“What's wrong?”

Harry looked up from his position on the floor, rubbing Neville's back consolingly, to see his beloved godfather looming above him. “It's Snape,” he growled. “He practically tore Neville to pieces in class today for melting another cauldron. Can't he see that it's his own fault? Neville wouldn't make so many mistakes if Snape didn't frighten him so much!” A fresh bout of sobbing tore from the hapless boy.

Sirius folded his protesting joints, sore after years of disuse, until he was sitting next to Neville Longbottom. He placed a strong hand on the boy's shoulder, and Harry felt a surge of pride as his friend gazed upon the man with a grateful look. He was quite glad that others were starting to see his godfather for the man he truly was, instead of the mad murder that Pettigrew had made him out to be. Although the Ministry had finally acquitted him of any wrongdoing, the world at large seemed to hold him in suspicion. It was beyond good to have him and Lupin coming by the castle from time to time, and quite openly winning the support of the students, though he knew deep down that the visits boded nothing but ill, for their preparations were to counter any advance made by the Dark Lord.

“Don't you mind that greasy old git!” Sirius said as soothingly as he could, feeling a bit out of practice. Neville's eyes grew wide at the blatant insult. “I went to school with him, and believe me, he's as much of a slimeball now as he was back then. Nobody liked him except the Slytherins, and even they didn't want to have much to do with him until Sixth Year. He may have been brilliant in potions, but he couldn't fly a broomstick to save his life. Got the shakes every time he went near one! So much for pureblood wizards, eh?” His laugh was sardonic, causing both boys to look at him with a bit of discomfort. “And he wasn't anything special in Transfigurations, either. The only reason he got such high marks on his NEWTs was because he had his gang of Slytherins tutoring him. Here's something that should help, Neville. Next time he starts in on you, just picture him with pink hair and Gryffindor Quidditch robes.” He winked at Harry. “That was one of James' better pranks!”

That forced a shaky laugh from Neville, who found that mental image almost as amusing as the boggart-Snape in his grandmother's dress. “S-so he was mean to everyone when he was in school too?”

Sirius nodded. “He'd hex anyone who came within a foot of him! Not that anyone wanted to get that close, mind you. He was just as greasy back then, too. You could probably oil all the suits of armor in Hogwarts by wringing out his hair!” They all wrinkled their noses at that thought. “He used to wear it in a ponytail that stretched halfway down his back. Thank Merlin he's cut it since then, otherwise the amount of grease would probably weigh down his entire head.”

He suddenly frowned. “Oh, I almost forgot! Harry, I've been meaning to give this to you.” He held out a rather dog-eared book. “It's one of the few possessions I managed to regain. Thought you'd like to have a look at it.”

Harry took it and turned it over in his hands, studying it thoughtfully. “It's a yearbook!” he exclaimed. “Wow! I didn't know Hogwarts made these.”

“I think they stopped during Voldemort's reign. Wasn't very much worth celebrating back then, and I guess the yearbook became rather frivolous. Still, it's a shame they haven't brought it back.” Sirius sighed. Harry made a mental note to speak to Hermione. She'd know how to go about such a task, but then again, judging from SPEW, she tended to get carried away from time to time.

He found himself caressing the book's cover, tracing the large numbers of 1978 emblazoned on the front, eager to dive in and see the young faces of his parents once more. Hagrid had given him such a marvelous gift of photos of his parents, but he knew those by heart. Seeing some fresh ones would be close to nirvana. “Um, are you going to be okay, Neville?” he said hesitantly. “If you don't mind, I'd like to go look at this by myself. It's rather private.”

Neville gave him an understanding smile, drying his tears on a handkerchief. “You go ahead, Harry,” he said in a firm voice. “I'm feeling lots better. See you later tonight!” He pushed himself up and wandered off the hall. Sirius gave him a nod and headed off as well. Harry could not suppress a wave of relief. He couldn't bear sharing something so intensely personal with them, as much as he cared about them. He hurried off to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, knowing that no one save him, Ron and Hermione had ever been crazy enough to disturb her haunt. Poking his head in, he noticed that the usual sobbing was absent. 'Must be wandering about the pipes somewhere,' he thought idly, seating himself inside a stall. He opened the book and thumbed the pages with trembling fingers. His lips formed into a sad smile as he beheld his parents in their Seventh Year, so close to graduation, preparing to take their place in the world as full-fledged adults. Here was James transfiguring a dog into a table, his brown eyes shining with triumph. Another page showed Lily executing a complicated-looking charm, her brow furrowed in concentration. James looked on in the background, his expression undeniably proud. He jumped and nearly dropped the book when he turned the page to find a solemn-faced boy bent over a cauldron, its contents roiling ominously. His black hair obscured his face, and he impatiently swept it back behind his ears before turning back to stir the potion before him. Harry's heart lurched in his chest, and he hastily turned the page, not wanting to let the image of a younger Snape ruin his mood. And yet the scowling Slytherin continued to crop up here and there. There was a photo of James and Severus glaring at each other from behind outstretched wands, poised in traditional dueling positions. A notation mentioned that Snape had been vice-president of the dueling club that year. Harry had had the occasion to view Snape's dueling skills and wasn't at all eager to be on the business end.

Towards the back of the book, Harry discovered perhaps the best picture he could have asked for. There were photos of the graduating class separated by their Houses. His eyes were riveted on the Gryffindor graduates. There were a few faces he did not recognize, and a quick glance at the captions showed that they were no one of consequence. A youthful Sirius grinned broadly and waved at Harry until it seemed his arm would fall off. It was quite a shock to see how healthy and tanned he had been back then. Harry felt a rush of anger towards the shyly grinning Peter, knowing that it was because of him that his godfather had lost twelve years of his life and was still fighting to regain his spirits and his health, not to mention how he had betrayed Harry's father and mother. Remus pumped his fist in the air triumphantly. James and Lily stood in the center of the picture, arms around each other's waists, sneaking affectionate looks from time to time. Harry noticed that they wore black dress robes with a Gryffindor-red sash. However, they each sported a mantle of sorts that seemed to differ. Sirius, James, Remus and Peter wore blue mantles that he assumed were for Transfiguration, while Lily's mantle was green for Charms. Their mantles had a symbol or two painted on them, which were probably for some kind of academic achievement. Several were no doubt for Quidditch. Harry was pleased to note that his mother had the most honors out of the group. He sniffled slightly and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, becoming choked up with emotion. He missed them so much it made him ache! He had never even gotten to know them properly! It was so good to have Remus and Sirius around to tell him stories, but it could never truly replace the loss that he had suffered. He flipped the page over, no longer able to bear the cheerful smile, knowing that several years after that photo was taken, two of their group would be dead, one would be thrown in Azkaban, and one would turn traitor. Not a very happy ending, was it?

The photo on the next page chased all thoughts of the Marauders from his mind. He stared numbly at the graduating Slytherin class, recognizing more faces than he had expected, because the next generation was at this school at this very moment. There were others that he did not recognize at all, glancing down at the text to identify them. He knew their names far too well, from Sirius' slighting remarks about them, and from Voldemort's assembling of his faithful Death Eaters after he had regained his body. Avery, Rosier, Wilkes, Crabbe, Goyle… but it was the two young men in the center that had him so dumbfounded. From that moment frozen in time, eighteen-year-old Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy beamed triumphantly, arms flung around each other's shoulders, looking every bit as chummy as the Marauders had been. Snape's mantle was purple, obviously denoting his Potions studies. Its color was barely discernable, however, under the countless symbols and swirls of academic achievement. One in particular caught his eye. It was one that Hermione had drawn for him, one that she hoped with all her heart to earn. Valedictorian. Top marks in the entire graduating class.

“My God!” he breathed, watching a grinning Lucius slap Severus on the back. The dark-haired boy rewarded him with a smirk that was probably as close to a real smile as he would ever get. Gavin Crabbe gave the long black ponytail a strong tug, and Severus shot him an irritated glare. Crabbe merely grinned in return, not seeming intimidated in the least. Probably was used to it after seven years with the git. “This explains *so* much!” No wonder Snape favored Draco; he had been best friends with his father in school! And he had been mates with the boys who had spawned those morons Crabbe and Goyle as well. How stupid of him not to have seen it before! He had *known* that Snape had gone to Hogwarts as a youth (but seeing him so young was another thing entirely!), but it had never registered that he might have friends from that time as well as childhood enemies. A wave of outrage swept through him, leaving him shaking. How typical of Snape to coddle the second generation of Slytherins while slighting him because of who his father was! He slammed the book shut, no longer able to bear the sight of Snape and Malfoy together. The whole thing made his stomach turn. Death Eaters, the whole lot of them. His jaw clenched in outrage. He could not bear to look at the pictures one moment longer, knowing the fate of all the smiling, beaming faces inside, Slytherin and Gryffindor alike. For too many of them, there was no such thing as a happy ending.