Snape tended to avoid direct confrontation with his past. There was the odd student with a few too many similarities to a parent, maybe the occasional throbbing of his dark mark, but all in all, he generally succeeded.

No, he hadn't expected to be faced with an ex-classmate at the beginning of this term. Let alone one at the other end of the teacher's table, but there you were.

In truth, Snape had never been totally sure what to think of you, even during his school years. His discomfort stemmed mostly from what his memories of you were connected to.

You sat near him in transfiguration, he recalled. The same class where Sirius Black had once turned his textbook into a toad. You had been in the crowd when James Potter had publicly pulled down his pants. You had seen a great portion of the memories that haunted him, and now you sat across from him as physical proof of the past.

Worse again, he could feel your gaze across the table, trying to deduce where you knew him from. Internally, he couldn't help but groan.