Snape opened the door to a clear night's sky. It was cold on the Northeast Tower roof, but he didn't mind. The crisp snap of frost on the breeze, the glittering panorama of the stars, the shimmering veil of falling snow adding to the brilliant beauty of the snow already on the ground were all appreciated by the lone Potions Master. Winter was his favorite time of year, and the cold only a further boon. It was always too damn warm in those dungeons, let alone the rest of the castle.

Snape strode to the railing surrounding the Observation Platform, and rested his hands on it. He could still faintly hear the New Year "banquet." But the laughter and joy of the students was a faint and unworthy counterpart to the frigid wonder of the Hogwarts grounds at Winter, or so it seemed to Snape. He gazed across the grounds, over the Forbidden Forest to the vague glimmer of Hogsmeade.

"All so warm. Safe in their houses and beds, hope springing anew in their hearts." Snape murmured. He watched Hagrid lock the chicken coop and walk back inside his hut, that little spryte flitting around his head. Snape turned his eyes back up to the stars. "Fools. All of them."

They were fools, well, all but Dumbledore, and most of the Hogwarts staff. They were fools to think the Dark Lord could be defeated by a slip of a baby when the untold legions of Light had tossed themselves at his rocky shore to no account. Over fifteen years of suffering and combat, of spies and lies, all rendered as nothing in fifteen minutes. Countless Aurors had tried to kill the Dark Lord, and even more countless victims who tried to bring about a heroic end.

All of them counted as mere shadows of one boy who had done nothing but gurgle.

It wouldn't have been so bad, Snape told himself, if Lily or even James had gotten the credit. After all, it was their sacrifice that had protected Harry. But no. The Boy Who Lived was the hero.

And if one priest-to-be had sacrificed all his dreams and hopes, perhaps even his faith in an ultimately vain attempt to stop the Dark Lord, if this same priest/spy had wormed his way into the Dark Lord's inner circle and if this young man had been successfully passing information to the Army of Light for YEARS, coming ever closer to finding Voldemort's weakness, well. Of what value was this? A mere boy protected by enchantments born of blood was of far more value than he.

Than everyone who suffered and died fighting the Dark Lord.

Of more value than even his parents.

Even in the eyes of the one who sent that boy, who wanted nothing more than to serve his Goddess for the rest of his life, into the monster's waiting jaws. Or so it seemed. Snape had long ago learned to trust his gut.

And his gut was telling him that Harry Potter, the boy he was honor-bound to protect, was heading down the wrong path. He was allowed far too many freedoms, far too many freebies. Harry Potter was reckless like his father, and every ounce as powerful. But Minerva had failed him, as had Albus - they would not be as strict with Harry as they had with James.

That job was left to Severus.

One man against all of wizard-dom. One man was supposed to provide ALL the discipline needed to put that boy's head on straight. That one man knew he was failing, knew he wasn't getting through the boy's reckless unheeding foolhardiness anymore than Albus' speeches were.

But the one man who would have been a priest, had the Dark Mark not sealed him for death if he ever wore another's mark, would continue to do his duty. Because far more was at stake than a loose cannon. Voldemort was returning, trying to get his hands on the Sorcerer's Stone through Quirrell. And if the heir to the Potter line didn't straighten up soon, all would be lost.

"Alone again, Severus?" A kind voice called from the door. Albus, of course.

"Voldemort is rising." Severus Snape said softly. "The doom descends upon us again."

"No. We will fight him, and in our unity defeat him forever. Young Harry is the key, you know that as well as I." Albus said just as softly, moving to the Potion Master's side.

"Only for another to take his place." Snape returned. "I am a Russian. We understand these things - there may be no doom today, but doom tomorrow. Always a doom tomorrow."

"Perhaps. But you will not avert future doom by standing out here alone and cold. Come inside." Albus Dumbledore gently guided Snape inside. "Happy New Year, Severus."

"Happy New Year, Grandfather." Snape said quietly, his affection clear. Rather, clear to Dumbledore - Albus doubted anyone else could read the Potion Master's face.

Enough. Dumbledore thought, watching Snape descend alone the stair. Reflect upon the Abyss, and it will look back at you. Besides, it's time to move the Mirror of Erised to the final Chamber. Dumbledore checked his watch - it was about now that Harry would leave his dorm for the enchanted glass. Nodding, Albus set off down the hall.