The morning dawned cool, clear and temperate. The early risers of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were treated to quite a view from their lofty vantage points; from their towers a glorious sun dappled forest was visible, rippling as the breeze wove about its canopy. The lake was as still and as reflective as glass, the odd ripple danced across the surface as the Giant Squid, perhaps waved a lazy tentacle, basking in the shallows.

Severus, one such early riser, awoke many floors below. Instead, of waking to an awe-inspiring view, however, Severus awoke abruptly, with a start, and into a sweat soaked darkness. His heart thumped a heavy rhythm into his throat. The dream had been, as always, a bad one.

Tobias Snape had loomed, brandishing the muggle Primary School report in the face of his already cowering son. His fury had been palpable and absolute, and although his father's mouth viciously formed long forgotten words, they had been nothing, nothing, to the increasing proximity. As he had become more and more animated, his face drew closer and closer to that of his son, and tears forming in the child's dark eyes had done nothing but heighten the father's anger. He had raised a hand, using the other to roughly push the boy's protesting mother into the opposite wall, where she crumpled. Severus's cry of fear for his mother turned, almost instantly, into a scream of pain as the fist met his cheekbone...

And, as quickly as it had come, the vision had melted away, leaving an older, but nonetheless tearful Severus attempting to extract himself from the twisted and dishevelled bedclothes.

He washed, dressed and joined the usual surge of students heading for the Great Hall. Looking upwards, Severus contemplated the almost turquoise sky simulated by the enchanted ceiling. A pleasant day, he conceded, though he had long since lost faith in prophetic fallacy. After taking his place at the table, Severus stared down at his porridge without really seeing it for some time; the dream was still at the fore of his thoughts. Pushing it to the back of his mind, he picked up his spoon and began to eat his now tepid breakfast. Glancing around absent mindedly, his eyes swept the Gryffindor table, resting finally upon Potter, holding court. Severus felt a twinge of hatred as Potter grinned stupidly at his stupid friends and they grinned stupidly back. Returning, scowling to his porridge, Severus attacked it with the spoon with far more force than was strictly necessary.

The day's lessons were too similar to that of the day before for Severus to want to take note of any of them. In fact, the bells punctuating them was the only thing which distinguished one from another. By lunchtime, his mood had not improved. He vented his feelings by aiming one of his most spectacular death glares at a group of Gryffindor first years, who stopped laughing abruptly and hurried away.

With the same dull finality of the day before, dusk came. Severus stalked the corridors, as always, alone. Stepping out into the courtyard, he came to a standstill. Issuing from a shady corner came the sound of hushed conversation, a deep male voice and that of a woman, both laughing softly. Severus started forward, before stopping dead again, his brain reeling at the sight before his wide eyes.

A bespectacled student with black, untidy hair, locked in a close embrace with a red headed girl. Severus watched, in horror at the sight of their lips meeting one another, and recoiled as the kiss was deepened, her flushed cheek cupped in Potter's hand.

All reason seemed to detach itself from Severus. Having always prided himself on an organised mind, his infrequent bursts of range were, therefore all the huger. His blood boiling within his veins, he surged forward.

"POTTER!"

Grabbing the boy by the neck of his robes, Severus swung him around, to face him. Much to Snape's surprise, however, the shocked eyes that looked back up into his own were not that of James Potter, but almond shaped, bright green...perfect.

Professor Snape felt as if huge weight had dropped into his stomach. Slightly nonplussed, he looked quickly over to the girl, mind working furiously, finding, as he knew he would now, the Weasley girl. Releasing Harry, he hesitated for a moment, his breathing heavy. In his most malevolent tone, though not really listening to himself, he said:

"As you two well know that sort of...activity is- ah- inappropriate in the grounds. Though doubtless you, Potter, want to make a spectacle of yourself, I do not appreciate it being done in front of me. I have recently eaten. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Muttering defiantly, the two students headed back inside, shooting Snape looks of contempt as they went, Harry massaging his neck. Snape watched as the Weasley girl placed an arm around his shoulders and planted a gentle kiss on the side of Potter's neck. He heard her mutter something which sounded suspiciously like: ' the miserable git,' though he chose to ignore this. As Potter glanced back once more, Snape was careful not to catch his eye again; before, his stomach had flipped in a way he was not entirely comfortable with.

When sure he was alone, Snape placed his head wearily into his hands. He had been sure, for a moment. Decades had been wiped away in a heartbeat as, for a second, Snape became the greasy teenager at that gut wrenching moment. The Weasley girl, for that split second had been Lily's image.

Though he loved her completely, immovalby, painfully, as agonising as it was to admit it, Snape knew Lily Evans had married the better man. Potter had matured and, at the age of sixteen, Lily had seen this. She had also seen, finally, what Snape himself was: infantile, petulant and, when handed any sort of power, a bully.

Snape cursed himself. Hogwarts had not changed, and nor, really, had he.