"He wants to spy," Poppy said softly, entering the room behind him.

Albus turned toward her abruptly. "Spy? But he's only twelve!" Amazing, really, how quickly he had accepted that his sarcastic potions master was but a child again. Nor was he alone in that.

Poppy looked sadly at the child on the bed. "I tried to tell him that. He's growing up too quickly." She seemed to have forgotten already that, two days ago, the boy on the bed had been a man she hadn't particularly liked.

"Faster even than last time," Albus agreed quietly. "Though I'm not certain Voldemort didn't do him a favor by returning him to this age."

Poppy shot him a hard look. "You-Know-Who doesn't do favors."

Albus did not look up from the child's peaceful sleep. A sleep the older Severus would have found impossible. "No doubt he'll try to exact payment, but he did give Severus a second chance. Something he's wanted for a long time. Of course, the boy Severus doesn't realize what he has gained." As an afterthought, he added, "Nor lost, for that matter."

Poppy nodded reluctantly. "Still. He's only twelve."

Albus chuckled. "He's thirty-nine."

"Oh, good," a sleepy voice commented. "I'm not forty yet after all." The boy rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, but didn't open them. "This is one really weird dream, ya know? Pity I can't tell anyone about it. All my friends are pro-Voldemort. Might mess up my chances." He rolled over and went back to sleep.

Poppy and Albus exchanged worried looks. "He is still a second year Slytherin from the time of Voldemort's first rise to power," Albus said softly, "without the benefits of experience our potions master has had. I doubt he's completely out of the dark, even yet."

"I doubt our potions master was ever completely out of the dark, either," Poppy remarked with a touch of acid.

Albus gave her a reproachful glance but did not comment.

He was in and out of the hospital wing for the next several hours, waiting for the boy to wake up again. Even if Poppy would have let him, Albus was not about to wake the child himself. The fourth time he entered the room, the boy stirred, and began thrashing about. "No!" Severus cried out, but did not awaken.

Albus found Poppy quickly, and explained, "He's having nightmares."

They returned to his side in time to see him sit up suddenly, defiantly yelling out, "I'm not yours!" Either the dream, the sitting, or the shout threw off the dream, and he eyed the Hospital Wing with something akin to relief, still breathing hard. He tucked sweaty black hair behind his ears, and looked up at his visitors. "Hi," he greeted them breathlessly.

"Hi yourself," Albus returned, allowing the boy the illusion of normalcy. If Severus wanted to talk about it, he would.

He used an over-large sleeve to wipe sweat from his brow. Albus made a mental note to find him some more appropriate wear. "I know where I got the tattoo," he said without further preamble.

"Oh?" Poppy had said he remembered, but she hadn't wanted to give the details. That was Severus's story to tell.

"Voldemort gave it to me." That was hardly surprising, but the anger and resentment in the child's voice was. Poppy had worriedly commented that when he told her about it, he had been almost completely emotionless, as though talking about something he'd heard about, not experienced. Most of the older Severus's reports had been in the same tone. Initially, scared or angry or upset, but when the words started to flow, completely dead.

"He burned it into my arm and told me I was his." Indignation, now. "Made me call him my master." Black eyes met blue, and Albus read humiliation and outrage in them. "I'm mine. Not his. Mine." The boy's black eyes seemed to burn, and Albus felt a response was expected from him.

"Of course, child."

"So, I'm going to spy." Albus was about to argue, but the boy cut him off. "Mine!" Albus startled at the ferocity in the child's voice. "I'm mine. Not his. Not yours. And I will spy."

There was really only one thing to say to that. "Of course, child."

"And I'm Severus Snape. Not gonna change just because I'm little again."

"Of course, child." Albus wondered if that had been a thought-out decision or simple injured pride speaking. But it was Severus's choice and he wasn't about to question the child in his current mood.

"Can't be a spy, if nobody knows I'm really me, after all." So it was a considered decision, then. Good. "Voldemort wants Severus Snape, not some John Smith."

"Quite so."

This seemed to mollify him. He suddenly looked ten again. "So, when do I start classes again? Who's in my year? What teachers do I know? What important stuff did I miss that I'll be expected to know about? How many weeks into the year are we? Did I miss any lessons? Do -"

Albus chuckled his first real laugh since Severus returned, interrupting the torrent of questions. "One at a time, child, one at a time!"

Severus pulled on the school robes over the uniform that the Headmaster had found for him. He looked over at the closed door of the infirmary an called out, "Ok! I'm ready!"

The door opened, and Madam Pomphrey entered. He spread his arms and spun for her inspection. "Fits?"

She nodded. "Fits," she agreed. She pointed her wand at a corner of the room, and a mirror popped into existance. "Take a look."

Severus approached the mirror, and let out a yelp of surprise and dismay at his reflection. "I'm a little kid!" he exclaimed.

In the mirror, he could see the mediwitch's amusement. "Of course you are, child. You're twelve again, remember?"

He pointed at his mirror image in irritation. "He's not twelve! He's like six!"

She shook her head and tried to look solemn. "No younger than nine. Our best guess for your physical age, based on your medical records, is that you're probably ten."

Severus stared at her for a long moment. His irritation slowly dwindled, and was replaced with ironic amusement. He fought back a smirk, and tried to hold on to the irritation, but he ultimately failed as snort of laughter escaped. This attracted the mediwitch's attention, and she raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"I'm all messed up, aren't I? What'm I supposed to answer when someone asks how old I am? 'Chronologically, thirty nine. Mentally, twelve, and physically, ten'?"

"You can probably safely stick to 'twelve,'" she assured him. "You're tall for your physical age, and you don't look significantly younger than other twelve year olds."

"But I liked being the tallest in my class."

"Don't whine, child. It's beneath you." He nodded, taking the admonishment in stride and to heart. She was right, of course. "You're expected in the Great Hall for dinner, so you'd best hurry along now."

He nodded, but paused just before leaving the room. He turned back to the nurse and gave her an uncertain smile. "Thank you, Madam Pomphrey."

She clucked at him and shooed him away, but he knew she appreciated the thanks.

He hurried down through the halls, feeling simultaneously as though he never left and that it had been a very long time since he'd passed these paintings and stones as a student. It was the weirdest feeling. He was just twelve. Just Severus. But twenty-seven years had passed since his last memory of Hogwarts. He knew it intellectually, but when he passed a group of students who looked his age, but that he didn't recognize, it really hit home.

He had to stop and lean against a wall and think about breathing. In and out. Breathe in. Breathe out. No good to panic, it won't help. He was in 1995, whether he was ready for it or not. Breathe. When he felt he had sufficiently recovered his calm, and effectively surpressed the thoughts of being out of place and time, he continued his journey to the Great Hall. Nobody seemed to be paying him much mind, but he expected that to change soon enough.

If his potions master had suddenly turned into a second year, he'd stare at the new kid, too. That was most of the reason why he'd initally wanted to become someone new. But the memory of Voldemort changed all that, and if he had to face down stares and mistaken preconceptions, then he'd do just that. He wasn't about to let anyone run his life, not even his old self.

He found the Headmaster at the teacher's entrance where he'd been told to meet him. "Hello, Severus," the old wizard greeted him.

"You didn't tell me I was only ten," he accused.

The wizard's blue eyes twinkled, and him mouth quirked. Surpressing a laugh no doubt. But then his expression abruptly turned serious. "There were more important matters to discuss."

Severus nodded, accepting the explanation. "So I'm getting introduced tonight?" He already knew the answer, but it was an easy way to shift focus back to the issue at hand. Without waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question, he added another, "Do they know that their potions master had a . . . accident?" For lack of a better way of putting it.

Dumbledore shook his head. "They know Professor Snape is currently unable to teach potions, but they do not know why." The Headmaster pushed open the side door, and indicated Severus should enter. He did, and the old wizard followed close behind. A hand on his shoulder steered him toward the teacher's High Table, and he took the seat Dumbledore told him to take. The teachers already at the table looked at him oddly. Some of them gave him double takes, shocked looks on their faces. These were usually the ones he'd had. The ones he didn't know tended to just look at him and shrug his presence off as one of the Headmaster's whims.

The table was a little taller than the student's tables. Or perhaps it was just that he was used to his twelve year old body rather than his ten year old one. In either case, he couldn't really see his plate that well, so he shifted to a kneeling position on his chair. From this greater height, he could see beyond the teacher's table and into where the students sat.

Most of them weren't present yet, but those that were, were beginning to notice the second-year sitting with the teachers. They pointed him out to their friends, and he wasn't sure if he was more disappointed or thankful that he couldn't hear what they were saying. He wondered if they recognized him as their potions master, or just as a random kid.

His thoughts were interrupted as Professor Flitwick cleared his throat and asked tentatively, "Severus?"

Severus turned toward his Charms professor, lifting an eyebrow curiously. "Yes?" he asked politely.

It was quite amusing to see the little professor almost fall over backwards. The short exchange drew the notice of other nearby professors, and one that he didn't know lifted her brows clear to her hair line. "You're Snape?"

Severus rolled his eyes and dropped against the back of his chair and responded in irritated boredom, "I know what my name is. What's yours?" It was cruel, he knew it was cruel. But it was just so much fun seeing their faces turn that many different colors and shapes. The Headmaster, he noticed, was enjoying the show just as much as he was.

"Cla-Claudia Hooch," the professor he didn't know answered, her yellow eyes wide with disbelief.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Professor Cla-Claudia Hooch. What do you teach?" Oh, the stunned looks on their faces was worth coming twenty-seven years into the future. Or losing twenty-seven years of memory. Or whatever it was that bloody well happened.

"Flying." Severus was rather impressed that she didn't stutter again.

"Oh." Flying instructor. That wasn't a proper professor's position. He scanned the table and picked out his old herbology professor, "You're looking good, Professor Sprout. You barely look a day older since '68." His mother's hospitality and courtesy lessons were clearly paying off. He had all of his professors speechless. It was a heady feeling of power. On Sprout's other side, he saw rumpled looking man with greying brown hair, "Hello, sir, and your name is?"

The man looked like he was surpressing a laugh or smirk. It was an expression that gave Severus a sinkingly familiar feeling. His eyes widened. "You're not Lupin, are you, sir?" he blurted. Blast it, he wasn't supposed to call Remus 'sir'. Remus was his age. Sort of. Dumbledore should have warned him.

"Hello to you, too, Mr. Snape," Lupin said, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

"Merlin, you look old." Okay, he could admit it. He just completely flunked out of his mother's lessons.

"You look rather younger yourself, Mr. Snape," Lupin probed, not taking offense.

Well, after that old comment, the least he could do was explain. Lupin was evidently one of his professors. How weird can things get? "Yeah, I'm twelve. Madam Pomphrey says I'm actually physically ten. Headmaster Dumbledore's going to put me in Second Year classes, though. That's what I remember to." Blast, they were starting to pity him. He didn't need pity. He didn't want pity. "It's really cool. It's like I time travelled. Or slept for thirty years like that muggle from the States. Rip Van Crumple or something."

"Winkle, Rip Van Winkle*, and he only slept for twenty years," a professor he didn't know corrected, "after a dwarf gave him an overdose of the Drought of the Living Death." He smiled. "I'm Wallace Vestry, the Muggle Studies professor, Mr. Snape."

Severus nodded. "Nice to meet you, sir." Perhaps he could at least try to redeem his mother's respect.

Further conversation and discovery was cut short by Dumbledore tapping his spoon on his glass, drawing the attention of every student and professor. Severus sat up on his knees again, to get a good look at his new classmates. There were lots of them, and he didn't recognize - oh. A Malfoy at the Slytherin table. No mistaking that. He looked just like Lucius. Couldn't be Lucius though. A Crabbe and Goyle beside him, too. Then, there. Gryffindor. A Potter. Older than his Potter though. About Lucius's age. Fifth or sixth year, probably. The Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were about the same age, too. Lucius had been a sixth where he came from.

"Your attention, please," the Headmaster called out, though he already had it. "Many of you may have noticed that potions classes have been cancelled for the last three days. A substitute will be found as soon as possible. Unfornately, Professor Snape will no longer be able to teach -"

A cheer rose up from the Gryffindor table. Severus sent a hard glare in their direction.

"- Unable to teach," Dumbledore repeated, raising his voice, "due to his amnesia and physical condition." He nodded his head toward Severus, "In the meantime, he will be attending second year classes until a cure can be found. Severus, if you would join Slytherin table?"

Severus nodded, and climbed down from his teacher's seat and went to sit at the end of his normal House table. He felt the eyes of the entire school follow him. He nodded politely to the students nearest him as he sat down. "Hello, I'm Severus."

They smiled nervously at him.

"I'm twelve." He felt like a bloody four-year old stating his name and age to everybody he met. He wondered if he should hold up ten fingers to complete the act. "What year are you?"

A girl with white-blond hair looked at him with uncertainty. "Third year. Don't you know that, professor?"

Severus sighed. "I'm twelve. Professor Snape was thirty-nine. Anything that happened since 1968, I don't remember. Pretend your Professor Snape and me are two entirely different people and we'll get along great. What I don't know about his life is more than twice of what I've lived."

"Oh."

"Who's a second year?"

She pointed down the table. "That's Malcolm Baddock, and the boy next to him is Graham Pritchard. They're the only second years I know. Sir-"

"Severus," he interrupted sharply.

"Se-Severus, who's our Head of House, if you're a student now?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. The Headmaster said he was looking for somebody. Probably'll be whoever he gets to fill potions. It was the DADA teacher when I was in school, but Remus sure can't do it."

"Remus?!"

Severus blushed. "Er, Professor Lupin. That sounds so wrong. He used to be in my year."

"He's a werewolf, you know."

He stared at her. "Remus? No way."

"Is so. You said so."

Severus studied her for signs of a gag in progress, but saw none. He narrowed his eyes, considering the possibility. "Huh. I thought he just got sick a lot. Missed a lot of classes last - er - my first year."

"Missed a lot of classes my first year, too, when he taught the first time," she agreed knowledgably.

"He doesn't now?"

She shrugged. "Haven't had him on a full moon yet this year. But probably still does. He wasn't teaching last year. He was a werewolf, ya know? But nobody else would take the position this year. It's cursed, you know. And, honestly, Lupin's the best they've had in ages, according to my older brothers. Even if he is a werewolf."

Severus nodded thoughtfully. "Kinda makes sense, if you think about it. Who's gonna know more about werewolves and other dark creatures than someone whose life revolves around that kind of thing? He wasn't that great at curses in first year though. Hope he got better."

She laughed. "If the way you hated each other was any indication, my guess would be that he did."

Severus smirked. That made a twisted kind of sense. "Oh," he said suddenly, extending a hand in her direction. "Severus Snape."

She laughed again. "Katryna Tragyl." She returned the handshake.

He grinned at her. "Pleased to meet you." Better late than never. Though, his mum would still be upset.