Snape glared at the grey stone wall of his dungeon classroom and contemplated banging his head against it. Much against his will, he was spending his evening supervising Harry, Hermione, and Ron, along with two of his own little snakes who had managed to earn a detention with Sprout. (Sprout! What were they thinking? A furious Snape had given each one a second detention for being so inept as to infuriate the normally placid Herbology professor. What kind of Slytherins couldn’t handle a Hufflepuff, for Merlin’s sake? Well, two nights copying “Slytherins are not dunderheads” over and over should help remind them that their House prided itself on out-thinking the rest of the school. If they couldn’t even manage the Head of Hufflepuff, they deserved every hex their Housemates sent their way.)

He would normally have set his Slytherins to scrubbing cauldrons, but he could hardly do that while the three Gryffindors sat at nearby desks working on their essays. So instead, all five children were industriously scribbling away, and Snape had to cast his own cleaning spells on the cauldrons. As if he didn’t have better things to do! It was all Potter’s fault.

And Minerva’s. She had pointed out that being restricted to the Common Room with all their friends wasn’t precisely an onerous penalty for the Trio, nor one conducive to working on their punishment essays. And since neither Granger nor Weasley had access to a private bedroom the way Potter did – though Potter’s was (thanks to Albus) so chock-a-block with toys that it was no more punitive a site for banishment than the Common Room – it was only sensible for the three to spend their time on restriction under the supervision of a professor. And, McGonagall had said with a steely glint in her eye, since she had already spent the last three evenings supervising them, it was now his turn.

In vain had he protested, arguing that they were in her House. She had turned a deaf ear and promptly at seven, the three little miscreants had appeared on his doorstep. His two snakes had followed closely and – much to Snape’s irritation – were visibly relieved to find Gryffindors present, knowing full well that their Head of House wouldn’t be nearly as stinging in his invective when there were non-Slytherins within earshot.

They had underestimated his menacing hiss, however, and before sending them to their desks, he rendered both of them ashen and sweating with a low-voiced lecture about what would happen if they were ever again so foolish as to fail to live up to their House values. Now though, an hour later, they were displaying the resilience of youth and beginning to glance up from their papers and exchange winks and cautious signals with the Gryffindors.

Snape again wished he could bang his head on the wall. His Slytherins were being corrupted by those blasted lions. Normally, Slytherins were either too sulky at being punished or too embarrassed at having been caught to do much during a detention other than the assigned task. They were anxious to get their punishment over with and escape, so that they could then pretend the whole thing had never happened.

By contrast, Gryffindors (probably because they received so many detentions, Snape thought sourly) seemed to view them as a social opportunity. These dratted lions obviously didn’t consider their restriction a shameful indignity, and they were sending sympathetic glances over to his snakes, along with funny faces to try to cheer up the gloomy second years.

To Snape’s intense annoyance, it was working, and instead of wearing tearful expressions of misery, his students were now stifling giggles. Even Snape had to admit that Weasley’s ability to simultaneously cross his eyes, wiggle his ears, and curl his tongue resulted in an… unusual… expression. Still, this was his dungeon, and students were here to suffer.

He brought his hand down hard on his desk and the students jumped and paled. “Does anyone find anything amusing about their punishment?” he asked silkily. “Anything at all?”

A hasty chorus of “No, sir” met his ears, and he gave each child a glare before returning to his own work. He was gratified to hear one of his snakes give a little whimper of terror as she turned back to her paper, but his gratification was short lived.

“Don’t worry,” he heard Harry whisper – the boy had absolutely no sense of stealth. “I know he sounds mean, but he’s really nice. Honest,” he insisted, having obviously received a look of disbelief from the Slytherin. “Even his smacks don’t hurt. Well, not much anyway. But he won’t do anything to you except yell a bit an’ that’s only ‘cause he wants you to do well at school an’ stuff.”

Snape was too paralyzed with horror to react for several seconds. By the time his brain processed what that horrible brat had just done to his laboriously crafted reputation, it was too late. He raised his head to see his Slytherin giving Harry a grateful smile, her sense of relief palpable, while Harry and the other Gryffindors smiled back. The other Slytherin watched, obviously trying to work out whether Harry’s words were some kind of devious plot, worthy of a fellow snake, or the straightforward reassurance they appeared to be.

“Potter!” He finally managed to get his vocal cords to work, and he prepared to verbally eviscerate the little snot once and for all. That should effectively remove any doubt as to his “niceness”.

“Yes’r?” Harry answered innocently, bringing up his eyes to meet Snape’s.

That emerald gaze sent Snape back in time, and once again he found himself helpless before it. “No talking during detention,” he managed to growl.

“Y’s’r. Sorry, sir,” Harry replied apologetically, then turned his attention back to his essay.

Snape muffled his groan. Gryffindors. He was beset by Gryffindors. It was no longer enough that he had to deal with Dumbledore and McGonagall; now that he had a ward who was a Gryffindor, he could no longer isolate himself amongst Slytherins outside of classes. No, Harry naturally enough counted many Gryffindors as his friends, and he was showing an alarming tendency to make friends in the other Houses as well. At least Harry had also formed a friendship with Draco, and that had in turn brought in some of the other Slytherins. Still, Snape knew with a dreadful sense of foreboding that it was only a matter of time before he would have to play host to Hufflepuffs and the rest in his own home.

At least the Malfoy scion was rubbing off on the others. In class the other day, Longbottom had actually managed a sharp retort in response to an insult from Parkinson, and the Weasley brat was showing a surprising talent for scheming. Also, Draco’s influence (along with his well-honed self-preservation skills) would ensure that none of the pranks the little monsters were doubtless plotting would be directed against Snape or his classes.

Of course, if Snape had to be honest, it wasn’t the juvenile Gryffindors that were really driving him crazy. After so many years of teaching, he was more or less immune to the students. No, it was the mutt and the werewolf whom he wished he could obliterate. What had he been thinking to assist those idiot Marauders? Gryffindors – especially those two – should be drowned at birth. But no, he had helped them out, and that morning, matters had come to a head.

Snape glowered and tried to remind himself that, after all, his plan had been successful. The Aurors had been completely baffled by Black’s escape, and the hue and cry had almost entirely died down within a few weeks. Fudge wasn’t about to have his administration’s failures widely publicized.

A few days after the escape, when he had judged it safe, Snape had arranged to collect Lupin from a café in Italy. In retrospect, that had been a mistake, as the waiter had all too obviously thought he was picking up the werewolf for an illicit tryst, and he had had to endure the man’s infuriating winks and nudges and romantic sighs. Bloody Italians.

He had taken Lupin to the Prince family home where the wolf and dog had fallen upon each other in a nauseating orgy of self-recrimination and tears. Things only got worse when Remus had tried to express their gratitude to Snape. The Potions Master had barely escaped being hugged (hugged!) by both Marauders. He shuddered at the memory. He would have had to use some kind of scouring hex on his skin if that had actually come to pass.

Black had then further irritated him by making an annoyingly speedy recovery, although that at least had enabled him to get started on the Dursleys more quickly than Snape had expected. But that too had proved disappointing. Harry’s relatives had been no match for the Marauders.

Severus grumbled. Muggles these days had so little fortitude. The disgusting Dursleys had been almost too easy. Between his boyhood friend’s organization and Sirius’ imaginative ideas, it had taken just under four weeks before the Muggles were twitching involuntarily and diving to the floor whenever they heard a loud noise. Snape sighed. He really needed to find someone who could offer him a genuine challenge.

He had visited the Marauders about ten days previous and had found both at his manor, sprawled on couches and teaching his house elves extremely rude drinking songs. “I see your work ethic has not improved over time,” Snape snarled. “Why aren’t you torturing the Dursleys?”

Black grinned at him and gave that annoying bark-like laugh. “All in hand, my boy. Today’s Petunia’s day to clean the house, and we intercepted Vernon en route to his office.”

“So?”

Remus smirked. “Let’s just say Petunia didn’t notice that her toilet scrub brush looked a little familiar.”

Snape blinked. He had to admit that was quite inventive, especially for two morons who’d barely managed to get through McGonagall’s class on animate to inanimate transfiguration. “That is… adequately imaginative,” he allowed grudgingly.

The two idiots beamed at each other and exchanged a high five.

“Since it is obvious that the Muggles do not require your undivided attention and the mutt appears to have recovered enough to be his usual irritating self, may I ask when you plan to vacate my home?” Snape demanded.

Both turned to him, smiles fading. “You’re throwing us out?” Sirius asked, gobsmacked.

“You thought I would give you indefinite room and board?” Snape asked in similarly disbelieving tones.

“Well, yes,” Black admitted, exchanging a bewildered look with Lupin.

“You actually planned on spending the next fifty years of your life within these wards, only venturing out occasionally to hex the Dursleys?” Snape stared at them incredulously. Was he the only one to realize that, with his miniscule attention span, Black would soon get bored and sulky at such confinement? That he would then embark on some ridiculous stunt to try to meet Harry or discredit Fudge or whatever other Gryffindorish notion lodged in his peabrain? That he would doubtless be captured and killed?

“But – but – “ Black stuttered incoherently.

“It’s all right, Sirius,” Lupin cut in quickly. “Severus is correct. He’s already been more kind to us than we had any right to expect. We can’t continue to impose on his hospitality. I’m sure I can find us a small flat somewhere. I don’t have a great deal of savings, but there are plenty of Muggle areas where rents are quite reasonable.”

Snape eyed the werewolf in disbelief. “I have an even better idea, Lupin. Why don’t you simply see if Mad-Eye Moody or Amelia Bones has a spare bedroom Black can use?” he asked sarcastically.

At Lupin’s expression of confusion, he snapped, “What is wrong with you, you fool? Do Gryffindors lack all sense of self-preservation? The instant Black leaves these wards, no place in Britain will be safe for him. Are you truly that simple-minded, or have you finally realized that the mutt is a useless git and decided to turn him in?”

“Of course not!” Lupin snarled back, his normally imperturbable temper for once igniting. “But what do you expect us to do when you force us to leave? You know full well we have no resources.”

“Wait! I’ve an idea!” Black chimed in. “There are those caves in the Forest by Hogwarts. I could live there as Padfoot, and the acromantulas and the rest of the creatures wouldn’t bother me.”

Snape wearily rubbed his forehead. He was so tired of dealing with Gryffindors. They were like those big stupid dogs who couldn’t understand where the ball went when you put it behind your back. “I suppose you’d survive by eating rats or whatever you could catch?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Black shrugged resignedly. “If I have to. Maybe I can sneak into the Hogwarts kitchens once in a while.”

“Where the house elves will promptly capture you, lest you threaten their darling Harry Potter, and Dumbledore will do what he did ten years ago and deliver you to Azkaban. Only before they have you Kissed, the Ministry will subject you to Veritaserum and then the werewolf and I will end up as fugitives ourselves.” Snape could feel a headache coming on. Even first year Hufflepuffs weren’t as unsophisticated as these two. How on earth had the Marauders avoided as many detentions as they had, if this was their idea of a cunning plan?

“Er…” Black looked embarrassed, but Lupin was frowning in thought.

“Maybe the Ministry wouldn’t notice us if we disguise ourselves with – “ the werewolf began.

“Enough!” It was obvious Snape was going to have to do this himself. Oh, they might be able to torment Muggles and schoolchildren, but Lupin and Black’s notion of strategic thinking rivaled Harry’s – without his excuse of being merely eleven. No, it was up to him. Left to their own devices, Lupin and Black would hang around in the most obvious places, practically begging to be arrested. Did they have no idea that the world extended beyond the borders of Hogwarts and Diagon Alley?

No, he couldn’t trust them to keep themselves safe, and idiots though they were, they were both strong wizards and devoted to the boy. Snape intended to surround Harry with as many powerful wizards and witches as he could so that when the inevitable battle with the Dark Lord came, Harry would have plenty of allies and no need to rely on the Ministry, Dumbledore, or anyone else. Snape might not trust Black to figure out that toast came from bread, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could be trusted to protect Harry, even at the cost of his own life. That was the sort of things Gryffindors lived for. (Well actually, died for.) …The point was that the mutt wouldn’t think twice before taking an AK meant for Harry, and that meant that Severus needed to keep him around.

In addition, Snape needed to secure Black’s freedom to ensure his own long-term safety. He wasn’t about to live under the threat of Black being interrogated with Veritaserum and his own involvement coming out. He needed the mutt cleared and untouchable, and obviously he couldn’t rely on the Gryffindors to manage it themselves. “Here’s what you will do…”

Several days later, the Wizarding World of Britain had been rocked by a shocking revelation: Sirius Black was alive and well in Switzerland! The Daily Prophet had an enormous picture of a smiling and waving Black outside the Zurich branch of Gringotts, while the accompanying text read:

Death Eater Black Granted Asylum in Switzerland!!

Sirius Black, long held to be a Death Eater and the betrayer of Lily and James Potter – the parents of The Boy Who Lived – has been granted asylum by the Swiss after his daring escape from Azkaban. The former Auror, now the head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, had been imprisoned shortly after the Potters’ deaths for allegedly murdering his close friend Peter Pettigrew and a dozen Muggle bystanders. Confidential sources speculate that Pettigrew – who was also an associate of the Potters - had bravely confronted Black over his treachery, only to be obliterated by the more powerful wizard. When Black was finished with him, only Pettigrew’s finger remained. The Ministry judged Black such a dangerous threat to society that upon his capture, he was immediately dispatched to Azkaban.

Yesterday, in an astonishing turn of events, the Swiss government confirmed Black had reached Zurich and applied for political asylum. The Swiss have granted his petition and rejected loud demands from Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge for Black’s immediate return.

Swiss Wizarding Council President Pascal Schlumpf released a statement which read in part, “Switzerland is proud to be able to assist Mr Black to restore his good name. For ten years, Mr Black was illegally incarcerated on the island of Azkaban – a clear violation of the Declaration of Universal Wizarding Rights. Furthermore, the British government’s appalling treatment of Mr Black is matched only but its disgusting use of Dementors as prison guards on the island. Civilized countries have long condemned Britain’s medieval use of Dementors in this capacity, and it is a tribute to Mr Black’s mental fortitude and magical prowess that he has emerged from such an ordeal with his mind intact. Switzerland’s long-standing refusal to sign an extradition treaty with Britain has been largely based on Britain’s inhumane policies, and the treatment of Mr Black confirms the appropriateness of our decision. It is our hope that Mr Black will choose to make his home here in Switzerland, a beautiful country whose citizens are dedicated to the ideals of law and justice.”

Mr Black commented, “They’ve got amazing chocolate too - not to mention the women! It’s like they’re all double jointed or something. In fact, the things Swiss women do with chocolate are unbelievable…” The rest of Mr Black’s remark is unsuitable for publication in a family newspaper.

A source close to the Swiss president accounts for this inexplicable offer of sanctuary as follows: “Remember the last European Summit when your Minister got drunk and thought it would be funny to dump that Amortentia in President Schlumpf’s goblet? Remember how your paper printed those pictures of what happened next with the delegation from Sweden? Remember Mrs Schlumpf’s reaction when she saw those pictures? Don’t you have a saying that “payback is a witch”? What is it with you British and these stupid pranks anyway?”

Another top government official on the Swiss Wizarding Council commented, “Vhen ze head of one of ze oldest and vealthiest Vizarding families in Britain shows up on your doorstep asking for sanctuary, vat else vould ve say but ‘Come right in und bring all your money mit you’ ? Und besides, you made it easy for us. You never even gave ze man a trial, und den you expect us to hand him over to you to be Kissed? Ja, right.”

Goblins at the Diagon Alley branch of Gringotts refused to comment, but a spokesgoblin at the Zurich branch stated, “We are happy to allow Mr Black to draw upon his fortune. We are confident that either Mr Black will be proven innocent by the new MLE investigation into his past, in which case our English bank will be permitted to unfreeze his assets, or we will be able to collect any debts from Mr Black’s heir or estate. In the extremely unlikely event that the British government were foolish enough to try to seize all of Mr Black’s accounts and stiff Gringotts,” here the spokesgoblin paused and bared its many sharp, pointed fangs, “the British Wizarding World will find out why it is such a bad idea to annoy a goblin.”

That morning, as Snape entered the Great Hall for breakfast, he overheard snippets of a muffled conversation between Dumbledore and McGonagall. It was still very early and only a few students were at the tables, but – curiously – most of the staff had already assembled.

“Don’t be ridiculous… go mad when he hears… not to show it to him here… students in the crossfire…” McGonagall’s voice was low, but her anxiety was apparent.

Dumbledore tutted at her reassuringly. “…grown man…. take it like an adult… well-controlled emotions… confident he’ll be fine…”

“Oh, Severus,” Hooch called over sweetly. “Seen today’s Prophet?”

“Why?” he asked suspiciously, noticing how all the other faculty seemed to cower away from him.

“Thought you might find this interesting.” Hooch levitated a copy of the paper over to him, and the rest of the staff table whispered hasty Protegos.

Snape read the lead story and went first white, then red. “Er, Severus my boy,” Dumbledore began uncertainly, his confidence abruptly waning at the expression on the Potion Master’s face. “Please do not let this –“

Snape’s full goblet of pumpkin juice missed the Headmaster’s ear by mere inches. “THAT MISERABLE BASTARD!”

The students in the Hall stared, eyes huge, as their normally icy professor threw platters of food and drink around the Hall while the rest of the faculty ducked for cover under the table.

A few house elves popped in to remonstrate with whoever was wasting food in this fashion, but one glance at Snape’s countenance and they instantly vanished. Only after he had entirely cleared the staff table of food, shredded Hooch’s copy of the Prophet, and stomped on the remains, did Snape’s furious shouting come to an end. Heads tentatively popped out from under tables as the man took a deep breath, straightened his robes, and stalked from the room.

McGonagall transformed back from her feline form, in which she had cowered underneath Hagrid’s broad torso, and turned to eye the Headmaster, her smug expression proclaiming “I told you so”. Dumbledore sighed and looked at the wreckage of the Great Hall. “Well, that could have gone a bit better,” he admitted sadly.

Back in his quarters, Snape threw himself into a chair with a huff. That idiot Black! How dare he improvise his own lines? Those remarks about chocolate and Swiss women? He’d be lucky if the locals didn’t string him up by his – Hmmm. Snape’s lips quirked into a smile. Actually, would that be so terrible after all?

He forced his mind away from such pleasant mental images and once again scanned his own copy of the Prophet. Yes, the press release he’d written had been used by the Swiss president practically verbatim. It was amazing what the promise of a generous contribution to a campaign could do. The Swiss were always so… business-like… about such things. And of course the man had been dying for the opportunity to repay Fudge for that love potion stunt. Snape smirked. It always paid to stay up to date on international politics, and after keeping track of the dizzying maelstrom of the adolescent grudges at Hogwarts, it was surprisingly easy to track diplomatic enmities. They were quite sedate by comparison to the ever-changing alliances of hormonal teenagers.

He rolled his eyes, remembering how flabbergasted Lupin and Black had been at the suggestion they go abroad. Seeking allies outside of Britain had apparently never entered their little minds. “Do you imagine that Voldemort is hanging around Godric’s Hollow or the Forbidden Forest?” he had demanded, nearly pulling out his hair in frustration over their incomprehension. “He is surely long gone from Britain – seeking new allies and recovering his strength. You need to do the same!”

“I won’t act like some Slytherin Dark Lord!” Black had snapped, outraged at the suggestion.

“Fine. Stay here and end up as a soulless shell, you nitwit!” Snape snarled. “I expect Fudge will mount Lupin’s head on his wall once the axeman gets through with him.”

Sirius had frozen, stricken at the thought of Lupin facing execution for aiding him, and much of his opposition had melted away. “Well, why Switzerland?” he sulked. “It’s cold there. Why not somewhere with lots of bikinis, like Brazil, or topless beaches, like Denmark?”

Snape gritted his teeth. “Only you would be dunderheaded enough to choose a potential sanctuary based on bathing costumes,” he growled. “Switzerland has no extradition treaty with Britain, its current president despises Fudge, its population was neutral in the war so your reputation as either a Death Eater or Order member will be irrelevant, and their banking system is famous for being independent.”

Lupin, unsurprisingly, got it first. “So you think that their local Gringotts would permit Sirius to access his vaults?” he asked, eyes lighting up.

Gryffindors. Snape rubbed his forehead and did his best to explain things in very small words. “It is well known in banking circles that all Gringotts branches are magically connected. Goblin magic is quite adept at linking two distant sites. Didn’t you pay attention in Binns’ History class? How do you think they managed all those ambushes?”

Black snickered. “You actually listened to the ghost? What a loser! Did you take notes too?”

“The point,” Snape ground out, “which even the werewolf appears to grasp, is that in Switzerland you will be able to bankroll yourself, thus ensuring your safety from prosecution while you launch a counteroffensive in the world press.”

“Oh.” Black thought about that. “That would be good, right?”

Snape again reminded himself he was dealing with Gryffindors. “No rats,” he said slowly and distinctly. “No Dementors. Money. Attention. Women.”

Now Black was looking very happy. “Why didn’t you say so?” he demanded. “Let’s go! Come on, Moony! What are you waiting for?”

And now, looking at the front page of the Prophet, Snape saw the results of his labors. He had to admit, Black looked good. Lupin and the house elves had managed to reverse many of the ravages of Azkaban, and Black now looked the picture of noble suffering, gaunt but still ruggedly handsome rather than filthy and emaciated. No wonder the European paparazzi had gone wild. He was rich, handsome, young, and single: every young witch’s dream.

Snape grimaced at the thought of how women were surely fawning all over Black. Knowing the mutt, he would quickly realize how effective a “tortured by Dementors” spiel would be in attracting the witches. Leave it to Black to use languishing in Azkaban as a means of picking up chicks.

Remus was in Switzerland as well, though he was following orders and keeping a low profile. He’d be better able to portkey back and forth that way, continuing to hand out Marauder justice to the Dursleys and negotiating with Bones at the MLE on Black’s behalf.

Snape hastily Vanished his copy as a tentative knock sounded on his door. “What?” he snarled, opening it to reveal a rather apprehensive-looking Dumbledore.

“I just wanted to make sure you were all right, my boy,” Albus said soothingly. “I have already remonstrated with Rolanda for springing the paper on you in such an abrupt fashion.”

“I am entirely uninterested in Black’s whereabouts or condition,” Snape said coldly. “If those Swiss dunderheads are willing to shelter Death Eating scum, they deserve everything they get.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Yes, well, it appears that there may have been an… error.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose. “What?”

“Although it has not yet made the newspapers, my contacts at the Ministry inform me that Sirius has made copies of his pensieved memories available. They are being examined by Unspeakables to ensure they are genuine and unadulterated, but if true, it appears that a dreadful mistake was made.” Albus abruptly looked every one of his many years.

“You mean he didn’t betray the Potters and Pettigrew?” Snape demanded, playing his role.

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment, and his voice was heavy with guilt. “No. It appears he did not.” He opened his eyes and looked at Snape almost pleadingly. “It never occurred to me that Lily and James would change their Secret Keeper without telling me, but according to Sirius, the three of them decided that Sirius was too obvious a choice. They changed to Peter Pettigrew but kept it a secret, thinking that any attacks would continue to concentrate on Sirius. They decided to tell no one, not even me,” he added with unconscious arrogance. “When they died, I naturally assumed Sirius was responsible, and when Peter manufactured that alibi… I never questioned it. I knew Peter had never been capable of constructing elaborate plots, and so it never occurred to me to question why Sirius would turn Dark like that. Of course, Peter wasn’t acting alone – he’d had the Dark Lord and Death Eaters guiding him – and he obviously learned his lessons well. Well enough to be able to frame Sirius and ensure that none of us spoke up on his behalf.” Albus' expression was haunted with self-reproach. “I wanted to keep Harry safe and to put the whole wretched tragedy behind me… And so I condemned Sirius to ten years of torment.”

“Considering he had condemned me to seven years of torment, you will forgive me if I do not join in your orgy of guilt,” Snape cut in acidly. “Perhaps it will make you feel better to remember that attempted murder is often punished by a decade in Azkaban. Thanks to your intervention, Black was granted several years of freedom after nearly luring me to the werewolf, but things seem to have worked out satisfactorily in the end.”

For a moment he thought he had gone too far, as Dumbledore’s eyes briefly blazed with fury, but then the Headmaster’s shoulder slumped and his eyes were merely tired and sad. “Ah, poor Severus. You are the most injured of us all, aren’t you?”

Insulted, Snape started to protest, but Dumbledore held up a hand to silence him. “I did not come here to debate Black’s imprisonment with you, Severus. I am merely here to warn you that Sirius’ memories are likely to be shared with the press within the next day or two. Harry will surely hear of it, and if – as seems increasingly likely – Sirius is exonerated, he will doubtless seek to visit his godson.”

Snape shrugged as carelessly as he could. “Fine. Let him take over the little brat’s guardianship. I would consider it a welcome release.”

Dumbledore’s expression told him that he had not been fooled by Snape’s remark. “I doubt it will come to that, Severus, but I do think Harry should be prepared for the news and for the eventual meeting. Perhaps being introduced to Sirius sooner rather than later would be in his best interests, and it would also show Sirius that he need not sue for guardianship in order to see the boy.”

Snape glared at the Headmaster. “If you think I am going to accommodate that bastard Black in any way –“

Dumbledore looked stern. “I expect, Severus, that you will do what is best for Harry.” And with that rebuke, he turned and left the quarters.

Snape glowered at the door for a few moments, purely for effect, then penned a quick note. Summoning a house elf, he instructed the little creature to fetch Harry’s owl from the Owlry and glanced over the scroll while he waited.

Stage one successful. Advise press conference with pensieved memories within one week. Demand a meeting with boy immediately thereafter. Encourage Padfoot to play in traffic.

When the elf re-appeared with the owl perched on its head, he handed the scroll to Hedwig. “To the wolf, if you please,” he said curtly. She hooted and eyed him expectantly.

“Extortionist,” he grumbled, giving her an owl treat. “You’re every bit as manipulative as your master.”

She gave him a look that could only be described as a smirk and he turned to the elf. “Return her to the Owlry.” The bird could hardly leave from the windowless dungeons.

The elf happily squeaked, “Yes, Master Potions Professor Sir!”

That afternoon, Snape was walking through the corridors, enjoying a rare moment of student-free existence, when he overheard boyish sniggering. He turned the corner to find Harry and several other first years poring over the day’s paper. They had obviously finished with the cover story and were reading the profile of Black on the inside pages.

Harry looked over Seamus’ shoulder, elbowing Vince and Greg aside. The two behemoths obligingly made room for him, while Draco held the paper up a bit higher.

“Isn’t he your godfather, Harry?” Neville asked.

“Him?” Terry Boot asked, his tone acutely envious.

“Here, wait – he’s doing it again!” Ernie Macmillan tittered, pointing to the picture.

Harry watched as the tall, dark haired man in the picture grinned at a large and admiring group of young witches, several of whom held up signs that said, “I LOVE SIRI”. An object came flying at him from out of camera range, and Sirius caught it, then twirled it around his finger while looking directly at the camera and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. His audience of girls screamed and sighed.

“What is that thing?” Ron asked blankly.

“A thong,” Snape answered repressively, covering Harry’s eyes with one hand and plucking the paper from Draco with the other.

“Hey – “ Draco’s loud protest abruptly cut off as he twisted around to see who had confiscated his newspaper.

Snape glared around at the boys. “If you are so lacking in activities that you must turn to pornographic pictures for entertainment, I am happy to assign as much detention as you require.”

“N-no, sir!” Draco assured him hastily, tugging at the other boys who were still trying to puzzle out what he had said. “We don’t need detention!”

That the other boys could understand, and a chorus of agreement rapidly sounded.

“Then get out of my sight!” Snape snarled, and the boys scattered, vanishing almost as quickly as house elves.

Harry looked up at his guardian anxiously. He had sounded awfully cross, and he had scrunched up Draco’s paper as if he wanted to Incendio it. “Um, I didn’t mean to look at something bad,” he offered meekly. “It’s just the Daily Prophet.”

“Smut is smut,” Snape retorted. “If they choose to print such filth, I expect you to have the wit to avoid it.” He knew perfectly well that he was being unfair, but that was all right. The brat had surely heard of his tantrum at the breakfast table, and Potter should know better than to irritate his guardian when he was in a Mood. If the little idiot hadn’t learned that life lesson by now, then there was no time like the present.

“Sorry,” Harry offered swiftly. It looked like the gossip was right, and his professor was in an awful grump about something. Still, he had noticed that the man hadn’t actually awarded any detention to Harry or his friends. He’d only threatened to do so. Harry smiled to himself. Professor Snape was such a nice man.

“Hmf.” Snape gave the boy the evil eye. “I suppose you’re interested in meeting your godfather?”

Harry shrugged. “The other guys say he sounds really cool.” He paused. “I wouldn’t mind meeting him, but it’s not really that important,” he said, carefully casual. The last thing he wanted was to make his professor think he preferred some stranger to him.

“Fine. I’ll consider arranging it. Now get to your Common Room – your restriction isn’t over, and if I find you out here again, you’ll regret it. Or do you need a smack to remind you of the importance of obedience?” he threatened.

“We were just walking back from class when Draco showed us his paper,” Harry protested, but he quickly fled to the Tower before his professor could reconsider his leniency. Snape scowled after him, then went to complain bitterly to Minerva and Albus about what the Prophet was stooping to print these days.

Unfortunately, far from commiserating with him, McGonagall had ambushed him with her demand that he supervise her lions’ restriction, and now here he was, his Evil Bat reputation in tatters, his boyhood nemesis the toast of Europe, and his ward confidently expecting him to arrange a meeting with the most notorious wizard in Britain. Could his life get any worse?

“Oh, Severus?” Albus put his head around the doorframe. “Did Minerva mention your appointment to the Inter-House Friendship and Holiday Decoration Committee?”