Unbelievable Innocence

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, either the character or the franchise. I am making neither Galleons nor Muggle money by posting this fanfic.

A/N: Originally begun before book 7 ever came out. Completed 1/3/14, after a l-o-n-g hiatus. Any reviews are delightedly welcomed, lovely readers!

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, aiming his charm at the Death Eater opposite him. The jet of light had barely left his wand before it was deflected skillfully back at him by his opponent. Harry sidestepped it, making another attempt with "Stupefy!" This time, the spell had the desired result: the man stiffened and fell paralyzed to the ground.

Pitting approximately fifty wizards against as many Death Eaters had created an effect halfway between a rock concert and the Fourth of July. The constant shouting, yells of pain, and cackles of laughter battered mercilessly on his ears, while the ceaseless flashes of light made it hard to tell which side was winning. But suddenly the dreaded voice rang out above all the rest-

"Take him! Now!" Harry had a hunch who "him" was. Sure enough, no sooner had the words left Voldemort's mouth than Snape Apparated directly in front of him. Harry let out a snarl and a hex.

"Sectumsempra!"

Snape blocked the spell and cast his own in one fluid movement. The nonverbal jinx hit Harry in the stomach, making him stumble backwards. He felt suddenly dizzy, barely able to keep his footing. His thoughts were tumbling randomly around his head, and he couldn't remember what was going on. A second curse hit him in the face, blinding him—literally. Then someone gripped his arm, and pressure descended upon him without warning. He was being Apparated.

The invisible belts constricting him were suddenly gone, but the grip on his arm didn't slacken. He was being dragged along, still clueless and disoriented, and utterly blind.

Five knocks on what sounded like a wooden door were answered with a high, frightened "Who is it?"

"Severus Snape. Let me in, Narcissa."

Harry heard the words without comprehending them. There was the sound of a door being opened, and he was shoved through it. The female voice was speaking again.

"Severus, you know that the Dark Lord can connect directly with the boy's mind—"

"Which is why this dwelling was made Unplottable some time ago."

"But what if the Dark Lord was watching through his eyes?"

"He is blind and Confunded, with less mental capacity than an infant. Where is the Pensieve?"

"There, in the cupboard, why?"

Harry stood, swaying unsteadily, listening to their meaningless talk. The vaguest feeling of danger pricked at him, but he couldn't think now. Thinking was too hard.

Suddenly, with a shock as great as if he'd just jumped into a vat of ice water, Harry could see again, think again. He blinked at Malfoy's mother, who was staring at him wide-eyed. Then his head was pushed down from behind, into a liquid that wasn't liquid, and he fell through inky blackness.

Feet on solid ground again, mind and heart racing, Harry pulled out his wand. He was in a house he didn't recognize—what was going on?

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—" Harry knew the voice instantly. It was the voice that had haunted him, ringing in his ears whenever a dementor got too close.

The scenario that he could only hear before, was now unfolding before his eyes. For a moment, he stood transfixed, unable to move or breathe. Then, mouth dry, heart racing, Harry bolted for the door of the little house in Godric's Hollow.

There, playing out before him, was the scene he had imagined so often in his mind's eye. There was his mother, panicked. She clutched a baby close to her: Harry himself, sixteen years ago. Her eyes wild with fear and brimming with tears, stared straight through the current Harry, who could only watch with sickening horror. Without a word, she obeyed the man in the corner and fled the room. Harry turned toward whom he could only assume was his father.

But there was no wild, untameable hair atop the man's head. Nor did he wear glasses. In fact, he didn't look anything like James Potter. But he did look an awful lot like...

Harry's heart was in his mouth. He had seen this man many times before—too many for his liking, actually. Unless he was very much mistaken, the man in the corner ready to defend Lily Potter to the end, was not her husband.

It was Severus Snape.

Harry's mind was blank. This was impossible. The Pensieve must be defective. There was no way this was how it happened. "No," he whispered.

But the scene kept mercilessly playing out. Within moments, Harry heard the crack of Apparition just outside the Potters' house. The high, cold voice of the darkest wizard of Harry's era was heard. It was alight with satisfaction.

"Yesss. I can see it!" Voldemort himself threw open the door. His high, cold laugh rang through the air like ice. It was hard to tell who was breathing faster: the ghostlike version of Harry, looking on; or the younger Snape, gripping his wand until his knuckles turned white. "Pettigrew has done well for a change." He looked around with narrowed, gleeful eyes. His gaze fell upon Snape, and he looked surprised for a second. "Severus. You expected my arrival?"

"Yes, my lord," Snape replied in a low voice. Hand visibly shaking, he raised his wand to aim it straight at Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort's eyes widened. "What is this?" His voice became threatening, dangerous. "Do you raise your wand against your master?"

"You can't do this, my lord." Snape was talking more urgently now. "Lily and the boy—"

"You dare stand against me, FOOL?!" Voldemort was irate. "Get out of the way, or you will fall."

Snape's breathing was rapid and shallow. All that came out of his mouth was a spell. "Expel—"

But he never got to finish his incantation, for Voldemort was bellowing one of his own. Harry couldn't tell if his came more quickly than Snape's, or simply outdid it in power. Either way, Harry's former Potions teacher doubled over in pain, at the mercy of the Cruciatus Curse. Ever-sadistic, Voldemort allowed him to scream in torment for several breaths. Finally, he released a second spell. "Stupefy." Snape was thrown across the room and into the wall, where he lost consciousness. Voldemort scowled down at his servant and promised, "I'll deal with you later." Stepping around the man who had—inexplicably—sacrificed himself for the Potters, Voldemort headed for the stairs. It took Harry several seconds to come to himself and follow him.

When he forced his way into the upper room with Harry on his heels, Lily was still holding her baby close to her. Her familiar green eyes were wild with fear. Harry's throat closed over as he watched the tender way she laid her only son in the crib for the last time.

Planting herself between the infant Harry and his attacker, she proceeded to plead with the Dark Lord. "Not Harry!" she screamed. "Not Harry!"

"Silly girl—" Voldemort began, but was cut off.

"Please—I'll do anything—" Lily spread her arms out. She didn't even arm herself. All her focus was on being a shield for her precious baby, even if she had to make one with her own body.

"Stand aside, girl. There's no reason for you to get hurt." Voldemort had his wand trained on her, but for some reason he lingered without launching a curse.

Lily continued to plead for her son, perhaps not even having heard what Voldemort had said. "Please, p-please..." she went on. Her voice was beginning to become nearly incoherent with sobs. "Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead..."

It was the only one of her pleas that Lord Voldemort was willing to oblige. For he had lost patience. After trying to wave her aside once more, he gritted his teeth and snarled, "Avada kedavra!" It was as though the breath exited Harry's body in an instant. His mother went down, her red hair held aloft for a long moment from the momentum as her body fell to the floor.

"No!"

But this voice wasn't Harry's, although it sounded much like his. And as much as he resembled sixteen-year-old Harry, the man who burst into the room next wasn't he. It was James Potter. His dark eyes took in his wife, crumpled on the floor; the dark lord, standing above her; and the baby, wailing behind them. "You—!" He was reaching for his wand when Voldemort's next curse hit him full in the face. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Harry couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, as he watched Lord Voldemort approach the infant Harry Potter. The dark lord paused to lick his lips, savor the moment. Then—

"Avada kedavra!" he snarled. But of course the spell rebounded. The flash of light as it hit its caster was the last thing Harry saw. The memory was dissolving around him. Something in him wanted to fight it, to stay longer, but he couldn't. And his head hurt.

He was floating upward, his mind a blank. Then, with the same, gut-wrenching suddenness, he stood before Narcissa Malfoy again. A hand gripped his hair from behind.

"Do you understand?" came Snape's voice from behind him, cold and hard. "We fight the Dark Lord on the same side." As his hand dropped from its position of control on Harry's head, Harry turned to stare at the man who had left Hogwarts without a backward glance less than a year ago.

"No," Harry contradicted him. His thoughts, his voice, could finally work again. The former were racing, the latter just shuddering to life. Snape brought his wand toward Harry. But instead of flicking a nonverbal curse at him, he reached around Harry and touched the tip to the surface of the Pensieve. When he pulled it away, the fateful memory was clinging to the point of the wand like white fuzz. Snape pressed the point of the wand to his temple, causing the memory to re-enter his mind. Harry seized upon the opportunity Snape's action afforded him. "No...the memory must've been false—or forged, or—" But he knew it couldn't be true, even as he said it. For what was certainly not the first time, Harry suspected that Snape both knew Harry's thoughts and knew that Harry was doubting them.

"You know better than that, Potter," he pointed out impatiently. "If you've learned a thing in Occlumency, that is."

But getting reminded of his and Snape's painful former lessons—and a time when they both were regular attendants of Hogwarts School—only made Harry angrier.

"You abandoned Hogwarts!" he shouted, bringing out his wand. His spell shot forth without an incantation. He was no longer the student that Snape had taught. He was a full-fledged wizard now, with the ability to form nonverbal hexes. Snape deflected it.

"I could no longer stay while free of suspicion."

"So you returned to him!" snarled Harry. "You went back to Voldemort!" Another curse flew from his wand, almost without conscious command. Again, Snape parried it.

"To continue serving the disbanded Order of the Phoenix as a spy."

"YOU KILLED DUMBLEDORE!" Harry bellowed. Snape's eyes flashed in his pale face. All of a sudden, a wash of unchecked power seemed to burst from him, knocking Harry off his feet. It was the first time he had seen an adult wizard lose magical control.

"Do not speak as if you know anything, Potter!" Snape roared. "There are things a mere child could never understand!" He had his wand trained on Harry now. His breathing was deep and fast. "Both sides have their countless victims. Both sides commit murder. And"—his wand hand trembled by the smallest margin—"both sides ask their agents to kill for them." Harry wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and glared up at his ex-Potions teacher with loathing. "I killed Albus Dumbledore," Snape said through gritted teeth, as though he were fighting to keep his voice steady, "on orders."

So that was his excuse? Innocent because he was ordered to do it? Harry didn't think so. "You played your hand perfectly," he noted with sarcasm. "Obeying Voldemort to the end."

Snape's eyes narrowed to slits. "My orders came from Dumbledore himself."

Harry's breathing stopped. For a moment, he sat in a daze. Then, through the fog, he slowly made out the face of his former professor as he had never seen it before. Snape's black eyes were boring into his. "No," he whispered.

"If there were no other way to defuse suspicion, I was ordered to kill the headmaster." Snape's voice had lost most of its volume and gone rather flat. "My position as a spy was given priority over Dumbledore's life."

"You're lying," was all Harry could think of to say. Snape's jaw tightened.

"I can show you that memory, as well, if you wish," he hissed. Harry shook his head again. Without really realizing it, he was pushing himself to his feet. He stared at the man he had hated since day one at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the man who had detested Harry's father almost as much as he did Harry himself, the man who had taught classes for Harry's whole life, who had sworn allegiance to Lord Voldemort and had the tattoo on his arm to prove it, who had killed Harry's greatest mentor before his eyes, and who was...innocent of his death?

This was the spy whom everyone had trusted, the double agent who never failed them.

Could he be worthy of their trust? Could it be that Snape had been opposing Voldemort all along?

No, it couldn't possibly be true. Despite the evidence presented to him, Harry couldn't believe it. He could never consider his most hated enemy to be a protector of the wizarding world. Snape, a promoter of justice? Snape, making sacrifices for a noble cause? Snape, quietly working to bring down Lord Voldemort from within, with neither a complaint nor a boast for sixteen years?

It couldn't be.

Could it?

* The End *
(In a manner of speaking)

A/N: I guess I should explain where the inspiration for this story came from. In Book 4, as the ghosts of Voldemort's victims were reappearing backwards out of his wand, James came first, then Lily. Because of that, I logically thought that Lily had died first, despite what the previous books had led us to believe. But, I reasoned, if James was killed after Lily, then wouldn't the man's voice that Harry hears in his head ("Take Harry and go!") be someone who's not James? I had a theory that it was Snape, and that his innocence would be thereby proven by Harry's trip through the Pensieve in this story. But all my theories came to naught, as we now all know that James died first. I thought it was a pretty good theory, though... Oh! And please review! What do you think of my theory? Hate it, love it?