Author's Note: If used, letters, thoughts, Parseltongue, and some other forms of writing in this story will be written in Italics. On the rare occasion, bolded writing will be used.
Disclaimer: Mme. Joanne Rowling owns the series as a whole, and I own the fanfic-made and self-created modifications in this story in particular. I take no claim over the Harry Potter series. Any review or feedback accusing me of plagiarism will be automatically deleted. You will be given credit where credit is due, rest assured.
Story: Confronting The Past
"Detention tonight, Potter, and ten points from Gryffindor!" Professor Severus Snape snapped impatiently, looking down into the off-color potion in his hated student's cauldron. "You're not even making the right potion, you foolish boy. We are currently studying the Draught of Peace, not your made-up concoction." With a wave of his wand, the contents were gone. "As useless in Potions as your father before you."
Inside, Harry Potter was fuming. This was the third time this month that Snape had simply Vanished the contents of any potion he made. He didn't care what Snape said; he was doing everything he could, but he was either letting the goading affect his work, or he simply wasn't skilled in the field of Potions. He wondered if his father hadn't been, either. Snape certainly didn't seem to think so; then again, Snape would probably never admit to anything he thought or saw James Potter being good at, aside from Quidditch, which didn't seem to matter to Snape anyway.
"Now, to those of you who actually paid attention," hissed Snape, interrupting his thoughts, "your potion's color should slowly be turning into ..."
Harry tuned him out, not bothering to listen now. It was too late to start a new potion anyway. Class would be over in fifteen minutes and he would lose yet more points for not having anything to hand in. The whole thing was practically routine for him now.
"That really wasn't fair," Hermione Granger said twenty minutes later, as she, Harry, and Ron Weasley all made their way to the Great Hall for lunch. "Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Crabbe's or Goyle's, and it was infinitely better than Neville's."
"Snape hates me, Hermione," Harry said exasperatedly, rubbing his scar, which was aching slightly. "What is it going to take to finally make you realize this?"
"I already know that, Harry," said Hermione wearily.
"If you did, you'd know that that's exactly why he refuses to see any possible good in me." He looked down a little. "You know, a part of me has always wanted to prove to him that I can be good in his class if he'd just let me try, but he always rids me of the chance whenever I make a slight mistake. All because my father was a right git to him when he was at Hogwarts. I don't get it. Does he really hate me just because he hates my father?"
"Who knows, mate?" Ron said thickly, his features dark at mentions of Snape. "Sirius and Lupin mean as little to him as you do, maybe he just hates anyone and anything connected to the Marauders, and you're the main Marauder's son."
"I don't think he hated my mother," said Harry bitterly, "he's never said a damn thing about her ..."
He trailed off, having just thought of something. Snape really had never said a thing against Lily Potter. All insults towards Harry were based off of James Potter, but Lily was not ever talked about or even mentioned. Harry pondered this new revelation. Did Snape simply not know Lily that well when they were in school, or had he been friends with her and simply ended that when Lily had married James?
They entered the Great Hall, sitting near the end of the table. There were still two lessons left before the end of the day, and Harry found that he really wasn't in the mood to go to either of them. Sighing, he ate a quick lunch and shuffled off to his next lesson with his friends, feeling that the rest of the day was going to be very long, especially with Dolores Umbridge and Sybill Trelawney being his professors for the afternoon. The detention with Snape that night was only adding to that aching feeling that he was going to want to kill himself before the clock struck midnight.
As the clock struck six o'clock, Harry entered the office of Professor Snape, shutting the door behind him. He had only ever been in this room once before, and he had come very close to expulsion at that time, though it had now been three years since then. The room looked almost exactly the same as before: dank and disgusting. It almost seemed to reflect Snape's own bitter thoughts and dark emotions, as though they manifested into physical being.
"Take a seat, Mr. Potter," came Professor Snape's low voice, who had not bothered to look up from his desk. His long greasy hair hid his face. "There is something we are going to discuss before you begin your detention."
Harry crossed the distance between door and desk and took a seat, staring at his professor nervously. Maybe he knows what Ron and I were saying earlier today? He must be mad ...
To his surprise, Snape snorted. Without looking up from his work, he said, "What you and Weasley discuss about me behind my back has nothing to do with what we need to talk about, Potter. Of this you may rest assured."
Hearing this solidified Harry's belief that Snape could read minds, though he said nothing, choosing to simply observe Professor Snape, who had yet to look up.
At last Professor Snape rose up from his work, setting a piece of parchment and a quill aside. His black eyes, empty and cold, met Harry's green eyes, those green replicas of Lily Potter's eyes. Something in his eyes made Professor Snape shudder a little, but both ignored it as Snape said, "We need to talk about your work performance, Mr. Potter. As you know, on most assignments, you seem to make the most simple of mistakes almost right away, destroying your potion early on. You give Neville Longbottom a run for his money in this regard, and you and I both know that's saying something. Now, I want you to explain to me why it is you cannot make even the easiest potions in my class. Be honest, Mr. Potter. I will know if you're lying."
Harry hesitated; how was he supposed to tell Professor Snape that it was his own bullying about Harry's father that prevented Harry from rising to his full potential in Potions? He spent more time trying to shut Snape's goading from his thoughts than on the assignments themselves, after all.
But he couldn't voice such. Not even if it was the truth. He knew that Professor Snape would take a lot more than points and give a lot worse than a detention if he ever came clean about that.
Sighing, and fully expecting the worse, Harry replied in a low whisper, "My father."
"What was that, Mr. Potter?" Professor Snape asked, his eyes a little narrow but his features otherwise devoid of emotion. "Speak up, please."
"It's because of my father," Harry said, louder now. Snape's eyes narrowed more, and Harry added, "Not my father himself, but what you say about him all the time." Having gotten that off his chest, Harry took a deep breath, but Snape interrupted his breath.
"You cannot perform miracles in Potions because of what I tell you about your arrogant father, Potter?"
"That's right," Harry said, now scared of what would come next. "I'm sorry, Professor, but it's the truth. When you goad my father around me – and you do almost every lesson – it brings out my anger, and I have to spend all of my efforts on suppressing my anger, which leaves no chance at putting effort into a potion."
To his surprise, Professor Snape didn't look angry. On the contrary, he looked to be deep in thought. Part of him looked like he was going to regret something, but the other looked to be determined.
"We'll get to the solution to your anger problems later," Snape finally said a few moments later, scribbling something down on another piece of parchment and setting it aside. Harry knew better than to peek at his professor's work, and so didn't bother. "Now, I think you're looking for an answer as to why I appear to loathe every part of you."
Harry swallowed; he had been wondering this for the better part of four years, and Professor Snape seemed to realize this as well.
"Let me be blunt, Mr. Potter," Snape began, setting aside all work on his desk and leaning on it, his fingers together in front of his face. "Though I may dislike you, I do not loathe you. There are features in you that I do like, but they are, as far as I'm concerned, suppressed by all of the features your foolish father shines through. You look almost exactly like him, and that is why I can only almost hate you."
Harry was confused now. What Professor Snape was telling him made little sense.
"You mean I have features that you like?"
"Precisely," said Professor Snape, running one hand through his greasy hair, something almost out of character for him. "Your eyes, for instance."
"My eyes?" Now Harry was very lost.
"Yes, your eyes." Snape seemed to be hesitating at his words now, something that confused Harry; he knew Snape to be the most well-composed person in Hogwarts in terms of hiding any emotion. "Surely you know the significance of your eyes compared to the rest of you, Potter?"
He thought for a moment. In truth, he couldn't think of anything. He looked exactly like his father, but ... Suddenly it snapped in him.
"They're like my mother's eyes."
"Very good, Potter. I see you've been listening to just about everyone in Britain since you got here."
Harry did not let the insult bother him; he was too curious to know what it was about his eyes that intrigued Snape. "Sir, I just realized something earlier today." When Professor Snape made no move to interrupt or stop him, he continued, "You've been insulting my father from day one, but you've never said anything about my mother. Why is that, sir?"
Snape paled slightly at the mention of Lily Potter, but otherwise composed himself back behind an emotionless mask.
"You're going to be one of the first of your generation to know this, Potter," he said in a low whisper. Harry was amazed to see a solitary tear in his eye. "You will inform nobody of this, including your friends, Weasley and Granger. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," said Harry, not understanding.
"Your mother and I, at one point in time, were friends," said Professor Snape, looking down into his hands. He seemed unable to meet Harry's – and in turn, Lily's – eyes. "She and I lived in the same neighborhood, with only a few streets separating our houses. I met her with I was eight years old, in a park not far from our neighborhood. She had a natural control over her abilities that amazed me, though her sister was never able to understand what we both knew to be happening."
Harry nodded at this, knowing full well what his aunt thought about magic.
"When I first met her, she seemed hesitant to get to know me past the scrawny boy with messy hair and mismatched clothes. This was mainly because of Petunia Evans and my own disdain for her; there was nothing about Petunia that I liked, case closed." Harry smiled, sharing Professor Snape's sentiments for the first time he could remember. "We had a bit of a rocky start, but eventually she accepted me for being something of an outcast, and we became friends. As our friendship grew, her relationship with her sister began to struggle, until neither sister could tolerate being around one another. This was made possible not just because of me, but because of Petunia's jealousy that we shared a gift that she could never have.
"I told Lily everything about the wizarding world that I knew about. I started with Hogwarts, and of the magical train that took students there, and the castle, and how wonderful the place is." He sneered a little as he said it, and Harry knew that his feelings toward the castle had changed in between then and now. "I told her about the wizarding world outside of Hogwarts, though this time my knowledge was limited; I did not, after all, know much about the wizarding world, having lived among Muggles for my whole life. You see, I'm a half-blood, just like yourself, though in my case it's the opposite: Muggle father, witch mother."
Harry could see the similarities to Lord Voldemort in this regard, but said nothing about it. Regardless of how cruel Professor Snape could sometimes be, he was nothing like Voldemort.
"I told her about the Ministry, and about Azkaban, and the Dementors –"
"Wait a minute!" Harry suddenly blurted out. "My aunt said something about that – I heard that awful boy telling her about them years ago. I thought she meant my mum and dad, but she must have meant my mum and you!" At Snape's look, he sheepishly said, "Sorry, Professor. Please go on."
"Yes, I told your mother about the Dementors, and the horrible effects that they carry, most noticably on yourself, though I have been told that this is due to the Dark Lord's attack on your person as a child." At Harry's nod, he continued. "I think what amazed me the most about your mother was that she had the incredible ability to see the good in people that no one else could see. To this day I sit here and wonder if she befriended me because she saw good in me, because I was certainly not a charming or caring person."
It took all of Harry's force of will to keep himself from snorting.
"And so we finally boarded the train to Hogwarts, nearly three years after meeting. I met your father and godfather that very same day ..."
He trailed off, his features darkening.
"I think you get the idea, Potter. At first, your mother disliked them as much as I did. However, unlike hers, my dislike grew as the years went by, starting with the Sorting ceremony. Your father and his three friends were sorted into Gryffindor almost instantly – with the exception of Pettigrew, of course, who kept us waiting for nearly five minutes – and your mother, who I had hoped to share a house with, was sent into the golden house as well. I was then sorted into Slytherin. I think you can guess how things go from there, but fortunately for us, we were able to hide our friendship from our respective houses. Since we weren't able to share a common room, we bonded in our lessons. We were especially good together in Potions. I myself had an unnatural gift with the subject, and I taught your mother almost everything I knew about it. We were partners in every lesson, to the disgust of our peers.
"Our friendship, however, was put to the test several times. I was around people who were almost the exact same as me in my house, and so I formed alliances with them – I say alliances because I don't think I ever thought of those Death Eater-to-bes as friends. I had no quarrels with jokes and good humor, but what they thought to be funny sickened me. I did not, however, want to draw unnecessary attention to myself, and so I lapped it up.
"All the while, your father and his friends felt the need to pick on me over and over again throughout the years. They did everything they could to make my life miserable, especially when they found out that I was still friends with Lily almost four years after we had started at Hogwarts. Your father especially hated me, and I loathed him, but I would never fight back because I knew that Lily would not like it."
"So you let my father bully you," said Harry in shock, "and my mother didn't have a problem with it?"
"I don't know that she knew about it," admitted Professor Snape, running his hand through his hair again. "She definitely knew that James Potter and Sirius Black would sling insults and comments at me like spells – they even threw their fair share of spells at me over the years – but she did not know how far they went, and I didn't feel as though it was something she needed to know. There were times when I would retaliate, though never with spells. Not until fifth year, that is.
"You see, around the beginning of our fifth year, your dear godfather thought it would be amusing to tell me of a place where I would find something I was looking for. I must admit, I was looking for any excuse to get your father and his friends expelled, and so I followed his guide and was led to the entrance of the Whomping Willow, where I saw your friend Lupin being taken over by Madam Pomfrey one night. That same night was the night of the full moon, and so I knew something was amiss. So I followed him down, and sure enough, he was transformed into a werewolf moments later. He was kept in the Shrieking Shack, as you know. It was the first time I had ever experienced true fear, and this was after living a life under my father's iron fist. Just before the werewolf could see me, however, I was held back by your father, who had caught wind of Black's plan and had rushed to stop it.
"You would never understand my anguish at being rescued by my worst enemy, Potter. It was too much to bear. Lily found out and, at first, was livid with Black for ever putting together such a scheme, and then at me for actually following through on it. She would never understand that I was merely trying to find a way to get the four people who had made my life hell expelled."
Snape paused for a moment, his face in his hands. It looked as though it were taking everything and more for him to keep explaining himself, and for the first time in Harry's life, he felt pity for the Potions master. Admitting to your past was never easy when all you wanted was to forget it; he knew this from growing up with his relatives, who had mistreated him just as much as Snape had been mistreated as a students at Hogwarts. He suddenly realized that he and Snape were much more alike than he had ever known before.
Finally, Professor Snape looked up and continued. "The next six months were rocky for Lily and I. Black had received detention for his attempt at getting me killed, and I lost my respect for the headmaster, Dumbledore, for this. Attempted murder is a crime worthy of expulsion, possibly even arrest. Putting that aside, I forgot about the headmaster for a while and tried to move on. With people like Mulciber around, however, that proved nearly impossible. He threatened me with the Cruciatus, which he was uncannily good with, if I were to ever go near what he called 'the Mudblood bitch' again." Another tear dripped down his face. "Then one day, during our OWLs, James Potter and his crew began tormenting me again. As always, Lupin sat off to the side and ignored everything, Pettigrew cheered them on, and Potter and Black double-teamed and overpowered me. I tried to fight back, to no avail. Your mother eventually came to my aid, and when I got a chance, I fired a spell at your father. I then found myself hanging upside down in the air by my own invented spell, used by your father. At your mother's angry insistence, he let me down, but by that point I was lost in my own anger. And so as your father told me that I was lucky Lily was here to save me, I spat out, and I quote, 'I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her'."
His composure broke, and Snape began crying into his hands, shaking with sobs. Whatever composure he had must not have been a match for his inner misery. With all his heart, Harry wanted to be angry at Snape for the comment spat at his mother, but he found that he could not. He hated the term 'Mudblood' as much as anyone like him did, but telling Snape such would not do anything to help the man, who as far as Harry was concerned, had suffered enough.
Calming only slightly, Snape continued, "Your mother would not forgive me for what I said, which is understandable, of course. I had, in my rage, in my anger, and in my stupidity, called her the one word that would destroy any good she would ever see in me. I tried to apologize, to make it up to her if I could, but to no avail. In front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, at nearly two in the morning, she ended our friendship forever.
"I still tried to put together the remaining shards of our once happy friendship, though. I would not see defeat. I tried everything I could think of: partnering with her in Potions, walking with her to classes, even sending her letters in the dead of night. Nothing worked; as far as she was concerned, I was beyond redemption. Over the summer before sixth year, I went to her home, the house I had been in countless times, and her father answered. I do not know if he knew the entire situation, but he sent me off without allowing me in, seeing that his daughter would never speak to me or care for me again and blaming me for this, rightfully so."
His voice breaking, he added, "By the time the summer ended I had given up hope, and so at the start of the sixth year, I sat amongst Slytherins on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. To add insult to injury, which I still think was fate's way for telling me I botched things up, she began dating James Potter in the seventh year, and a year after that, they were married. You were born two years later."
At last, the gears in his head were turning, and Harry could finally understand why Professor Snape could never appreciate him. There was far more in his past against his parents than Harry had ever known, and the thought horrified him that his mother, whom he was always told was filled with love, could be capable of such hatred and denial. He could finally see why Snape hated him. It wasn't just because he looked like his father after all.
Through his tears, Snape said, "I don't hate you, Potter. I just cannot forget."
Ignoring the mind-reading that Harry knew Snape was putting out, Harry asked, "Professor, did anything else happen between you and my mother?"
"Nothing at all," Snape said miserably, hanging his head. "After Hogwarts ended, it was already assumed that Lily and Potter would be married by the end of the summer, and I knew that any chance I had with her was forgotten and lost. I moved on, eventually falling into the depths of the Death Eaters, and quickly moved up in the ranks due to my talent in Dark magic, which I had been born with.
"For a little over two years, I served the Dark Lord. He trusted me more than any Death Eater he had with the exception of Bellatrix Lestrange, and had me lead most assignments, which usually revolved around sending messages to the wizarding world." He hung his head further. "I was a fool, Potter. I have seen and done more than any wizard in Hogwarts, and I would trade it all back if I ever could." He regained some of his composure. "About a month before you were born, I heard a piece of information that I knew the Dark Lord would want to hear, revolving around the birth of someone with the power to vanquish him. He thought it was your family that this prophecy revolved around, and so he targeted the Potters. For over a year he had no success in destroying them, or you. This was because the moment I realized that it was you, and by extention your mother, that the Dark Lord was after, I went straight to Albus Dumbledore, and begged him to protect her. I eventually talked him into it, and so you and your family went into hiding in Godric's Hollow. Unfortunately, one of your father's friends betrayed you all to the Dark Lord, and he found you anyway. I had begged the Dark Lord to spare Lily, feeling no care for Potter, and so he had promised to. That promise ... fell flat ... and so he killed your father, and then k-killed L-Lily ..."
The tears were pouring down his face as he continued. "I went back to Dumbledore, demanding to know why he had not protected your family like I had told him to, and he said that one of your father's friends had been the traitor, showing me the similarities between the traitor and myself. In my absolute depression, he told me that you had survived, and that you would be a sure target when the Dark Lord returned. He asked me to help him protect you, in the name of Lily. And so he sent you to live with your relatives, and when you returned to Hogwarts, it began."
He stopped speaking, wiped his reddened eyes and looked up as he said, "That's the story, Mr. Potter."
"There's something I don't understand," said Harry quietly, not sure how to process everything he had just heard. It ran far deeper than he had thought. "Why did Vol – sorry, You-Know-Who – kill my mother if you asked him to spare her?"
"Because she refused to let him near you," said Professor Snape bitterly, his eyes filled with hatred. "She was in his way, and he killed her for it."
For a long while, neither person spoke. Harry was still thinking about everything he had been told, while Snape's mind was wandering, thinking about his past. After a long pause, Harry finally spoke up, saying, "We're a lot more alike than either of us will ever admit." It wasn't a question.
"More so than you'll ever know, Potter," was the quiet reply.
Another pause. Harry didn't know what to think. He wanted to hate Snape for everything the spiteful man had ever done to him, but as he thought about it, he realized that Snape was the only professor at Hogwarts who had ever really been there for him. He had just done so from behind the scene. With a jolt, Harry remembered that it had been Snape who had rescued him when Quirrell had tried to kill him during his first Quidditch game, and Snape who had been there to protect him and his friends on the night they had met Sirius Black and learned of his innocence.
"You may not like me, sir," said Harry in a low whisper, voicing his thoughts, not really directing his words at anyone, "but you've protected me more times than I've ever cared to think about."
Unbeknownst to him, Professor Snape had heard.
The clock struck six-thirty, and Harry started. Realizing that they had spent a half-hour on their discussion about Professor Snape's past, Harry quickly asked, "Sir, what did you want me to do for my detention?"
Snape looked a little startled, before remembering that the reason Harry was here at all was because of his detention. He had lost track of the real reason in his explanation of his hatred of James Potter.
For the first time, the bitter professor smiled as he said, "Consider your detention postponed, Potter. I do not think I have the energy to deal with it tonight. You may go. I expect you back here tomorrow night at six o'clock sharp to serve your detention."
Harry grinned a little as he said, "Thank you, sir."
Snape waved his hand dismissively as he said, "You may go, Potter."
Harry nodded, and got up to leave. As he walked towards the door, Professor Snape added, "Oh, and ten more points from Gryffindor for the postponed detention, Potter. You should know better."
There wasn't a hint of a sneer or of any sarcasm as he said it, though. He sounded more amused than anything else, and for reasons even he couldn't understand, Harry grinned as he opened the door. Some things would truly never change. As he walked through, he turned around and said, "Professor Snape?"
"Yes, Mr. Potter?"
"Thank you for telling me all of this." Saying nothing else, Harry closed the door behind him and began walking up to Gryffindor tower. He had a lot to think about, and his opinions of both Severus Snape and his own parents had changed greatly now.
As Mr. Potter left, Severus rose from his office chair and entered his quarters, deciding that he needed a break from his work for the night. Sitting down in one of his armchairs, he sat forward, his head in his hands, staring into the fireplace. A lot had happened tonight, and he felt that just as Potter understood him better, he understood Potter better as well. The boy was certainly not as arrogant as he had always said James Potter had been.
He looked up from the fireplace, staring at the portrait above it. His face was set as though in stone as he stared at the face of Lily Potter, whose portrait face stared down at him as well with a caring smile; the picture had been taken before their friendship had ended. As he looked at it, he felt himself say, his voice filled with misery, "I'm so sorry, Lily."
As he fell into a restless sleep in the chair, he could have sworn he heard, as though from a great distance, a familiar voice say into his head, "I forgive you, Severus."
Author's Note: Thank you, and see you in my next story.