NOTES:
I'm sure this story has been better told by others, but I can't find it. And while I adore AUs, I also love canon Snape-the mean asshole Snape, the one without the warm, fuzzy center. I want to know more about HIM. But the more you write about Snape, the warmer and fuzzier his center gets. GOD, I LOVE HIM.
You'll recognize quite a bit of borrowed dialogue from the books. I mean, you know, unless you live under a rock, or have forgotten the books, in which case, nevermind.
Also, Minerva McGonagall wormed her way into this fic waaaaaaaay more than I thought she would. As I was writing, it slowly became obvious to me that I did all of this for her benefit. If I were, like, a writer writer, I probably would have known that going in. But we're all agreed: it's always amateur hour out here on the interwebs.
The title and chapter headings are from Amy Ray's song "Second Time Around." If your heart's ever been broken-not necessarily by a lover-but just broken by life and circumstance, that is a fine song to listen to all day and all night.
-:-:-:-:-:-
Second time around, you know
it really got me down
-:-:-:-:-:-
Severus Snape took great comfort in hating Harry Potter. The hatred was uncomplicated, which made his relationship with the boy unique. In Severus's world, dualities were the norm and trust was rare. And he could trust his hatred of the Potter boy. For almost four whole years, anyway.
But the during the fourth year, things started to change. The signs were obvious and Severus was no fool: he saw the writing on the wall, as well as the Mark on his arm. Dumbledore had been closed-lipped about his own suspicions, but this only increased Severus's own paranoia.
When, during the Final Task of the first Triwizard Tournament in a century, Severus's Dark Mark burned black, he marched up to Dumbledore with blazing eyes, and showed the older man his arm. Dumbledore looked at him sadly. "You must wait, Severus," he said. Dumbledore turned to look at the maze and corrected himself quietly: "We must wait."
And then Potter appeared in the middle of the lawn with the body of Cedric Diggory. (Diggory was not a natural in Potions, but his hard work was obvious, and Severus was occasionally pleasantly surprised by some theory or conclusion Diggory put forward in an essay. The boy's practical potion-making ability was as steady as the sun, and he was an excellent addition to Severus's N.E.W.T.-level class. In a few weeks, Severus would get the results from that year's N.E.W.T.s, and he would be unsurprised to find that Diggory had earned an E, despite the stress of the tournament on his young shoulders. Steady as the sun.)
And then Moody was really Barty Crouch Jr., and was trying to kill Harry Potter; a mangy dog was really Sirius Black, and was trying to protect Harry Potter; and Severus was really a spy, and found himself suddenly and inexplicably ambivalent towards Harry Potter-but before Severus could dwell on recent developments, Dumbledore asked him to report to the Dark Lord. He squared his shoulders and did what was asked of him. There was nothing else to be done. It was always going to be like this. Despite the recent nature of the revelations, Crouch had been Moody all year, Sirius Black had been a dog all along, and Severus had been a spy since he made his decision almost thirteen years before. The fact that spying had been largely unnecessary for the last twelve and a half years was irrelevant. Severus had had all year-a year of looking at the darkening Mark on his arm-to come to terms with this moment. He swept down to his quarters, collected his cloak and mask (hated thing-buried in a dusty box in the back corner of his closet-proof of Severus's own devastating choices), and marched purposefully out of the castle towards the Apparition boundary. Crossing the boundary, he immediately Apparated to the Dark Lord's side.
The wrath of the Dark Lord was terrible, which Severus could have predicted if he'd allowed himself the luxury of hesitation. Harry Potter had just escaped his clutches, and what should have been a moment of triumph-a return from death, the defeat of an enemy, all witnessed by his loyal followers and no one else-had instead been a major embarrassment. Severus was sure that the Dark Lord would have liked to alleviate his humiliation by killing the witnesses, but even in his evident madness, the Dark Lord knew he couldn't afford to kill all who remained of his Death Eaters.
At least, this is what Severus supposed. There were no bodies in the graveyard, and the only Death Eater still present was-Peter Pettigrew? (If Sirius Black was a dog on Dumbledore's side, then it must be true that Peter Pettigrew was not only alive, but also a rat on the Dark Lord's side. Severus took it in stride.) It seemed that the Dark Lord had allowed his loyal followers to live, and for a few moments, Severus wondered if the Dark Lord would content himself with killing the lone latecomer. But after inflicting the Cruciatus Curse for several long minutes (or maybe long seconds or hours-Severus could never tell), the Dark Lord paused and demanded an explanation. Severus gave one, laced with apologies and flattery. Meanwhile, he could sense Pettigrew nearby, shifting uncomfortably, trying to gauge the mood of the Dark Lord. After all, Pettigrew wouldn't want to jeer if the Dark Lord believed Severus; he wouldn't want to nod if the Dark Lord took exception.
Finally, finally, the Dark Lord nodded, and Severus scrambled to kiss the hem of his robes. The Dark Lord accepted his submission.
"This evening has not gone according to plan. But all is not lost. Go back to Dumbledore. Learn how he protects the boy. I shall call you, and when I do, you will come to me immediately." His eyes rested on Severus briefly, and Severus looked down. "Be ready. Now go."
Severus nodded and Disapparated. He knew his best destination, and went there. He Apparated just in front of Gregory Nott's home. Of all his former colleagues, he knew Nott would be the most malleable.
When Nott answered the door, he erupted. "Bloody hell, Severus, what do you mean by it?"
"I find myself unwilling to go back to my own residence, Gregory, and I could use a drink."
Nott huffed. "Well it's hardly my fault if you want to live in the shadow of that old coot. Go find a pub somewhere and leave me out of it."
Severus grabbed Nott's arm and leaned in close. "Thirteen years, Gregory. Thirteen years and we haven't known who to trust. Finally we announce our loyalties: Yes, this is who I am and what I stand for, and we know we can trust each other. And no, I cannot immediately go back to that manipulative old man who thinks I am his. All I ask for is one drink. Half an hour. Then I will leave and continue with the charade that has been my life for over a decade."
"You announced your loyalties when YOU DIDN'T SHOW!"
"I showed myself at a time when I could be of most service to the Dark Lord! I have just left his side this moment!"
"Prove it."
"The only witness to my meeting with the Dark Lord was Peter Pettigrew, who seems to have recently acquired a new hand." Severus was aware that this was a flimsy story. The truth behind it was irrelevant; there were countless ways the knowledge of Pettigrew and his hand could have come to Severus...well, second-hand. But he had chosen his target well, as Gregory Nott was not the kind of man who would think of different possibilities.
The man nodded. "One drink," Nott said.
"One drink," Severus agreed.
"Half an hour," Nott said.
"Half an hour," Severus agreed.
Nott turned and walked inside, leaving Severus to follow and close the door behind him. Severus walked after him, subtly reaching for a hidden pocket as he did so.
Severus's billowing robes concealed many pockets. Most were merely hidden and contained innocuous healing potions and one small vial of Strengthening Serum. Two pockets, though, were made of mokeskin, and only Severus could retrieve their contents. These contained potions far more dangerous to be caught with. From one of these pockets, Severus retrieved a vial of Forgetting Brew. One small sip, and the drinker would neither remember the following hour nor notice the memory gap. Now all Severus had to do was slip the brew into Nott's drink.
Nott made this job easy; the moment they reached his sitting room, Nott pointed Severus to the liquor cabinet and excused himself. Severus wasted no time pouring two whiskeys, and poured the entire vial of Forgetting Brew into one of the glasses. He placed the adulterated drink on a side table and took a small sip of his own. He couldn't decide if Nott's actions made him careless, overly trusting, or just plain stupid. After all, who in their right mind drank something that had been alone in a room with a Potions Master whose loyalty was clearly in question? Severus supposed he would reserve judgment until Nott actually drank.
Before Severus could descend too far in his thoughts, Nott returned to the room with a muttered apology, grabbed the drink from the table, and tossed it back in one go.
The man was just plain stupid, Severus decided. But it was all to his own benefit, so Severus wasted no time. "Gregory, I need you to think about exactly what happened tonight."
"What?" Nott said, but Severus was already standing in front of him, pointing his wand directly at the man's temple.
"Think. About what happened after you were summoned to the Dark Lord's side." Nott closed his eyes, and Severus drew his wand slowly from Nott's temple. A strand of silver, neither liquid nor gas, clung to his wand. He took the memory, stored it in a vial, and placed it in a mokeskin pocket of his robes.
"And now, I take my leave of this place. Thank you for the hospitality." He had what he needed, and Nott would remember nothing of this anyway. He could afford to be abrupt.
Severus took the memory directly to Dumbledore. The hour was late, but he found the Headmaster pacing in his office. "Ah, Severus. It's good to see you return. How was Tom?"
"Displeased. I have Gregory Nott's memory of the evening, and would like to view it with you."
Dumbledore hesitated, which spiked Severus's emotions. "Or perhaps I could view it without you," he said with venom. "I have no intention of returning to the Dark Lord's service without knowing everything he told the others. And let me be clear, Headmaster: I have no intention of remaining in your service without knowing the exact means of Harry Potter's escape."
"You misunderstand my hesitation, Severus. Harry has already told me his side of tonight's events, and I find myself most unwilling to see it firsthand."
"Forgive me, Headmaster, but I find myself unwilling to believe the word of a traumatized fourteen-year-old boy."
Dumbledore gave him a sharp look, which may have been a rebuke, but somehow felt more like a question. Severus didn't know how to respond, as he wasn't sure what Dumbledore meant by it. Dumbledore sighed and said, "Very well. I suppose it doesn't matter if the time is right; the time is upon us. Let us see what Gregory Nott's memory can tell us." And he Summoned the Pensieve and the two men fell in.
Severus and Dumbledore watched as the Dark Lord did his interminable grandstanding. Severus could see the body of Cedric Diggory lying just outside the circle of Death Eaters. Potter was prominently displayed inside the circle, bound and gagged, wide-eyed and white as a sheet. The Dark Lord perversely ignored the boy, and the Death Eaters struggled to follow his example.
Severus noted the Dark Lord's threat to his own life with disinterest. It was just more useless grandstanding; a show put on for the mob.
When the Dark Lord touched Potter's cheek, Potter screamed in fear. This was unexpected; Severus hated the boy, but he knew him well enough to know that fear was an unlikely reaction in this situation. He blinked in confusion, and what he saw when he opened his eyes confused him even more: Potter wasn't screaming in fear; he was screaming in pain. Severus turned to Dumbledore. "Why would that cause the boy pain?"
Dumbledore didn't look at him. He exhaled slowly and finally said, "As to that, Severus, I have only my suspicions."
Suspicions which were, no doubt, very good, but not for Severus to know. He sighed and listened to the Dark Lord crow more about his accomplishments. The Dark Lord paused his narrative only to unleash an Unforgivable Curse on a bound and gagged child. The Death Eaters laughed, probably mainly in relief that the Dark Lord's ire was not turned towards any of them at the moment, but there was gleeful malice in their laughter as well. Severus felt something slightly uncomfortable in his belly. He vaguely thought he might be hungry; it had been a while since dinner.
Meanwhile, Potter seemed to recover remarkably quickly, and was able to stand on his own when he was untied moments later. His eyes darted everywhere, like a cornered animal desperate to escape.
Severus watched the boy endure one, two more Unforgivable Curses. The discomfort in his belly grew. When Potter threw off the Imperius Curse with a shout, Severus twitched. He glanced at Dumbledore, but the older man was not looking at him.
And then, the Killing Curse. It was inevitable. The Dark Lord would not neglect the final of the three Unforgivables. He heard Potter shout the Disarming Charm, and Severus felt an inexplicable tingling-behind his eyes, back up in his nose-like he needed to sneeze.
The Disarming Charm. Years before, Severus himself had taken it upon himself to work with Gilderoy Lockhart, that worthless lump of a human being, in order to teach the students something useful during the one and only meeting of the Dueling Club. He had planned to demonstrate several useful spells, but Lockhart's sole talent was neutralizing effectiveness in others-and then Potter chose that one critical moment to demonstrate Parseltongue-of all the skills, and all the times and places he could have done so-Parseltongue, in front of the whole school, during the one actual Defense lesson they would have all year-well. Severus had only managed to teach that one rudimentary charm, and here it was, years later, and the Disarming Charm was Potter's only defense against the fucking Killing Curse.
Severus's eyes started to water, and he realized with horror that he didn't need to sneeze.
And then the impossible happened as the two wands locked up, and even though Severus watched the whole thing, he couldn't believe it. He wondered if Nott's memory had been tampered with. But then the remnant of Cedric Diggory appeared, and both Potter and the Dark Lord looked so unnerved that the scene, while still incredible, had the ring of truth to it.
And then more remnants of more murdered people appeared, and then, sweet Merlin, Lily pulled herself out of the Dark Lord's wand, like she'd been in there all along. And then her husband followed. All of the specters spoke to Harry and the Dark Lord, but Severus couldn't hear what they were saying because Nott couldn't hear what they were saying.
And then Potter-the living one-yelled, broke the strange connection between the wands, and ran away in the ensuing confusion. There was a mad chase to catch him, but the way was blocked by Lily, and Potter-the dead one-and Cedric, and Bertha Jorkins (Bertha Jorkins? The Ravenclaw in Severus's Astronomy class back in third year? This was more and more like a bad dream) and another man Severus didn't recognize. And then the boy escaped by way of Portkey, taking the body of Diggory with him.
The Dark Lord was in a towering rage. He demanded secrecy from his Death Eaters, ordered them explicitly to return quickly when he called them next, and banished them from his sight.
Back in Dumbledore's office, the men were silent for a few moments.
Dumbledore finally spoke. "That was...worse than I had imagined."
Severus met his eyes, and Dumbledore explained, "Harry left out a few details."
Severus didn't speak. He didn't trust his voice. He excused himself from the Headmaster's office with a gesture, traveled down the spiral staircase and stepped out past the stone gargoyles. The hall was empty, and Severus indulged himself in his mood. His stomach was still clenched, but he understood now that it wasn't because of hunger. He leaned against the wall, covered his mouth and nose with both hands, and closed his eyes. He had just watched a child, alone against grown witches and wizards, be bound, gagged, tortured, mocked and humiliated; and even though the child had no hope, he had faced death the way Lily had: facing forward, chin up, and standing as tall as he could. The boy had no stupid bravado-that had all been on the side of the Dark Lord.
Lily's child. Lily would have been proud. Lily had been proud.
Severus shut off the thought. If a fucking fourteen-year-old boy could play the part of the hero with aplomb, then Severus Snape could damn well play his own part. He gathered himself and swooped off to his quarters.
It was several days later, at the Leaving Feast, when Severus next saw Potter. The boy looked terrible. He stared at Severus unabashedly. For the first time, Severus couldn't see any mischief behind the boy's eyes. In fact, he couldn't see anything behind the boy's eyes-his expression was flat. Severus looked away, but could feel the boy looking at him for long minutes afterwards.
Severus purposely ignored Potter through the Feast, until Dumbledore proposed a toast to Harry. Then he stood with most of the Hall (he did notice some of his own students remaining seated) and looked once again at the boy. Potter still seemed flat somehow, and oddly detached. His only expression was a small frown, which crossed his face so quickly Severus thought he might have imagined it.
When they all sat back down, Minerva reached for his hand under the table and gave it a small squeeze. Severus looked at her and nodded. "How is he?" he asked.
"Who?"
Severus just stared at her. He wouldn't clarify, and he certainly wouldn't repeat himself.
"I'm sorry, Severus, it's just odd that you would ask." She looked at the boy and sighed. "I suppose he's as well as he can be. I don't think it's hit him yet. When it does, it will be hard on him. And the timing could hardly be worse, with him about to return to his worthless relatives."
They both looked at the boy, and Severus remembered Petunia. For the first time, he thought about the fact that Lily's sister, who had hated Lily for being a witch, was raising a wizard child-was raising Lily's child-was raising Harry Potter.
Before he could stop himself, he said, "That's pretty fucked up," but Minerva didn't object.
"Hm," she said. "You know, Diggory was murdered right in front of him." He felt her turn to look at him, but he kept facing forward. "That's pretty fucked up," she explained.
"All these years," he started, but trailed off. Minerva waited him out. "I don't think I'd ever looked at him before." He stopped himself before he said too much. The timing of his epiphany could hardly have been worse. He'd managed to maintain unadulterated hatred for the boy throughout all those years of peace, and the moment the Dark Lord returned, Potter seemed to have suddenly grown another dimension.
Minerva turned to look at the boy. "He's just a child," she said, and Severus privately agreed.
(He'd known Minerva for twenty-three years, as his professor and as his colleague. He'd never heard her swear before.)