Authors Note: This is my first true story on this site and I hope you all will like it. I apologize before hand for any mistakes there may be. I don't think there will be any as I used Word as well as a friend, but who knows. Any who please tell me what you think and enjoy the show!..er read!. Sit back, relax, and have fun.

Disclaimer:It has come to my attention that I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own Harry Potter. Let me tell you that it was the biggest shock of my life. I mean IT IS MY LIFE! How can I not own it. It turn out that I just can't. The brilliant masterpeice that is Harry Potter does, in fact, belong to J.K. Rowling. *wipes tear* Lucky girl.
I DO NOT OWN.

Just Once

Just Once.

He has uttered that name without contempt. A single time that he tries to forget. Though forcefully shoved away, that 'just once' has lingered in the back of his mind; haunting him. Every time he berates and ridicules the boy, every time he mocks him scornfully, the shadow of that memory echoes in his mind before he once again shuns it. The memory, at the direst of times, whispers in his dreams of the lies that everyone sees. It whispers of the truth that he continues to fail to see. It speaks softly of a child that just wants to help, to be accepted and loved, and who wants the truth. The whisper speaks of lies; he tells himself as the object of his musings, once again, nearly dies. It just echoes what everyone else speaks of, he tells himself fervently, even as the boy himself proves him wrong.

Lies. How can one see what is truth and what is twisted? Hindsight, they say, is twenty-twenty, but is it? Every time he looks back, he sees something different. One time he wishes to fix, another he sees it was done correctly, later still, he realizes it was done the only way it could have. Which is true? Everywhere, things change. Always, things change. Once clear, become clouded. Once sure, becomes not. It is not things that change though, it is human perspective. Even the tallest tree could be considered small it the grand scheme of things. Only to the human mind, which cannot comprehend such vastness, is it so great.

These thoughts swirl in his mind, always. He is never at peace. His mind constantly swings back and forth now. With the Dark Lord back, his mind is ever a black storm. Yet, it is a well protected storm. This year, above the others, is more difficult. What he has to do, the heinous act which he is forced to commit on both sides of the war, only adds to the darkness. He walks toward the window and gazes over the grounds. He is up in the tower and the stars glitter deep in the lake below. It is almost surreal at this point. Only the black shadow of the forest and mountains beyond it separate the two expanses of stars.

He has wanted, for so long, to know what Albus Dumbledore guards so closely. He has wanted to know the information only Potter has been privy to. Now he knew. This night he has learned what wished. He does not like it.

He has watched, guarded, protected, that boy for years! Now… now he is being told that the idiotic, naive, arrogant child must die. Did the fact that he had fought against that very fate mean nothing to the man. The memory of so long ago, the fight against death nearly six years past, tugs impatiently in his mind.

Just once he would like to be free to do as he will. To not have the weight of so many lives on his shoulders. First Albus must die at his hands and now the boy has no escape from that same, untimely death.

Just once.

Severus Snape had been harshly interrogating a third year Hufflepuff in the hospital wing when Albus Dumbledore came in. Trailing behind him had been two boys laid out, each, on a stretcher and a distraught Miss Granger. Also behind him had been a small crowd of confused, worried, and gossiping students. Albus had looked at the forgotten student and bemused professor with worried and twinkle-less eyes.

"Severus," he had said, his voice grave, "Fetch Poppy, please."

Severus had recognized the level tone for what it was. There, hidden except to those who knew him or were skilled in reading people's emotions, had been a deep sense of worry and urgency. Luckily, Severus had both of those to his advantage and promptly complied. When the Potions Master had returned with the medi-witch, the two boys had each been placed on a bed and Dumbledore had been trying to calm Granger. While speaking to her, his eyes had hardly left the boy and Severus had known then, that the boy had to have been Potter. Seeing the other's vibrant red hair only strengthened his suspicions. When he had come closer he saw his thoughts had been correct and a part of him had wondered disdainfully what the two had gotten into. Madame Pomfrey had then started to perform a complicated spell, which would give quicker results than most, to catalogue Potter's injuries and Severus had followed suit on Weasley

While they worked, a miniscule part of their brains had listened as they were told what had happened; firstly through Dumbledore's vague assumptions and then through a tearful explanation from Granger. After that a long night had followed. Severus had been highly aware that there had been a major part of the tale missing where solely Potter had been concerned. However, despite his annoyance that Potter would do something so entirely fool-hardy, there was no denying that he had been deeply concerned. Weasley's and Granger's wounds had not been too terrible but Potter's wounds had had Severus fearing for the boy's life. There had actually been a point when the child had stopped breathing.

He had been sitting between Potter and Weasley, watching over the three students. Granger had been asleep in the bed across the Weasley boy, but only after a dreamless sleep potion had been forced down her throat. At that point in time, she had been breathing deeply and her face had been smooth; clear of the worry that had marred it from the moment she had entered the infirmary. If truth be told, Severus, despite his cruel and callous appearance, had been relieved. That expression had not suit her young face. Indeed, it had not suited any of them. He had known, and still knew how worry could make your face taut and drawn, especially worry for someone's life. He knew how your eyes would burn with exhaustion and how you would keep them open no matter what, until the other was sure to live or you fairly dropped from weariness. Severus had known these emotions well and still felt they ought to be felt by an adult, if anyone, not an eleven year old child.

Severus Snape had sat with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hand. His dark eyes had gazed at the Potter boy, his brow furrowed. There was something about the boy that had not been right. The boy, Severus had noticed, did not look so much like his father. There had something unmistakably Lily about the boy's face, he had imagined. Of course, he had been imagining it, what he had seen had been mere wishful thinking on his part. The boy had been and still was purely James Potter. Still, he wished that there was Lily in Harry Potter, and then it would be as if, in some roundabout way, that she was still here. Albus Dumbledore had always insisted that he saw only what he expected to see. That was true, he did see what he expected, but that did not mean he had not looked for Lily

He had sighed then. When he had looked towards the other children, he had seen that they still slept peacefully. He had closed his eyes, thinking about how idiotic Gryffindors could be. Had they no sense of self-preservation? Did they not know that it was the Dark Lord that they had been dealing with? He honestly had not been able to fathom that they would have done such a thing. In his mind's eye he had seen himself with a few more chances to yell at and deduct points from the boy. Even, perhaps, another chance to give the boy detention. Nothing had given him such satisfaction and such clean cauldrons, at the time, as when the boy had detention with him. But now Potter was in the hospital wing with his feared Potions Master to look after him.

Severus' eyes had flown open.

Potter had suddenly started mumbling incoherently in his sleep as he had tossed and turned. As his movements had become more violent, he had started to gasp and to have trouble breathing. By this time, Severus had been kneeling by Potter's bed, running diagnostic spell after diagnostic spell, trying to figure out what was wrong. His own heart had been beating furiously with panic but he had not shown it. Potter's breathing at that point had become quick and shallow. If he had been forced to guess, Severus would have had said that the boy's magic had tried to sustain itself as well as the child's heart. However, Potter's magic had already been weak and was now failing, bringing the boy's life with it.

Nearly frantic at the thought that the boy was going to die, Severus' mind had spun in circles. Then, a magical alarm had warned him that the boy's heart had stopped. Out of sheer necessity he had gained some presence of mind and cleared his thoughts. He had known he would be of no help if he could not even think strait. Once his mind had cleared enough to concentrate he had began casting a series of spell created specifically for that purpose. Sadly, the sequence had been just a tad more reliable than any muggle method. Even worse, those spells could only be used three times without fatal damage. A fatality would have been counterproductive.

After the first time there was nothing. A second time gave the same results. Eyes burning with desperation, Severus started to preform the sequence one last time. Filled with apprehension, and hardly breathing himself, he hoped against hope that the boy would live. His knees ached from their position on the ground, but he ignored it. He finished the spell. Absolute silence filled the ward. Then, when all time had stopped, the boys lungs filled with air as if he had merely been under the water. Magic crackled in the room for a moment, a sign that the boys magic had sparked. Abruptly all was as it had been, save for one extra living soul.

Severus just sat there a moment, taking it all in, before his muscles eased into what could be called relaxed only on this stiff Potions Master. Relief flooded through the man as he realized how close he had been to losing this child; his reluctant purpose in life. The professor slowly stood and sat back into his chair. After the one great breath, the boys breathing had become stable, if a little weak. As Severus resumed watch, he reflected on the nights events. Slowly time wore on and soon dawn arose, and with it, the weary professor.

Before Severus left the hospital wing for his own quarters, he looked at his temporary charges. Looking around at their peaceful faces his eyes came to a rest on Harry Potter. The child was sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of what had transpired. His face was free from any pain, it was the face of a child. For the first time, he did not see the brat of his worst rival, the bane of his best friend and one love, nor did he see the idol the wizarding world saw. No, he saw an eleven year old boy, one of his students (albeit one of the more annoying), who had nearly died. Yes, the boy was spoiled, rude, coddled, disrespectful, and undeserving of much that he was given. The boy was certainly all this thing but he was also young.

Marginally, Severus' heart melted and he felt some semblance of compassion for the boy. Ever so slowly his hand reached out, of its own accord, and brushed away the boy's fringe from his forehead. Then, before he knew what he was saying, two words left his mouth.

"Live, Harry."

He watched in amazement as the boy leaned ever so lightly into his touch. The child clearly cherished the feel of the hand running through his hair. Confused at the light burning of his stomach, Severus wondered if this was, in any way, how it might have felt to be a father. If only fifth year-

Before he could think anything else, memory filled him and he snatched his hand back as if it had been burned. In shock over what he had done- he had stroked the boy's hair and called him Harry of all things - Severus stared at the boy in revulsion. With all his ideals snapped firmly back in place, Severus repeated the mantra that he had been telling himself ever since he first thought of the boy. The child-no, the cretin, - was insufferable, spoiled, conceited, and proud, with an inflated, idiotic, empty shell sitting upon his shoulders. The whelp had become even more bigheaded with his entourage following him everywhere.

Once again, hatred and disgust had seeped out of Severus' onyx eyes and came to rest, as if in a black shadow, on the Potter boy. The boy had seemed to feel the malignant gaze and shifted, mumbling uneasily. Only moments later, the man was nearly to the door, having spun on his heel to leave the boy. 'Merlin,' he had thought, 'the fool complains even in sleep.' The man refused to acknowledge, then and later, the slight hesitancy in his step just before he left the infirmary. His heavy black cloak billowed like a dark cloud as he left to tell Poppy of what had happened that night. As he made his way through the halls he swore to forget what had happened with Potter. Severus Snape had also been sure that a dreamless sleep potion would not go amiss.

'Just once,' he wished, 'I would like to not worry about a Potter.'

Just once….

In the future as he lies in the Shrieking Shack, dying, that memory will cross his mind. He will shove it away, the boy will not need to believe that, even for a second, one Severus Snape had been part of the child's bloody fan club. Potter will not need to know that once he had felt pity for the eleven year old boy, just barely holding onto life, Potter had once been. Instead, the boy will need to know that he had been raised for slaughter and that Severus was Dumbledore's man. Severus will need the boy -anyone- to know that it had taken everything in him to raise his wand against the old, wonderful fool. What's more he will feel that, for once, the boy will deserve to know of his relationship with Lily. If that knowledge will be given selfishly, it shall not matter. Lily's eyes will then be able to look at him without the utter contempt they had always held for the past seven years, even if it was from James Potter's face, even if Severus will be dead. At least that is what Severus will hope.

After he will give Potter his memories his eyes will meet Lily's. They will be the most magnificent, the most beautiful emerald, as always. They will also be the kindest, gentlest, most thoughtful, and the most forgiving eyes he will ever meet. Once again, unwillingly and against his weak struggles, that one memory will come to the forefront of his mind.

The long struggle against time.

The miniscule softening of a heavily guarded heart.

A light touch to a dark fringe of hair.

Two words, muttered harshly but without acid and the usual ire.

'Live Harry'

No one will know, no one there will know. Perhaps Lily, wherever she is, will know. If she knows, then perhaps she will not glare as fiercely, perhaps the thorough dressing down and cursing will not be as severe. Maybe she will forgive him. Maybe they might be friends like they had been as children. Even if it will be just once, even if that word will never again be uttered without hatred. Even if it will be just once.

Just maybe.

Just once.