Disclaimer: I own nothing, of course. All belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc. I make no money, nor steal rights. At least, I hope now.
Acknowledgments: I would have to acknowledge every writer who contributes to SS/HG fiction, as I am inspired by all stories I read. Forgive me for any coincidences in these stories, they were not intentional, I assure you. Also, story title and many chapter titles inspired by the Azure Ray song, Sea of Doubts.
Summary: Certain duties must be met before anything can be accomplished. Regrets often spawn from these spur of the moment decisions, though, in the attempts to fulfill honor and duty. Snape, after facing years of hell, now finds he hadn't known pain until the present day.
Warnings: Character Death, possible implied rape, possible torture.
Rating: R
"Professor."
Professor Severus Snape was jolted out of his silent reverie. He was sitting at his oak desk, and realized he had been tracing the grain in the wood for what seemed like hours. Shooting a glance at the clock, he realized he had indeed lost track of time. Three o'clock in the morning was no time for someone to be up; especially one with six classes tomorrow.
He groaned aloud. He would be teaching seventh year N.E.W.T. Potions. This class was where the most worthy students learned their craft. The students were quiet, as they learned on a more independent level. Normally, this was his more favored class. And "favored" was a word Professor Snape rarely incorporated in his vocabulary.
Adjusting his wrinkled cuffs, he tried to clear his mind. He failed this task, and his mind remained muddy. It was September the 1st and the classes would begin tomorrow. For once in his life, Severus Snape was not prepared. Groaning once again, he abandoned his straight posture and slumped in his chair. Giving up, he let his thoughts return to their painful roaming. His mind's roving led tothoughts of the seventh year class. What were the names on the roster? Ah,yes. Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Lisa Turpin, Mandy Brocklehurst, Neville Longbottom (groan) and Harry Potter.
Sighing, he mulled over the name that was not on that mental list.
"Professor."
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The first breakfast of the term was quiet. His own blasted House was chattering as usual, but the other three Houses were nearly silent. Snape didn't think he saw a single Gryffindor open his or her mouth. After Dumbledore's announcement the night before, not even the ignorant first-years dared say a word. The High Table was also silent. He also knew that no one but Dumbledore had even spoken to him since the summer. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he silently left the table and made his way to the dungeons. Merlin, how had life come to this?
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He stopped pacing as the bell rang for the first class. None other than the seventh years marched through the doors. Neville practically raced in, eager to prove himself. Snape wondered how Longbottom would manage without...
Inwardly heaving a sigh, Snape stood at the front of the room and waited, scowling, for the late bell to ring. Draco Malfoy conveniently walked in as the bell rang, his eyebrows raised, as if daring his teacher to comment. Snape saved a sneer, in attempts to not look at Harry Potter. Both Potter and the Weasley boy, he knew, refused to fight with him, let alone look at him. They both seemed to have agreed he did not exist; frankly, he didn't care. It certainly made things easier. If Harry didn't mind failing, then so be it.
Settling behind his desk, he named the first assignment. They were to make a simple review potion from their fifth year: the Draught of Peace. Merlin knew he needed one. Watching the students take out their cauldrons, he acted as if he were writing; making lesson plans to any of their untrained eyes. He was, in actual fact, simply gashing the paper; anything to stop him from openly showing weakness.
It had to be done.
It had to be.
He was beginning to grind the quill into the desk when, unfailingly, Neville's potion became corrupted. The cauldron seemed to be glowing, and the potion was fizzing in what was definitely a hazardous way. Gritting his teeth, Snape rose from his desk and fairly swooped upon Neville. Muttering 'Scourgify' as if it were venom, the cauldron became sparkling, cleaner than it was before.
"Mr. Longbottom," Snape practically roared, "exactly HOW much essence of hellebore did you use? This is a STANDARD potion."
Neville's face drained of what little color was left, and stammered, "Thr-three...p-pinches, sir."
The Slytherins chuckled in the background, as several Ravenclaws moaned.
"Mr. Longbottom, I believe it says one pinch, and three pinches of ground wormwood. I thought you would have learned from your mistake in fifth year when the VERY same thing happened. This is your FIRST class of the term, and you make such a mistake. I'm surprised Miss Granger has not helped you!"
A sharp intake of breath came from around the room. Even Draco's smirk faltered; but only slightly. Snape froze. He could feel Harry's eyes bore into the back of his head, like burning holes in his skull. Snape would not bother to acknowledge the insolent boy's obvious glares. He owed him nothing.
As unembarrassed as he could, he cleared his throat. "Excuse me. Class dismissed."
While obviously shocked by Professor Snape's slip of the tongue, they were a bit miffed at the sudden dismissal. Surely a mistake on Snape's part wouldn't ruin the class, would it? Gathering their things, the few N.E.W.T. students quickly left the room, Neville particularly fast. Harry, on the other hand, lingered. Snape, who would have preferred Potter's usual arrogant stare, looked at him unfalteringly. Instead, Harry simply looked at him. His eyes were hardened; his jaw wasn't clenched. He looked more like a man then a seventeen year old boy, to be truthful. He looked as if Snape's mistake was the last straw. The stoic professor saying Hermione's name for the first time in months made Harry realize all the more clearly... Swallowing, Snape realized that Harry's expression was the look he often wore.
Harry looked as if he wanted to say something, but seemed to have thought better of it. Giving one last look at the seat he had been sitting at, he backed out of the door, turned, and walked away. Snape shut the dungeon door more softly then he usually did and shot a look at the seat Harry had occupied not five minutes before. He nodded to himself.
It had been Hermione Granger's seat.
Shooting paranoid glances around the room, Snape sat in the seat with uncharacteristic weakness. Running a hand through his greasy hair, he sighed outwardly; something he hadn't done in a very long while.
Practically breathing the words, he whispered, "Why did I have to kill you, Miss Granger?"
"Professor."
Author's Note: Yes, yes, I know. This chapter is VERY confusing! I'm terribly sorry. The statements in Italics and other things WILL be explained. I just wanted to set things up. Things will get stronger, longer, and hopefully more creative/original? Please comment and tell me what you think! Thanks for reading!
(Revised 12/17) I would just like to say thank you SO much to my beta, snarkyroxy! Thank you so much for agreeing to do the horrible task of editing my work! So props and credit to snarkyroxy to much of the editing and revising done in this story! (Revised once more on 12/29) Thanks once again to snarkyroxy! And I hope you all had Happy Holidays, and will have a good New Year!