Hello! So I've never written much of anything before but I really really wanted to do a story of when Snape first sees Harry at Hogwarts. It took me forever to write this and I actually got pretty emotional while writing it. It's my first fanfic and it's a little different, but I just wanted to get inside Snape's head in this moment and capture everything he was feeling. Hope you like it!
The Boy That Should've Been His
It was getting dark at Hogwarts as the hours ticked by and the sun slipped beyond the horizon. Everything was still outside in the frigid darkness, yet inside the castle it was full of commotion, preparing for the students to arrive. The house-elves were busy in the kitchen creating an enormous feast, the ghosts were floating by shouting orders to clean missed spots, and the teachers were rushing around, perfecting every inch of space. Everyone was bustling about, full of excitement, except for one lone figure in the dungeons.
Severus Snape stood motionless as he gazed out his small window. His eyes reflected the still, black lake and he didn't shudder from the coldness that seeped into the dungeon. Though he stood perfectly still, his mind was whirling. For this was the day he had been dreading for ten years. It was the day Harry Potter came to Hogwarts.
Clutched in Snape's hand was a worn photograph displaying two young teenagers grinning with their arms slung around one another. He gripped it tightly and continued to stare into the lake. The faint light from the burning torches shone on him, revealing a glistening tract on his face where a single tear had escaped. He closed his eyes on the landscape that had not changed within the past hour and let his mind replay every joyous and painful memory with Lily.
He was a torrent of emotions but his mind was set only on her. Her laugh. Her hair. Her scent. Her smile. Her eyes. Oh her eyes.
"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evan's eyes, I am sure?"
The sound of a distant train whistle made Severus snap his eyes open.
He remained frozen as a scarlet steam engine pulled into view and unloaded hundreds of yapping children. As they started to trudge toward the awaiting boats and carriages, Snape finally turned away from the window. Without waiting for the stark faces to emerge from the dark, he whirled out the dungeon door, slamming it behind him and leaving the photograph on the cold floor. A single rat scurried down the corridor.
With every step he took, he heard his heart hammer even louder in his chest. Above, footsteps rumbled as the students made their way inside. Feeling trapped, Snape averted the main route and slipped through smaller corridors until he reached the Great Hall. Cloak flapping, he quickly took his seat at the head table and ignored the annoyed glances his colleagues cast at him for arriving late. He couldn't have cared less. All he focused on was the fact that in a few moments he would have to face the reason why his Lily was gone, the reason why he was no longer whole; the boy that should've been his.
Before he lost it, the doors banged open and Minerva strolled in, a line of first years trailing behind. Snape stiffened and hastily looked down. He refused to search for the boy.
As he tried to regain his composure, the Sorting Hat was placed on a stool and all of his bitterness returned as memories of Lily being sorted into Gryffindor resurfaced. He remembered her bouncing red hair as she walked over to the table to join James and Sirius and the somber shrug she gave Severus as he joined the Slytherin table. Anger bubbled inside of him as the torturous years flashed before his eyes. He had to find a distraction quickly before he did yet another thing he would one day regret.
Trying to regain his composure once again, Snape listened to the Sorting Hat's song with the intention of listening attentively, but he couldn't help but scowl when he heard "Gryffindor" spewed forth from the fabric mouth. Even just hearing the name filled Snape with loathing. The house was full of nothing but arrogant, lying swines who stupidly begged for glory and then basked in it. Potter was a prime example and his son would sure follow in his father's footsteps. When Snape first heard of the boy's birth, he refused to believe that anything good could become of him. The father would sure enough have poisoned the boy, no matter how sweet his Lily was. Oh his Lily…
As the sorting started, Snape sat rigidly in his chair, blind to his surroundings and reliving the horrible moment when he found out that Lily's son survived and she had not. He dared not wish for the boy to be anything like her – it would be far too agonizing. It would be easier to loathe an exact replica of the father than to suffer in the presence of anything resembling the mother. He would not bear it if the boy was anything like Lily.
Snape was slipping into a bitter and dark abyss. He could not stay in the hall any longer for fear that his entire being would shatter. The pressure was building in his head and he could hear nothing but the hammering of his fragmented heart. He was about to stand and flee from the room when at that exact moment, Minerva's voice rang out clearly and pinned him to his chair: "Potter, Harry."
Snape snapped his eyes shut as whispers erupted around the hall. The name pierced him and made tiny stars explode in the darkness inside his head. All he could hear was a loud ringing in his ears. Barely breathing, Snape slowly opened his eyes and saw the back of a black haired head bobbing towards the Gryffindor table. Of course his hair looks exactly like James'. Of course he's in Gryffindor just like his father. He was unable to take his eyes off the boy as he sat down. It was when the boy turned his head slightly towards the girl next to him that Snape saw his eyes. Her eyes.
"No," he whispered, barely audible, but somehow Quirrell heard from the next chair. Snape's mouth dried and his heart beat faster, but before any emotions could seize him, Quirrell tried to gauge him in conversation. The man with his absurd turban babbled as Snape felt himself start to spiral into that dark abyss.
But feeling a pair of eyes on him, Snape swiftly glanced past Quirrell and saw the boy looking at him curiously with her eyes. With the sparkling emerald eyes that haunted him every day and made every night a sleepless hell. Those eyes that shattered his existence.
Suddenly, a hatred so deep rose up inside of him that he clenched his chair and felt his knuckles pop. His thoughts whirled.
How dare that boy sit there while my Lily is gone. How dare he taunt me. That face – those eyes! Those eyes do not belong to that face. How dare that boy survive. How dare he sit so arrogantly and complacently while I suffer! He belonged to Lily and I never did! Just like James!
Snape's eyes flashed and he turned away, fuming. Though the glance lasted a moment, Snape was radically charged with bitterness, anger, and hatred. Nevertheless, all he could do was sit there in silence, pinned to his chair.
He didn't glance at the boy again and surprisingly concealed his anger more easily this time. The feast ended and Snape stood up abruptly and raced back to his quarters with his cloak flapping madly behind him. As he slammed the door behind him, his anger subsided to a low burning in his chest. Hatred still coursed through his veins as he sank to his bed. A choked sob broke forth from his lips and he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.
How could he see the boy every day for the next seven years? How could he keep his promise to Dumbledore? Every time he saw the boy's eyes he would be swallowed by anguish. Those emerald orbs pranced in and out of his nightmares and would now pace the corridors every day. Snape couldn't help but feel more hopeless about Lily – the boy was yet another reminder of the fact that she didn't pick him. Snape was never hers. She was always James'.
Snape wiped the tears off his cheeks and walked to the window quickly. The dark, still landscape from hours earlier remained unchanged but the man behind the glass was nearly unrecognizable. Snape's emotions were churning and he felt sick. Too many things welled up inside of him. Misery. Anger. Bitterness. But most of all - hatred.
The malice he felt earlier had strengthened, not weakened and as the bitter wind drifted across the land, a cold smile touched Severus' face.
I want the boy to suffer every waking moment he spends here. He should not go unpunished for inflicting this pain. He should pay for this. For everything.
Hearing a soft crunch, Snape looked down at the picture of him and Lily he had stepped on from dropping it earlier. Gazing at her serene, beautiful face, Snape's hatred simmered and he knew that no matter what, he would protect the boy. He didn't have a choice. He never had a choice.
But as much as Snape knew he would agonizingly assist Dumbledore and protect the last living remain of Lily, he knew he would still despise the boy precisely because he was the last living remain of Lily. The boy was only precious because Snape could not deny his love for her. Yet the boy was still poisoned by his father.
Snape turned away from the dark window and strode towards his bed again. That night when sleep wouldn't come yet again, Snape thought about the boy who was somewhere in the same castle as he. Dark thoughts protruded his mind and he was encompassed by a desire to rid the boy from ever setting foot on the grounds again so he would never have to see those haunting eyes.
But Snape bitterly realized that the boy would not be so easy to get rid of. He would stay at Hogwarts and torture Snape every single day. The boy was unknowingly a constant reminder of misery and bitterness.
He was no longer the boy that should've been Snape's. No, now he was just another rotten Potter.