In all his years of teaching, there was one student project he had strategically tried to avoid. Scare the students well enough, and they won’t come asking questions. Be aloof enough to make asking questions hard. Be unfriendly and known to not answer questions. And above all, avoid the third years.

“Sir? What did you want to be when you grew up?”

Why? Why, of all of the students in the entire school, did Potter want to do his staff interview with him? Why not Lupin? Did the damn wolf put him up to this?

Severus knew he was being irrational. The interview was due in a few short days and Potter’s favorite teachers were down for the count. McGonagall, the mastermind behind this plot, staunchly refused to do more than four interviews each year. Dumbledore had made himself even more scarce than usual, using the excuse of “a vote requiring the Mugwump be present” as means of escaping the castle. Sprout had already started telling students no, Hooch stated she was not a full professor and therefore was not allowed to participate, Hagrid was in a right state over his bloody Hippogriff, and Lupin…

Lupin was currently locked in his quarters likely chewing on an old boot.

Even the Slytherins had found other professors to ask questions of, many of whom turning to the electives professors to achieve the required answers for the assignment. But not Potter. He had procrastinated to the last minute, as per usual.

“Did you want to be a potions master? Or did you want to be something else?”

What had he wanted to be? It was so long ago. A lifetime ago. Back before Hogwarts, Potters, werewolves, and demonic men who made nightmares come true. Back when it was just him and Lily, hiding in an old oak tree in the park talking about what they wanted to be. Avoiding Petunia Evans and Edmund Stanthis, both of whom loved to destroy anything beautiful in the world.

Lily had wanted to be a doctor, she had wanted to help people who needed it. She was always there, giving him an ice pack for a black eye or broken nose or a band-aid for a cut or skinned knee. He had wanted to be...

“Potter, I didn’t know what I wanted to be, or if I wanted to be anything at all.”

He couldn’t remember. He had wanted out. Away from Cokeworth. Away from Spinner’s End and its bullies and screaming parents. Away from the smell of alcohol in the morning and stale cigarettes permeating the air. The smell of food rotting in the fridge when the electricity failed and his mother didn’t have the energy or will power to put up a preservation spell. The feeling of his father’s hand landing blows on him as he tried in vain to protect his mother from his father’s drunken rage.

Back then, he wanted out. He wanted to be away from the muggle world and into the magical one. Cokeworth was by far and away the least magical place on the planet, with the stress of daily life in the factories and mines making its way home to most every family. Money woes were common and coping methods unhealthy.

“When did you decide to become a potions master?”

Lily had been exceptional in every subject, pushing all other students below her academically. Even Ms. Granger would have struggled to keep up. By the time they were in their third year, Lily had already begun creating her own charms. By fourth year, she was beginning to show promise at curse breaking and runic manipulation. Everyone loved her, and yet she was humble about her successes.

Severus, on the other hand, was nothing more than an average student with a penchant for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Routinely competing for the highest marks in the class against James Potter, he constantly worked and studied to be better at the topic. It wasn’t out of joy or love for the subject, however. If Potter learned a new spell, Severus was the dummy on which he would practice.

Then, in his fifth year, he did the unforgivable. Frustrations had been running high, OWLS were finishing up for the day, and Potter had come to torture his favorite Slytherin. The look on Lily’s face when he had called her a mudblood broke everything he had.

He tried everything he could think of to win her back, yet she refused to speak to him. When she made it into the ‘Slug-Club,’ he saw his chance. Potter wanted nothing to do with potions; they weren’t showy enough for his tastes. It was a perfect plan: become the best potions student in Hogwarts, get into Slughorn’s club, apologize to Lily.

He never made it past step one. His prowess with potions attracted attention from the older Slytherins, several of whom knew a man who would get him what he wanted. Power, fame, glory, and a way out of Cokeworth. All he had to do was brew a few potions here and there. It seemed so simple.

He was persuasive in a manner only a cult leader could be, and Severus was powerless to stop it. It was only a few potions after all, that’s all he needed to do. He was even promised treatment for his mother.

Suddenly it was as though time sped up. His mother passed away, no treatment was provided to her. Graduation was fast approaching. NEWTS were taken. Parties were celebrated. Everyone went on about their lives.

Everyone except Severus.

His ingenious plan had failed. He was now locked in a magical contract with the Dark Lord. The only family he had was dead. The freedom he had longed for had been stripped even further from him. And Lily had married Potter.

After the fall of the Dark Lord, Severus had spent five long months locked away in Azkaban reliving the worst days of his life. Over and over again, he heard himself call Lily a mudblood. Over and over again, his father’s fists pummeled him into the ground. His mother dying in agony.

Most prisoners lost their minds. Some counted the days they had been there by scratching on the walls. Severus used lists. Lists of ingredients. Lists of ways to prepare them. Lists of reactions. By the time he was released, potions had become his solace. The art which had bound him to the Dark Lord was the same one which had freed him.

But it wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t where he had hoped to end up. The sounds of burbling cauldrons only served to remind him of his mistakes and the future he could have had. A nostalgia for a future he had been promised but never received.

When had he decided to become a potions master?

“When I had nothing left.”