September 1, 1995 arrived with a bite to the air and a lower number of new first years. The Sorting Hat nattered on at such un-Merlinly length about the uniting of Hogwarts Houses, and the dark times of change on the horizon, that many students began to nod off. It was an altogether depressing start to the new term that left most of the students and staff eating their feast between subdued conversation. Not surprisingly, the feast ended earlier than usual when the enchanted ceiling darkened with a thunderous storm that lit the castle at intervals with sharp cracks of noise that made students jump, and blinding light that left ghosts in one's retinas.

Draco and Harry along with Hermione, Ron, their friends and girlfriends, all managed to congregate in Gryffindor tower until Snape began his nine o'clock welcome in the Slytherin common room.

"I think that Sorting Hat needs a Muggle psychiatrist," muttered Millicent as she sat down beside Ron.

"Luna, you weren't really crying, were you?" asked Hermione with concern as she looked towards the frail looking girl.

"A little, I suppose," sighed Luna, but then she smiled and kissed Harry's cheek. "Those poor first years just seemed so very lost."

Draco snorted, "I can't believe there were only sixteen new students."

"Not just that," agreed Harry with a shake of his head, "Did you see the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables? They're missing students."

"So is Slytherin," added Milli.

"Everyone's here in Gryffindor, at least," chimed in Ron.

"True," mused Hermione looking around the subdued common room. "I'm just surprised that there wasn't one single new Gryffindor."

"I think Harley Waters was meant for Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw," said Luna. "Did you see how long he was under the hat? I'm sure he was arguing with it."

Harry grimaced. "I wouldn't blame him. That stupid hat called Gryffindor 'battle fodder and addlepated heroes'!"

"Is that any worse than being called the 'demon spawn and the root of all evil'?" Draco threw the pillow that was between himself and Hermione over his shoulder. "As if Slytherin doesn't have difficulty enough with its reputation already? Now we're the root of all evil?"

"I think Hufflepuff was worst," sighed Pansy as she laid her head against Neville's shoulder. "I mean, I can't honestly say I ever thought much of Hufflepuff, but they really are an incredibly loyal bunch. To be labelled a 'house full of soft targets' by the Sorting Hat is just a vile insult."

"What's vile about that?" asked Ron. "The hat just called them marshmellows."

Hermione nudged Ron sharply with her elbow. "It's a Muggle term, Ron. Hard targets are buildings. Soft targets are people. In war, soft targets are also corpses."

Ron's mouth drooped and he turned a shade of green. "I'm going to find that hat and burn it. First chance I get."

Down in their dungeon quarters, Lyrica spelled the fire to life and began pacing in front of it. Snape had poured himself a rare glass of fire whiskey and was now pouring his wife the Austrian Spring water she insisted on drinking of late.

Without looking, Lyrica took the proffered crystal glass of water, and continued her pacing. "That hat really needs to be turned into fertiliser, Severus. How could it have been so depressing? Despite calling for house unity, how could it have joked about suicide?"

"Yes, I think Albus was about to have apoplexy at that refrain." he seated himself in his favorite chair, took a sip of the whiskey, and leaned his head back. "At least our sons have done the most positive work in uniting the Houses and they weren't even consciously doing so." He sipped the fire whiskey. "As for its mention of suicide and its calling of Slytherin the 'root of all evil'..."

"And 'devil spawn'," his wife sneered.

Snape's eyebrow rose. "Maybe it is time to shred the bloody thing."

"So few new students this year, Severus and only three of them are Slytherins. I can't say any of their families are familiar to me." Lyrica settled herself on Snape's lap and he placed a possessive hand over her still small, but rounded belly.

"Analeith Darrowby is from Ireland. Pureblood, but poor. Terrence Blaine Stewart is from an old Scots family. There are no Stewarts in the Inner Circle, but they could very well be followers. The McGonagall family actually had quite a violent past back in the late 17th century involving the Stewarts. No doubt Minerva's quite pleased the boy is in my house instead of hers."

"She did have a sour expression on her face when she called the child up for Sorting. Pity about that. Not a single new Gryffindor, although I was certain the Harley Waters boy was headed to Gryffindor." She took a long drink of her water and leaned against her husband's chest. "What about that last boy, Severus? Bram Ashwinder. He looked absolutely terrified when the Hat shouted Slytherin."

"I'll have Draco watch over Mr. Ashwinder specifically. I did notice he was looking rather longingly towards the Hufflepuff table. The Ashwinders are relatively new as pureblood families go in this part of the country. American, I think. I'll have to look that up. Obon Ashwinder, as I understand, is an Unspeakable. Quite unusual to be a married Unspeakable with a child."

Snape vanished his wife's half empty glass of water as she was now leaning back against him with her eyes closed. He then placed his hand once more upon his wife's belly, and began to talk softly to his daughter.

"Well little one, I wonder what your name shall be. Perdita? The romantic, young heroine of A Winter's Tale? Or, what do you think of Juliet? The beautiful and beloved child of the Roman god Jove? Or shall we go with your father's favorite, Eowyn, a warrior princess of the Rohan."

With her eyes still closed, Lyrica spoke softly, "Are you trying to influence our daughter into choosing her name, Severus?" She laced her fingers through his so they were both touching her belly.

"Don't you think she should have a say in her own naming, my dear?"

"Hmmm."

"That's not quite an answer," he whispered into her ear. He then kissed the fine line of her throat.

"Don't start that, husband," she warned with a smile upon her face, her eyes still closed. "You have to leave in a few min... oh!" Her eyes flew open as she looked down at her bump. "You felt that, didn't you?"

Lyrica glanced over her shoulder at her husband and at the a look of absolute wonder upon his usually controlled features. "You did, didn't you, love?"

"She moved," he whispered. He then smirked wickedly, "I think that was a vote for Eowyn."

Draco, Pansy, and Millicent ran down through the maze of dungeons to Slytherin House. All three skidded to an abrupt halt where the hidden doorway to the common room was. Pansy and Millicent collided into Draco's back.

"Da... sir... Professor Snape, sir," Draco babbled. He kicked himself mentally as he realised it was going to be tough to remember what to call his father while school was in session.

"It is nine oh seven." Snape glared down at the three late students. "I believe I had this discussion with the three of you already at Grimmauld Place, did I not?"

"Sorry, sir," Draco bowed his head slightly. He, like Pansy and Millicent recalled the discussion they'd had with their teacher and Head of House the last day at Black Manor. "No special consideration."

"You have forced me to remove points from my own house. Mr. Malfoy, Miss Parkinson, and Miss Bulstrode, five points each for being late. This had better not be something I can expect for the rest of the term."

All three students knew better than to offer excuses and just filed quietly ahead of Snape into the Slytherin common room. Draco, the last to pass by his stern father, lost some of the tension that had settled in his neck as his father's hand quickly squeezed his shoulder. The blonde haired teen quickly bit back the smile that threatened to overshadow his contrite expression.

The Prefects quickly gathered their house mates together in the common room where they assembled according to year. Snape stood by the fireplace, his feet slightly apart and his fists upon his hips. He had his most stern look upon his face, but his black eyes clearly showed his pride in his Snakes.

The three new first years huddled together. They seem to get smaller and smaller every year, he mused to himself. Miss Darrowby and Mr. Stewart, though nervous, radiated their belonging in Slytherin. The third first year, Mr. Ashwinder, frankly showed his fear. Snape glanced quickly at his son, and then looked pointedly at the small, frightened first year.

Draco broke rank and moved to stand behind Bram Ashwinder. He placed both hands on the boy's shoulders. The child jumped, but quickly relaxed as Draco whispered something in his ear.

"This is your House, your family for the next seven years," began Snape bluntly. He addressed the first years, but this speech, which hadn't deviated in all the time he'd been Head of Slytherin House, was a reminder to the other house mates what was expected of them. "As such, you are expected to honor your house mates as you would honor any member of your family. I expect each and every one of you to show a united front when you are in public. No matter what your beliefs are, or what your family expects of you, any quarrel or argument you may have with another Slytherin is not to go any further than your common room."

Snape crossed in front of the fireplace, and then faced his Slytherins for the last of his speech.

"Intelligence, logic, and ambition are nothing if you cannot think for yourselves. That is the reason you are here. I expect you to pay attention in your classes and to always strive to do your best. If you are having trouble in a class, if you need help, I expect you to ask for help."

He crossed once more in front of the fireplace and took a step closer to all the students. Here was where he had changed his speech.

"Help isn't exclusive to your House. If there is a student in Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or even Gryffindor who can help you, then do not hesitate in soliciting their aid." His quick gaze caught the uncertain looks from some of the sixth and seventh year students, and then there were the outright hostile looks from some students who were surely brainwashed by their Death Eater parents. He noted each one and would keep an eye on them for the rest of the term.

"Finally, Slytherin House is not the 'root of all evil' nor are we 'devil spawn', no matter who our ancestors are. Good and bad have come from all the houses. You would do well to remember that Slytherins have every right to feel as proud of themselves as the other houses do."

He relaxed his stance, dropping his hands to his sides and pulling his robes about himself. "Everyone but the first years and Mr. Malfoy are dismissed to your dorms. Prefects, Mr. Malfoy will take care of the first years this evening."

The room soon cleared of students as they hustled themselves off to their rooms. Snape then floated a chair over by the fire with his wand and seated himself. Draco ushered the three little first years closer to the Potions Master. Snape leaned forward, eyeing each of them and taking their measure.

Miss Darrowby would one day be possessed of the classic Irish lass beauty. Her family might be poor, and her robes were certainly homespun, but she had pride in where she came from. She did not appear to be a young girl easily frightened. Snape had reviewed the file on the Darrowby family and learned she was an only child. Her father had been a wizarding vet, taking care of magical creatures. He had taken a risk when Analeith had gotten her Hogwarts letter and had uprooted his practice and moved it.

The Stewart boy might be trouble, Snape noted. He already had the tilt to his expression that spoke of excessive pride. That was a type of pride that bordered dangerously upon superiority. Snape had not found any allegiance to the Dark Lord's beliefs, but there were many Stewarts that held to the staunch Pureblood belief that Muggles and Muggle-borns were a threat to the wizarding world.

Terence Blaine Stewart's mother was an ornament just as Narcissa Malfoy had been to Lucius. Garrogan Stewart was a politician with aspirations of becoming Minister of Magic someday.

Bram Ashwinder is the child Snape was most concerned about. He was completely terrified. He wondered if someone hadn't filled his head with negative notions about Slytherin, and then he remembered the damned Sorting Hat's soliloquey that evening before the feast. Had he heard what the hat said about Slytherin when he was a first year, he would have argued for Ravenclaw.

Bram's father, Obon, was indeed an Unspeakable at the Ministry. The family had come from America, but a position in the Unspeakables Department had opened up, and so Obon had moved his family to London. Although it wasn't a hard and fast rule, Unspeakables generally did not marry due to the secretive nature of their work. Many Unspeakables lasted, at most, 15 years in the job before they had to leave and do something else. Obon not only was married, but had a son, and was starting his twentieth year in the service of the Unspeakables.

Snape knew he would be interested in finding out more about the family, but for now, his responsibility was for young Bram who looked ready to go hide under a rock. He carefully softened the hard edge of his usual expression and lowered his voice to speak to his new Snakes.

"The first night away from home is almost always a difficult one. It can be emotional. If you are worried, or frightened, or wish to talk, you need only leave your room, go to the portrait door, and tap the back of it with your wand. That will alert I or Madame Snape to your need."

Draco spoke up, "Professor? Would it be all right for them to come to me, too?"

Snape regarded his son for a moment. He was pleased by the offer, but it had been a very long day and with classes starting tomorrow, his son could wind up with very little sleep. "I appreciate the offer, Mr. Malfoy, however I think it important that you get as much rest as you can this evening." Draco nodded in understanding. Snape then rose to his feet. "On Saturday the three of you will come to my office for tea at noon. Do not be late."

There came a slightly whispered chorus of, "Yes, sir!" from the three children.

"Draco?" His son looked up at him. "Sleep well." Snape left the common room.

Bram Ashwinder tugged Draco's sleeve as soon as the Head of Slytherin House was gone. "Is Professor Snape really your father, sir?"

Draco smiled. "He is, Mr. Ashwinder."

"He's not a devil spawn, is he, sir?" asked the small first year. Stewart snorted derisively and Darrowby rolled her eyes.

"Professor Snape is a good man, Mr. Ashwinder," Draco patted the little boy's shoulder. "I promise you, you're in the best house. Come on, now. Time to get some rest."

September 2, 1995 - Classes Begin

"I don't WANT breakfast!" Lyrica slammed the bathroom door in her husband's face. He could hear the sounds of his wife retching as nerves attacked her delicate system on her first day of teaching Potions.

Snape went over to a small cabinet in their bedroom and retrieved a small potion bottle that held a cool, blue, somewhat milky looking liquid within. He patiently waited until Lyrica, white faced and looking rather embarrassed, emerged from the loo.

"I am... so..." she began to apologise.

Snape shook his head, and held up the small bottle. "I anticipated your nerves and brewed this for you late last night. It will keep down the nausea and settle your nerves enough so that you can get through the day."

Lyrica broke the seal on the bottle and quickly downed the potion. She closed her eyes and smiled in relief as the potion slipped its way through her system. Snape gathered his wife into his arms, kissed her cheeks, and conjured a cool cloth to cleanse her face. "You will be fine, Lyrica. You're a good teacher and you'll have those dunderheads under your thumb and obedient without any problems."

"This is still going to be a very hard day, Severus. I must be mad."

Snape chuckled and kissed her forehead. "You fell in love with the dreaded 'bat of the dungeons' and adopted the two worst enemies Hogwarts has. I am afraid that your assessment of your mental faculties is correct." She kissed his cheek. "Now, go freshen up before we're late for breakfast."

"As you command, my dear." She slid from his embrace, feeling much better than she had before, and disappeared back inside the loo.

Lyrica was dressed in her chosen teaching outfit, a dark grey velvet sleeveless dress of a simple cut over a white, silk blouse with a high buttoned, ruffled collar. Over this were black teaching outer robes styled very similarly to what her husband wore. She had spent the night before magically infusing the cloth with Repelling Spells that would protect her from any unforeseen Potions mishaps. Her long, dark red hair had been severely plaited and hung down her back. She had tried piling the hair on top of her head, but her resemblance to Minerva McGonagall had been a bit too much for her taste.

Taking a deep breath and smoothing her hands down the folds of her robes, she waved her hand at the door of her Potions classroom allowing in her first class of the day.

Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth year students. Part of her had hoped to begin with the easier first years, but schedules didn't work in such a consecutive manner. This class held both of her sons, and most of their friends. Snape had theorised that would make the class easier for her first day, but she was actually more nervous in front of students, and family, she knew.

Her fifth year students took their seats quickly and quietly. Draco gave his mother a surreptitious wink, whereas Harry was more open and smiled happily. It was those two simple gestures that calmed the final hangover of nerves, and she was able to begin her class.

"Mr. Longbottom, if you please!" Lyrica carefully refrained from shouting as the nervous boy's hand froze over his cauldron. In his hand were seven Angel Rice Seeds. Neville, thankfully, did not move one tick as Lyrica swept up the aisle, to his table, and relieved him of the seeds.

"P-p-professor?" he stammered.

Lyrica knelt down so that she was level with the boy's gaze, but not standing over him. A wave of her wand and the boy's cauldron was enveloped in a shimmering stasis field. "What potion are we making Mr. Longbottom?"

"Muscle Relaxant?" he replied warily, his dark brown eyes caught by his teacher's green-eyed gaze.

"Are you asking me, or telling me, Mr. Longbottom?"

He took a deep, calming breath and said a little more firmly, "We're making Muscle Relaxant, Professor."

"Very good. Now, will you explain to me what would have happened had you dropped all seven of those Angel Rice Seeds at once into your potion?"

Neville broke his gaze from his teacher's and glanced over at his partner, Hermione. Hermione shook her head. She'd learned, back in 1898 during Snape's classes in the library at Ashmere, that she really wasn't helping her fellows by giving away answers. Neville returned his look to Professor Snape.

After what seemed hours, but was really only a few seconds, the boy answered, "It would have produced noxious fumes that would have..." Neville swallowed convulsively as he realised what he'd almost done. His voice dropped to a horrified whisper. "I would have killed everyone!"

Lyrica stood up. Waving her wand, she removed his cauldron and frozen flame over to the long table against the right side of the class where three sinks also stood. "Detention, Mr. Longbottom, at 6:30. You'll finish your potion at that time and I expect it to be perfect. For now, assist Miss Granger and do precisely what she says."

Lyrica had been firm, she hadn't taken points, and she had not yelled. Neville was surprised that the nervousness he'd come to Potions with had eased somewhat. He watched as his teacher went to answer a question from Pansy, but was soon distracted by Hermione.

"Not as scary as you thought, Neville?" asked Hermione.

"Not too," he agreed.

Hermione smiled. "Would you quarter the Datura Root for me, Neville?"

Taking up the knife and the root, Neville began to carefully quarter the root. He smiled to himself. Maybe he'd do better on his OWLs in Potions than he expected. Now, if he could just manage not to die in Defense Against the Dark Arts he'd have a good year!

His last upper class of the day for Defense Against the Dark Arts were his Slytherin and Gryffindor fifth years. Snape watched from the shadows, well hidden in a rear corner of the classroom as the students noisily filed in.

The classroom itself was nearly all dark with flickering, grey shadows. Light came from the candles that sat beneath the gruesome sculptures and the eerie paintings at the front of the classroom. As each student caught sight of the sculptures and the paintings, the noise level dropped to hushed tones. Several students, mostly the girls, looked decidedly green as they dropped into their seats. Snape carefully watched the reactions of those Slytherins who had parents that were the most dangerous of Voldemort's Death Eaters. Madeleine Gibbon, only child of Artois Gibbon, was the only one of those children who ran from the classroom, obviously sick to her stomach.

A bell tolled the beginning of Defense Against the Dark Arts and the door to the room slammed shut, causing a few of the girls to squeal in fright.

"What you see are the graphic illustrations of curses and hexes that became favorites of the Dark Lord's followers." Snape's deep, hypnotic voice seemed to come at them from all sides. He remained in his shadowed corner as he continued. "As you can see the victims that died from these spells were forced to suffer greatly before Death's mercy released them from pain."

The light of one niche suddenly flared a ghastly red, illuminating the statue of the woman with the melting face. "Volutabrum Tergum - the curse that melts flesh from bone." The light faded until the candles were snuffed out. The statue of the man pierced by his own skeleton was next.

One by one the fourteen statues were luridly lit as the professor intoned each curse. The same was then repeated with the eight paintings of the hexes behind the desk. When the last candle died the entire room was in darkness.

"None of these curses or hexes has an antidote, or can be reversed, or countered. Each one is irrevocably and painfully fatal."

The torches flared to life, lighting the classroom, but not the examples that remained hidden by spell cast shadows. Snape was at the front of the classroom, leaning against his tall desk, looking disapprovingly down upon each and every student.

He sneered as he snapped out, "Do any of you still think the Dark Arts are 'wicked'? 'Brilliant'? Ah, yes! How about... 'cool'?"

There was no smart aleck response from his students, just an eerie silence. Snape waved his hand illuminating one of the paintings. It was of a hex that illustrated the enforced insanity of a group of people who had then turned on each other in a most vicious way.

"Someone tell me the name of this hex."

For a long moment, no one raised their hand. Then, Millicent Bulstrode, who never raised her hand in any class, slowly raised hers. Snape nodded at her. Milli swallowed and then answered, "The Asylum Hex."

"Ten points for Slytherin," Snape said softly. "You've heard about the hexes and curses, but what you need to understand now, is who the victims are. These are NOT Muggles. This is a depiction of an actual point in our history. 1532 in the small wizarding village of Anglesey in Scotland. If any of you have not fallen asleep in Professor Binns history class you would have heard the story of Anglesey. It no longer exists. The witch, Inyana Yagastryichimsky, better known in fairy tales as Baba Yaga, had a fondness for this hex. She cast it one night over the entire village. In the course of two days, the village, man, woman, and child, were wiped out as they turned upon each other."

The painting darkened just as one of the gruesome statues lit up. It depicted a figure covered in disfiguring, painful boils. Snape moved off the dais and down towards the statue. "Let's delve into contemporary history. Bellatrix Lestrange." His black gaze settled on the students in Slytherin he was most concerned with. Theodore Nott smirked smugly at the mention of the Dark Lord's mad consort.

"Mr. Nott," his gaze pierced the smug child and Nott immediately tried to shrink into the shadows. "What does this curse and Bellatrix Lestrange have in common with each other?"

Nott emphatically shook his head. He didn't have an answer. Snape sneered derisively. "No, I suppose you wouldn't know." His voice lowered to a dangerous level. "Not yet, anyway." He tapped the statue and the candle illuminating it, went out, leaving a ghostly after image of the thing on the students retinas. "Bellatrix Lestrange considers this to be a curse she likes to reserve for children. Preferably Muggle children, but she has been known to use it upon magical children as well. She first used this curse on her sister, Edwina Black."

He waited for the response he knew was sure to come. His eyes scanned the room until they settled upon Hermione Granger. He could see that she ached to speak up and contradict him, so he nodded briefly to her.

"Professor, Bellatrix's sisters are Andromeda and Narcissa Black. There is no Edwina," she said softly.

"You are only half right, Miss Granger, therefore two points to Gryffindor." He swept back up to the dais. "Edwina Belissima Black was two years old when she died from an extreme case of suppurating boils. In order to protect his young daughter, Bellatrix, from the shame of legal problems and a possible stay in Azkaban, Cygnus Black wiped Edwina from the family tree and the so-called permanent records of the Black family."

The awful figure covered in boils was once more in shadow as another statue was lit up. Probably the ghastliest one of all it depicted a male figure, his torture evident not just on face, but his body as well. Many students, boys as well as girls, either turned away, or hid behind their hands.

"The Cruciatus Curse," Snape intoned softly. "The Dark Lord's favorite curse. It can be wielded to cause enough pain to punish, or it can destroy the tenuous anchor the mind has on reality, or it can shatter bone and burst flesh... fatally. This is You-Know-Who's preferred method in playing with, punishing, or killing his Death Eaters."

To Snape's delight, every student in the class, including those children whose parents were some of the vilest Death Eaters he knew, looked ready to be sick or at least pledge themselves to the causes of Light.

It was unfortunate for Snape's last class of the day that it ended only a half hour before dinner. Very few of the students in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class had much of an appetite. Dumbledore noted that a majority of students from that class automatically congregated together, Slytherin and Gryffindor alike, at the furthest end of the Gryffindor table. They spoke softly amongst themselves, many of them barely touching their meals. If Dumbledore managed to catch the eyes of one of those students he was given a wan, nervous smile that vanished swiftly. It was a behavior the Headmaster had witnessed at lunch after Snape had held his Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff class. Those poor children had weaker stomachs, apparently, than did the Slytherin and Gryffindor students for the majority of them didn't even bother to eat.

Many hours later, around one o'clock in the morning as Dumbledore was still awake and taking care of what seemed to be the endless paperwork of his job, he was not at all surprised to hear from an angry Poppy Pomfrey who was plagued with an undue amount of students requesting Dreamless Sleep Potion.

At the end of the first week of classes, the upper level students taking Professor Snape's DADA class were greatly relieved to see that the gruesome statues and the paintings were gone. The rumour was that the Headmaster, irritated about the rise in nightmares amongst the upper levels populace, had ordered the removal of the ghastly examples. He hadn't. Snape had never intended for the displays to be permanent. He had wanted to make an impression on his students, and he had. Now, the real teaching would begin.