the past of Hogwarts' resident Potions Master came to light, made more apparent by the despondent sheen he'd spot behind those half-moon spectacles. The man had told him of only what he was allowed to tell—Albus would always say that it was not his right to tell the whole story—and from it, the boy could glean some semblance of an understanding as to why Severus behaved that way. The lemon drops offered were a bonus, too.

Perhaps what was most surprising to him was that it had involved his mother and her friends. Severus was not a happy camper when the professor had learned of the lad's knowledge regarding a past wished to be hidden and better left where it lay. What surprised the boy, however, was that the git was not vocal, even when he was expecting an hour-long Snape-Rant, when it had come to that particular subject of conversation. There was the git-mask in place—the boy was entirely sure it was the Potions teacher's default facial expression—yet there were cracks here and there, leaking mixtures of anger, regret, and sadness.

The day Severus Snape would cry, he thought, would be the day he'd be told his father was a House-Elf.

The boredom the boy felt was magnified by the uninteresting stock of materials within the classroom. He was already familiar with the stocks of tools and vials lined up on various shelves and cupboards, and of the faded instructions chalked up on an elevated blackboard, presumably for a very simple Pepper-Up Potion. He checked the table and saw the many parchments lying on the desk, and from what was written on them he had realized that they were submitted essays about the bare essentials of Potions-Making for newbies. Thinking that he had nothing else to do, and was tiring of gawking at the dust-coated flasks filled with liquids and oozes, he decided to sift through some of the paper.

He found himself enjoying the varying scrawls written on parchment upon parchment, most especially considering that these essays had been written by first-year students. A brief skim of the submissions, and an assessment of the class over this had him intrigued—some were rated Acceptable, a select few given an Exceeds Expectations, many marked with Poor, a handful of Dreadfuls, a single Troll, and absolutely no Outstanding. What he found to be impressive information from the paper was that Severus actually took time to mark parts, lines, words, and sections that were significant, with some added comments here and there. It was clear the added notes were done in very Snape-like fashion, complete with bluntness, compelling wit and sarcasm for some, and a whole dose of "you better think about transferring now" for the more lacking papers.

v

Gryffindor. Longbottom, N. —Acceptable

"… perhaps an earlier introduction to Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures can help with basic understanding on where to find ingredients? I think it's an important essential especially for a field practitioner…"

*A fine point, however you will not find newbies eager enough to laugh in the face of danger while milking Acromantula venom, nor will you find another to be attempting to search for the root while entangled between vine upon vine of Devil's Snare.

v

He concurred with both of the Longbottom kid's and Severus' points. It was by no means that he found himself regressing to an especially embarrassing memory of a failed attempt at obtaining phoenix tears from Fawkes, with the whole thing resulting to hearty laughter and a derisive snort from Albus and Severus, respectively. He wouldn't talk about that incident anymore.

v

Slytherin. Malfoy, D. —Poor

"… better a familiarity with the right stores and shop-owners to obtain only the best of tools and materials. Who knows what untrustworthy wares half-bloods sell nowadays, you might as well have a defective House-Elf cooking you ashes for meals…"

* Potions-Making is a field more than it is business; while tools that would last longer are recommended, the means of acquisition are not of interest. The rest of the essay is off-topic. Ten points from Slytherin for off-handed comments.

v

What is this? Severus Snape, willingly taking points from Slytherin? Where he was Head of House? And from a first-year's essay, written by his godson?He pictured the man to be quite biased with this, but then again Albus had warned him not to jump so quickly into conclusions, lest the consequences prove beneficial. Of course, the bigotry and off-handed remarks on the parchment were quite unnecessary, to say the least, and the lad knew just how Severus really felt about those of non-Pureblood descent.

v

Slytherin. Greengrass, D. —Exceeds Expectations

"… of most significance would be the exercise of caution in Potions-Making—this includes, of course, knowledge of handling the tools and the ingredients, and being prepared for the worse. As beginners lack the reflexes of a well-seasoned Potions Master, it would be wise if within an arms reach were materials in case of volatile accidents…"

* Astute observations, and articulate statements that demonstrates some of the most distinguishing characteristics between a novice and a Master.

v

The length of Severus' comment plainly said "Need I say more?" right into his face. The whole paper was littered with multiple words and phrases marked and encircled with additional comments and very slight suggestions with how to improve them. This Greengrass clearly showed promise as early as now, Severus was wise to edge her on like this. But by Merlin's great beard did he feel a smidgeon of envy—Severus had not once showed him a modicum of even egging him on in lessons, and instead would only defer to rude comments and dry bouts of sarcasm on his mistakes. Maybe this Greengrass was a girl, and Severus had a hard time keeping his mitts off of girls who showed flare and talent at Potions.

…

Ugh, that painted a horrible image in his mind. Nopenopenopenopenope.

Alright, next paper.

v

Gryffindor. Granger, H. —Exceeds Expectation

"… aside from the topic of caution when in the place for practicing Potions Making, it should not be forgotten that of equal importance too is the following of instructions when it comes to the actual brewing. Constant vigilance on part of the brewing process needs to be coupled with fervent attention to what is happening and at what phase the actual potion is approaching. Accidents during the brewing process are more likely to happen when one loses focus over the brew or one fails to follow some of the simplest instructions…"

* Excellent explanations and comprehensive expounding on the more likely mistakes a novice is to encounter, along with the needed skills of practice to be had.

v

As far as the lad was concerned, the whole essay should have been marked and encircled. This Granger was every bit as impressive as a writer as Greengrass, and the bare number of comments for improvement spoke volumes of just how far ahead this student was in contrast to the whole class. By a close margin, it seemed that Granger and Greengrass were neck and neck for top students in the Gryffindor-Slytherin joint class. The use even of "constant vigilance" had given him the idea that even Alastor Moody would applaud of this lengthy essay, and also admonish the author for making use of the retired Auror's mantra.

He clearly recalled Albus having shared before that prodigious pupils like these tended to appear very rarely every generation or so of wizards and witches, with more witches leaning to these kinds of convoluted fields, such as Potions, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, and wizards leaning to subjects like Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration, perhaps being more thrill-seekers than knowledge-seekers.

And once more, caused perhaps by the earlier off-handed image that had come to mind earlier, an imaginary image of Severus being attracted to these kinds of witches plagued him, and made him question the fine lines walked by his mind. He quashed the perverse thoughts and chucked them out of his head.

Soon enough, the boredom returned ten-fold after sifting through a few more parchments. The drudgery felt like lead weights, and no more than half an hour into his musings did he finally crack and decide to leave the darkness and dampness of the dungeons, damning whatever consequences Severus—and quite possibly even Albus—had in store for him. Probably additional Occlumency sessions to the tasking ones he already had scheduled. He could take it, he surmised; there was probably naught a shred of shame left, after all of the memories Severus had already sifted through.

He pulled out a folded piece of silvery fabric from his pocket, an object that was simply a handkerchief to the unknowing onlooker. The lad then pulled out his wand, mouthing Finite, and the cloth then expanded full-size to what was presumably a cloak of sorts. A snicker escaped his lips as he draped the cloth over him, hiding his form and rendering him invisible to the eyes.

The lad was sure that the earlier warning about the door was very minor, and did not completely mean that his guts would explode into the dungeon's floor the moment his fingers touch the rusty door handle. Despite the harshness and lack of tact from Sev, having him on the floor, bleeding and disemboweled, would not put the Potions Master in the good graces of his mother.

And he knew how much Severus actually acknowledged his mother to be a walking threat.

A quick check of the lock meant it was locked from the outside (how did Sev even manage that?), solved by a swish of his wand and the silent casting of Alohomora. The boy then dropped a coin on the seat he was occupying earlier, then bolted from the dungeons, eager to explore the castle in the limited time Severus has not returned.

Out of his robes, he fished out a piece of parchment and then unfolded it, tracing his wand on top and quickly reciting the needed incantation.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The Marauder's Map revealed all in its pure Marauder glory, displaying locations and the individuals who roamed Hogwarts. He searched for passages and quick detours that would take him to the more interesting areas, such as the Astronomy Tower and the Hogwarts Library, but was however distracted from the idea by a peculiar activity on the map.

One moment, Professor Quirrell was rushing into the Great Hall; the next, every single name within the place was scrambling for the door. Something must have occurred, he thought, and soon enough the students were being hurried out in orderly lines, all probably being led to their respective Houses.

And then another spectacle gave him a sinking feeling in the gut.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, Morgana's saggy ti—

Footprints tagged with the names of McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and the rest of the faculty (sans Snape and Quirrell, who were racing towards the third floor corridor) along with Albus were headed for his direction—the dungeons. And from where he had come from, taking a separate corridor, was a label that only said "Troll," marching off to the nearby girl's loo.

What the Map showed him then erased the fear of the incoming teachers.

A hitched breath and a curse to Merlin later had him speeding off to the other corridor, reluctantly running to reach the tag named "Hermione Granger" before anything else were to happen. At this rate, the professors would arrive there way too late.

He could almost hear the Lily's nagging voice disapproving of his headfirst forays into danger for noble reasons. This would not end well.

Hermione Granger wished she had never come to Hogwarts.

At first, the prospect of embracing who she really was after the revelation of a lifetime smelled of roses and tasted of sweet, sweet honey. A witch, Professor McGonagall said. Capable of doing the what would be deemed impossible by the Muggle world. She was ecstatic. She wanted to get ahold of her wand after the Transfiguration professor's visit, and rush to the front of Hogwarts' gates as soon as possible.

And now, she had wanted no more than to return home, to cry into her mother's arms and to hear counsel from her father. It was the same. It was inevitable that it would have been the same. Everyone who has been cordial with her were no more than passing acquaintances. Despite the good grace she'd seen and experienced as she was welcomed into House Gryffindor, a few weeks in and there was already hearsay and rude commentary on her more extreme quirks of academic ambitions. At first, she had chosen to take no notice of it, especially since it came from the older years who she really didn't know and didn't really care about. Even Draco Malfoy's incessant remarks were in part easy to ignore. Then, it started getting worse, spreading into the Gryffindor boys of her year, backed with some of the girls as well. Ron Weasley made no attempt in hiding his thoughts on her being a bookworm and a "know-it-all."

To be ostracized as easily as that, and by her own year-mates and House-mates no less, tore into her—more than the bullying and demeaning treatment she'd had in the Muggle schools. Was there something wrong with chasing after knowledge? Did she rub them off the wrong way with her habits, of oftentimes taking it to extremes? Or was it because she was just plain old Bucktooth Granger, of Muggle descent with a penchant for insufferable nagging and academic pride?

No, she didn't care anymore. No one even cared enough to approach her that afternoon in the girl's lavatory, and even if Parvati had heard her, no effort was made to aid her. She had told her briefly to "go away!" and Parvati had gone and did just that.

So much for "friends."

Maybe she should just be home-schooled. At least, even if she were lonely, it would be better that way—no expectations from anyone else, no snide remarks about her every move, no tears to shed in case she was hurt. Who else would she need, but her parents, and the inked words spread page per page?

The bushy-haired first-year opened the stall door, feeling that the tears had now run dry. She surmised that everyone would still be at the Halloween feast at this point, and the comfort of being in the dormitory by herself would do best for her. Turning to the door, fear and trepidation then frayed the nerves edging her legs to walk forward.

The troll lumbered slowly and clumsily into the girl's lavatory, and with the tall creature inside, Hermione felt her surroundings shrink and close in on her. The towering oaf eyed its surroundings before settling its beady eyes on Hermione. The girl slowly shrank back into the confines of the stall, hurriedly closing it when her numbed senses went into panic mode. The giant roared, swinging the large club it carried and dismantling lavatory ornaments and tiles off of the walls. Its stomping cracked the floor, and with another roar it swung again and cleared the upper half of the stalls.

Hermione shrieked, fear clamping up her system and flooding her senses. There was nothing she could do, her wand was back in her other things in the dormitory. The girl found herself in tears once more, panicking as the probability of her death increased by the second.

She didn't want to die.

She didn't want to die.

She didn't want to die.

But it was no use. Prayer would not save her here. There were no protagonists in this story, and even in this magic-filled world, there were no guarantees of an adventurous story fraught with joy and success. This was the unfairness of life working, and she was unlucky enough to have found herself in front of its approach tonight.

The troll raised its club, black beady eyes staring at her with nothing but the primal visage of a hunter among hunted. She closed her eyes, bidding everything a silent farewell, as soon as she saw its arm swing down.

Seconds passed. It turned into a minute. Half more of it, and she had opened her teary eyes to see what had happened.

The troll was now floating in midair, along with its club, slowly rotating in the air like an astronaut in space. It grunted in clear confusion, flailing about and attempting to reach the club that drifted away from it.

Hermione was stupefied. What in the bloody name of Merlin was happening? Fear was now overcome with confusion, and even mild curiosity, as to what was happening.

And then, she spotted it.

A wand, pointing at the troll, was afloat midair and held by a disembodied hand. Her mouth fell agape at this scene, her brain rushing a mile a minute to check whether or not what she was seeing was real. This world was magic, she knew that, but what the heck was a disembodied hand holding a wand doing in that room?!

A quick gesture and flick of the wand brought the girl out of her stupor as the troll was roughly rotated in the air, and another quick flick up sent it into the ceiling—the result was a mountain troll firmly stuck to the ceiling of the girl's lavatory, with its lower half dangling like some weird chandelier.

The bushy-haired girl's eyes were wide with surprise, definitely not expecting the sudden turn of events. She had scanned the room again in search of the floating hand, only to notice that it had disappeared altogether. A squeak escaped her as she felt something pull her, and was brought under some unseen cloak of some sort.

In front of her then was the most beautiful pair of eyes she'd ever seen.

"Stay quiet, and follow me."

Hermione nodded dumbly, before she felt heat rise to her face upon the realization that she was at such close proximity with a boy.

"Get behind me, and do not let go, okay? Don't say a word either."

She nodded and acquiesced to the request, before feeling that she had grabbed hold of her hands and placed them around his waist. Hermione was sure that if she had a mirror, her usually bright face would be painted crimson then and there. They walked hurriedly out of the lavatory, and then she'd heard a rush of footsteps from behind them. The professors were now at the scene, examining in clear surprise the result of the troll encounter. Although they passed by, they were not seen by the faculty—were they invisible, then? She eyed the faculty, and was surprised when a wide-eyed Dumbledore stared back at her, before his lips upturned ever so slightly, and then the Headmaster had sent a wink in her direction before turning to a confused Professor McGonagall.

Forcing the hitched breath down her throat, she shook her head briefly before turning to her rescuer's back and following his lead.

The lad pulled down the cloak, and hurriedly rushed through the potion cabinets in the Infirmary.

He made Granger (to think that he was right in surmising that she was a girl!) sit on one of the beds, eyeing him with an array of emotions—a look of gratitude, a pinch of wariness, and a boatload of confusion. Honestly, he didn't blame her—who wouldn't react like that after being saved by a random stranger in a life-and-death situation? Well, he didn't particularly mind staying a stranger, but at this point he was sure that was no longer an option. Then again, he would have been introduced sometime in the near future, but this was not how he thought he would be introduced to what seemed like an intellectual young lady. Being acquainted in a classroom was simply much more preferable than to being acquainted after a near-death experience.

"… Thank you."

The girl's voice was raspy, sounding like she had been crying a lot. He turned briefly and found the girl close to tears again, and sighed. The lad slowly approached, conjuring a handkerchief and handing it over to Granger.

As much as he appreciated her thanks, he did not wish to mention that it was only by luck that he had come across her stroke of bad luck on the Map. The Marauder's Map was an item he promised to keep in secrecy, and he did not want Granger thinking that it was by a mere stroke of fortune that her life was spared from such a danger.

He went back to his search on the cabinets after the girl had accepted the fabric he gave, and grinned slightly when he found a vial of Pepper-Up Potion. Madam Pomfrey had shown him the twists and turns to the locations of specific potions in the Infirmary, but familiarity would not come to him in the span of only three days, after all. He did not possess the same eidetic ability Severus had in speedy memorization, much to his chagrin.

"Drink this, you'll feel better." The girl looked at the vial in hesitation, and then switched to looking at him again.

"Pepper-Up Potion. You're not injured, and you're better off a little more pepped up. After all," he eyed her in a more relaxed manner, and offered a smile as she drank down the offered liquid, "an encounter like that's bound to make you think twice about attending school—you're better off thinking about that after you've calmed down."

She blinked, staring at him with a distant look. "… But I already know I'll be withdrawing."

He had to admit, he was feeling a bit curious at this point—even with the nagging bit at the back of his mind screaming at him to forget the girl and haul arse back to the dungeons before Severus came back to dismember him. "And why's that?"

He regretted the question asked when the Granger girl was brought to tears again. "… I-I have no friends here, a-and everyone k-keeps bullying m-me. It's always the s-same, even in Muggle schools back home…" She wiped the tears away and sniffled, trying to rein back the emotions that threatened to spill out.

To the girl's (and his, in a more slight manner) surprise, he sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, allowing her to lean in on him. At first, Granger stiffened at the gesture; but as he slowly rubbed her shoulder, the girl's posture relaxed and she cried on him, grabbing on his robes as if they were some lifeline.

"My mum does this for me whenever I hit a rough patch and think I'm lost. I'm not sure about you, but this always comforted me."

His free hand held her chin lightly, with Granger squeaking a little in surprise, and tilted her head up so that their eyes were level.

"Don't give up, 'kay? I know you're a Muggle-born, and it's always you guys who get the short end of the wand around these parts. It's unfair—I know—but, it's not always niceties we have to expect out life. People like…" he paused slightly, stopping himself from saying "us" for that particular part, "you are the ones who have two options when you reach this point: either give up and go home, or brave the storm and venture forth to greatness.

"You're a Gryffindor, yeah?" A fierce nod answered him, and he had to smile at that, along with the spark of hope twinkling in her eyes, "Great! Remember: bravery, courage, and all that—you weren't sorted into Godric's House just for nothing. I can tell you're smart," the girl blushed with an "eep," and he found it all too cute, "and if it was just for that, then you'd be in Ravenclaw. But no, you're in Gryffindor, and you need to remember that the courage you need is somewhere in you. You can bend, but don't break.

"I won't blame you for making whatever decision you make—just keep these things in mind, 'kay?"

"O-Okay."

He gave the girl a smile, and made to excuse himself. His noble half was satisfied for another good deed done, and the other half was telling him morosely of just how much punishment Severus was going to dish out.

"Um, wait! I've never seen you around here, and you're clearly not a student—are you a transfer student? And how do you know I'm in Gryffindor?"

The question caught him off-guard, and with how the arrangements have already been made, he decided there was no harm in answering her.

"Nah, I'm an intern. I've been stated here as an Apprentice for all the professors. If you do stay, you'll be seeing me around, and you can get to know what I'll be sticking around for in Hogwarts. As to your House… well, your submitted essay has told me a good deal about you."

Before he could exit, Granger rushed to him and extended a hand out. "Hermione Granger. That's me. Better late an introduction than never. And you?"

The lad raised an eyebrow, before grinning widely and taking Hermione's hand, and shaking it. Unknown to him, the girl would remember for all her life the green-eyed lad in front of her, complete with thick, messy white hair and dark robes bearing only the Hogwarts seal.

"Pleased to meet you, Hermione. I'm Julius."

It was a simple mechanic, really, that was placed into the rune etched into the coin he had left behind.

The rune's function was almost similar to an Accio, only that it would pull him back to his last location far too quickly and forcefully for his own good. However, Julius found that it was, in some ways, quite convenient, especially when he could not Apparate within school grounds.

As the force pulled him back after its timed activation, he was literally dragged back to the Potions classroom with an unseen force, and then thrown into the dark dungeon room in a manner far too strong for his liking. He supposed he'd have to fix that rune, along with the necessary adjustment on the magic it tapped into.

"Ahem."

His blood froze as he turned around to be faced by an intense glare from Severus, who looked at him like his hand was caught inside the Potions Master's ingredient pantry.

A nervous chuckle was all he managed, along with a single word:

"Uhhh, parley?"

"Quite an evening, is it not?"

Julius looked around sheepishly, not wanting to meet the gaze of either Albus nor Severus—the former, for the knowledge of what had transpired that evening that was unknown to the Hogwarts populace; the latter, clearly disappointed at the brashness and clear disregard for established rules that the boy had not been able to keep.

"Perhaps we have to evaluate prior arrangements, Headmaster?" The irate Severus spoke all the while with eyes that refused to leave his figure; he was sure the man was drilling holes into him right about now. "It is clear that some of us cannot clearly follow rules when they are due nor when they have been expressed."

The venom in Severus' voice surpassed the usual bite that it had, and even he was quite unnerved at the tone. It was at this time that he knew he had to keep his words civil, but selected. "But at least that Granger girl is safe."

"And so you consider your infuriating ventures of nobility to be grander than the schematics of designs which we must keep?! Is that what you imply, Harry James Potter?!"

"Julius" glared back at the man, wand out at the ready as he saw red and reined in the shout that threatened to rise out of his throat into a hoarse whisper. "Don't. Say. That. Name. That man will never be my father, and—"

"And the arrogance you bear is as similar as every living cell on that man's body, and I will not stand for you to keep showing Lily a portrait of her beloved son turning into copy of that blasted sonofa—"

"Enough!"

Student and Master alike turned from one another and sat back down, disgust and fury evident from their expressions. Julius sighed, and then turned to regard Albus—it was not his intention to have disrespected both the Headmaster and Severus in that room, but even Albus had to admit that Severus was clearly going past the line.

"… I'm sorry, Albus."

"… Forgive me for such a display, Headmaster."

The old wizard sighed, shook his head, and gave a resigned laugh. "Really now, if you both weren't so hell-bent on tearing one another apart, I would be confident enough to say that you resemble one another moreso than… others."

The comparison had both raising an eyebrow and giving Albus a look of disagreement, which only fueled the growing amusement leaking out of the Hogwarts Headmaster.

"Do not compare me to this man."

"Do not compare me to this boy."

Albus chose to shift the topic to abate the growing flames of another exchange. "Now, if we have all calm down, let us go on to discuss business before retiring for the night." He took the vial Julius had placed on his table, containing the memory for that night of the telltale escape from the Potions classroom and into the fortuitous meeting with one Hermione Granger.

"It was an unexpected precedence to have had that troll interrupting tonight's festivities—however, Julius, swift action has defended Hogwarts from the loss of a promising witch and I can't thank you enough for that." A nod from the young man was the reply, and upon which then Albus turned to the Potions professor seated across Julius. "And as for you, Severus, what has come to light about Professor Quirrell?"

The greasy-haired man gave Albus a look and told of his discoveries as to events prior the meeting. "I had cornered him by the third floor, thinking it was odd that he did not come with the rest of us to the dungeons. He pushed me out of the way, and, unfortunately," Severus pulled up the lower part of his robes to display a large wound on his leg where the blood had already dried, "I was unaware that Hagrid's pet had decided to finish its eveningly nap."

"You had Poppy look at that yet, Sev?" Julius asked, hints of worry leaking out of his tone. A curt nod from Severus answered him.

"Only shortly—I have my own potions for simple injuries that Madam Pomfrey does not need worry much. But I digress, Headmaster," he turned back to Albus, eyes alight with steel, "we need to re-secure the item and to continue watching over… Professor Quirrell." The way the name rolled off his tongue was so contemptuous Julius was sure Severus' words could kill a man anytime, anywhere.

"Thank you, Severus. And now, tomorrow," Albus' eyes twinkled with that excited look, "will be the official induction and introduction of you, Julius, into Hogwarts as an Apprentice to Staff. I'm sure you've already had time to acclimate to the castle, and to the tasks you will be receiving from each of the professors?"

The albino nodded, much to the Headmaster's satisfaction.

"Splendid! You will be scheduled into attending only the first-year's classes for the rest of the year, and come January, you will be exposed to classes holding the other years. This plan you and Severus have concocted for Voldemort… I believe it is with this that we will finally end him."

And that was the crux of it all—the Dark Lord. Julius clenched his hands, ireful of the fact that Voldemort was half of the reason his life had become so upside-down. He had already sworn years ago, that if not just for himself, he would end the bastard for his mum. Lily Evans, after all, deserved all the retribution he had planned to give her.

"For now, I believe it is time for bed; the night has gone on long enough, and you, my dear boy, would need all the sleep for tomorrow, I believe." The amusement in the Headmaster's voice unnerved him, as if he was some sort of seer envisioning some sort of event the next day that would befall Julius. And he was sure that even if he found it spiteful, it would be ammunition for the old wizard and for Severus.

Both office guests bid Albus and one another a good night, before Julius was halted in his tracks by one last call from Albus. The lad turned to catch a book, frowning at the cover and looking back to the Headmaster for an explanation.

"Oh, and Julius. Look on for chapter eight. I think you might find yourself to be at the other end of a younger girl's infatuation tomorrow." The way the old wizard's eyebrows waggled at him was… indescribable, to say the least.

Reluctantly, he opened Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches, and looked for the chapter.

Chapter Eight – Saving Damsels in Distress Will Always Net You the Damsel

He threw the offending book back at the chuckling Albus who but just Vanished it. He turned and walked away with a red face, convincing himself to forget chapter eight.

Damned page 394.

* Edited and updated: 03142016