"Potter? Have you got a minute or two after class?"
The fact that Snape was asking instead of commanding was in itself enough to make Harry Potter glance up from his notes. His Potions master, a largely disliked, except among students of his own house, wizard with greasy hair and a hooked nose, was standing over his table. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have placed Snape as anxious due to the way his long claw-like fingers clutched at the corner of the table, his depthless black eyes avoiding everything but the stone flags on the floor.
"Yessir. May I ask, er, wh—"
"In my office, Potter, at the bell." His tone the same as usual, cold and dismissive, Professor Serverus Snape swirled his grungy black robes about his body in characteristic subdued dramatic flair, and walked briskly to the front of the room. There he paused briefly, glancing over the shoulder of Draco Malfoy, his favorite student. One of Snape's rare smiles was given to Malfoy, who immeadiately flung his head around to sneer at Harry who was watching the scene with a feeling of confusion growing nervously in his stomach.
It wasn't that he'd never been forced to spend hours alone with Snape in his office for no easily identifiable reason, but this time it sat uneasyily within him. It was the way Snape had voiced the offer, making it truly seem almost like an offer instead of the command it would have to be. Harry shook his head, turning back to his parchment.
"What do you think that's about?" Ron whispered quietly, not taking his glace from the chalkboard at the front of the room from which he was coping the copious amounts of homework the sixth years had been assigned.
"No idea." Harry risked one last glance over at Malfoy's table where Snape was turning to head into his office. Five minutes remained in the class; he decided he could finish copying the notes later off of Ron and started to pack up.
When the bell rang, Harry slowly stood up, shouldering his bag as the tension quickly climaxed in his stomach, paling his face and causing his hands to shake ever so slightly. Ron, noticing Harry's condition, murmered, "What me to stick around? Make sure he doesn't… pull anything?"
Harry smiled, remembering the last time Ron had tried to rescue Harry from dark magic. Besides, everything Hermione was always saying was true, as much as Harry and Ron dismissed it to her face. Snape was a teacher, and wouldn't dare pull anything in Dumbledore's school, not with a student in the middle of a day of classes.
"No, go on to lunch. This shouldn't take long, he probably just wants to mock my essay or something."
Ron looked dubious. "Whatever. See ya."
"Bye."
Harry watched Ron walk out of the classroom, waiting until the heavy stone door had thudded shut behind the last student before he began his slow trek down the aisle to Snape's office.
Snape was sitting at his desk, a Pensieve sitting at his elbows. He held his head in his hands, not noticing at first when Harry came into the room.
"Er… Professor?"
Snape's head shot up. His expression was blank at first, then changed into something unrecognizable by Harry as his wand arm shot out and the sound of the doors to his office locking clanged throughout the stone room.
"Just to ensure privacy, Potter. Have a seat." With another flick of his wand, a chair sprung from the corner, towards which Harry nervously shuffled and then sat.
"What… what is it you wanted to see me about? Sir." The space between them consisted wholly of Snape's metal desk and to Harry it just didn't seem large enough. He tried to scoot back as discreetly as he could, his eyes focused blurrily on the Pensieve on Snape's desk.
Snape tented his hands beneath his chin, his blank black stare boring into the scar on Harry's forehead. When he finally spoke, the words he murmured were so uncharacteristic, so out of place coming from the sallow pock-scarred mouth that Harry, despite himself, glanced up, wide-eyed.
"Harry…. When I think of the amount of stress you're under right now. With… well, you know. You know everything you have to do, all that is expected of you. All that is… dependant… on you." Snape sighed airily, flexing his fingers. "Not the least of which is all the stress and strain pertaining to the second coming of the Dark Lord, yes? The weight on your back because no one will believe you except for those who can't help you. The power you possess…."
Harry stared at Snape; in the back of his mind he heard echoing 'Dark Lord' but he ignored it for the moment. He watched Snape's mouth twist into a deep smile as he moved to finger the edge of the bowl the liquid of the Pensieve was in.
"When I think of this, Harry, I am reminded… indeed, of your father."
Harry stared at Snape. Snape stared back.
"What?" Harry finally asked, his voice cold and biting but weak. Thoughts were racing through his head too fast for him to examine; sweat was pooling in his palms.
"Your father…. Your father too, had so much lain upon him, from the very first year at school. I remember what it was like, it was James this and James that and I won't lie to you, Harry, but I won't be telling you anything you don't already know either. I despised your father for that. I despised him for the power that was bestowed upon him. I didn't understand. Not at first."
Snape paused, reflected. He dipped his wand into the Pensieve, swirling it around, staring intently into it's murky depth before continuing.
"Then I started to talk to him. And I realized, the pressure, the stress he had to live with on a daily basis, the stress that no one else at Hogwarts could even comprehend. Not even Dumbledore, who was just a teacher then. No other students had been enlisted yet, they couldn't understand. The girls thought his gloom was an act, that he was acting lugubrious for charm's sake. No one understood. But I grew too."
Harry was becoming uncomfortable, he squirmed in his seat, running his eyes over the doors that he knew were still locked tight with stronger magic that he even knew existed, as of yet. Snape saw him looking.
"Don't bother, Harry. The doors are locked, you won't be able to open them. Pay attention to me."
It struck Harry that for the first time in the six years he had been Harry's teacher, today was the first time Snape had addressed Harry by his first name. For some reason, this added to the tension.
"James… your father, that is, told me the things he was thinking about. The questions always racing through his mind, swirling around even when he slept, when he pretended to be interested in the girls that always swarmed him after a game of Quidditch during which he still could not relax, and not for the same reasons as the rest of the players. He told me of the uncertainties, the questions he routinely asked himself as to his own adequacy, questions that are perfectly normal but pride kept him from seeking reassurance.
"He told me of his anger, anger at everyone, at himself. Your father was so angry, Harry, much like you, though you display it more, let it out more than your father would usually let himself do. He was angry because he'd lost his childhood, as many children do, but under different, may I say, even more cushy conditions. After all, how many of them had lost their innocence in the midst of beams of the three unforgivable curses, flying from every angle…."
Snape stopped, looked deeply at Harry who refused to meet his gaze and sat instead with his glance directed at a picture just about Snape's desk, of a bog someplace in London, waiting until Snape was done and Harry could go find Ron and eat lunch and just forget about this awkward experience entirely.
"Yes, Harry, you remind me very much of your father. Very much." And again Snape was silent. A few moments passed and Harry couldn't take it any longer, he felt that the period must be almost half over by now. He needed to leave soon if he wanted to find any food left uneaten.
"Your point?" he whispered coolly, cursing himself for the quiet, meek quality of his voice.
"My point, Potter, is that I think you need just what your dad needed."
"And just what did my dad need?"
Snape smiled again, differently this time though, with less malice, less mockery. "Here. Let me snow you."
He moved around the desk and tugged Harry to his feet. They leaned over the Pensieve which Snape spun with his wand, concentrating without expression on his face as they were sucked into the cold grey memory.
A young Snape paced quietly back in forth in what could have been an empty classroom were it not for the strong fire glowing from a fireplace in the corner of the room and a thick purple couch situated only a few feet in front of it which made Harry suspect that this was actually the Room of Requirement. Snape's featured betrayed nervousness, anxious anticipation. His hair, which Harry knew from observing other memories of Snape around the same age, had been greasy and never brushed properly even when Snape was a student at Hogwarts himself, but now it had been washed and brushed back, slicked down with gel though not to such an extent as to look unclean. He wasn't wearing his school robes, but instead a neat black shirt tucked neatly into jeans which, though they had a small tear at the right knee, were for all purposes cleaner than anything Harry had ever before seen him wearing.
Snape had been staring at the floor when Harry entered the memory, now his head shot up, his dark eyes wide and sparkling, which was also something Harry had never thought he would see on Snape's pale, acne-scarred face. The door to the room opened slowly and a boy shuffled in quickly, shutting the door fast behind him. Harry gasped to see who it was.
It was a very cleaned-up looking James Potter.
Harry's father shuffled nervously into the light cast from the fireplace, glancing curiously into the shadows. "Hey," he whispered tensely when he finally found Snape who had been hanging back, his eyes still wide as though in shock. James' hair was, for once, brushed flat upon his head and his clothes were all pressed and tucked into themselves nicely.
"James… hey." Snape moved closer, smiling shyly. The two boys stood silently, studying each other in the flow from the fire.
"You look nice," James whispered, shifting his weight from his right leg to his left.
Harry did a double take. Were these the same two boys he had seen in Snape's other memories? The same two boys that had taunted each other mercilessly, to such an extent that Harry had felt inclined to cringe on the account of his most loathed teacher ever? How could this be?
Snape reached his hand up, it was shaking. Tentatively he used his fingers to push a stray strand of hair out of James' eyes. both boys blushing deeply at the gesture.
"Don't look too shabby yourself, Potter."
They grinned weakly, and then James broke away, walking casually over to the couch by the fireplace. The swagger Harry had come to associate with his dad's young self was back, whatever initial anxiety he had felt about this meeting was backing of.
"It's freezing in here. Come sit by me."
Snape followed James' track, sitting tensely on the edge of the couch. James laughed quietly, looking shyly over at Snape's profile, highlighted by the flickering flames. Harry moved closer to them, caught up in this memory he couldn't believe was real. Just couldn't believe.
"How… are things going? With everything?" Snape was looking down at his fingers with furtive glances being shot at James, who sighed at the question then scooted closer to Snape.
"I really don't want to talk about it. All I do is talk about it, it doesn't make it better." He paused, his body now almost touching Snape's. "I've missed you. A lot. I wish we could see each other more."
Snape blushed. "I've missed you too."
They sat quietly for a few moments, during which time Harry's mind was blank though phrases and images were cataloguing themselves in the back of his brain, waiting to be thought about in a horrified manner later, Harry was sure.
Harry then caught sight of something else that was so uncharacteristic of Snape he almost couldn't believe it, though at this point he was loosing sight of who Snape really was.
Snape was moving his hand closer to Harry's father's, slowing inching his fingers closer, then pulling them back. He repeated this a few times before James noticed.
"Hey, it's okay." James moved his own hand around Snape's closing his fingers tightly around Snape's.
The fire burned, crackling now, and James moved so he was leaning against Snape, who, after a few seconds of terrified contemplation showing across his face, wrapped his arm loosely around James' shoulders.